Halthor woke with a grunt when the door to the traveler's rest opened. The
sun wasn't very high above the horizon. His sleep was by some small
mercy free of nightmares, but it was not restful. Some new reflex
drove Halthor to reach for the small axe at his hip when a figure
entered the building. Ewen nodded at Halthor as he muscled in a pile
of wood with his brother/cousin behind him, holding a slightly
smaller pile of wood under an arm.
As they replenished the stock pile of wood, Halthor sat up. He looked
about himself and found that his goods had been brought in. "The
pony showed up when the night singer's fell silent. Ewen has him on
the leeward side of the traveler's rest with some hay to crop. No
sign of the dog yet," the second man said as he turned to shove
some wood into the fire. The battered looking pot hanging over it
swung slightly after a stick struck the base of it. Halthor could
smell something in it. Probably oats and nothing more, he
thought to himself as he stood up to stretch. "I threw some of
the dried fish uncle sent with you in there just before we stepped
out. I'm not much fond of mudfish but beggars and all that. I don't
have any of the witchweed to make it taste any better. But it is
better than plain gruel. Ewen said that it was important that you had
more in your belly than oat porridge. Something about you going south
to see ..." Ewen looked up at the mention of his name. He simply
looked at his brother in amazement.
His brother waved a hand dismissively in the direction he was mentioning,
completely unaware that the ferryman was looking at him."You
said my name," Ewen stated in quiet astonishment.
"Yeh, what of it?" his brother answered gruffly, stirring the pot
briskly. The sudden tension in the room made Halthor feel like
dealing with the night singers would have been easier. As he made his
way outside to relieve his aching bladder, he could hear Davian say,
"I'm not deaf, you know. I heard you this morning." The
door swung shut and Halthor made his way to a discreet spot at the
side of the building to piss. He wasn't sure if his host and guide
were going to be arguing or not when he walked back in.
Halthor wasn't comfortable with the idea of listening to what could be a
violent argument when he needed someone to point out the road he had
to take. In his moment of discomfort, he heard a noise behind him.
Halthor looked over to see the red eared dog that had become his
companion before passing through Hyle trotting over through the snow.
The dog sniffed at Halthor's foot and then looked up at him
expectantly. "What?" Halthor muttered at the dog. The dog
lifted its leg and pissed on the side of the building. "Really?
That's what you're about? Cold doesn't bother you, your pecker's got
a coat," he scoffed as he arranged his clothes to deal with his
own need.
The wind mercifully died down while Halthor was exposed. The dog sniffed
at where Halthor urinated as Halthor tied the drawstring of his
trewes tight. He resettled his tunic, jerkin, and coat over himself.
Glad that he was wearing his split mittens, Halthor walked back
around the side of the building. As he passed by the pony, he patted
it on its side. The creature butted its head against his shoulder.
Halthor paused and looked over. The pony shook its head and butted
its head against his shoulder again. Halthor reached up and scratched
the pony between its ears.
He thought about Alaric, his father. He didn't think that the master
builder expected this to turn into such a dangerous journey. Halthor
ran a hand through his hair, knocking back his hood. As the wind
caught stray locks and blew them into his eyes, his hand rested on
the pony's head. "What would he do with this?" Halthor said
quietly. "Why didn't he tell me he was my father? Why didn't he
tell me?" Halthor looked at the hammer hanging from its loop on
his left hip. "Maybe he did and I just didn't understand,"
he sighed, "I'm a fool. I'm a cursed fool at that."
He thought he could almost hear Alaric scoff. "You're the one who
sent me on this, old man," he muttered to himself, "Not
right that you laugh at me for the trouble I'm in." The wind
moved through the trees and Halthor seemed to hear a voice calling
his name from the shadows. He turned and looked over. In the deepest
shadows, it seemed there stood a man. Halthor squinted against the
darkness. The figure looked familiar.
The longer he looked, the more the figure looked like Alaric. A sense of
dread pooled in Halthor's guts. "You're not him," Halthor
said. The figure waved at him with a sense of purpose, trying to
motion him over. Halthor's hand dropped from the pony's head. As he
reached down and touched the hammer, the figure's resembalence to
Alaric diminished. The face was a mask of wrath as the beckoning
gesture became one of challenge.
"Go back to the darkness," Halthor said and spat in the direction of
the figure, "Tell your masters I'm not stupid." The figure
seemed to grow larger as clouds scudded across the sky. Halthor took
the hammer in hand and pointed it at the figure. "If you want a
taste of iron, I'll gladly give it to you," he said. The eerie
shadow figure split and vanished as a hard wind shook the stand of
trees that gave it shape.
"I've got his hammer," he muttered as he slipped the hammer back into
its loop, "And that is enough, I suppose." He stooped and
walked into the traveler's rest. He half expected the room to be
filled with gore after answering the shadow creature's challenge. It
was how his luck seemed to have been running. When his eyesight
adjusted after he shut the door, he saw that the brothers were
sitting by the wood pile discussing something as they gestured at the
ground with spoons as they ate from bowls. Ewen looked over and
motioned Halthor over.
"Eat, we think we figured out the best way for you to get to Weck-in-Wood.
You need to follow the trees, not the road. Stay on the field side of
the trees. Come nightfall, you'll meet up with the road at the
traveler's rest just north of Weck-in-Wood. After that, press hard
through Weck Forest. The next traveler's rest is in the curve of the
ox bow where the river loops into the forest. It's a harder passage
but they won't look for you to go directly there. The rats of
Wynnwode expect everyone to travel the road they'd tax us on
passing."
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