“— Strangest thing,” she said, reflecting on that small detail. “They haven’t slaughtered a single cow, lamb or pig.”
“Does seem strange, not like the wolves I know,” Dra’kor said, putting his hand over his mouth and rubbing his short beard.
Men’ak grumbled under his breath, “just as soon eat their young …”
“Hmm,” she grunted.
Dra’kor rubbed his eyes and temples, “Brag? I think his name was Brag, said the critters showed up early spring?”
He was trying to build a better idea of the timeline, but exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on his ability to focus.
“I seem to recall that the ground was still covered with snow. We lost five people in that first attack. Eight total now if you count Haagen. We built the wall around the town after that first attack,” she said quietly, tears in her eyes. “We lost good people … friends. Town’s small, everyone plays a part.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dra’kor said sincerely. “It sounds like it’s been a bloody horrible year so far.”
“It has! I appreciate your understanding …,” D’Arron said, and her voice trailed off as she wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I guess I’ve been kind of ignoring the pain of the loss.”
“We should leave you alone —” Dra’kor said, admonishing himself for dragging up bad memories.
“I suppose we should go have that bath before the water gets too cold,” Men’ak said, understanding his friend’s reluctance to continue the conversation at this time.
“We’ll talk more after we’ve cleaned up if you’d like. Can we hang our dirty clothes up somewhere to air out?”
“Sure Dra’kor. Why don’t you hang them up on the pegs by the tubs? I’ll have them washed,” she said as she turned to go toward the kitchen. “I’ll leave you alone while you bathe. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
“You’re not a mess, but I’m afraid we have had you dredge up some rather unpleasant thoughts. We’re really sorry for that,” Dra’kor lamented.
“You’ll have to excuse me for a bit,” D’Arron said, looking down at the necklace. “I need to take these to Bethany. She’s got a right to know.”
They nodded, knowing she knew how her friend would feel. Knowing is always better than the fretting and anxiety, even when the news was bad.
She stood up, walked out the front door, and turned up the street in the direction of the homes at the far end of the street.
The two magi got up from their meal and went upstairs. Dra’kor picked up his knapsack and threw it onto the bed as he sat down to remove his shoes. He grunted as he yanked his foot free of the slightly damp leather. “I can’t wait to take a bath,” he said grimacing as his aches and pains made their presence known.
“Me neither,” said Men’ak, agreeing wholeheartedly.
“I think I’ll take my robe into the water with me and clean it a bit …” Dra’kor said, as he stripped down. He draped his other robe over his shoulders and cinched it at the waist. He pulled out the message box and placed a careful spell over it. It went invisible and Dra’kor shoved it under the pillow adding a ward for good measure.
He and Men’ak made the trip down the rear stairs and out to the back room where two big tubs were sitting full of tepid water. Dra’kor set his dirty clothes on a short table sitting near the tub. He stripped off his robe and slid into the water after setting his towel on the small wooden stool that sat next to the tub and hanging his robe on a peg. He grabbed the bar of soap off the stool and lathered down.
“Oh, that feels marvelous,” a contented Dra’kor moaned as he used a touch of magic to further heat the water to steaming and added a little more to heal his wounds. He set his head back on the edge of the tub and closed his eyes.
Men’ak slid into the other tub and smiled at Dra’kor. “You’re right, that does feel great.”
Dra’kor slid his head under the water and scrubbed his hair with the soap. He rinsed off and sighed.
Men’ak reached across the void between the two tubs. “Can you pass the soap?”
Dra’kor handed his friend the soap and felt the warm water soothing his aches and pains. He rubbed his freshly healed wounds and massaged the small of his back, strained while fighting the wolven.
The two magi sat in silence for a long time just enjoying the simple pleasure of a warm bath. They felt much better after they had soaked for a while. Dra’kor asked for the soap back, caught the bar and scrubbed his legs and feet. When he finished, he threw the bar back over to Men’ak.
“It feels so good to be clean,” Men’ak said, as he leaned over and washed his dirty feet.
“I never thought I’d miss bathing as much as I have these past few days. I cannot remember the last time I went for more than a day without a bath,” he said as he contemplated their outing. “Living in the Keep has made us soft —”
“I don’t mind being soft,” Men’ak said, as he laughed. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this adventuring. For all the complaining we did at the Keep …”
“It has caught me a bit by surprise,” Dra’kor chuckled. “But moments like these …”
“— are so sweet!’ Men’ak finished his sentence. “So, how has our trip surprised you so far?”
Dra’kor sat up straight in the tub, “Well for starters, I never imagined I’d be this sore all the time. I’m dirty, bone tired and sore. I feel every scrape, cut and broken bone.”
“Me too,” said Men’ak.
“Somehow in my head, only the adventure was in my dreams, not the cold, the dirt, or the sweat and pain. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Dra’kor shook his head side-to-side.
“It’s certainly unlike anything I had imagined it to be, it’s so much more somehow,” Men’ak echoed his friend’s feelings. “I guess I don’t mind it none, I just hope I don’t get a steady diet of dirt and cold, that’s all!”
Dra’kor grinned, “You know we almost lost our lives three times!”
“Sure, I know. But I’ve never felt as alive, have you?”
Dra’kor thought about it for a while, “I guess you’re right. I do feel alive.”
Men’ak nodded.
“As long as we get a nice warm bath every three days, I can live with the rest! Even the danger,” Dra’kor said, with a big toothy grin.
Men’ak looked over at his friend a little surprised. “You really don’t mind this?”
“No, not really! I think the root of our problem is the lack of conditioning and an absolute deficiency of experience. I feel stressed not knowing for sure if I’m doing the right thing. I abhor that.”
Men’ak thought about what Dra’kor had just said, and realized that he felt the same. It was the feeling helpless against the elements that had been bothering him too.
“Do you think we will ever get used to it?” Men’ak queried, looking over at his friend.
“Suppose we will,” an optimistic Dra’kor replied after much thought, “If it doesn’t kill us first —!”
Men’ak threw a big slosh of water at Dra’kor.
“I’m just saying,” Dra’kor laughed.
“Probably truer than most ye said today,” Men’ak grumbled, knowing it was the half of it.
“— Most?” said Dra’kor indignantly.
””You know it!” Men’ak shot back.
“I have been nothing if not forthright and honest with all we have met!” Dra’kor said, feigning hurt.
“Sure, and I’m one of the Ten,” Men’ak laughed.
“On that note, I’m going to wash my robe,” Dra’kor announced as he stood up ending the banter.
He stepped over to the tub wall and pulled his dusty robe off of the peg. He put it into the tub and stomped on it with his feet. He pulled it out, soaped it down, and threw it back in for another stomping. When he was satisfied it was clean, he rinsed it in a bucket of cold water next to the tubs, rung it out and hung it up on the peg to dry. He toweled dry and put on his new r
obe.
Men’ak begrudgingly got out of the tub and did the same. “Water’s getting cold anyway —”
“Mine is still piping hot,” Dra’kor winked.
Men’ak, realizing that Dra’kor had caught him again in complaining about something he could have fixed with a little magic, threw his wet robe at his friend’s head. Dra’kor deftly ducked out of the way and roared loudly, knowing that he had bested his friend. Again!
Men’ak felt stupid and wondered how many times it was going to take before he didn’t have to be told how and when to use his magic. He grumbled to himself, frustrated because Dra’kor always seemed to have this innate ability to know when and what to do. He supposed that was one of the reasons he admired him. He just wished he could be a bit more like him. He hated being teased, absolutely hated it!
The two wizards gathered their things and made their way back to their room. Dra’kor collapsed onto the bed. “I think I’ll take a short nap,” he announced as he bunched up the pillow. He plopped down only to feel the hidden box he had placed under the pillow. He removed it and set it on the small side table, slid back in and tossed the roughly woven wool blanket over his feet to keep them warm.
“Sounds like a good idea to me. I’m exhausted,” Men’ak said, as he yawned.
The two friends closed their eyes and took a nice two-hour nap, awakening mid-afternoon.
Dra’kor stretched as he awoke from his short nap. He had to admit that he felt much better. His body had really needed that time to heal. He felt better than he had at any time since they had left the Keep. He tossed back the blanket and sat up on the edge of the bed.
“I suppose we should go take a look at the crops,” Dra’kor mused out loud, more to himself than to Men’ak.
Men’ak sat up in bed, “Why don’t you go? I think I’ll hang out here for a bit. I’m not sure I can add much to what you’re going to do.”
“I guess I can do it alone. I really don’t think it will take too long,” Dra’kor announced as he walked to the door. “I’ll see you later.”
Men’ak grunted and waved before crawling back into bed. Dra’kor walked down the stairs and found D’Arron cleaning the inn. She looked up as he approached, “Did you have a nice bath?”
“We sure did, it relaxed us so much that we both took a short rest,” said Dra’kor, a bit ashamed.
“Did you leave your dirty clothes out back?”
“We did, but we washed them in the tub before we set them out to dry. We don’t want to be a bother,” said Dra’kor smiling.
“Well, I’ll let you get away with it this time, but next time, you let me wash your dirties. That’s what you paid for!” She shook her finger and scolded Dra’kor in a good-natured way.
“Agreed. Now, where can I find this Brag fellow? I need to take a look at the fields and gardens to see if I can figure out why your crops are failing,” Dra’kor said.
“You can probably find him down at the tavern. There’s nothing much else to do these days so the men folk spend most of their time throwing dice and drinking,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I hope they snap out of it soon.”
“Thanks. I don’t think I will be gone too long. Maybe we can talk when I get back?”
“That would be nice,” she said as she went back to her task of cleaning the inn.
It actually felt good that someone wanted to talk to her. It had been a long time and she missed the intimacy of sharing her thoughts the most. Since her husband passed away, she had felt a bit of a loner. Most of the Three Rivers folks were married and if not, weren’t exactly good company.
She had grown up in a teacher’s family; her dad had been well educated and had known much of the world. After he married her mother, they had moved back to the country where he taught for a local church and raised his family, her, her sister and her two brothers. She missed her parents and her brothers. But she especially missed the smell of her dad and his quirky ways.
She still vividly remembers sitting on his lap listening to stories when she was a small child. He would light up his pipe, sit in front of the fire, and spin a yarn. He acted out the parts, she loved how his eyes sparkled, and his voice was full of laughter. She liked the way he held her and made her feel like the most important person in his life. He had a way, that’s for sure.
Dra’kor let himself out of the inn, closing the door carefully behind him and walked down the street toward the tavern. D’Arron was right, the town was deserted. No one was out on the street. He quickly made the short trip down to the tavern, passing the unfinished building and pushed his way in through the doors. Almost every head turned to face his way when he entered.
Dra’kor saw the man, sitting at a table with three others. They had a row of empty glassed parked in the center of the table and a pile of coins. They were playing some game that involved cards.
“Ah, Brag. I was looking for you. Thought I’d take a gander at the gardens and crops to see if I can figure out why nothing is growing,” Dra’kor said, with a welcoming smile.
“I guess we could take a look,” mumbled a disheartened Brag, more than a little tipsy from his several drinks. “Mind if I finish my ale first?”
“No, you go right ahead,” Dra’kor said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game.”
Brag pulled out a stool. “You ain’t interrupting nothin’, would you like to join us?
“I guess I could, seems I don’t have anything pressing to do,” said Dra’kor, sitting down on the small wooden stool.
Brag pointed to Dra’kor catching the bartender’s attention. “— Ale for our friend here. You play?”
“Never learned.”
“Too bad, we could use a fourth. I fold!” he said, throwing his cards into the center facedown.
Dra’kor remained sitting as the bartender brought a frothy mug of ale over to the table. Dra’kor pulled out his purse, but Brag set his hand on top. “This one’s on me.”
“I appreciate it,” said Dra’kor, raising the glass to his lips and taking a sip. The ale was better than he expected, nicely herbed, slightly chilled. He raised his mug to the bartender and gave him a warm smile.
The bartender nodded. He knew his ale was good. He had the magic beer stick his father had given him to stir the sweet wort. He was careful to never wash it, keep it damp and always keep it covered, just as his father had told him.
He had helped his dad make ale when he was a wee lad. His dad’s ale was the best in the county, his recipe never changed. When he married and moved to Three Rivers, his dad gave him the stick and made him promise to keep the recipe the same. Rough ground malted barley, half of which he roasted for sweetness, water, heat to just about hot. Let ‘er set for a while, bring it to a boil, cool it down and stir it with his stick thrice a day for two weeks, keep it covered with a damp rag. When the foaming stopped, add in the evergreen herbs and spices, and the green flowers if you could find them.
His dad said the flowers were the secret. Sometimes he could find them, sometimes not. He kept bags of them in the back, picking as much as he could when he stumbled onto a patch. They made the ale taste a tad sour and spicy. He used them sparingly, not wanting to run out. He glanced down at the bag under the counter. It was already half empty. He knew where they grew in the forest, but he’d be damned if he was going outside these walls without a small army.
The rest of the recipe was simple, pour the clear liquor into a keg and let ‘er set. Chill in a deep underground room until you serve it. It actually got better with age, but the crew around this place never gave his ale time to age. He laughed to himself.
“So tell me about this crop situation? D’Arron says you’ve had troubles with your greens.”
“Not just the greens, all our gardens are doing poorly. There ain’t nothin’ else to tell, really. This year nothing will grow, not a damn thing. Some seems to start out fine, but dies after a few days, grows back a little, and next day it dies back again. Other don’t do nothin’,” Brag said, shak
ing his head in disappointment. He finished his drink and immediately ordered another.
“Has this been going on for the whole season?”
“Has!” said another man, who was at the table. “Since the snow cleared a month ago.”
“Just like John said, it’s been wrong from day one, started right after snow melt. We usually get in a couple good crops of peas in the spring, nice greens. This year, nothing grows, not even the dandelions,” Brag said, slamming his mug onto the table, sloshing some of its contents out. “I just don’t understand it. Corn hasn’t even come up.”
“Well, we can take a look. Maybe something got into the seed or soil,” said Dra’kor. “These things can be hard to spot.”
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” Brag replied rubbing his temple. “We could really use a break. This has turned out to be a horrible year for the town. People are talking about leaving —”
“Well, whenever you’re ready, we can take a look,” Dra’kor nodded as he took another drink from his mug.
The two finished their ale and made their way to the door. Brag staggered a little and slammed into the door. John grabbed him to steady his walk, but Brag just threw his shoulder at John and brushed off his help.
“I’m okay …,” he grumbled as he pushed away John’s hand and put on his large floppy leather hat.
A few of the other patrons also tagged along as they made their way up the street toward the gate. Dra’kor knew he was being watched. The wives of the garrison had all stopped their chores and were watching the procession with eyes shielded from the morning sun. On the far side of the stable, a long narrow area was spaded and had rows and stakes set.
“Here’s the first garden,” Brag said, looking down with disgust. “We have three others inside the walls. The bigger fields are all outside, but they’re all the same.”
Brag let out a loud belch. “That’s better,” he said with a snicker. “We can look at those if you want, but I doubt they’ll tell you anything these won’t.”
Dra’kor kneeled down and scooped up a big hand full of dirt. He examined it, sifting it through his fingers. He let a small thread of magic out his fingers and dropped the soil as if it was on fire. It wasn’t really necessary because he detected the magic as soon as he touched it, but he wanted to be sure. He hid his hand, which had small blisters on it from the touch of dark magic. Someone or something had purposefully poisoned their crops.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep Page 41
