The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep

by Scott D. Muller

  Brag searched Dra’kor’s face for answers after seeing him stagger a bit. “You going to be okay?”

  “Just feeling beat up, that’s all,” Dra’kor replied, trying to smooth his features. He had a momentary panic attack when he couldn’t find his medallion, but it had slid behind his neck when he was fighting off the beasts. He casually slid his finger around the leather cord and moved it to the front under his shirt, hoping none would notice.

  “No doubt … been through a lot, ye have.”

  They made their way from the gate toward the inn. Conversation was cheerful as the small group passed by a cluster of empty corrals made from pine logs and rough-hewn timber. They were mostly empty with just two roans prancing from end to end.

  Adjacent to the corral were rows of plain wood barracks with deep golden thatched roofs. Dra’kor scanned the tiny one-room buildings and quickly noticed that there were no men amongst the gaggle of women bustling about with young ones clinging to their dresses. The barefoot children chased each other and tossed sticks, running as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

  The women were occupied with the daily chores, some scrubbing laundry on a board, some giving the young ones baths in wood barrels. Several were huddled over a cast iron pot, adding onions and potatoes to what Dra’kor assumed was a stew of some sort, although the smell wasn’t strong enough for him to know for sure. They looked up one by one as the group walked past and Dra’kor could see the worry and sorrow in their wind-chapped, well-worn faces.

  Dra’kor thought he saw uniforms hanging to dry along a clothesline behind some of the small buildings. “You have a militia here?”

  “We do,” said Brag, as he stopped, set his hands on his hips, scanned the barracks and replied proudly. “We have nearly thirty men, more or less.”

  “Unusual —” Dra’kor nodded with a surprised look on his face. “— and the King approves of you having yer own army?”

  “Indeed,” Brag nodded, “the Lord of Toulereau gave us title to this land a few years back with the King’s approval after we fought in the Ogre rebellion. He stationed part of his army here to keep an eye on things whilst we built our own town.”

  “Toulereau? Haven’t heard of it …,” said Dra’kor blankly, as he stared at a woman in a tattered light blue dress as she shook out the laundry and pinned it to the line. “What orgre rebellion?”

  Brag stared slack-jawed at Dra’kor in disbelief. “Where have ye lads been living, under a rock? Toulereau is the largest town in these parts, for thirty leagues, everyone knows of it. The castle and yards house near two hundred. Whole town must have near three, four hundred or more. Merchants come from all over to sell their wares.”

  “That’s big?” Dra’kor said, his eyes going wide.

  “Absolutely,” Brag nodded. “The castle has been there for generations. The Lord his self lives there most of the year. He only recently began living at his other palace sometimes.”

  Dra’kor grinned widely. “I guess news doesn’t get up to where we live, we’re pretty remote. Is this Toulereau nearby?”

  “Not far, about half a day’s walk to the east,” Brag said, as he pointed in the general direction of the sun. “The road is a bit rough this time of year, rutted and all, but well marked.”

  “Hmm. Maybe Men’ak and I can visit while we’re in the area … we’ve never seen a town that big.”

  Brag’s eyes went wide and he erupted in a deep belly laugh, placing his hands on his knees.

  “What’s so funny?” Dra’kor asked, a bit put off.

  Brag looked at him sideways from his hunched over position. “You’re kidding right?”

  “Why would you say that —?”

  “Well, considering the beasts and your recent encounter, I’m just surprised you even suggested going. That’s all.”

  Dra’kor felt his cheeks go red. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about what just happened. I was just excited about the chance to see a real castle, that’s all.”

  Brag stood up seeing from Dra’kor’s expression that it was the honest truth and clapped Dra’kor on the shoulder, “No worries, friend!”

  Dra’kor watched some of the women staring in their direction. Their expressions were listless. They had stopped working and just stood staring.

  “If you don’t mind me changing the subject and asking, why do all the women look so woeful?”

  Brag shook his head slowly, “They’re just concerned for their men folk is all. They’ve been missing for a couple weeks.”

  Dra’kor turned his back on the women so that they couldn’t see what he was saying, “Missing, how so?”

  Brag looked Dra’kor in the eyes, “They’re wives of the men Toulereau sent here to guard while we built the town. A couple weeks ago, Toulereau ordered all of them home, uh, back to the castle to help with the beasts. The messenger that delivered the orders said they were under constant attack. We haven’t heard from them since. It’s unusual for them not to send word … we’re a bit — concerned.”

  Dra’kor nodded as he looked back over his shoulder at a woman sweeping off the front stoop as she shooed a small child off the porch so she could finish.

  “Were you having attacks here at the same time?”

  “Sure, once or twice a day, but the King’s men had easily slain them and kept us safe. Now —?” he shrugged, “we mostly stay in.”

  “I feel badly for them,” Dra’kor said, nodding in the direction of the women.

  “They’ll be fine, as soon as they hear something. It’s vexing not knowing. That’s eating them up inside.”

  “I understand how that feels. Always better to know.”

  “At least you can start to heal and deal with the news, good or —”

  “— Good or bad, I suppose.”

  “Good or bad,” Brag echoed, “wars tend to leave a lot of widows.”

  “— and orphans,” Dra’kor added quietly.

  Brag nodded, turning to see a mother scolding her son for using a stick as a sword and hitting his brother. She took the stick away, broke it in half and used it to whip his bottom. He ran off crying, holding his rear. She turned to face the men, holding the stick on her hip and scoffed. She threw her nose in the air and turned away to care for her laundry.

  Dra’kor stroked his beard. “So Brag, earlier you said that you were having some trouble with the crops? What’s that all about?”

  “No explaining it. Damn seeds just don’t seem to grow after sprouting. Almost all of our gardens are barren. By now, we’d be eating fresh greens and spring peas and the carrots would be a couple inches long.”

  “I’m a bit of a farmer myself and know most of all the blights. Mind if I take a look later?” Dra’kor said, offering his assistance.

  “Feel free,” Brag sighed, “Nobody else seems to be able to make ‘em grow — you might as well try your hand at it. I suppose it can’t hurt none!”

  “I’ll do that right after we clean up and have lunch …,” Dra’kor nodded. “What I need right now is a meal and some rest.”

  “Well, you deserve it!” said Brag, slapping him on the back.

  Dra’kor scowled. The back slaps were getting a bit irritating.

  The town was neat and organized. The blacksmith was set up near the gate. He had his fire stoked and was pounding away on his anvil. A gangly lad was pumping the bellows hard. Behind the smitty was a small shack, presumably the blacksmith’s place. The chimney was smoking and Dra’kor could smell meat cooking. A plump old woman stood on the porch, beating some bedding to rid it of dust … and bugs. She took a look at the group and hurried off to attend her midday meal.

  Next door was a corral, filled with a dozen or so cattle and a fenced-off section for sheep, although Brag had already mentioned in passing that most of the animals ran wild out in the fields. A wallow was just beyond that and Dra’kor could hear the pigs squealing even though he couldn’t see them from where he was standing. He caught a whiff as they walked past and it transport
ed him back to the farm where he grew up.

  Further along was a general store with the door open. A wide array of pots, pans, axe, hammers, and sundry tools hung in display. The old shopkeeper was leaning against the doorjamb watching the procession, tapping his cane on his boot. The place looked empty.

  “Looks like business is slow,” Dra’kor commented.

  “Empty’s more like it,” Men’ak said.

  “You could say that,” said Brag, as he spat. “Until the crops start growing, or folks make the spring trip into town, it’s gonna continue that way too!”

  Men’ak looked around. “What do people do all day?”

  Brag shrugged, “Whatever they have to …”

  There was a garden next to the shop with neat tilled rows with strings and tethers strung between poles just waiting for the plants to grow. The ground was dark, almost black, moist, good soil by Dra’kor’s estimation, but barren nonetheless. Dra’kor craned his neck to get a closer look, but Brag walked on past in a hurry. Dra’kor shrugged to himself figuring he would get a chance to examine the plot later.

  A log cabin that served as the tavern stood all by itself next to the garden, its patrons standing in the doorway watching the commotion, holding their meads and ales. Old men, playing a game of Kings Cross off the front porch, looked up as the group passed, but quickly turned their attention to the duel on the board. It seemed to be the only place in town that was doing any business at all.

  “Tavern’s busy —” said Dra’kor wryly.

  Brag winked. “Nothing much to do but drink.”

  A new building was being erected next to that, although only the floor was finished. Well, it was mostly finished at any rate. There were still floorboards that needed to be nailed into place, and one wall was roughly framed, ready to stand. Stacks of rough-sawn lumber, and beams were neatly stacked on sawhorses, waiting to be put up.

  Dra’kor looked at the new building. “What’s that going to be?”

  “Supposed to be a carpenter moving in, but he was killed last month and no one knows what to do with his stuff.”

  Dra’kor grunted his response.

  Next, there was the inn, but there wasn’t much else. A few stand-alone homes and shops farther down the main road seemed detached from the town, and Dra’kor wondered why they were so far away from everything else, but he reckoned they had their reasons.

  The other side of the street was lined with simple cabins, neat and in a row, most of which were only a single room and barely six paces square. Dra’kor could just see between the structures enough to see that there were small gardens in the back. There were a few trees surrounding the buildings, providing at least a measure of shade from the intense sun.

  They arrived at the small inn and Brag knocked on the door. “Coming —,” came a quiet voice from inside.

  D’Arron

  The door swung open and a fine looking woman in her early thirties answered. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore a simple blue dress. A long apron was tied at her waist and hung practically to her hand-sewn leather moccasins. Her eyes were bright and her skin was tanned.

  “Welcome to my inn. I’m D’Arron,” she said with a huge smile on her face, pushing her hair back from her face. “You must be the travelers who killed them wolves a little earlier.”

  “Wow, news travels fast!” Dra’kor muttered.

  “We are —” Men’ak said, a bit sheepishly as he stepped into the low-ceilinged common room.

  The clean tidy inn was a common log home, chinked with mud and chaffed straw with a large hearth crafted of river-rock on one wall, complete with a nice cozy fire. The roof was tightly thatched and cut even. There were a couple pine slab tables with stools and a few chairs by the fire. A small bar was nestled against the back wall.

  A rather large deer-hide rug, pieced together from several animals, was between the chairs on the uneven hand-hewn log floor. Several huge candles were sitting unlit in the corners, waiting for night. The room was bright, the curtains pulled wide and the shutters open for the day.

  To Dra’kor, the place felt comfortable, not something you could explain, but something you felt. It was warm and inviting and had a feeling he recalled from his youth. He immediately felt at ease and knew that he would be able to relax here.

  Dra’kor shook his head. “Does everyone know about our arrival already?”

  Brag snorted, “I’ll leave you to get situated. It’s a small town, I imagine I’ll see you later.”

  Dra’kor nodded, caught between two conversations.

  D’Arron took two steps back into the room not paying Brag any attention, “Oh, don’t worry none about it. It’s just that news travels fast in a small town and you’re the first visitors we’ve had since the season began.”

  Dra’kor mouth dropped. He looked at Men’ak and back at D’Arron, “The first visitors?”

  “You’re the first this year. I have to say; that business has been slow … are you staying for a while? I heard you have business in Five Peaks.”

  “Weren’t planning on it — but given the situation, I guess maybe we’ll be here a while. We heard Five Peaks is still snowbound in the pass.”

  “True enough. You might as well stay.”

  “What’s a room gonna cost us?”

  “Well, rooms are three pence a night or five if you want meals too; includes three square meals with a tankard of mead. If you want extra, it’s the going rate, halfpence apiece. Baths included and I’ll wash your clothes if ye need.”

  “Seems fair —” Dra’kor nodded.

  “— In advance,” D’Arron said, staring straight into Dra’kor’s eyes. She squared her shoulders and adjusted her bun, the corner of her mouth turned up.

  Strong woman, he thought to himself. Good looking too. He grinned. “Of course …” as he pulled out his purse and counted out the coin for two days. He had expected the cost to be much more. It was an unexpected surprise and just as well, running out of coin was one less thing to worry about.

  “Here,” he said, dropping the coins into her hand. “We may stay longer. I’m not saying we will, but given how I feel, we’ll at least be here ‘til the day after tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. Hope you understand I wasn’t trying to be pushy, but given how slow things are, well- business is business,” her voice trailed off as she put the coin in her mouth and bit down hard. “Heaven knows when the next visitors will show up.”

  “No need to explain …,” Men’ak said, with a big grin. “By the way, I’m Men’ak and this is Dra’kor.”

  “Pleased,” she said, and with a small curtsy, she dropped the coin into her pocket and presented her hand. Dra’kor gently shook it.

  After the introductions, she was straight away to business. “Let me show you your room. I’m sure you’re exhausted! It’s not too big, but it’s clean, and has no drafts.”

  The two magi nodded as they followed the woman up some steep stairs. “Watch your heads …!” she said as she put her hand on the low beam that hung across the stairs.

  Dra’kor ducked under the big wooden beam that ran the length of the inn. He glanced up at the floor, and noticed that the fit of the boards was tight and that they were evenly planed, a sign of a good craftsman. He was surprised at how well the place was made, given the size of the town.

  She paused at the top and stood patiently waiting for them to catch up. She opened the first small door on the left. There were three others, two down the hall and another across the way.

  “Beds are fresh, mattresses are feather and the blankets are wool,” she said proudly, looking back over her shoulder. “The baths are downstairs in the back room; outhouses are out back behind the inn. I’ll put on some water, but it’ll take a while to heat. Do you want to have lunch now or later?”

  Dra’kor’s stomach grumbled.

  She smiled, “I guess that means now?”

  “Lunch would be great, seeing as I’m, we’re, famished. We got an early
start this morning and have been fighting the wolves all day. Seems to work up a bit of a hunger,” he joked.

  “Ha! Well, hope you like mutton stew —” she said with a smirk, as she took a couple steps toward the kitchen. “It’s what’s for lunch.”

  “Mutton stew is fine!” Men’ak exclaimed. “We’ve been on the road for a few days and really miss home cookin’.”

  “We’ll see how you feel after you taste it …,” she snorted as she belly laughed. “It’s mostly root vegetables, taters mostly, and lamb. I’d say the bread is the best part of the meal. My mother was a baker and taught me well. Ye won’t starve here, but you aren’t likely to thicken up either.”

  With that, she stepped out and waited for the two to follow. They stood for a bit until she cleared her throat. The two magi tossed their knapsacks on the floor at the foot of the beds and followed after. Men’ak closed the door behind himself, and they watched her disappear down the hall.

  “She seems to always be in an awful hurry,” Men’ak grumbled under his breath.

  They started down the stairs, trying to keep up. Dra’kor ducked and Men’ak didn’t, catching the beam mid-forehead. Dra’kor heard the loud thunk and spun around in time to see a red-faced Men’ak rubbing his forehead and swearing like a gutter rat. He looked up to see Dra’kor with a smirk on his face.

  “What?” he growled.

  Dra’kor never stopped grinning and just shrugged his shoulders, before turning and navigating the remaining steep stairs. They crossed the common room and sat down at a small wooden table in the rear, near the fireplace as D’Arron headed off to the kitchen to fetch their lunch.

  Dra’kor removed his oil cloak and draped it across the open windowsill. He turned and joined Men’ak by the fire, warming his hands. He took a couple steps pulled out the stool and threw his leg over. He scooted the stool close to the table.