On some days Elliott came past and accompanied Landau, though only ever to play, and never offered to assist in any way. Elliott could only suffer the barn for a moment before a scuttling bug would send him running back to the village. If bugs weren't bothering him the Arens certainly did, birds that dwelled in the Elms that encompassed the village, their shrieks enough to interrupt the deepest thinker. Their wings exhibited majesty, their legs however were minuscule and trifling; their colorful walk and loud screech resulted in men who were drunk, clumsy or obnoxious being referred to as Arens.
Elliott thought it comical to mimic and chase them, only to be swooped upon and run down himself.
"Somethin’ possesses them birds no mistakin'. Can't have a laugh at themselves."
"They're probably upset you stole their egg last month," said Landau.
"Hardly stole it, found it lyin' on the ground is all, Elder says we best not eat it. Besides I gave it some eggs to make up for it."
"You brought them those chicken eggs from Maybird's garden."
"A fair trade by my reckonin', Arens could learn a thing or two off chickens."
Landau couldn't help but laugh at his naivety. The despair of finishing a barrel to look upon dozens more was mentally exhausting, and his hard callous hands were a departure from his soft wrinkled fingers from washing dishes. It was a change to work unsupervised yet he lounged rarely, looking yonder past the stream he was thrilled at the prospect of horses living here, and the chance to ride one, and wander the open grass. A smile crept across his sweat soaked face, though the thought was short lived before he wiped his brow and returned to draw closer an end to his task.
It was some days later when Clancey reappeared, a few wagons had followed him down from Tripple with logs of timber, accompanied by laborers who helped the wood off the cart before bustling to shape the fences. Clancey was impressed at Landau's progress, if not disheartened by the number of crates awaiting his regard.
With the excitement of his paddock coming to fruition he familiarized himself with the tavern, and invited Landau and his father for a complimentary meal. Nicholas scarcely left the house for any occasion, but Landau had been working hard to burden him with the duty of cooking, Nicholas agreed it was a welcome gesture. Landau was inspired to make his father appear orderly; the beard was trimmed, shoes were polished and his finest jacket was dusted off and buttoned up until his father looked remarkably decent. Nicholas shrugged off his appearance but was nevertheless amorous as he watched the sun depart outside his window to know the time was close at hand.
"I'm still not sure about this Landau, I'm much more comfortable staying in for a small feed."
"C'mon dad, Clancey just wants to thank me for all the hard work I've been doing. He thought it would be nice for us to have dinner at the tavern and save me the extra labor. He seemed plenty excited to prepare a meal for us, it'll be good to get out and be amongst the people."
"I'm quite content to stay here lad, I grow tired of being a spectacle to these people, hounded with questions about how I'm feeling. It's energy enough to put up with it in the morning, I don't need it all night," he complained.
"How long has it been since you were last inside the tavern? You used to love going there. You must admit you look quite striking," Landau said and Nicholas gave himself an amative glimpse in the mirror.
"It's not that son. Clancey is a good friend, and I do miss the 'Barrel' terribly. I just don't like people seeing me so helpless. It's not the man I used to be. As much as I try to ignore it I see it in people's faces, I only need drop my fork to send the tavern into a frenzy. I hope you understand," his words were as honest as his father had spoken of himself in weeks.
"Your advice to me once was to act confident, even if I’m not. Is that not suited here?"
"Ah my boy, perhaps I would be quite the charlatan if I did not heed my own advice. Besides Clancey is right, you have earned this for your hard work. This night is not about me, however I would be delighted to share it with you."
He gave him a hug, having his father accompany him to dinner mattered immensely. Landau escorted him down to the docks where the smell of fresh meat emanated from the tavern.
"You know Mother Maybird's sister will be here tonight, Elliott says she somewhat fancies you." Nicholas grimaced at the thought.
"Do not make me change my mind."
It was long since Nicholas had glanced over the sea so close, to hear the splash of water on rock and treasure the sea breeze tickling his cheek was gratifying. Villagers gave him a warm welcome, though he felt awkward by the celebrity he inherited, eyes everywhere gawked and gazed towards him yet he embraced it, delighted to sit down in the tavern with his son in anticipation of a handsome meal.
Landau took advantage of the occasion to enjoy a night on the opposite side of the bar, quaffing a full cup of juice before he ordered Elliott to retrieve it. Clancey approached with plates bejewelled with sizzling chicken, golden potatoes and a serving of soft bread, and not the very least, a tankard of his ale.
"Here my friend, I feared you may have forgotten the taste of a good brew."
"Ah, 'tis how I remember it," said Nicholas revitalized.
"I was hoping the waft of my stove would entice you to come tonight, I prepared a mouth-watering feast no less for the two of you to enjoy."
"My son deserves such a treat. You do good by him Clancey, it is always appreciated."
"I hope you don't mind me cutting holes into your barn. Stables need good ventilation, diseases spread more readily if there isn't any, infectious ones at that."
"It was a long time ago Clancey, I'm surprised it's still in good health as it is."
"You give yourself little credit friend," he replied, before he asked Allegra the village flute player to indulge the tavern folk with a melody.
Instantly her enchanted whistle shepherded people to clap and cheer, laughter and lyric like it so often did intertwined within the tavern. Landau enjoyed his meal thoroughly, and left nothing to waste. Clancey knew how to bring flavor to the plate and all but a few crumbs went unconsumed.
Between the numerous drinks and captivating tunes he watched his father enjoy a rare moment he thought lost on him. He spoke of how Clancey regaled his patrons with stories, before explaining the tasks he made him do, Nicholas was delighted to listen. The old adventurer was encumbered with questions about his new business venture, but eventually he returned with more of his brew and took a seat beside them. He and his father conversed with a belly of ale, their laughter in each other's company had long been absent.
"How is it up in Tripple these days?" asked Nicholas. "I've longed to return to see what's become of the timber moors, see if any of the old boys are still striking lumber like they used to."
"There were none that I could recognize, though if you were looking for a familiar smile you would be hard pressed to find one. There's a solemnness that motions through that town like some fretful fog," Clancey said.
"It has been many years since my last visit. I wager much of the farm-lands have changed in years gone by. I begin to forget a land exists outside of Porthos, for so long I have dwelled here. Still, a soft spot for Tripple I will always have. A lot of great memories of mine rest in that place."
"You and I have always seen Tripple differently. If Bruiser could manage the distance to Nellore I would have taken my business there and spent the extra coin. It seems all dealings in Tripple can't go past the greedy hand of Sabjorn, Elder indeed; the task of taking some simple laborers was enough to aggrieve him, regardless of how much gold he could swindle. The townsfolk detest how he squanders their coin, yet idly they sit and let it continue. Makes Serin look like a king." Nicholas laughed in Clancey's frustration.
"I heard Inon moved north beyond the farmlands, old man worked that anvil for sixty years and only now sought to seek a new challenge. How times have changed. I fear I will never get there again."
"You look upon yourself poorly old friend. You let a f
ew sore muscles keep you from living your life. Your lad here has much to learn from you yet, there's no advantage in continuing to doubt yourself."
Nicholas was not impressed at such a statement.
"I wish it were that simple. My body grows weak even if the will is strong. You know me well enough Clancey, I work myself to exhaustion, perhaps that is the cause of it. A fine fate given to me by the Ancients no less."
"It shouldn't dour what little time we have in life my friend. I would give you aid but you would only refuse it."
"I am in no need of charity friend," he said with some bitterness, and Clancey detected his apprehension.
"I don't mean to offend. I will leave you be," he smiled with his trademark grin before he joined Timothy at the bar.
The tavern music flooded the senses, fisherman and farmers united in dance as villagers embraced in the cheer of the harmony. Landau was happy to look upon it, sat by the roaring fire with his dad no less, clapping and shouting the chorus to one of many songs.
As the night stretched on Nicholas' merriment dwindled, engaged in the evening cheer to now look on in gloomful angst. Landau figured Clancey's ale would weave its malevolence and hasten him to a deep slumber, but a scowl soon ran across his father’s face, one he did not recognize.
Landau guided his father slowly back to the house, struggling to ferry the weight he planted upon his shoulder. He gripped his waist tight and steered him towards their porch, whimpering while he juggled to hold his father and open the door. Inside the light of the moon gave him a vague view. Landau was barely capable of lugging his body, yet he managed to drag Nicholas inside.
Once the door closed his father became animated, away from prying ears he began to voice his resentment towards Clancey, as though he’d been longing to speak his mind.
"How nimble does he think he is? He thinks I exaggerate such things, like some act for consolation no less! I've seen the way his hands tremble. He thinks I do not notice but I can see, yet still has the mind to beguile me with his pity. Where does he find nerve to mock me?"
Landau was taken aback by his sudden animosity.
"I don't think he meant anything by it dad, he's probably just worried about you that's all."
"Him and every other person here, all looking at me the same way, through sympathetic eyes. I don't need their pity, milk drinkers the lot of ‘em! No doubt they fill your ears with empathy all day. I won't have it. I refuse you to work for such a blind-sighted man!"
Every word was slurred and enveloped in a smog of ale, his abrupt outburst had him muddled, and his father became increasingly frustrated.
"But dad I wanna do this, you wanted me to do this."
Nicholas sputtered at his reply and stomped towards his room.
"Well then go do it son!" he yelled. "I'm getting tired of you always feeling the need to help me. I am not useless!"
Landau went red and his lips quivered, and his father noticed he had roused his son to the point of misery. Nicholas stood idle to offer an apology but his head swam with anger, the longer he remained quiet the stronger effect it had. He collapsed on his bed head first, and lay on his shoulders, unperturbed by his awkward landing. Landau approached to roll him over and drag his head to the pillow, before he lifted his legs on top of the bed. He unbuttoned his father's jacket when he awoke aggravated and pushed his son with the back of his hand.
"Leave it son, I can do it myself," he insisted. "…I can do it."
With candle in hand Landau watched him move his fingers slowly to his chest to undo his buttons. He managed one, but the next was wedged in its socket and required a small pull, the fiddling began to frustrate Nicholas yet he persisted at it. Landau put down his candle to help.
"I CAN DO IT SON!"
Landau back-stepped in reaction to his father. Nicholas attempted with more aggression to pull at his button, until the sight of it bouncing across the wooden floor was the last Landau saw of it. His father collapsed in a deep breath, frustrated and exhausted. Landau peered at him, it had been a long time since his father raised his voice towards him. He was sad though did not tear, nor did his voice waver.
"Is there anything you need dad?"
"I just want to be alone," he muttered, half out of his shirt.
Landau was dumbfound whether to apologize or console him, in the end he went to bed, though couldn't sleep right away, awkward at the thought of feeling suddenly bothersome.
Quietly Landau entered his father's room come morning, his father in a deep slumber, still fully clothed and wreaking of ale. He opened the shutters in the hope the light would stimulate his skin to wake him, yet only murmured nonsense could his father make.
"Dad, did you want some breakfast this morning?" he whispered.
It was a strange question to ask, he cooked breakfast every day, this morning he felt compelled to ask permission. Nicholas' eyes were half open when he turned his head to squint at his son.
"No I just want to sleep."
"If you like dad I can stay home for the day, cook for you when you're ready." Nicholas shook his head, the light gleamed brighter through his window and he rolled over to escape it.
"No, no, do your work for Clancey," Landau could hear, surprised his father offered such an order after his rant last night, the rest of what he mumbled trailed off into his pillow. Landau walked out of the room, he had a piece of bread and left food for his father before he doused the fire and headed outside, less enthused than usual.
The barn was fully exposed with sunlight when Landau arrived, on approach he noticed Clancey inside already at work.
"Clancey sir, what are you doing here?"
"Ah Landau, thought I might give you some help this morning. You've done a good job thus far, by my reckoning if we go hard at it today we can have it done by the end of the week."
Clancey was eager to get his barn up and running and Landau welcomed the help.
He started on one side while Clancey managed the other, grabbing the heavy rubbish Landau couldn't lift. Profusely he drowned the silence talking about Timothy "…strong from chopping all that wood, think the lad will do mighty fine in Tripple, much like your father. Big occasion for Porthos too I imagine, be the first of Serin's kids to move on since he started taking them in, have a life of his own. Who knows what his plan be…"
Landau only half-listened, his mind on his father, long ago had they ventured to Tripple together, a sea of stumps his only recollection. He reminisced walking the village, watching people wave to his dad and holler his name; he thought it sad that walking with his dad was now but a memory. He progressed through another barrel while Clancey brought down more from the overlook, just when he thought he was making headway Clancey managed to find extra. The old adventurer was now on a tirade about Elliott, less uplifting than Timothy's evaluation.
"Serin I'm sure thinks the world of him, but I've seen plenty in my time to know something's wrong with him. Don't get me wrong lad, he's a good friend no doubt, but the kid wouldn't know he was wet if he were drowning in the ocean. And I imagine he'd sink something quick. I've known kids living in castles that can't grow to his size, surely Serin if he…"
Landau trailed off, it was a rant more than a conversation. More tarps, old blankets, worn clothes, be they Clancey's he couldn't tell. He lifted a robe from the barrel, a delicate hazel colored piece, fanciful if not for the stains that marred it. Underneath it he glanced down to find a book, the first he had found since he started.
He lifted it slowly, turning to observe Clancey who paid him no attention. The binding was glazed with jade, riddled with silver linings and ornate markings woven into the cover, a book with no name. Books were rarely decorated this elaborately, and inside he discovered thick, flowing pages, with parchment so exotic it smelled of lime, despite being layered with dust.
Before Landau could glimpse the text Elliott dashed in with a huff, frightening Clancey and forcing Landau to drop the book back into the barrel.
"Boy, don't y
our manners know better than to charge…"
"Nicholas is in trouble sir!" he said panting.
Clancey and Landau looked at each other in panic before they sprinted down to the house. Landau crashed through the door to find Nicholas curled up on the floor, unable to get up.
"Dad, dad!" he cried before he lifted him from the floor with Clancey's help, settling him slowly into his chair.
Clancey turned to Elliott, "Why didn't you help him?"
"He wouldn't let me! I was comin' to find Landau when I found him like this." Through watered eyes Landau looked at his father.
"Dad, what happened, do you need anything?"
"Ah," Nicholas panted, letting out a smile. "I just had a tumble son. Getting clumsy in my old age."
Landau jumped in his lap and hugged his father tightly. Clancey looked at Nicholas who turned to tears, not for Landau to see, but a clear, unspoken message to Clancey that he was helpless. Nicholas dried his eyes on his son's shoulder and curled his lip. Neither men wanted to admit it, but it was evident now, Nicholas was getting worse, and he could no longer stay here unassisted.
Chapter 3
ETCHED IN FLAME
A welcome warmth poured from the Elder's hearth, his door opened to hello Landau who hefted his bag of belongings, behind him Clancey shouldered Nicholas inside while Serin helped to lay him on the daybed opposite the fire. Landau admired how Serin could run a village while still taking in foundlings, along with Clancey the pair were largely overloaded with responsibilities, yet now they stood with all their concern on his father, and discussed what to do about his condition.
"They can stay in Timothy's room," Serin said to Clancey. "I thought maybe Tim could sleep in one of your inn rooms if it's no inconvenience. Perhaps he could stay in Nicholas' home, let it breathe a bit."
The Secret of Azuron (The Sword Empire Book 1) Page 4
