by Troy Osgood
The men had stopped at the wagon, quiet, studying him as he stood at the edge. He’d heard the men approaching from almost the time they had stepped out of the village. Three men and a set of footsteps that weren’t as heavy. A child.
He turned towards them, keeping his arms away from his weapons, smiling. Will was on one end, clutching his pick axe, with the blond guard on the other. The newcomers were two men, one older and gray haired, and the other middle-aged. That man, the one that had spoken, the one named Sheren, was tall and broad. Heavily muscled. He had a worn sledge hammer over his shoulder, the tool large and heavy looking. He had gray starting to creep into his black hair. Black eyes and black bushy beard. He was a bear of a man.
There was a young boy next to him, standing slightly behind. He looked to be about thirteen, not quite filled out but starting to show that he would be a big one as well. He looked so much like Sheren that he had to be the man’s son.
The gray haired man was tall and skinny, comparably to the others. His clothes were finer, not as worn. Most likely the village elder. He had an edge to him though. This was a man that had done time in the mines in his youth.
“Me name is Culann Hawkfall,” he said with a bow, still keeping his arms outstretched. “I am a traveling bard as well as a Far Rider.”
He looked up, seeing no reaction from Will or the other guard. But the other two men, they reacted. They had heard that name before. The boy watched his father, seeing the look that he and the older man exchanged, than looked out at Culann.
The two men bent closer together, turning their bodies so Culann could not see them talk. Sheren kept glancing back, studying. The boy never took his eyes off Culann.
“Why are you here?,” the older man asked finally.
“I ran inta the lad ye sent ta fetch the King’s Guard,” Culann said. “So I came ta see. I heard ye talking last night,” he added pointing at Sheren.
“You were spying on us,” the older man said, a hint of anger.
“I’ve been ta yer cemetery,” Culann said, ignoring the man. “I’ve seen ‘em fer meself.”
The older man was about to say something, but Sheren held up a hand.
“Why didn’t you make yourself known to us?,” Sheren asked.
“What would ye have done wit’ a stranger walking up in the middle o’ the night,” Culann countered, still smiling.
Sheren nodded, acknowledging that it would not have gone well. Culann could see that the man accepted the reasoning; that coming out in broad daylight like he had was the smarter move. It was obvious that Sheren was a thinker, not just muscle.
“You’re here to help us?,” Sheren asked.
“Aye,” Culann said with a nod.
“What can you do,” the older man asked.
Culann didn’t answer, not right away. He tried to come up with a way to phrase it, a way to make them trust him and accept him, but couldn’t think of one.
“I donae know,” he answered finally. “I saw the skeletons meself. They’re like naething I’ve seen before.”
He fell silent. It was the truth. He didn’t know what he could do, if anything at all.
Sheren studied him from behind the wagon. He seemed to come to a decision and moved to the road’s edge, working his big frame around the wagon to Culann’s side. The boy rushed forward but the older man reached out a hand, grabbing his shoulder.
“Da,” the boy said.
“Stay there Davey,” Sheren answered.
He paused on the other side, ten feet of open space between him and Culann. He still had the sledge over his shoulder and Culann saw him tighter the trip, ready to swing. Sheren walked forward, never taking his eyes off Culann. Finally the man stopped, three feet away.
“Why are you here?,” Sheren asked.
“Ta help,” Culann said. “I may nae know what is happening, but I know more than ye and the rest o’ yer people. “
“Why are you here?,” Sheren repeated, never taking his eyes from Culann’s. “If you don’t know what is happening how can you help?”
“I kin try,” Culann said.
“Why?”
“Because ye need it and it’s the right thing ta do.”
Sheren kept the locked gaze for another minute, studying Culann, and finally nodded. A simple motion of the head, but it spoke volumes.
“Follow me,” he said and turned away.
The tavern was small, built to serve the village it didn’t need to be much more than the bar and a couple tables. No waitresses, which disappointed Culann. Just the man, Murphy, that ran the place. But there was a charm to it, Culann thought as he looked around at the place. The large hearth was set against the back wall, the stone bar counter along a side wall with doors to the back spaces behind. Tapped barrels filled the wall between the two doors behind the bar. Bottles were set in a rack above the barrels. The bar sat six stools and there were another half dozen tables scattered around. The common room was bigger, as the tables could be moved.
The tall ceiling of the one story structure was held up by carved beams, which ran down the wall as columns, leaving the space open in the middle. Hunting trophies filled the wall, names attached to the plaques. Mining picks, hammers and a sword or two took up some space.
It was not the worst tavern that he had ever found himself.
And the ale was exceptional.
He drank from a dented pewter mug as he watched the town’s elders talk. The seven men, including Sheren and the other from the wagon who had been identified as Hutch, sat in a circle of chairs pulled over to the far side of the room. One of them kept glancing back at Culann, who raised the mug and smiled. That resulted in the man turning back to the circle and grumbling something to the rest. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he couldn’t help it.
Men like this, men that wasted time with useless plays at power, annoyed him. Annoyed him and ultimately cost lives.
Always the same, no matter where, Culann thought shaking his head. At least Sheren seemed to have a reasonable head on his shoulders. Culann could see that the big man was arguing, and loudly, in Culann’s favor.
Honestly, he really couldn’t blame the men for behaving like this. The skeletons and his appearance were so far outside their normal dealings. They had no way to process it and were doing the best they could not to be overwhelmed.
But it did waste so much time.
He took another drink and looked outside. Through the windows he could see what looked like the whole village gathered around the tavern. All waiting.
Tipping the mug back, he downed the rest in one swallow.
“Excellent brew Master Murphy,” Culann said to the man that stood behind the bar.
Murphy smiled and nodded.
Culann stood up, stretched and walked over to the circle of elders.
“Ye kin keep on arguing if ye would like,” he said as he came closer. They all turned to him, some with surprise, some with anger, Sheren just shook his head. “But end o’ the day it doesnae matter. I’ll be helping ye nae matter what. It’s in yer best interests ta just accept it.”
“How do we know you didn’t cause this?,” one of the village elders, called councilors in Minoda, said. “I hear you Far Riders are grave robbers.”
The councilors had not moved their chairs. All stayed seating and looked up at Culann.
“Somehow,” he replied, maintaining his smile, standing in the middle of the room. “I think that if there was anything o’ any value in the village crypts, it would have disappeared by now.”
He heard the angry muttering at his words and didn’t care. These people needed his help and were going to get it. Even if they didn’t want it.
But we really do need to work on our reputation, he thought.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled.
“If I had caused this,” he said, opening his eyes and focusing on the councilor that had spoken. “Why would I be here offering me help?”
Another man star
ted to speak, but Sheren stood up. All eyes turned towards him, including Hutch. From what he had been told, Culann knew that Hutch was supposed to be the Lead Councilor, the one in charge, but it looked like Sheren was taking over.
That could be trouble.
It didn’t appear that Sheren was doing it on purpose either, which would make the trouble even worse. The man instinctively recognized that the village needed someone more forceful in charge, and subconsciously was moving into that role.
“You’ll forgive us for being overwhelmed,” Sheren said, drawing angry eyes from some of the others. “All this,” he added meaning the skeletons. “As well as yourself,” he paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Minoda is just a simple mining village. Nothing like this has ever happened here.”
“It has nae happened elsewhere either, I’d wager,” Culann said.
Sheren nodded, returning to his seat with a glance around the circle.
“I tell ye the truth,” Culann said, not looking at the others, but focusing on Sheren only. “Ye deserve nae less. I donae know what is happening but I will try ta find out. I may nae be able ta do a thing but I will try.”
“The Kings Guard will be here soon,” the man that had spoken up said, drawing a stern look from Sheren. “We don’t need his help.”
“The Guard will come, aye,” Culann replied. “But it will be days from now and wit’ a small force ta scout and see what the threat is. It will be days more before they kin get reinforcements and many days more before a mage would arrive. Kin ye afford ta take that chance?”
The men looked at each other, nervous glances passed between them. Except for Sheren. The man didn’t look at any others, just Culann.
“You already said you might not be able to help at all,” the councilor said with a sneer, thinking he had some point that would bring victory to his side.
“Aye,” Culann said turning and locking eyes with the man, who shrunk back under the gaze. “That I did. I may nae be able to stop whatever is happening but what I kin do is give ye time.”
“We thank you for whatever help you can bring,” Sheren said standing up. He moved through the middle of the circle and out, stopping in front of Culann and essentially bringing the meeting to an end. “What do you need?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Davey sat on the front steps leading to the tavern’s porch. The angle of the sun and the porch’s roof, kept the steps in the shade. He could see the other villagers, almost all of them, gathered in the square. They were in groups, some small, some large, and all kept glancing at the front doors of the tavern.
The arrival of the man, calling himself Culann Hawkfall, had swept through the small village pretty quickly. From where he was, Davey could hear the murmurings but not the words. Each group was talking and it was all blending together into a hum that circled the square.
He heard the doors open and looked over his shoulder. He saw Da and Culann exiting the tavern. Behind them were Hutch and the other councilors, not looking happy.
“Sheren,” he heard Hutch say. “A word.”
Davey saw an odd look pass over his father’s face, one he had never seen before. Sheren looked annoyed, that was the best that Davey could describe it. He paused on the porch, one hand holding the door open. He glanced at Culann.
“Yer boy kin take me,” Culann said.
The man had an odd accent, so unlike the way the villagers sounded. Where was he from?
Sheren glanced at Davey on the steps, not really surprised to see his son there. He glanced at Davey and back at Culann. Sighing, a small shake of his head, he looked down at the boy.
“Davey,” he said, the tone of voice indicating that Davey was to just listen and do. “Take Master Hawkfall to the Smithy. Wait for me there.”
“Yes Da,” Davey said standing up, excited.
It was just a trip to the Smithy, but it would be just him and the stranger.
Taking a deep breath, Sheren went back inside the tavern.
“This way,” Davey said stepping off the steps.
He looked Culann up and down, noting the weapons. No one in Minoda went about armed, especially in the day time. Sure, the hunters came back sometimes with bows and knives, but those were their tools. Culann was wearing real weapons, weapons meant to kill monsters.
The man also had armor. Davey had seen chain link before, but only on the Kings Guard that came a couple times a year with the tax collector. What Culann wore was nothing like that. It was dark, almost black, with tight links. It appeared thinner as well, not as heavy.
“Lead on Master Sherenson,” Culann said.
Davey had taken a couple steps before he registered what Culann had said. He had just been called ‘master’, to be named like an adult. But what named had Culann called him?
“My name is Tobiason,” Davey said.
He walked alongside Culann. He noticed that the taller man adjusted his stride, walking a little slower so Davey didn’t need to struggle to keep up.
“Ye pappy,” Culann said as the two walked through the square. “His name is Sheren so that would make ye Sherenson, aye? That is the way it is done in most villages.”
“No,” Davey said shaking his head. “Tobias was my great, great, great,” he paused waving his hand indicating that the line continued a ways back in time. “grandfather. One of the village founders. The founder’s families took the name of the ancestor and added the son to indicate they’ve been here since the beginning,” he finished up, pride evident in his voice.
“Ah,” the taller man said nodding. “That is a worthy accomplishment.”
“It’s just a name,” Davey said, losing some of the pride. “Not like Hawkfall.”
“That’s just a name as well,” he said watching the people around them.
The boy led him through the square filled with villagers. Most stayed where they were, but others moved around, out of the way of the pair. The boy didn’t seem to notice the many eyes following the pair. Watching and wondering. There was fear in many of the eyes, confusion in others. This was a village on edge.
“But it sounds important,” Davey said. “It’s the name of someone special, a name that will be remembered.”
“A name is just a name,” Culann said. “It’s the deeds one does wit’ the name that are important.”
“How will my deeds stand out if I share the same name as Da and Grandda,” Davey asked.
Culann smiled. It was a good point. The lad was smart to make that conclusion.
“In some place, it’s the history o’ the name that gives it power even if the current bearer’s are nae worthy,” he said. And there are some that take new names to hide from the old, he thought but didn’t say aloud.
Culann thought of his own name, the one he had chosen.
The image of the hawk; shot out of the sky, falling to the ground; flashed through his mind. He glanced towards the Northwest, towards where home used to be. He wondered how, or if, it had changed. Was his family still alive?
Shaking his head, he returned his thoughts to the present. He had left for a reason after all.
“What’s a Far Rider,” Davey said into the silence that had falling, switching topics as only a young boy could.
Culann laughed as they headed towards the western edge of town, towards the mountain. He thought they must be heading towards the mines.
“We could be all day fer that,” Culann said. “The simplest answer is that a Far Rider works fer the GriffinStone Library. We wander the lands collecting knowledge fer the library.”
“What kind of knowledge?”
“Any,” Culann replied. “Mostly magic. We work ta keep magic out o’ the hands o’ those that would abuse it.”
Davey thought about it, grand images of heroic adventures flashing through his mind. Then he remembered something he had heard. “Hesh said Far Riders are grave robbers,” the boy said.
“Ye heard that,” Culann asked surprised it had carried outside the tavern. “Hesh is t
hat old councilor?”
“Yeah,” Davey replied. “Da doesn’t really like him.”
“Yer Da is right,” Culann said smiling. “I didnae like him either.”
He paused, wondering how to frame the question’s response. The councilor, Hesh’s, comment wasn’t completely wrong.
“Some o’ the knowledge is ancient and buried,” Culann finally replied. “Sometimes the owner doesnae want ta give it up and some o’ the Rider’s didnae always follow a kingdom’s rules.”
“Oh,” Davey said, some of the grand ideas fading.
“It’s like anywhere and anything lad,” Culann said looking down at the boy. “Some are honorable and some are nae.”
Sheren closed the door to the tavern behind him. He heard the sounds of Davey and Culann Hawkfall descending the steps wand walking off. He glanced towards Murphy, who taking the cue, wisely moved into the tavern’s backroom.
Hutch was standing in front of the other five councilors. Behind Hutch, to the side, stood Hesh the councilor that had spoken out to Culann. He was sneering.
Sheren had never liked the man. Lazy, only doing the minimal work that he had to. Manipulative, always getting others to do his work and not giving anything in return. He never understood how a man like that managed to survive, let alone thrive, in a village like Minoda. But he was needed as it was Hesh that mostly dealt and negotiated with the merchants that held Minoda’s mining contracts. He had managed to secure many a good deal for the village, well lining his own pockets at the same time.
“We had not come to a decision,” Hesh said drawing a sharp look from Hutch for speaking out of turn.
Sheren stared at the man, not bothering to hide his dislike.
“We need to set up watch rotations,” Sheren said to Hutch ignoring the other.
“Hesh is right,” Hutch said. “We have always done things as a committee.”
“Yes,” Sheren replied, trying to keep a hold of his patience. “But we don’t have time.”
