Six hours after dawn the group entered into the hamlet of Mel Tonnen.
Their first stop was the village inn. They wanted some food before they
visited the stabler to get the horses. Though a bit small, the Wine Rock
Inn proved a warm, comfortable place. This was only a village after all;
a few tradesmen, a blacksmith, a carpenter and such, along with a couple
of local artisans who specialized in pottery mostly, were the heart of
the little town. Otherwise, the area was in the middle of sheep herding
country. But the hamlet had the advantage of being nearby to where the
mountains of the Goth met the mountains of the Shreken and so it had a
greater amount of traffic moving through it than otherwise would have been
the case. Although the majority of north-south crossings took place further
west, at the Gap, many people from the northlands of Haevnheim chose instead
to follow Tumbar's Road, which crossed directly over the Shreken, to reach
the southlands of Ryngaerd. The Road was far enough away from the territory
normally visited by the Dragon that only a few hill forts along its path
were required to keep travelers safe.
From where he was seated, Fred had a good view of the rest of the inn.
There was nothing out of the ordinary there, no one of suspicious character,
but Fred still felt on edge. While he didn't expect any trouble, he still
remained on his guard. This land, these people, lived under the shadow
of the Goth, and he would not feel safe until he had left these hills and
the peaks above him far behind. And he would not be happy until he reached
his home.
They ate in silence, even Rowena keeping her gay voice quiet for a change.
The dwarves did not speak unless spoken to, Rowena had realized that quick
enough. And it was clear that Fred, in his present mood, would not welcome
idle banter. This troubled her. While never the most gregarious of men,
this was hardly the brother Rowena remembered. Suddenly, his plate half
full, Fred stood up. He told them he needed to relieve himself and when
he returned they would go to the stabler. Without waiting for reply he
left the table and walked toward the rear of the inn.
As he headed for the back door Fred caught snatches of conversation
from the different groups that sat throughout the room. Local talk centered
mostly around sheep, the quality of pasture land, the number of lambs born,
how many had been attacked by predators from the mountains; that sort of
thing. But the visiting merchants and the travelers from the north were
all abuzz about the death of the Dragon. The word had spread. And it had
grown as well. Only Fred and Astra knew what really happened in
the Southern Caves, but that did not stop others from telling a tale filled
with monsters and dangers and whatever else they could make up. He wondered
what these people would do if they found out that the brave and mighty
slayer of the Dragon wasn't dead at all and that he was actually passing
through this very hamlet. They wouldn't believe it, he decided. He hardly
looked like the dashing and handsome knight that they spoke about with
such awe and excitement. And he had no intention of setting the record
straight. Not until he reached the King's Court.
When he returned to his table the others were ready to depart. But as
they moved toward the door, Fred hesitated. The others looked at him, questioningly.
Fred wanted to move on more than any of them, but he had heard a few things
whispered round the inn which he found troubling. Two sheepmen near the
bar had spoken of attacks by the dark wolves. And the attacks were getting
bolder, the wolfpack growing larger. They were gathering again. The sheepmen
did not understand it. Valpurg Night was more than a month away. A merchant
near the back claimed to have seen something strange moving through the
hills above the Oxen Way. As if the earth itself was on the move. And it
was coming in this direction. A pair of young girls sat at a corner table
discussing the death of the Dragon. One was not convinced the story was
true. She intended to find out for herself. Younger than Rowena and barely
100 pounds if that, the girl swore that if the knight named Fred had failed
then she would finish the job. But first she needed to take care of the
badness that hid in the hills. And last of all, Fred could not forget what
he had heard in the outer court, the words whispered by the pale and trembling
servant boy.
Fred's sense of duty now pulled him in two directions. He needed to
report to his King and for Astra's sake if nothing else he needed to dissuade
those who now pressed for an attack against Aqualaria. And he also desperately
wished for the company of his father. But he had learned to hate the Goth;
it had brought him only misery and horror. And, again for Astra's sake,
he wished to strike out at the evil that haunted its dark crags and stone
cliffs. Fred was torn. Should he stay or should he go?
-
Does
Fred decide to stay and investigate or does he rush with all speed back
to the King?
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