Within

by Aaron Bunce

  Lucilla clucked her tongue. “Don’t fight it young man, sleep,” she said, draping a cold cloth on his brow.

  Gratefully, Roman let his eyes slide closed and spiraled downwards into the welcoming darkness. Roman hoped that his dreams would be peaceful. If only to spare him, for a short time, from the horrific things he had seen. And then he was at peace.

  Chapter 12

  Run before them

  Dennah followed Tadd’s wagon to the outskirts of town where they found a suitable spot for the caravan. After securing their horses and supplies, most of the guards unpacked their bags, built fires, or took rest. A select few sat on overturned barrels to drink and play cards, content to wile the night away and avoid any real work or responsibility.

  Bull had not returned from his spirited conversations with the town elder yet, so Dennah busied herself with Freckles, unpacking and removing the horse’s saddle and finding her a decent spot to graze.

  When she had finished, she found Tadd sitting on a thin bedroll before a fire, puffing on his pipe. She went to sit next to the grinning old man but froze halfway in the act, and instead lay down on her side. The lengthy days on the road and nights sleeping on the ground left her legs and rear, horribly sore.

  “Those are old man sounds right there. Your butt will get tough before long, trust me,” Tadd said jokingly. “If you’re going to find a bed for coin in town you best not wait, lest they’ll have other folks in em before you can give a single shake of your little coin purse.”

  Dennah groaned, heaving her weary body off the ground. Tadd quietly chuckled and poked the fire with a long stick.

  After the flats, she had promised herself a warm bed. Well, for a few nights at least. Stiff legged and weighted down with more road dirt than she cared to admit, Dennah set out through town to procure a room and a bed. A task, she was soon to find, would be more difficult than she realized.

  The first small inn she checked was dark, and the doors locked. She also skirted several large groups of agitated people milling about in the street before the other inn. Dennah feared that their presence in town was the reason for much of the fuss and snuck by, content to seek lodging anywhere else.

  The elder’s house was still the sight of the biggest commotion. A crowd huddled outside the large home. She figured Bull was still inside with the elder explaining, or trying to explain the drastic changes from the normal Council business. People never seemed to like change. That much Dennah knew well.

  She wasn’t going to check the tavern on the far end of the lane, but the aroma wafting from the chimney lured her in. A weathered sign swung on rusty hinges outside the door, but the painted words had been worn off by the weather long ago.

  The steps sagged heavily under her weight, but the door opened easily with only a slight push. Her eyes started to burn as she stepped inside. A heavy layer of pipe smoke hung in the air, glowing warmly from dozens of candles scattered all about, their wax dripping messily down their holders to pool on the tables. A fire filled a large stone fireplace on the far wall. Above the mantle hung several trophies, one a large wild pig with savage looking tusks, and the other a stag with a magnificently splayed rack.

  Most of the tavern’s tables were empty, save for a couple of solitary drinkers lost in their mugs. The bar, however, was crowded. Each stout stool was occupied, while many others stood wedged in between them. The lively crowd drank and slopped their drinks, engaging in lively conversation.

  A solitary ale-hand tended to the crowd. He appeared to be rather young, not far from her age in fact. He stopped only briefly to roll up his sleeves before helping another in line. He was short, with a stubby nose and small dark eyes nested above rosy, round cheeks. He was, she thought, the first genuinely pleasant looking person she had seen since entering the small town. She found that thought comforting, someone approachable.

  Dennah walked past the bar, and stood at the far end, waiting for the young bar tend to notice her. The man seated at the end noticed her first and turned. He had a hooked nose and sallow, pitted face. His expression did little to lighten his features. Instead, it made him look like a cross-eyed bird. She removed her leather helm and sat it on the edge of the bar, then gave the bird-faced man a friendly nod.

  “Hello,” she said, forcing a smile.

  The man eyed her up and down, and then with a sneer elbowed her helm off the end of the bar. The noise instantly attracted several people’s attention, and they stopped their conversations, turning to look.

  Dennah could feel her face grow hot. The bird-faced man snickered as others started to laugh. Dennah bent over awkwardly in her stiff armor and retrieved her helm from the floor. When she stood, she self-consciously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  With a slap, a mug of ale dropped onto the bar. The young ale hand gave the mug a gentle push towards the man, before saying, “give a toast, would you Bert?”

  The bird-faced man instantly lifted the mug, slurring and sputtering a toast to anything and everything. The tavern’s attention quickly shifted to the drunk, as they laughed raucously and joined in.

  The young ale hand walked over while shaking his head. Dennah was so grateful for the young man’s diversion that she could have hugged him right then and there, but that probably would have garnered her all the wrong kind of attention as well.

  “They’re in a real sour state tonight. Well, they’re always in an uproar, but more so when you Council folk roll into town. I wouldn’t expect much cheer if you take my meaning. By the way, welcome to the Frosted Flagon,” he said leaning in close so she could hear.

  “I’m looking for a room to rent,” Dennah shouted above the din.

  The young man scrunched up his face, and after several failed attempts to hear her he led her back away from the bar, where the noise was not quite so overwhelming.

  “My apologies, every season’s turn when the caravan shows up people get, well let’s just say, they get edgy. This is the worst I’ve seen it, though, by far. So, what do you need?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for a room to rent, or just a bed really, anything to keep me off of the ground for a few nights. Do you have anything available?” Dennah asked eagerly.

  The young man turned and scanned the room, looking for someone.

  “Well my ma usually makes those decisions, but she’s out right now. We do have a small room with a cot upstairs, usually for the drunks, when they’re too out of sorts to walk home. I don’t see why she would mind. Couple copper a night would probably cover it I suppose,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest importantly.

  Dennah’s face cracked into a smile, and she felt relief wash over her. The young ale hand smiled back, his cheeks reddening slightly.

  “Do you want me to show it to you now, or do you…oh wait, I had better wait until Ma returns. I don’t want to leave this lot unattended,” he added, changing his mind in mid-sentence.

  “Oh that’s fine, tell me, do you have a stable?” Dennah asked.

  “We have stabling out back, yes. You can use that as long as you pay for the room,” he offered.

  “Thank you so very much,” Dennah said, grasping his hand and shaking it vigorously.

  “Oh, it’s no trouble. Name’s Bale, by the way,” the young man replied before returning to the bar.

  Dennah left the tavern and headed back towards the wagons. She decided that she would stable Freckles for the night and enjoy a much deserved night in a real bed.

  “Heck,” she said out loud, “for just a few coppers, I could probably afford to rent it for the whole stay.” The prospect of a soft bed did wonders to lift her spirits.

  The angry crowd outside the elder’s home had dispersed. The streets were quiet now, but she could hear the camp long before she could see it. The crews had settled in, forming the wagons together in a large circle. At its center, a large bonfire raged. Dennah walked through the line of wagons, and immediately noticed Tadd.

  The old man was perched on hi
s bedroll, puffing on his pipe, exactly the way she had left him. The glow of the dancing fire reflected glossily in his tired eyes. Dennah knelt down in the grass next to him. He turned, giving her a wrinkled smile.

  “Well, I was wondering if you were gonna come back, or just set yerself up in a nice tidy room, Girlie,” he said affectionately, looking up at her.

  Dennah looked down at the old man’s bedroll. “Aren’t you going to find a room of your own?”

  “Well, I appreciate the worry, Girlie. But old Tadd’s place is right here, by my wagon, under the stars. I wouldn’t know what to do with all that soft, comfortable, cushiness under me bones,” he said with a wink.

  “The nights are getting cold. Will you be warm enough here?”

  “Long as I got a good fire and my blankets here, I figure old Tadd is good as gold,” he said, patting her on the knee.

  “Alright. Well, I rented a bed at the tavern, so if you need anything, anything at all, you let me know,” Dennah offered.

  “Ah, you stop fussing over old Tadd. I been doing this a long time,” he said. “Haven’t had someone to worry over me like this since before me old mother passed on. Mani rest her soul.”

  Hearing Tadd talk about his mother reminded Dennah of her parents. She quickly pushed aside her longing for home. It would do her no good to dwell on it.

  “Has Bull returned yet?” Dennah asked.

  Tadd sat up a little straighter. “Saw him…yep, came back a little bit ago. Red-faced and cursing up a storm too. Something tickled him proper.”

  Dennah found Bull on the far side of the camp, behind a wagon. He was surrounded by four or five men and rifled through bags of gear. Banus hovered like a greasy sponge at his side, so she kept her distance.

  “Irons, leg irons I said, and rope, find me some rope,” Bull yelled irritably.

  “Why we need irons?” Banus said, drifting to the back of the group. He stood watching the others search and made no move to help.

  “I told you, Banus. If we find the killer, then we arrest them. We slap them in irons and drag them back here,” Bull growled.

  “Here they are,” a younger guard named Tandon called out.

  The young man held up a set of jingling iron cuffs. Dennah was confused and stepped forward to address Bull.

  “Let’s go, I don’t want to be out all night,” Bull yelled suddenly and turned. He walked straight at Dennah, and looked up at the last moment, right before walking into her.

  “Where you run off to?” he asked sharply, but shook his head and pushed by. He turned as he passed, “There have been killings at a farm up the way. The town wants us to check it out and find who did it. You have first watch. Wake someone when the moon turns to take over.”

  Bull led the group by the bonfire, where they lit torches. Banus, the last man in line, turned and licked his lips at her crudely before following the others out.

  Dennah shook her head. The lasting image of Banus and his yellow-green teeth made her stomach turn. She didn’t know how anyone could care so very little about cleanliness.

  Dennah methodically untied the gear from her saddle. She deposited the bags on the ground and continued to remove her saddle and riding blanket from the spotted horse. Freckles shook her head and pawed at the ground playfully, apparently quite pleased to be rid of the weight.

  The mare, only four winter thaws old, was highly spirited. The others had passed her over when they prepared for the journey. Most favored larger and calmer horses, but not Dennah. Little was expected from either of them, so they had something in common.

  Dennah let Freckles trot around in the small clearing for a bit, before hefting her bags over to Tadd’s wagon. She dropped down next to a wagon wheel and sorted through her things.

  She pulled out a cotton sack with the remainder of hard rolls and salted meat. She set the sack aside, remembering the smell of hot food from the tavern.

  She shook her coin purse, letting the small collection silver and gold coin jingled together. At the bottom of the bag was an old oiled leather sack. She set in her lap. She put everything else back into the bag and set it off to the side.

  She untied the drawstring and eased it open. First she pulled out her father’s old leather sharpening strap. Next, a small ampoule of oil and a fine sharpening stone. The stone was old, but Dennah was yet to find a stone capable of putting a better edge on her blade.

  From the very bottom of the leather sack, she removed a small wooden box. The silver clasp had broken long ago, and it was now tied off with a single piece of her mother’s green ribbon. The ribbon was double knotted and tied into a delicate bow. She tied it the same way every time. Just like her mother.

  She opened the small box and picked up the two items inside, holding each in turn before returning them to the box. The first was her hairbrush. It was her grandmother’s, handed down to her before leaving.

  The second item was her father’s ring. The simple silver band held a single square cut emerald in its face. The metal was pitted and scratched from thaws of wear, and she could still picture it as it gleamed on his large, strong hand. The ring was now fashioned to a simple silver chain so she could wear it around her neck. The ring and brush had no real value to anyone else, but they meant the world to her. They were all she had left of home.

  Reluctantly, Dennah replaced her personal treasures back in the wooden box and tied it shut. She stowed the box back in her leather bag and covered it with her change of clean clothes.

  She turned to Tadd, who leaned back against the wagon, the pipe still clutched in his mouth. His head hung forward, and he snored softly. Dennah laid him down and covered him with a blanket.

  She tossed her bags onto the wagon bench and climbed in, sharpening stone and leather in hand. She made sure she had a proper view of the camp and the road’s approach before getting comfortable.

  Satisfied with her perch, Dennah drew her sword. It was a simple design, and its craftsmanship was rather poor. Rust and neglect had pitted it in spots. She could also see hammer marks in the right light, and the pommel came loose from time to time, but it was straight and held an edge.

  She spent each night during training repairing the weapon. It served as a tonic for her homesickness. The blade, it turned out, was as badly out of balance as she was. So she spent each night, in that strange place so very far from home, revitalizing the sword and making it whole again, and strengthening herself in the process.

  First, she snuck out of the barracks and to the Smith’s shop, where she had rubbed the blade free of rust. Then she ground down the edges, truing the blade. Throughout her swordsmanship training, Dennah learned to work with her stone. Each night, after sparring she worked to hone the blade, eventually honing it to a fatal edge.

  Finally, after living with perpetually sore hands, popping blisters and raw palms, she stripped the ragged wrapping from the grip. Dennah rewrapped the handle with strips cut from an old leather shirt, “borrowed” from one of her male classmates. She found that braiding the leather onto the grip formed a stronger covering that stayed firm under her hand, even while the sword was in motion. After that, the blisters and sore hands were a thing of the past.

  It had become her nightly ritual. She would wipe down the blade, and then inspect it, from the pommel to the tip. Each morning, Dennah would rise before the others. She would stretch her muscles and then perform the blade exercises she learned in training. This regimen helped Dennah deal with her new life. The exercises also helped keep her body in tune, and her reflexes sharp. She told herself that she had to be ready for anything.

  Dennah finished her inspection of the sword. She held up the blade with two fingers under the hand guard to check its balance. The weapon held perfectly level, as she knew it would. Satisfied, she slid the blade back into its scabbard and tried to get comfortable on the hard bench.

  How does Tadd do it all day, every day?

  She stretched her arms and back, stifling a yawn. After so much time on the road
, spending more time perched atop a wagon was the last thing she wanted. Everyone in the camp was asleep, so at least she had some peace and quiet.

  Tadd snored softly below her on the ground. Folkvar was curled up under his wolf skin blanket not far away. She took off her leather helm and placed it on the bench beside her. Then she removed the tie and ran her hands through her hair, fantasizing of a hot bath and clean clothes. She was sick of the road grime.

  “And hot food,” she mumbled, picking up the hard rolls and salted meat.

  She picked at the food, but decided being hungry was preferable, so she alternated between stoking the bonfire and gazing at the stars. The night drew on, and the hoots of a far off owl and the crackling of the fire slowly slipped her into a waking sleep. Her eyes were open, but her mind started to wander.

  Dennah was not sure how long she was in that peaceful trance, or what roused her from it, but she jerked her head up suddenly and took a startled breath. She scanned the camp and surrounding woods, looking for whatever had shaken her awake, but nothing looked out of order.

  As her heart rate returned to normal, she started to pick up on odd sounds coming from the woods. Is it Bull and the others returning from the farm? But then she realized that they had left in the opposite direction. Surely they wouldn’t return through the woods, she reasoned.

  The breeze blew the bonfire, but the crackle and pop of the fire could not mask the noises, which had grown louder. In one smooth motion, she hopped down from the wagon and slid her helm back on. Her hand dropped to the pommel of her sword, but she did not pull the blade free.

  Dennah quietly stoked the fire with fresh wood, never taking her eyes off of the woods. She stepped over and around the sleeping forms of the caravan workers until she stood face to face with the darkened woods.

  She held her breath, listening intently for the sounds that had roused her. She edged towards the tree, her face a mere stride away from the impenetrable darkness that lay beyond. She squinted, peering into the darkness but could make nothing out of the gloom.