by K R Schultz
Aert scuttled to the table, radiating tension, shifting from one foot to the other as he took their order. He hustled away, fetched their drinks, and hurried back again, mugs in hand. Once Aert deposited their cups, he crossed the room and stopped at Rehaak’s table. “Can I get you more food or drink?”
Rehaak ignored Aert’s question, lowered his voice, and nodded toward the newcomers. “Do those fellows come here often?”
“Aye, they does,” Aert responded. “They first arrived a tenday ago, and they gives me the shivers just lookin’ at ’em. They is up to no good. Anyone can tell that right off. Why does you ask?”
“I may have met similar men several months ago.”
“And you survived to speak of it? Consider yourself lucky then. I hear they be assassins, but who they wants to kill in these parts is beyond my reckonin’. They’ll leave soon enough, thank the gods. They never stays long.”
Rehaak groaned, alarmed by Aert’s words. I could run for the door, but if they leave soon, I can wait them out. Rehaak sank lower in his seat, pulled his hat over his eyes, and tried to blend into the shadows. He checked that his staff still leaned against the wall beside him, and his hand slid toward the comforting weight of the knife in his belt.
Once he had steadied his nerves, he cupped his tankard in both hands like a determined drunk, lowered his head, and furtively watched the men. Long moments crept by. Rehaak waited for them to finish their meal and leave. He nursed his beer, his eyes fixed on the strangers from under the brim of his hat. He sat, shoulders hunched, and slumped against the log wall behind him. His knees bounced with nervous energy. Dreynar’s arrival might provide my excuse to leave and escape these men who look so much like the assassins I encountered earlier.
CHAPTER Seventeen
Dinner Party
As Aibhera and Simea prepared the evening meal, the door swung open with a creak. Eideron arrived ahead of his usual time, and Simea almost sliced his finger instead of the vegetables. He turned and stammered, “Good…evening Master Eideron. Th..this is my fr…friend Aibhera.
Eideron met Simea’s words with a curt nod and turned to Aibhera. “I am very pleased to meet you, young lady.” His brown eyes twinkled with a mixture of mirth and curiosity as he took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“As am I,” she replied and curtsied to the old man. “Simea and I have wanted to speak with you for quite—”
A loud crash interrupted her. Simea muttered, “Sorry, Master,” and began scooping up the pieces of the serving bowl and the vegetables strewn across the floor.
Simea’s clumsiness shocked Aibhera, unsure of how to react, she stood in stunned silence. A smile ghosted across the old man’s face before a somber mask replaced it. He surveyed the mess, then stooped to help Simea, and his reaction revealed the humility and gentleness hidden beneath his crusty facade. She instantly respected him, and his temperament matched her sincere and straightforward disposition.
Simea had mentioned that Eideron’s wife had died many years ago. At the time of her passing, Eideron was still young enough to remarry but chose to remain single. A powerful image of the old man grieving his wife’s loss came unbidden to Aibhera’s mind. He has likely lost many friends through his long life, and those losses have cut him, so he shields himself. It hurts too much to lose comrades. He cares passionately for his friends and our people and builds walls around his heart to keep it from breaking. In that way, Eideron is much like my sister Kyonna. I can trust him, and I like him.
I think Sim is right to believe Eideron is testing him. Eideron never lets people into his heart until they prove their trustworthiness beyond doubt. He probably plays the bad-tempered old codger to strengthen Sim’s resolve and courage. I wonder how many apprentices buckled under that strain and how many toughened because of it? It’s too bad Sim can’t understand it, but Sim is a gentle, timid soul.
Eideron’s smile betrayed chinks in the old man’s emotional armor, but he was still an imposing presence, a force that commanded respect and obedience. I understand why people call him the “Old Lion of the Synod.” I pity the unfortunates who fall prey to his fangs and claws.
Aibhera’s thoughts ran on as Eideron explained, “I returned early because my friend Himish will join us this evening. Make sure everything is in order and ensure there is enough food for our extra guest.”
“Yes, Master Eideron.” Simea’s hands shook, and an awkward feeling hung over the room while Eideron lingered to watch the preparations. When Simea reached into the storage bin for more potatoes, he fumbled the paring knife, and cut his hand.
Eideron flinched at the sight of blood. “Do you need my help to bandage that? It looks painful.”
“No, Master. I can manage it myself.”
Simea found a dressing for his wound in a nearby drawer, “I’ve had plenty of practice with bandages,” he muttered.
“Sim, please let me help you.” Aibhera took the rolled bandage from Simea’s hand. “Let’s clean the cut first, then I’ll help you wrap your hand. It’s hard to do a decent job one-handed.”
Eideron lingered watching the youngsters, and when they finished dressing Simea’s wound, he said, “If you are certain you don’t need my assistance, I will leave you to it. I must change out of my council robes before Himish arrives. I trust you will be able to finish without further bloodshed.”
Simea sighed as Eideron departed and whispered, “I’m glad he’s gone. I could feel his eyes boring into me while I worked. He hates me.”
“No, he doesn’t hate you. He pushes you hard to bring out the best in you. Crankiness is a wall he’s put up to protect his big soft heart.”
“I see nothing soft in him at all—”
A knock on the door interrupted Simea’s complaint. He stopped to let Himish in. “Master Eideron awaits you in the dining room.”
“Thank you, young man,” Himish said and left Simea and Aibhera to finish cooking the meal.
As the two friends worked, they heard Eideron and Himish talking in the next room, but neither youngster could overhear the conversation. When Simea finished fussing over the meal while cradling his bandaged hand, he and Aibhera carried it into the dining room.
“S-s-s-supper is ready, m-m-master,” Simea stammered, doubly intimidated in the presence of Eideron’s guest.
“Well, let’s eat it then.” Eideron harrumphed and gestured for them to sit on the cushions around the low table.
As they took their places, Eideron introduced them.
“Himish, I am pleased to introduce Simea, my apprentice, and Aibhera, Simea’s young lady friend.”
Simea changed color like a chameleon, but instead of blending into the surroundings, the head-to-toe blush made him more conspicuous.
Aibhera bowed her head in a gesture of respect to Himish and responded in an even voice, “Pleased to meet you, Councilor Himish.”
“Not as pleased as I am to meet a beautiful young woman such as you,” he teased. “I look forward to what you youngsters can tell us old fossils.” He winked and elbowed Eideron.
She smiled to herself. What a shameless old flirt. I like Himish almost as much as Eideron. The meal proceeded with pleasant conversation about the weather and other innocuous topics until Simea, out of nervousness, knocked over his water glass. Bolting from the room to get a towel, Simea almost turned the low table over as he shot up from his seat.
Once he was out of the room, Himish said, “I have always said you should not intimidate your apprentices. The boy acts like a hungry mouse in a granary full of sleeping snakes. The mouse is afraid of being eaten, but its hunger drives it forward anyway.”
“And I told you it builds character. Simea will need a stiff backbone to stand up to those other young fools on the council,” Eideron retorted, obviously forgetting that Aibhera, Simea’s friend and confidant, was present.
The banter of the two old compatriots amused Aibhera. She tried to hide her smile behind her hand. She giggled, but mirth overpowered her
, and explosive laughter sprayed the contents of her mouth across the table at Eideron and Himish.
Simea chose that exact moment to re-enter the room. If death from embarrassment was possible, Simea had one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel. For a moment, silence sat like a boulder teetering on the edge of a precipice.
The snicker began with Himish, expanded to Eideron as a giggle, and then crescendoed into a full-blown belly laugh from both the older men. In moments, everyone but Simea roared with laughter.
“That was the best…” Himish gasped, “the best way to end an argument…” gasp “…I have ever seen.”
“Yes. You win the argument, Aibhera.” Eideron struggled to regain his composure. “I am overcome by the explosive force of your persuasive power.” Eideron guffawed, and his pun set them laughing again. Simea joined in the mirth, and it took some time before anyone could draw breath to speak.
The atmosphere in the room had changed. It was more congenial than Simea had ever experienced. He realized he had never heard his master laugh, and the laughter transformed Eideron in Simea’s eyes. He finally saw that Eideron was human, not just a revered figure who inspired fear and awe. He was not merely the Lion of the Synod, waiting to devour him for his mistakes. Eideron had a sense of humor and real feelings. Aibhera had demolished the invisible wall between him and his mentor, but Simea hesitated to step through the rubble of that boundary, fearful that it might trap him.
Himish was the first to speak. “That, my new young friend, is the best way I have seen to bring my pompous old crony back to earth. Simea, join us at the table if you please.”
Himish invited Simea into their fellowship, and he stepped through onto new ground.
My world just changed in an instant because of Aibhera. Her mere presence brightens a room, and she transforms everything around her. Could we become more than just friends?
CHAPTER eighteen
Hemmed In
Rehaak sat in the Dancing Dog Inn nursing his second drink after finishing his meal and avoided drawing attention to himself. The men dressed in hooded robes still sat at the table near the door. He held his beer mug before his face with shaky hands, nearly spilling the liquid on the tabletop. His seat against the inn’s rear wall facing the doorway allowed him to observe the entrance. Rehaak, grateful for the dimness of the inn’s interior, was about to order a third round of ale when the door opened and Dreynar entered.
Drey paused until his eyes adjusted to the Dancing Dog’s gloomy interior. Rehaak was about to wave and invite Drey to join him, but before he could calm himself enough to set down his drink, Drey ambled over to the table occupied by the four grim strangers.
The hooded men shared handclasps with Drey, and once they had all greeted him, he took a seat at the head of the table. Rehaak could not overhear their conversation as they huddled over the table and plotted together. The way they reacted to Drey’s presence marked him as their leader.
Rehaak gasped, slumped lower in his seat, and reached for his staff, his eyes almost level with the tabletop. Thank the Creator I did not hail him before he saw me. I will continue my quest alone. The Creator has given me this burden. It is my responsibility, and I will bear it unaided as soon as I can exit the inn and slip out of the village.
The innkeeper brought a tankard of ale to Drey and asked for his order, but Dreynar waved him off. Drey’s henchmen had fallen silent when Aert approached and did not speak again until Aert was out of earshot.
Rehaak’s heart hammered out a frenzied rhythm against his ribcage. Aert approached Rehaak with another mug of ale, although he had not asked for another. It would have been his third, two more than his usual limit. When Aert set the tankard on the table, he paused, leaned down, and whispered to Rehaak.
“I knows who you are, Rehaak, and they be lookin’ for you. That fella’ in the fancy clothes was braggin’ that he had some fella convinced to join him. They thinks my wits is dull, and that may be, but my ear is as sharp as any man’s. I owes you a kindness for the herbs that cured my little’uns when they got the fever last winter.”
Rehaak started to whisper that he knew nothing of this cure or the village, but Aert raised a forefinger to his own lips and silenced Rehaak.
“I knows you don’t, but my cousin what lives in New Hope, he got the potion from you and sent it on to us. Follow me, and I can repay my debt to you. If’n you waits much longer, it might be too late unless you wants to go with them. I wouldn’t suggest it.”
Rehaak slipped off the seat and followed Aert into his private quarters attached to the rear of the inn. A quick look back revealed that Dreynar and his friends remained huddled over the table and had not taken notice of his departure. Rehaak and Aert rushed through the kitchen. Aert hushed his wife and children as they tried to greet Rehaak and whisked him through the back door to the woodshed.
When they reached the shed, Aert said, “I wouldn’t stay hereabouts now if’n I was you. Rumor has it they got Raamya’s boys lookin’ for you too. They been out to your place and found it empty. Mato, Raamya’s youngest, has been ’specially curious ’bout your whereabouts, but none likes him, and none would tell him anythin’.”
“I must get leather strips for a friend before I leave town. Is it safe?” Rehaak asked. He now realized his only way forward lay in completing his original mission and returning to his friends.
“Not less’n it be more important than your life. Tell you what…I’ll send one o’ the young’uns to fetch what you needs, and you hunker down here in the shed until dark. Then we can get you on your way without no fuss and bother.”
“Thank you, Aert. I have gold for the leather.”
“Never mind that foolishness. Ebrill, the tanner’s girl, owes you too. You might’a heard tell ’bout how she fell in the lime pit and got burned bad as a youngster.” Rehaak shook his head. Undeterred, Aert continued his explanation, “She suffered from itchin’ and flakin’ skin for most o’ her life, but one o’ your salves helped and eased her pain. She’ll be more’n willin’ to give you what you needs once we ‘splain it to her. She’ll be more’n willin’ to give you what you needs once we ’splain it to her. The whole village is beholden to you in one way or another. Don’t any of us want you to come to harm. ’Cept for that skunk Raamya and his boys, and I doubt even he’d wish you the kind o’ misery what be waitin’ back there.” Aert nodded toward the inn’s back door. “Most of us would eat our own slops rather than help him and his kind agin you. You lie low while we takes care of everythin’.”
With that said, Aert turned and re-entered the inn. Within moments, his youngest daughter, Breisha, slipped out the door past the woodshed toward the alley. She was as silent as the shadows that deepened outside Rehaak’s hiding place. She stopped, offering a smile and a wink at him where he hid among the hearth logs.
Rehaak shook his head in disbelief. I am glad the villagers feel grateful for my remedies, but why hold me in such high regard that they risk their lives to save mine? Lately, everywhere I go, people risk their lives on my behalf. It seems I cannot escape people’s loyalty. In Narragan, amid abundance, everyone hoards possessions for themselves, concerned only with their own success and prosperity. Here, on the rough edge of civilization where everything is in short supply, acts of kindness abound. It makes no sense that those who have the least should be the most generous.
Rehaak had not given Drey his proper name, and his appearance had transformed. During Rehaak’s time in the forge-house, he had shaved off his beard to escape the heat and put on several pounds of muscle from the arduous work. Now thanks to the earlier assassination attempt, he had a prominent strip of white in his hair. Rehaak assumed that anyone who did not know him well might not recognize him. He had hoped the changes allowed him a margin of safety, and yet Drey might identify him.
Raamya’s sons certainly know me, and if Drey contacts them, my altered appearance will not protect me. I have somehow angered a powerful man. That mysterious character sen
t a young nobleman to find me, along with several groups of assassins. I am no longer safe here or anywhere if that man’s influence extends to Baradon. What is happening in Baradon? I must discover what plans Drey’s master has for the Eniila homeland. I want more than ever to know what happened to Aelfric, Laakea’s father, and Voerkett, Isil’s husband. It might almost be worth the risk to feign allegiance with Drey until I get answers.
Curiosity nearly got the better of Rehaak, but a chill ran down his spine when he thought of Drey’s familiarity or outright leadership of the black-cloaked figures inside the Dancing Dog. He shuddered and shelved the idea of cooperation with Drey.
When he had left for the village this morning, he planned to abandon his companions to spare them certain death. If not for Aert’s intervention, assassins could have ended his life today, or Drey’s sweet words could have deceived him. Simple choices had become life and death decisions, and not for himself alone. People lived heedless of risk while the lives of those they loved hung on those choices. Life and death often hung on the toss of a coin.
Rehaak’s previous decisions seemed unimportant, but many had landed him in serious trouble. When he believed nothing depended on the outcome, Rehaak had no difficulty deciding, but when the wrong choice spelled disaster, he dithered. Early this morning, he decided to leave his friends. Later in the day, Drey offered him another option, and he had almost taken the bait. Fortunately, he wriggled free of the hook that might have led to his demise.
Rehaak needed more information, but for every answer gained, he received three more questions. The choices made earlier today led him to a woodshed behind the Dancing Dog with only one alternative. He could not risk an alliance with Drey. He must return to the forge and then find his answers with Laakea and Isil.
