Whill of Agora Trilogy: Book 01 - Whill of Agora (13 page)

As they ventured into the heart of the town, Tarren pointed out a small Inn. Much like the other buildings it was a log structure, two stories high with many small chimneys perched on its roof. The sign above the door read HAGUS’S INN. Tarren led the way and opened the main door for Whill and Abram. Inside, the room was filled with smoke. More than a dozen fishermen sat at small tables or at the bar, drinking and talking loudly. Some of the folks could have been locals; there were a few couples within, and a group of women dancing in the middle of the room. Six Eldalon soldiers sat at one table, drinking and talking in hushed whispers as they eyed the three newcomers. In the far left corner there was a small band consisting of a fiddler and two guitarists, all singing in harmony.

By the ocean’s water or dragon’s fire

The end shall come at long last;

So light up your smoke so fast you choke

And drink your beer down fast!

Whill was familiar with the old drinking song, for he had heard it in countless other taverns and pubs. He hummed along as he looked around the room. The main room had a high cathedral ceiling; stairs on the right led to the second-floor balcony which boasted many doors and no windows. There were few large and many small tables about the main floor, and a small bar at the rear. Abram led them to the bar. As they made their way across the room, many eyes followed. Whill did not meet them but he sensed that they came from the soldier’s table. The bartender was a stout, rugged-looking fellow with a white beard down to his belt. He wore a fisherman’s cap and brown overalls with a white shirt. Both shirt and beard were filthy, most likely due to his lack of an apron. He smiled as they approached and wiped his hands on his beard. His leathery skin seemed to stretch uncomfortably as he presented a toothless grin. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who did a lot of smiling; Whill could see that it was a rehearsed version of his real smile.

“Good day, good day, friends! Name’s Hagus. What can I do for ya?”

Before Abram or Whill could respond, Tarren spoke up. “We’ll be needing a room for the night, three cots if you have ’em, and hot baths if you could.” He grinned at Whill and went on. “We been at sea for a long and dangerous haul, and need bath and good food. I can still feel the pirate scum on my skin.”

Abram laughed, and Hagus frowned. “The boy’s name is Tarren,” Whill said. “I’m Whill, and this is Abram. Tarren is right we could use all he requested. The room we’ll need only for the night, if you have one available.” He mussed Tarren’s hair.

Hagus maintained a steady frown as he pondered on something, and with the absence of his teeth, his bottom lip touched his nose. “Pirates, says you. Is the boy one with a wild and fibbin’ imagination, or does he speak true?”

Abram gave Tarren’s shoulder a slight squeeze. “The boy has a good imagination, yes, but a liar he is not. I’m afraid the tale is a long one, but if you could get us what we need, we could tell you the tale of Cirrosa and the slaves over some Dragon’s Brew.”

“Cirrosa!” Hagus yelled, catching the attention of half the room. He bent low and whispered, “You’ve seen the pirate Cirrosa? That scum hasn’t been spotted in these waters in over a year.”

Whill bent low to match the bartender’s stance, and after an animated look around he said, “Seen him we have. His blood dries upon my friend’s sword as we speak.”

Hagus’s bushy eyebrows seemed in danger of leaping from his face. “No!”

“Yes. Would you like to be the first on land to hear the story, or can you not accommodate us at this time?”

Hagus fumbled for some glasses. “No, no! No—um, Dragon’s Brew you said? Comin’ right up, and—oh. Sheria! Sheria!” he called towards the bar door which led to the back of the inn.

A woman of about fifty emerged carrying two bowls of stew. She wore a long brown dress with orange trim, and a brown handkerchief upon her head holding up her long grey hair. She was pretty, with a more natural smile than Hagus’s.

“Sheria,” Hagus said hastily, “after you’ve served those, get our guests a room ready. Make it the north room.” He poured the Dragon’s Brew from a large barrel mounted on the back wall. Sheria nodded and began on her way as Hagus burst out again, “Wait, woman, I’m not done! Have three baths prepared, and see to their luggage and horses if they have any.” He turned to Whill as he set the beer in front of them. “Do you have horses?” Whill shook his head in amusement. “No horses? Never mind, em, ah, and also have Jenna cook up the special—three orders, right, and not today’s special, the
special
special.”

Sheria didn’t move. She merely stood and gave Hagus a look that could kill a dead man. Though Whill thought it impossible Hagus blushed and gave a weak smile, “Please, my love?”

Sheria nodded, satisfied. “Of course, dear.”

She gave them a small bow and went on her way. Hagus gave out a long breath of air. “My wife, she’s a doll. Jenna, she’s our daughter, she’s the cook in the family. My other daughter, Oreona, she works with us also. Now, uh, where was I—oh, yes—young lad, could I interest you in some cider?”

“Please, sir!” Hagus got Tarren a tall glass of cider and excused himself, retreating to the back.

Whill chuckled. “Have you ever seen anyone so excitable?”

Abram took a long swallow, then turned to Tarren, who had just taken a seat on a large stool. “Listen, my boy, when we tell our version of the story, keep quiet about getting your throat cut, and Whill healing you.”

“Aww, but that’s the best part!”

“That may be,” Whill said, “but I don’t want the trouble of having to explain powers even I don’t understand. That kind of stuff makes people nervous. Just don’t mention it, alright? For all our sakes.”

“I guess,” Tarren huffed.

“Promise?” Abram asked.

“Promise.” Tarren still looked very disappointed.

Abram smiled and patted him on the back. “I tell you what. If you can keep quiet about it now, I’ll let you tell the whole story to the king when we get to Kell-Torey.”

Tarren lit up so, Whill thought the boy’s eyes would pop out of his head. “The king, really? You really mean it, Abram? You have my word!”

Hagus returned and set two more beers on the bar. His expression was a little easier now. “Your rooms will be ready shortly. You can leave your luggage with me and it will be seen to. Also, your baths are ready, and food will follow. So whenever you’re ready, go ahead. The bathing room is up the stairs, first room on the right.”

“Thank you,” Whill said. “I think I’ll do just that.” He retrieved two gold coins from his pocket and set them on the bar.

Hagus looked at the gold in amazement. “Good sir, the room, meal, bath—well, the cost for all is no more than three in silver.”

Whill leaned in and said, “Yes, but we will need more of your services before we leave. Consider this advance payment. A man’s silence is a costly thing at times. I trust we will not gain any unwanted attention by entrusting you with our story. Not, that is, until we are far from here.”

Hagus was adamant. “Yes, sir, mum’s the word! You can count on me!”

“Good.”

Whill made his way upstairs, and Abram and Tarren soon followed. The bathing room consisted of four large tubs, three steaming with hot water. Next to each tub there was a small table with towels, soaps, and scrub brushes. A large fireplace at the center of the room roared, with four large kettles of boiling water over it.

Whill soaked in the hot water long after Abram and Tarren had finished. His muscles still ached from the incident with Tarren. The hot water and fire had almost lulled him to sleep when a girl who must have been Oreona entered the room. She instantly looked at the floor.

“Begging your pardon, Whill, sir, but your food is ready and your friends await you downstairs.”

“Thank you. Tell them I will join them shortly.” She nodded and left as Whill got out and dressed in clean clothes.

Downstairs the band had taken a break and there were about half as many people as before. Abram and Tarren sat at a large table; they had waited for Whill to begin. The table was set with a blue velvet cloth and fine dishes. A large pot of steaming stew sat at the middle of the table, two loaves of marbled bread, white cheese, and an assortment of fruits. A pitcher of beer two Tankards and a tall glass with a smaller pitcher of cider along with a small plate of butter all sat before them. Whill grabbed a Tankard and toasted with Abram and Tarren: “Lelamandelia.”

Tarren asked what it meant and Whill explained. Tarren insisted that they do it again so he could join in. They ate and made little conversation. Whill was surprised by his own appetite. He had three helpings of stew and finished off a loaf of bread by himself, along with half the brick of cheese.

When they were done, Abram lit his pipe and sat back, content. “While you were bathing, Hagus told me of an excellent blacksmith where we can purchase some fine arrows,” he said.

Tarren lit up. “Do you think I could get my own sword? I might need it if we run into villains on the way to the mountains.”

Abram and Whill eyed one another.

“Tarren, Abram and I must venture to the mountains alone.”

“But, Whill—”

“Let me finish. In your father’s absence we must do as he would wish. I do not think your father would permit you to go into the mountains. You will stay here in town until we return.”

Tarren’s eyes watered. “But who will I stay with? Wouldn’t I be much safer with the two of you? What if the pirates come back for me? Please let me go, please!”

Will knew exactly how the boy felt. He had felt the same when Abram had left him those many times when he was a small boy. Now he saw himself in Tarren: a scared child trying desperately to act tough, not understanding why he could not join, wondering if he was unwanted.

“I know you want to come, Tarren, and I would love to have you with us. But this is not a decision we can make on your parents’ behalf. When we return you will journey with us to Kell-Torey. Let there be comfort in that at least.”

Tarren’s shoulders sank. “How long will you be?”

“It will take us two days each there and back again,” Abram said. “How long we will be in the dwarf city I cannot say. But it should be no longer than a few days.”

Tarren looked no happier with this information. He slumped back in his chair and stared at his empty plate. Whill stood. “Would you like to come with me to get some supplies for our trip?”

Tarren could not help but smile as he got up from his chair. “Aye.”

Abram said he would stay behind to speak with Hagus and reminded them of some of the items they would need. Together, Whill and Tarren left the inn.

They spent most of the afternoon gathering supplies for the following day’s journey. At the blacksmith’s they purchased four dozen arrows and, to Tarren’s delight, a small knife that could be hung from the boy’s belt. From the town store they bought bread and cheeses; meat, Whill explained, would be acquired in the wild.

As they ventured up the main street, Whill took in the pleasant sea air once again. It was a beautiful late afternoon. Faint white clouds hung in the sky, seemingly unmoving, as the sun bathed the world with warmth. They passed many log homes, and a few with stone walls. People were busy with the day’s chores but still had time to offer a “good day” or a “heya” as they passed. A butcher was busy preparing a hog for sale, while a young lad sat on the porch of the butcher shop plucking a headless chicken. On the opposite side of the street a woman swept dirt from a doorway. She gave Tarren a wink as she hummed a jubilant tune.

They headed towards the healer’s house on the outskirts of town. As the buildings thinned and the forest trail came into view, a woman ran past with two soldiers following. They went straight to the healer’s house and were greeted by urgent voices which Whill could not decipher. He began to jog toward the home and Tarren followed suit. As they neared the building, Whill began to make out the urgent words emanating from the open windows and doors. A woman was screaming in a way that made Whill cringe.

“No! No! My baby, my baby! Do something, please, can’t you, why won’t she breathe, why won’t she breathe? Let me see her, damn you, she won’t—” Her voice trailed off into a deep, breathless sob.

Whill and Tarren reached the door, which was blocked by a tall guard with a bowed head. Whill pushed him aside and entered the room with no resistance. The room was bright, but the scene was a dark one. A woman lay on a blood-soiled bed, being comforted and held down by three older women. One who Whill sensed was her mother held her tight and cried hard into the young woman’s shoulder. A man of about twenty stood with a dead stare and watering eyes aimed at a bundle which lay on a blanket at the foot of the bed. The two guards remained at the door, their eyes on the floor. An elderly man and woman whom Whill suspected to be the town healers huddled over the dying infant, trying urgently to revive it. Whill could hear nothing but his own heart. It pounded in his ears steadily, faint hues of red flashing before his eyes with every beat.

There is no injury
, he thought.
I can do this. She only needs enough to come back enough to start her heart.

Whill faintly realized that all were now watching him as he advanced into the room toward the infant. He wondered why they did not try to hold him back. Then he saw what they saw: his outstretched hand. From the palm to each fingertip, blue tendrils of light convulsed and danced. The mother had stopped sobbing and stared in wonder. The healers made way for Whill and stepped to the sides, never taking their eyes off Whill. The infant laid upon the blanket, small, weak, unmoving, a blue hue to its skin. The look on her face was that of great discomfort, not peace.
She wants to come back
, he thought.

As Whill bent and put his hand upon the baby’s head, he instantly felt her presence. Her faint spirit stumbled into his as a blind man might do, lost in an unknown place. The tendrils from Whill’s hand spread across the limp infant’s naked body, becoming ever brighter. Her spirit clung strongly to Whill as he tried desperately to monitor the transfer of energy. Then suddenly he felt a great urgency, a desperate struggle to hold on to life as it slipped away. He felt the baby’s simple emotions, her need for what he gave her. Before he could break contact, a sudden jolt surged through his body, dropping him to his knees. He stiffened as her desperate spirit drained from him as much energy as it could. Whill was no longer in control, unable to stop, fighting hard to break contact, he saw now that the baby had lost her blue color, and through the energy bond he felt the baby’s heart begin to beat. It pounded faster and faster, stronger with every beat her spirit clung to the energy pulses that Whill could not stop. He mustered his strength, told her spirit kindly to let go, but not with words. The spirit responded, and as yet another strange connection was achieved, Whill heard himself gasp.