Bare's Den

A cold mist was falling. The wind blew just enough to give a body a chill. It had been like this the entire day. The tavern was filled with locals, each nursing a mug of mulled wine. The farmers had been out preparing the fields for planting. A group of them were sitting near the fireplace complaining about a late spring. Other groups of friends were discussing one bit of gossip or another. The room was full of the comforting buzz of their conversations until the door opened letting a bit of the cold and mist blow in.

At first glance, the stranger appeared to be a waif of a boy. But to one watchful set of eyes, she was recognized as a young woman of about 16 years. The rest of the patrons didn’t bother to look that closely and returned to their own concerns as soon as the door was once more firmly closed.

The man sitting alone at a table in the corner farthest from the door and to the right of the fireplace raised his mug to his lips and watched as the girl disguised as a boy walked across the tavern to the bar. Jacob was serving today.  His wife Mathilda was in the kitchen preparing a stew, probably rabbit.

“Boy, you’re soaked through,” Jacob observed. “Get by the fire and warm yourself. Henry, move out of the way of the lad. Let him warm himself. I’ll fetch thee a mug of hot tea. Just stand as close to the fire as you can.” He finished as he turned to enter the kitchen area and fetch that promised mug of tea.

She stood close to the fire warming herself unaware that she was being watched. The man in the corner had spent years learning to notice and not be noticed. She turned her back to the fire and steam began to rise from the soaked fabric when Jacob reappeared carrying the promised mug of tea and a bowl of stew.

“Come, lad,” He called. “eat.” He told her as he set the mug and bowl on the bar counter. She would have to eat standing all the tables being occupied.

“I have no coin.” She told him in a voice that convincedly cracked like a boy at that age.

“Never mind that,” Jacob told him. “There are dishes to wash or wood to chop. Eat.”

“I need to find the Gray Knight.” The boy told him.

“I’ve been told,” Jacob replied. “That the Gray Knight finds who he wants.”

Albert was sitting on the stairs to the upper level, just out of his father’s sight. He should be out on the floor helping with the guests, but he had a book of Arthurian tales. It fueled his dream of adventuring. He sat quietly and watched as his father attended to the boy.

His father’s first rule was to welcome a new guest as soon as possible. Quicker if they appeared in need.  The boy probably had no money, or very little. Albert had seen situations like this before. His parents would make sure the child was dry and fed before any worry for the needs of the tavern would be thought of.

He was drifting back to his daydream of adventure when he noticed a movement. The Count was looking at him. The Count’s left hand was below the tabletop and moved in a gesture that meant come here. As kind as the Count appeared Alfred knew better than to ignore this request, subtle as it might be. Reluctantly he stood. He placed his book in a space in the wall. He had hidden books there before. Then he descended the stairs. He bent over to hear the Count. He was speaking softer than usual.

“Tell your father that his guest needs to be warmed in the kitchen.” He almost whispered. “When you’ve done that. Walk back here with a pitcher of mulled wine. When strangers walk in set the pitcher down and volunteer to tend their horses. When you return from that if they allow it. Come get the pitcher and tell me what you saw.”

What a strange request Alfred thought. Strange it might be, but you never refused the Count’s request. No matter how quirky it might be.

“Father,” Alfred said as he drew near the bar.

“Where have you been boy? There’s work to do. Pick up the broom and sweep up that pile of dirt Henry walked in.” His father told him.

“Father,” Alfred interrupted. “The Count told me that your guest needs to dry in the kitchen. And to bring him a pitcher of mulled wine.”

“What?” Alfred’s father glanced up toward the Count. Alfred didn’t see what his father saw but whatever it was. He turned to the boy. “It will be warmer in the kitchen. Let me show you the way. Closer to the dishes that will need a washing when you’ve had your fill.” He scooped up the half-filled mug of mulled wine and walked toward the kitchen door. Leaving the boy to pick up the bowl of stew and follow him.

Soon Alfred’s father appeared with a full pitcher of mulled wine. No sooner had he handed it to Alfred than the door slammed open and the wind howled through. Two rough-looking men in hunters garb stood in the open doorway their eyes scanned the room. One was turning back to the outside when the other said “We best ask about a bit. They might have seen something.”

Alfred stared. How had the Count known these men were coming? “Alfred,” his father scolded. “Take that to the Count.” Remembering himself Alfred walked over to the Count filled his mug before sitting the pitcher down on his table. Then he walked over to the men standing in front of the now closed doors.

“Want me to tend your horses? ‘tis only a silver pfennig for two horses in the stable overnight. We give them a bit of grain as well.”

The men looked at each other. The taller one raised his eyebrow. In a gruff voice, the shorter man said, “Very well, Tend them.”

As Alfred started to open the door the taller man grabbed him by the arm and asked. “Has a young woman passed through here?”

“I’ve not seen any young women except villagers,” Alfred answered truthfully.

As he exited the door Alfred overheard the tall one say. “Suppose we stay the night here dry, Grego?” He didn’t hear the answer as he shut the door tight before running through the mist to the two horses tied to the rail in front of the tavern. He was in the stables then taking care of the horses. Saddles and tack off, hay and grain provided. He even rubbed them down with an old blanket.

The Count was at his table when Alfred returned. As he passed by the Count’s table on the way to his room to get dry clothing. He paused a moment. “Just two horses. I didn’t see any other man about.” The Count nodded his head at this. He and the lad in the kitchen were gone out the back door when Alfred returned to the tavern’s main room.

As I prepare to publish my first novel on Amazon the question, “who is the Author comes into play.” This is one version.

Stories have been a part of my life forever. I have heard them, read them, and told them as long as I can remember. I’ve written hundreds of stories. Bits and pieces of stories. This is my first novel. It is the result of a story that refused to die. It kept unreeling in my mind. After a year of this haunting, I had no choice but to write it. What started as a simple damsel in distress story changed once I met the damsel. As I wrote this set of stories the world I imagined grew. After rewrites, revisions, and letting it bake. I’ve discovered more. More of the politics of the region. More relationships between people. Now as I begin a sequel to this first book, I’m finding more complexity than I ever imagined and more loose strings that need to be explored.

Coming over a small rise in the road Catherine and Ceri caught their first sight of Virkiflyot. Before them was a hodgepodge of buildings. The varying styles reflecting how long the ancient fortress had stood. If you looked closely as you approached it from the west, you could make out portions of the original fortress peeking through.

The entry into the college grounds proper was through the original gates. The narrow archer slits on both sides and a murder hole above still guarded the way in, despite the fact that the complex of buildings making up the college had not been used as a fortress for over a hundred years.

Along the road leading to the college a small village of merchants had grown. Food stalls and farmer stands with their produce were scattered about. The more substantial buildings were a constable’s office, two inns and three pubs. The pubs were placed as close to the college as was allowed. Most days you could see students traveling between their favorite pub and the college. The traffic was enough that foot paths had been worn between the various entries and exits of the college and the pubs.

I don’t know if this will find it’s way into the next book in the series. But I thought I would share it.

She woke out of a drug-induced haze. How many days, weeks, had disappeared?

At first, during the few hours, her mind approached clarity she had hoped for rescue. But now that her healing gifts had cleared her mind, she knew. She knew no rescue was coming. No one in her home village of Boar Akarn would have been foolish enough to attempt a rescue from the giant beasts who had dragged her from her home. In the backwoods of Alfheim, they were known as yetann.

These were not the reclusive mountain yetann. No, they were the lyion yetann that populated the horror stories from the past. Now she saw just how terrible they were. They stood almost 10 feet tall. Their paws held wicked claws that were as large as daggers. Would even the king’s scouts, if they had known of her plight, attempt a rescue?

How would she battle for her freedom? She had no hope for help. How would she fight with only her healing gifts and the training she had received? She began to plot how best to die battling enemies she never knew she had.

Then an impossible mix of mythical creatures and scouts in training appeared. Hope once more blossomed in her heart.

And in a world long abandoned by its gods the legendary Dryad and Greenman help introduce the world once more to powers lost long ago.

Alfred noticed that they were being watched as he and Edel practiced with their wastes and bucklers. This was Monday of the third week. Most of the time that Colin wasn’t yelling at them he was just shaking his head.

A few times he had matched them with some of the guard. Alfred was sure he was showing improvement. He was sure that with the sword he was much better than Edel. It was true that Edel was better at archery than he was. Edel had picked up archery much faster than Alfred had expected. Neither of them could hit the center of the target consistently. Most of their arrows were at least hitting the target. Edel had hit the bull’s eye once. Alfred had wanted to bust Edel’s lip just to wipe away that grin.

Edel was so irritating. He ate like a girl. Even used a napkin without being told too. They had lessons in the evening that Gertie gave on table manners. What a bore.

Well, he supposed he should know how to behave in front of nobles if he was traveling with the count. Now that would be exciting. Sitting at the table in some grand castle. Edel fell into it like it had been second nature to the waif. Alfred still had to watch Gertie so he could choose the right fork.

Well, he figured combat would be the key decider of who would become the Count’s page. And Gerhart would be the one to impress.

While Alfred was distracted with those thoughts, Edel pressed him and landed a hit. Alfred’s anger flared. He was tired of the gentle back and forth that Colin insisted on. “Well, I bet this will impress Gerhart.” Alfred thought when he began to rapidly beat against Edel’s buckler. He flailed on him. Beating away his waste. Edel retreated under the wild assault. One score, two, three. And a blow to the side of Edel’s head brought him down.

“Hold! Alfred hold!” Colin shouted. He grabbed Alfred’s arm and kicked his leg out from under him. Alfred landed on his rear as Colin towered over him. “What kind of fool are you?” He heard Colin shout as his blazing eyes on him. “This is your companion in arms!” He said as he turned to Edel to assess the damage done.

Colin offered Edel his hand to help him rise. He brushed Colin’s hand aside, grabbed his waste. He wobbled as he stood. Then he threw off his helm. “I stumbled. He barely touched me.” Gerhart touched Colin’s arm before he could intervene between the two. “Let us watch a bit. Most intent I’ve seen from Edel.”

Edel advanced toward Alfred. His voice intense he said. “Defend yourself boy!” He slashed at Alfred so violently that Alfred stepped back and avoided the blow. “You ill-mannered lout. You self-absorbed idiot.” Edel attacked him with his words and waste.

Alfred rallied and began to advance. But stopped as Edel’s waste pounded against his buckler. Waste met waste. They cracked as if they might break.

“you stupid boy!” Edel shouted. I try to talk, and you turn your ugly nose up. We share lessons and you act like I’m not there.”

Edel’s’ waste once more slammed into Alfred’s sliding down and slamming into the guard which wretched it out of Alfred’s hand. It flew behind him. He raised his buckler in defense. The blows stopped. Glaring at him, Edel said. “Well, pick that blasted thing up and defend yourself, boy!”

Alfred wasn’t sure he wanted too. But Edel looked far from finished. So, he turned and bent to pick up his waste. Only to receive a kick in his rear, that sent him tumbling.

“How dare you turn your back to me! Boy” Roared behind him. Edel threw down his waste as stormed off to the manor. Alfred was too stunned to notice the tears streaming down his opponent’s face.

Henry had a smirk on his face until Colin Said. “Henry, show Alfred how to defend against such attacks.

So, Alfred, feeling mistreated, spent another hour in combat practice. While Edel disappeared.

Edel was absent from lunch. Alfred spent the early afternoon in siege class. Which meant arithmetic lessons. Being the only student, he was expected to figure all the answers. He had never expected to miss all the interruptions that Edel’s questions caused. Before this, he had resented how those questions extended the class time. Now he realized just how much they kept them from more problems to solve.

Being Monday Alfred expected accounting class next. Another hour of torture by numbers. His mother did the accounting, such as it was, for the tavern. The lessons on managing the counts traveling purse appeared much more complex.

He was surprised when he walked into old Simon the Count’s steward’s office to find Colin and Gerhart inside. Not a sign of old Simon. They stood so he stood. Gerhart whispered something to Colin, Colin only looked at Alfred. Alfred shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Was he going to be dismissed?

A cold mist was falling. The wind blew just enough to give a body a chill. It had been like this the entire day. The tavern was filled with locals, each nursing a mug of mulled wine. The farmers had been out preparing the fields for planting. A group of them were sitting near the fireplace complaining about a late spring. Other groups of friends were discussing one bit of gossip or another. The room was full of the comforting buzz of their conversations until the door opened letting a bit of the cold and mist blow in.

At first glance, the stranger appeared to be a waif of a boy. But to one watchful set of eyes, she was recognized as a young woman of about 16 years. The rest of the patrons didn’t bother to look that closely and returned to their own concerns as soon as the door was once more firmly closed.

The man sitting alone at a table in the corner farthest from the door and to the right of the fireplace raised his mug to his lips and watched as the girl disguised as a boy walked across the tavern to the bar. Jacob was serving today.  His wife Mathilda was in the kitchen preparing a stew, probably rabbit.

“Boy, you’re soaked through,” Jacob observed. “Get by the fire and warm yourself. Henry, move out of the way of the lad. Let him warm himself. I’ll fetch thee a mug of hot tea. Just stand as close to the fire as you can.” He finished as he turned to enter the kitchen area and fetch that promised mug of tea.

She stood close to the fire warming herself unaware that she was being watched. The man in the corner had spent years learning to notice and not be noticed. She turned her back to the fire and steam began to rise from the soaked fabric when Jacob reappeared carrying the promised mug of tea and a bowl of stew.

“Come, lad,” He called. “eat.” He told her as he set the mug and bowl on the bar counter. She would have to eat standing all the tables being occupied.

“I have no coin.” She told him in a voice that convincedly cracked like a boy at that age.

“Never mind that,” Jacob told him. “There are dishes to wash or wood to chop. Eat.”

“I need to find the Gray Knight.” The boy told him.

“I’ve been told,” Jacob replied. “That the Gray Knight finds who he wants.”

Albert was sitting on the stairs to the upper level, just out of his father’s sight. He should be out on the floor helping with the guests, but he had a book of Arthurian tales. It fueled his dream of adventuring. He sat quietly and watched as his father attended to the boy.

His father’s first rule was to welcome a new guest as soon as possible. Quicker if they appeared in need.  The boy probably had no money, or very little. Albert had seen situations like this before. His parents would make sure the child was dry and fed before any worry for the needs of the tavern would be thought of.

He was drifting back to his daydream of adventure when he noticed a movement. The Count was looking at him. The Count’s left hand was below the tabletop and moved in a gesture that meant come here. As kind as the Count appeared Alfred knew better than to ignore this request, subtle as it might be. Reluctantly he stood. He placed his book in a space in the wall. He had hidden books there before. Then he descended the stairs. He bent over to hear the Count. He was speaking softer than usual.

“Tell your father that his guest needs to be warmed in the kitchen.” He almost whispered. “When you’ve done that. Walk back here with a pitcher of mulled wine. When strangers walk in set the pitcher down and volunteer to tend their horses. When you return from that if they allow it. Come get the pitcher and tell me what you saw.”

What a strange request Alfred thought. Strange it might be, but you never refused the Count’s request. No matter how quirky it might be.

“Father,” Alfred said as he drew near the bar.

“Where have you been boy? There’s work to do. Pick up the broom and sweep up that pile of dirt Henry walked in.” His father told him.

“Father,” Alfred interrupted. “The Count told me that your guest needs to dry in the kitchen. And to bring him a pitcher of mulled wine.”

“What?” Alfred’s father glanced up toward the Count. Alfred didn’t see what his father saw but whatever it was. He turned to the boy. “It will be warmer in the kitchen. Let me show you the way. Closer to the dishes that will need a washing when you’ve had your fill.” He scooped up the half-filled mug of mulled wine and walked toward the kitchen door. Leaving the boy to pick up the bowl of stew and follow him.

Soon Alfred’s father appeared with a full pitcher of mulled wine. No sooner had he handed it to Alfred than the door slammed open and the wind howled through. Two rough-looking men in hunters garb stood in the open doorway their eyes scanned the room. One was turning back to the outside when the other said “We best ask about a bit. They might have seen something.”

Alfred stared. How had the Count known these men were coming? “Alfred,” his father scolded. “Take that to the Count.” Remembering himself Alfred walked over to the Count filled his mug before sitting the pitcher down on his table. Then he walked over to the men standing in front of the now closed doors.

“Want me to tend your horses? ‘tis only a silver pfennig for two horses in the stable overnight. We give them a bit of grain as well.”

The men looked at each other. The taller one raised his eyebrow. In a gruff voice, the shorter man said, “Very well, Tend them.”

As Alfred started to open the door the taller man grabbed him by the arm and asked. “Has a young woman passed through here?”

“I’ve not seen any young women except villagers,” Alfred answered truthfully.

As he exited the door Alfred overheard the tall one say. “Suppose we stay the night here dry, Grego?” He didn’t hear the answer as he shut the door tight before running through the mist to the two horses tied to the rail in front of the tavern. He was in the stables then taking care of the horses. Saddles and tack off, hay and grain provided. He even rubbed them down with an old blanket.

The Count was at his table when Alfred returned. As he passed by the Count’s table on the way to his room to get dry clothing. He paused a moment. “Just two horses. I didn’t see any other man about.” The Count nodded his head at this. He and the lad in the kitchen were gone out the back door when Alfred returned to the tavern’s main room.

Alfred was in a miserable mood. No sooner than he had finished his chores and was ready to begin the new book he had found in the church. Apparently, the priest, Father Fitzpatrick also enjoyed adventure tales. The thick volume Alfred had borrowed from the bookshelves of the church was a collection of Arthurian tales. His plans to disappear into a hidden space in the hay above the stables reading and dreaming of adventure was spoiled.

The count had requested him for a sparring partner with the boy that had appeared a few days ago. Why one of the older boys wasn’t selected Alfred couldn’t fathom. Samuel, Fritz, Duncan, Harold, and Clyde were well along in their training. The Count insisted that everyone over sixteen be trained in arms. They trained until they met the standards that he expected for the local guard. Alfred had at least two more years before he had to begin the task. It was so unfair. He heard his mother’s voice in the back of his mind, “Alfred take off that pouty face. It makes people think we spoil you.”

He put on his bland bored face as he approached the gates of the castle. The portcullis was down. This didn’t surprise him. he had never seen it open. He wondered if perhaps it couldn’t be opened. Simeon was at the iron gate the provided entry into the castle. Why was he behind the gate? Alfred didn’t remember ever seeing that gate closed. Most times he had been sent on an errand to the castle there wasn’t even a guard. He tried not to let a spark of interest show on his face. Though now he was a bit curious about what was going on here.

“Bout time you got here,” Simeon growled at him. “I’ve had to stand here for the last hour. My feet are tired.” He swung the gate out. “Get in and go to the house. I can lock this here, then sit in the warmth then”

Alfred walked thought the long tunnel through the wall of the castle. By the light of the scattered torches, he could make out the kill slots above his head. He was told in times of war invaders could be assaulted with arrows and boiling oil. As far as Alfred knew there hadn’t been a battle near here since his grandfather’s time. When he mentioned adventure and battles to this father, all he got was a gruff reply about wishing that peace would reign in the village till Alfred was a grandfather or more.  

Visions of noble knights and damsels in distress danced thorough his head. He could picture himself defeating the wicked wizard who held the damsel captive.  What he would do with her afterward he wasn’t quite sure. A kiss perhaps? The older boys hinted that there might be more. But they were as embarrassed as he when the subject came up. Which it never did when an adult was near. And they were almost always an adult nearby.

There had been two weddings the last year and the bawdy songs that had been sung that night…

“Alfred, what are you doing wandering about?” Gertie interrupted his thoughts. The count is waiting in the manor. “Best be on your way. He’s growing impatient. He’s got things to do.” She glared at him as only she could

He managed to get out “yes, um.” Then he rushed across the courtyard to what they called the manor. It had once been the castle’s chapel. Now it was where the Count lived. The area around the courtyard was the only area used now. The grand keep was a shamble of ruins. The only part of its walls in repair was what faced the courtyard. The guards were housed in what once had been the stables.  The moat had been filled in long ago. The kitchen and servant’s quarters now sat against part of the wall it had protected. The sables had been moved out to a walled yard the riders practiced on. The horses inside the walls the riders and their families lived in a scattering of houses nearby.  Of course, none of this crossed Alfred’s mind as the Count himself opened the manor door. Waving him in as it began once more to rain.

Alfred mumbled an apology for being late. “Nonsense,” the Count’s voice boomed. “You are just in time for the instruction to begin.  You know Gerhart, don’t you?”

He nodded his head in assent. He knew the wizen old man. He seldom came into the tavern. He wasn’t sociable at all when he was there. But he did know who he was.

Gerhart was standing next to Colin the man who was responsible for training the local guard.

“I’ve arranged with your father for you to stay here at the manor until I return from some errands I need to run.” The count told him.

“This is Edel.” He said as he walked Alfred over to where a lad about Alfred’s age stood. “You’ll be training with him. I expect you both to become proficient in the bow and sword. That’s Colin’s assignment. Then when Gerhart deems you ready, he’ll give you some lessons in close combat. He’s rather surprising in that you’ll see.”

Edel was a bit effeminate Alfred thought. He would have to be careful not to hurt the child. Why he didn’t even have a hint of a beard. Alfred would have had a nice start on one if his mother had allowed it.

 “I may need a page soon. That would mean some travel, Alfred.”  The Count drew Alfred’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Do well in the training and you may be the one.”

Alfred’s mind attached to the promise of travel. Yes, this was it his chance to leave this boring village and see the world. Oh, he would do well. Edel didn’t have a chance at becoming the count’s page. Not a chance.

“I’ve off early tomorrow morning.” The Count finished. “Catherine show Alfred where he will sleep. Your training begins in the morning.” The count dismissed them and walked away toward his quarters without another glance toward them.

Catherine directed him up the stairs and the second door on the left.  That’s where Alfred read of Arthur until the candle was burnt nearly out. He fell asleep and dreamed of knights, dragons and damsels.

Outside the tavern, it was a chill drippy night. It wasn’t much this tavern. Situated as it was in a backwater village overshadowed by a castle that may have once been important. Whatever trade route it had been built to protect had long ago shifted leaving it to sit alone.

A fire burned in the central fireplace. The guest on one side, the kitchen on the other. A young man in an apron was carrying tankards of mulled wine or platers of food between the tables. He was the inn keeper’s son. He preferred this to mucking out the stables a job assigned to Tom the son of the widow Hazel. Albert had once desired to adventure. He had once journeyed away from the village. He had traveled with the squire on an errand. It had been a relief to return to the quiet village. It was soon after that he had decided to court Rebecca. What he made working for his father wasn’t much, but it was steady. In time he would inherit the old place and raise his children in it as he had been by his parents. His mother was baking bread today. The whole place was filled with the aroma.

Bread baking day was one reason so many were gathered here today. That and the boar roasting on the split. Haskell the forester had brought it in yesterday. It had been raiding the village gardens, such as they were. They had lost half the potato harvest to him and his clan. Well no more. Potato fattened he would be the feast. Two other dismembered hogs hung in the various smoke houses in the village.

Rebecca was sitting with her family. When he glanced her way. She blushed and turned her eyes down. Albert forgot the pig then. He had made plans to meet her later, after the feast. Hopefully, they could sneak up to his room afterward.

Four of the castle’s guardsmen occupied a table. The fat one, Henry, was waving his mug trying to catch Albert’s eye. They needed more drink. Albert thought they had had more than their share. But who was he to deny them another round of mulled wine? They were off duty and paying customers. After he had eaten his fill and drank another few rounds of wine Henry would probably fall asleep where he sat.

It would be another half hour before they began to serve the boar. It would be another hour before the first of the fresh bread would begin to appear. For now, last week’s bread and some of farmer Brown’s cheese would have to do. Albert hardly had time to contemplate his rendezvous with Rebecca he was so busy.

Albert was pouring Henry another drink when the front door opened letting a chill spread across the room. A lad, about twelve, maybe a little older, pulled the door shut behind him. His hair plastered to his skull and his clothing was soaked through. He shivered from the cold.

A shudder ran through Albert as he finished filling Henry’s mug. He sat the pitcher down in the middle of the guard’s table, He knew it would be empty by the time he sought to retrieve it. Five years ago rattled through Albert. Albert knew that this boy was Tom coming in to warm himself after attending to the stables. Yet this brought back memories of what occurred five years ago and the start of the adventure that now haunted his memories.

Albert walked over to him. “Give me your cloak. I’ll find a place for it to dry.” He held out his hand and waited. Tom hesitated then shrugged his shoulders and slipped out of his cloak handing it to Albert. What was under the cloak was soaked as well. “Come by the fire. I’ll find a warm drink for you.”

He grabbed the empty pitcher off the guard’s table and headed for the kettle of mulled wine intending to grab a mug for Tom.  He saw the squire sitting at his table just like he had been five years ago. He almost dropped what he held the images were so clear.