“Aye, thanks, mate,” the man managed to croak when he was done. He leaned against the trunk of the oak, the last drops of water still dripping from his tangled bronze hair. “Dunno if'n I woulda made it to town alive without that.” His eye rested on me, then Sir Brown Horse with all our goods laden on him.
“You two headin' where I was comin' from?” he asked as his head lolled to the side. When Hawke gave him a small nod, he spat, “Then best you turn back. Find another way around, or a caravan strong enough to cross the Madness.”
“Is it that bad?” Hawke asked. He had procured some linen from our supplies and started to dress the man's wounds.
“No more than usual, but it's startin' to creep into the area around it too. Town I just came from is practically in Madness itself. Place by the name o' Grits…some big lummox with a great honkin' sword took the town for his own, demandin' payment from anyone passin' through. If'n you can't pay with coin, you pay with blood. He says you can go without coughin' up anythin' if'n you can make him give up, but guy's strong as an ox. You keep down this road, it's the only place you can reach.”
Hawke listened closely while he worked, occasionally stealing a glance down the road. The injured man gave a shrug.
“ 'Pose you could try the hillside around it, but th' ground's not so good for horses, and bandits like to prowl th' forests. Like I said, best turn and find some protection.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” said Hawke. He walked to Sir Brown Horse and busied himself for a few minutes, returning with a bulging satchel. He tossed it at the traveler's feet.
“That should last you until you reach Sapir. Sorry I can't take you back myself, but I doubt the horse could handle all three of us. Rest well and take your time, and you should make it to Sapir within a day or two.”
“I really don' wanna see nice folks like yourselves meanderin' off to danger, 'specially not the little one,” he said with a pointed look in my direction.
“We'll be fine. Micasa, let's get going.”
Hawke helped me back onto the horse, though even with the break it still hurt to sit the saddle. As we took to the road again, I chanced one more look at the stranger. He was already fast asleep under the willow.
Our trip was relatively uneventful after that strange encounter, save for my growing discomfort with horse riding. Hawke assured me that I'd get used to it each time we took one of our frequent stops to let me rest, but the initial magic I felt for our adventure was already wearing thin. Thankfully, by our fourth day of travel Hawke's promise had more or less come true and I found Sir Brown Horse's rhythmic plodding growing bearable.
It was on that day that we finally caught sight of the first signs of human habitation we had since leaving Sapir. This town was far different from what I had been used to after seeing the likes of Changirah and Sapir. Most of the buildings were small houses of mud and brick with thatched roofs, tiny picket fences quartering off their territory. Chickens and pigs clucked and snuffled around the loosely packed dirt roads, and a couple farms could be seen quietly growing a ways off some side roads, but not a single person could be found nearby.
“I was hoping we could get some supplies here, but it might as well be a ghost town,” Hawke murmured to himself as we clopped down the road. He vaulted off Sir Brown Horse and took him by the reins, guiding us both at a slower pace towards the edge of town where the only wooden structure stood. Above its awning stood a sign that, with trouble, I made out:
SHERIFF
“What's a shuriff?” I asked him, struggling to figure out how to pronounce the word.
“I'm the one who's haulin' in this scruffy vagrant.”
I started, almost falling off the horse, while Hawke whipped around to see who was speaking right behind us. With some trouble, I was able to crane around to get a look at the biggest man I had ever seen. While Hawke was about twice as tall as me, the giant was almost three times my size. His greasy black hair was pulled back into a hasty topknot, and his beard was short but almost completely unkempt, a mass of wiry oil locks suffocating his face. His dirty burlap robe was pulled tight around his massive frame, tied loosely with a piece of rope. By far, though, the most alarming accessory was the massive broadsword he leaned against lazily like a cane. Its blade was as long as I was tall, and despite his grimy appearance, the blade was meticulously cared for, gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
“Ah, you're the sheriff then? Wonderful, I was looking for the nearest inn so we could rest up before setting out tomorrow. We're heading towards the Madness and might need—”
“Shut it,” snapped the giant even as he put on a swinish smile. “We don't tolerate vagabonds in Grits. You got a choice – give your coin to the town, or give your flesh a taste of m'steel here.” He patted the flat of the blade almost affectionately.
“Is that really necessary?” Hawke held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. “We're just weary travelers from Sapir here to settle down for a night before we're on our way. We'd be glad to spend some money for what little we need, and we'll be gone before we're a nuisance.”
The brusque sheriff pulled the tip of his blade from the ground with a soft 'shink' and pointed it at Hawke's throat. “There's no negotiations. Pay now or find yourself a weapon and get ready. I'm not unfair, though,” his slimy grin widened. “If you can make me cry uncle, I'll let ya go with all your limbs and your purse a little heavier than otherwise. Pretty good deal, eh?” He took a step forward, but a cry from a nearby house gave him pause.
“Oy, Boss Man Apollo! Why not give 'em a spell to sleep it off?”
All our heads turned in unison to see a small balding man with a very large mustache waving from the window of the house nearest the sheriff's office. “Won't get a good fight out of some straggler fresh off a day's ride! We'll hole him up here for the night, so he can't run off and will be ready and rarin' for you tomorrow!”
The man called Apollo narrowed his eyes but didn't lash out at the interruption like I thought he would. After a quick glance back, he nodded slowly.
“Yeah, okay, why not? Looks like you got some time to get your things in order, scum.” He lowered his sword and started dragging it back towards his office. “Go ahead and take the night to make your decision. I'll be within hollerin' distance, so don't think you can bail out in the darkness. I'm looking forward to sunrise…” He snickered coldly as he pulled open the dilapidated door to his office and slammed it shut, wherein it promptly fell off.
The mustachioed man had meanwhile jumped through the window and ran to us, though even such a short distance had seemed too much for him as he doubled over gasping for breath. Unlike most people I had seen on the journey, this man wore the type of white shirt and blue coveralls that I mostly saw farmers wear. It was a dress style that always reminded me of the overseers. I shuddered, almost able to hear the snap of the lash.
“Sorry 'bout that,” he huffed as he tried to look up at Hawke. “You picked a bad, bad town to wander into, fella. Here, tie up yer horse and bring the little one in, and I'll explain things over the missus' stew.”
It turned out that the man's house was similarly furnished to the few inns we had stayed at so far, making me wonder if maybe it was one at some point. The man's wife had already laid out four bowls of stew on a table, her face sporting the smallest of frowns. As I sat to eat, I had a strange hankering for a sandwich to go with it.
“Name's Earl, stranger. This is m'wife Giselle,” mustached man said, his wife bowing ever so slightly at her introduction. “The 'sheriff' you just had the misfortune of meetin' is Apollo: meanest S.O.B. this side o' the Madness.”
“Any reason you elected such a crazy fellow as sheriff?” Hawke asked as he leaned back, brow furrowed and arms crossed. His stew remained untouched.
“Elected? That's funny. Yer a funny one,” Earl said through a spoonful. “Tha' beast just wandered in one day some years back an' said the place was under his protection. The old sheriff tried to drive 'im off, but he's a
dang vicious one. Cut down him and half a dozen good men before we wised up and gave in. Even built him tha' eyesore of an office t' keep him satisfied.”
“Earl, why are we wastin' time and good food on this lout?” Giselle spoke up. Her hands rested on her hips, and she glowered at her husband. “Should've just left 'im to pay or limp off half a man. Didn't hold him back when tha' last poor bloke came amblin' through, did ya?”
“THA' ONE—” he started to shout, but almost immediately quieted down and stole a furtive look out the window towards Apollo's office. When he was sure there was no movement, he spoke again, much softer. “Tha' one didn't have a little one with 'im, did he?” He looked to me with sad eyes. “Why would you bring such a lass to such a terrible place?” The question wasn't for me.
“There was no other way for us to go. We're destined for the Old Kingdom. This was the best way.” Hawke played with the spoon sitting in his rapidly congealing gruel but still didn't touch a bite. “My question is, what does Apollo get out of this? If he just wants the money, why doesn't he just attack travelers and take the money afterward? Why the ultimatum?”
“Ulti-whata?” Earl said, digging his finger into his ear. “Tha' question's easy, though. Apollo's a bloodthirsty beast, bu' he wants to prove he can beat anyone in a fight.” Earl stopped talking to whip out a pipe and stuff it. He lit, took a puff, and let the smoke dribble from his nose. Hawke frowned and stole a glance at me, but remained silent.
“Yer right,” Earl kept on, “this is the best road through the Madness. Tha's why he holds up here waitin' for lone stragglers to pass by. He doesn't need the coin, he weasels plenty outta us for his 'services', but he figgers the people with coin to pay aren't worth the trouble anywho. He wants people to try an' fight their way out, so he can show off how good he is with tha' sword. And if there's one thing he is, it's dang good with a sword.”
“And if we try to sneak away right now, you're the ones who'll have to pay my price, won't you,” Hawke added. Giselle turned from the dishes she was doing in surprise, and Earl swallowed hard.
“Aye, so you could tell? Usually, the townsfolk hole up in their houses when they catch wind of someone wanderin' through. Don't wanna chance being taken for an accomplice if they get away from Apollo. Sorry, boy, but we're not much better than them. I'll call for the Boss Man if I see ya runnin' too. I hope ya understand.”
Hawke lowered his gaze, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of emotion come over him. Anger? Guilt? I couldn't quite tell, but he raised his head and nodded.
“That's all I need to know,” he said. “Thanks for telling us. We'll be off to bed then. The sheriff said he'd be by at sunrise for me, yes?” Earl nodded, looking away.
“Thanks for the stew, Ma'am!” I said as I hopped from the chair. She looked at me with a pained expression.
“Weren't nothin', dear,” she replied hesitantly. I smiled at her and followed Hawke to the room Earl had pointed out for us to use.
The bedroom was more of a closet, almost completely overtaken by the straw stuffed-mattress covered in sheets that counted as a bed. A small oil lantern hung from the ceiling, which Hawke lit before planting himself in an empty corner. He had the long, belted bundle that Fern had given him across his lap, and was undoing the clasps on a small bulky case I had seen tied behind our other things on Sir Brown Horse.
“Best you get to sleep early, Micasa, we're heading out early tomorrow,” he said. He reached into the case and pulled out an instrument. It was similar to the violin I saw at the concert, only much larger.
“Did you get that in Sapir?” I asked as I climbed under the massive sky blue quilt. He nodded, plucking a couple of the strings while fiddling with some pegs at the top of the neck.
“It's called a guitar. I considered taking that double-necked violin with me, but that kind of instrument is far too fancy for my taste.” He toyed with the strings a bit more, then started to strum out a quiet tune. Even with how softly he played, it filled the room with a warmth that made me want to drift off, but worry kept me from being able to.
“Will you be okay?” I asked as I pulled the covers over my chin. The bed was lumpy and a little itchy from the odd straw poking out, but with Hawke's song wafting in the air, it somehow felt more comfortable than any bed I'd been in before.
“Against Apollo? I think it'll work out,” he mused as he strummed absentmindedly. “He has some of my essence. I figure that's why he's so dangerous, and why I wanted to come this way.”
“You can tell that?”
“It's like I said to you before, I can feel my essence like it's pulling me. It was the same with Claudio in Sapir, though I didn't know who had it exactly until I saw him in the concert. Now that I've started gaining some of it back, the pull's getting stronger, and Apollo definitely has it. I just need to touch him, and like the others, I'll take it back.”
I recalled back to the fake Master Morau's manor and to Claudio's dressing room, to the bright flash of light when he touched them and how he became something more with each one.
“What did he take?” I asked, growing sleepier with each passing moment. Hawke's song wasn't helping – the gentle noise only made it harder to keep my eyes open.
“He has my ability to fight, I'd wager,” he said, his song never faltering. “It would explain his propensity for starting fights. If that's the case, it shouldn't be too bad. It's a lucky thing we met Johann first…”
His words were already fading as I tumbled into the irresistible pull of sleep.
* * *
It was a pounding at the door that snapped me awake some hours later. For a second I looked around panicked, thinking I was late for my chores on the plantation, but the call from the other side of the door was that of mustachioed Earl.
“Rise up, Mr. Stranger! Boss Man's here for your answer, and he won't wait too long!”
Hawke stood from the corner almost immediately, making me wonder if he had slept at all last night. The guitar was back in its case, but he shouldered the other bundle and pushed his glasses up his nose before looking to me.
“Stay where I can see you, but don't get too close to us. Things might get a bit hairy.”
I nodded and jumped out of bed, stretching the kinks from my back as Hawke marched out the door with purpose. I was right behind him, past Earl (who all but threw himself backwards out of our way) and straight out the door.
Apollo stood in the street, leaning against his sword once more. It seemed to be shining even brighter than yesterday. It wouldn't have surprised me if he had been up all night polishing it.
Hawke, in turn, took the buckles off the wrap and pulled off the cloth, revealing a plain black scabbard with a long straight handle at the end. In one swift motion, he grabbed the hilt and tossed the sheath aside, revealing a plain but sharp looking longsword, its steel unscratched and gleaming in the early morning sun. It looked as if it had never been touched until now.
“Damn it, Fern, I wanted a curved sword,” Hawke murmured as he looked over the blade. “At least it's good steel.”
“Well, this one's got more gumption than the others!” drawled Apollo. He snorted in what must have passed for appreciation from him. Hawke locked eyes and walked into the street, holding his sword at an angle towards the sheriff. Both stood perfectly still save for the gentlest of breezes that ruffled their clothing.
It was Apollo who swung first, bringing his hefty sword up in a great carving arc. Hawke stepped aside, but Apollo wasted no time bringing the blade around in another huge swing. This time Hawke ducked, narrowly avoiding losing his head, but still the giant continued with one great blow after another.
“Boy's not bad,” commented Earl. I looked around and saw several other faces peering cautiously from behind curtains or doors cracked open. One by one, the folks of Grits joined the audience as Hawke patiently stepped away from every blow their “Boss Man” threw at him.
“Step-in-and-bleed-already!” Apollo grunted each word as he attacke
d, sweat starting to dot his brow. It was clear that any strike landed would take a limb off, yet the way Hawke moved, it was almost like he could see what was coming well ahead of time.
“If you insist.”
Even as he said this, Hawke's blade rose for the first time. Instead of striking at Apollo, his blow landed on the flat of his enemy's blade, knocking it aside mid-swing. In a single step, Hawke drove himself chest to chest with Apollo. The sheriff's eyes went wide, but Hawke only smirked and placed his hand over Apollo's face.
There was a cry of surprise, but I knew what was coming and I turned away just before the cascade of light poured forth. The next shout came from Earl, doubtless blinded, and I felt a little guilty for not warning him before.
When I looked back, Hawke was already stepping back, his sword held out again and his eyes still completely fixed on his opponent. Apollo, on the other, hand, was quivering, his eyes darting back and forth in confusion.
“I knew it,” Hawke said with a fierce triumph. “What a way to use my art, holding farmers hostage to get some cheap kicks swinging a sword. What a beast you are.”
Apollo ground his teeth together and bellowed, lunging forward with his blade pointed straight at him. Hawke pushed it aside with his bare hand and spun in a single move, closing the gap instantly again. Somewhere in that movement, he had brought his blade directly under Apollo's chin, but I hadn't noticed until Hawke started talking again.
“Now, normally I'd do this myself, but I think it'd be better to leave this to the people of Grits to mete out your punishment. I'll just give you your payment–” in a few deft flicks of his sword, Hawke scored a number of cuts along Apollo's arms, legs and back in the span of a couple seconds, “–and take my leave, as you promised.”
The sheriff replied with a howl pain, as if only just realizing he'd been hurt. He crumpled to the ground shaking, dropping his sword as he clutched his face for protection. Hawke walked back to the house, expression blank, and put the sword back in its sheath.
Broken Soul (The Scholar's Legacy Book 1) Page 7
