Chapter Three
The Stranger eyed the stubborn innkeeper with utter contempt.
The Stranger, as everyone called him, was small, with a tanned, wrinkled face which had been hardened after long hours on dusty roads. It owned a pepper and grey beard, which came down to his chest. His eyes were a dark green, and glinted in the fading lamp hanging perilously on the rickety pine roof. He clutched a tall, long staff which he had had since he was a little boy. A long brown cloak wrapped around his small body, which concealed all his belongings, which was three daggers, a small leather purse which actually held a fortune, and the family heirloom, a small sapphire, which was small, but had a rich, deep dark blue. With black hair and wisps of grey, the stranger was still quick as a snake, and was surprisingly strong for his slim build.
He had just tried to get a night at this inn, and the inn-keeper was giving him an impossibly high price. Eventually the Stranger gave in and reached for his purse.
“I suppose I’ll have to pay anything for one night,” he sighed.
“Yes, I suppose you shall,’ mimicked the innkeeper, a strange glint in his greedy eyes.
Suddenly the Stranger, in a lightning quick movement, shot his hand up and grabbed the collar of the startled, fat innkeeper and gave a quick twist of his wrist. The sweating man gave a yelp of surprise.
“Now,” the Stranger’s voice was dangerously soft. “Lower the price and let me stay or my friend here will do the talking.” He nodded his head downwards, and the innkeeper was greatly discouraged to see a razor sharp blade stabbing into the fleshy part of his throat.
“Yes,” he gurgled, barely getting the words out. “Yes, I think that would be good.” He named the much lower price.
“I would quite like a three course meal,” the Stranger hinted cheerfully. “Living off dried beef for a while hasn’t been the greatest dinner for four months. For free, mind you.” The indignant innkeeper opened his mouth to protest, but the heavy blade of the Stranger’s dagger returning to the rough pine bench told him to not do so.
“Very well,” the fat owner muttered, outraged with the Stranger’s request for a free meal. “We have some lamb racks, seasoned with rosemary, with some roast potatoes on the side. Supper is an apple pie, along with coffee. Other drinks are ale or wine.”
“That sounds wonderful, thank you. I’ll have ale, if you don’t mind,” was the happy response. The Stranger glided towards the far corner of the building, seating himself at a curiously shaped table. He fiddled with the thin table cloth that wrapped itself around the top of the table. Soon after the meal came, steaming on a large, oval shaped plate. The head waiter worked his way expertly around the tables dotted here and there in the hot, smoky room. The Stranger gave a small nod, and tucked into it eagerly. His appetite was obviously big, because he devoured it quickly.
“That was quite nice,” admitted the Stranger. “Now, where’s that apple pie someone was talking about?” this last statement was addressed to the kitchen, which was hidden just around a bend in the room.
“Just coming, sir,” announced a nervous junior waiter who had just lurched into the large inn. He was holding the large pie, which had a flaky pastry top. The young waiter placed the apple pie onto the Stranger’s table, bowed deeply and scurried off without a word. The Stranger licked his lips, and snatched the pudding in two hands, took a huge bite and instantly flavour exploded in his mouth. It reminded him like his mother’s savoury stew that she used to make on cold winter days. The Stranger’s eyes watered slightly, the first sign of any true emotion. He cursed under his breath, shook himself and busied himself with the apple pie. Several sliced apples were buried in the pie like hidden treasures, and they squelched under the impact of the Stranger’s white teeth. The pie was one of the best in stock, and the cooks were outraged that this ‘imposter’ as they called him, could get away with this. The innkeeper soothed them by saying he would call in the watch as soon as he went to sleep. The cooks enthusiastically agreed, and so that was when the plan was set up.
*****
“Careful you fool! If you wake him he could kill us all!” hissed the captain of the watch. The last bit wasn’t exactly true, but it was effective to the young boy who had just made a good deal of whimpering.
“Sorry sir. I was just checking to see if he was awake, I was.”
“Very well,” muttered the watchmen. “All right men, swords out, and let’s put this ruffian under lock and key!” this was met by a low murmur of approval from the rest of the group. They strode over to the bed, and tipped the bed over. There was a heavy crash as the bed collapsed to the ground. The remains of several vases spilled onto the ground. Some whispering followed as the captain stood dumbfounded at the upturned bed.
“Who did this?” he fumed to no one in particular. The others in the group stayed silent. They knew that the captain was not a good man to mess with. Flinging the door open, the outraged man walked out with a reddened face, and spat out several curses as he tore down the narrow staircase. The others followed hesitantly.
A cloaked man, who had been hanging perilously from the window shelf, dropped silently to the roof underneath him, even though he knew the occupant in there would almost definitely be asleep. He stole over to the stable, jumped onto a small shaggy horse and sped down the broad main street. Small market stalls shrank back into the looming shadows. The inn was already a small tower amidst the smaller collection of houses that made up the town. A forest was now coming ever closer to him, and the Stranger grinned mirthlessly. The watch would have only just got back from their expedition, and he had zipped through the watch towers, their pine boards creaking in the cold wind that bit at the Strangers body. Letting go of the reins, he wrapped the cloak around his body even more tightly. He plunged deep into the forest, and nearly smashed into a towering oak that blocked a makeshift path. He slowed the horse’s gallop to a canter. Scanning his surroundings, the Stranger ignored his horse’s noisy breathing, but instead focused on what was around him. Dense undergrowth obscured the mud and dirt underneath. Towering trees of different varieties covered the overhanging clouds, making the forest feel stuffy. The Stranger could sometimes see birds roosting peacefully on the high branches that made up the darkened green canopy. He just then noticed that because he was looking up at the natural roof, he hadn’t noticed the sound of quiet voices, or hadn’t seen the burning campfire that was partly blotted out by a small pine tree. Realising that his gaze was always on the dying light, The Stranger hurriedly switched his fixing stare on the other parts of the forest.
“Stupid fool,” the Stranger muttered to himself. By looking at the campfire, his night vision was momentarily ruined. It came back to him, and instantly his steely eyes picked out an unnatural lump of something. It was hard to tell, but The Stranger thought he could pick out the hilt of a long dagger. He dropped to the ground and, forgetting about the horse, stole quietly across the underbrush.
Sandron moved his head in where the rustling had come from. He knew it was not what a creature would do, so he instantly drew another of his blades and prepared from the onslaught of this invisible opponent. The attack came sooner than Sandron expected, though he was still ready for it. The Stranger launched himself at Sandron, and the clash started. It was evenly matched, because where The Stranger was experienced and stronger, Sandron was quick and nimble. Sandron unleashed a furious array of cuts and slices with both daggers, pushing the Stranger into some thick fernery. Victory was near for Sandron, when the Stranger rolled into the underbrush and disappeared into the abundance of bushes. Sandron stood there, a little confused when the Stranger appeared again, his oak staff whirling above his head. He brought it down on his opponent and Sandron instinctively ducked to avoid the trimmed oak branch. He tripped on a rotting log, and tumbled back. The Stranger strolled over to where Sandron was lying, and unsheathed a long dirk from his leg. He pinned Sandron to the ground, and brought the blade to Sandron’s throat.
Sandron’s eyes watered slightly. His vision blurred. Suddenly he thought his sight was deceiving him. He could see Davis and David hammering punches into the Strangers body, which sent him reeling. Sandron found himself being picked up by gentle hands, taken to the clearing and being let down on the medics floor. Then his world went black.
The Stranger eyed the stubborn innkeeper with utter contempt.
The Stranger, as everyone called him, was small, with a tanned, wrinkled face which had been hardened after long hours on dusty roads. It owned a pepper and grey beard, which came down to his chest. His eyes were a dark green, and glinted in the fading lamp hanging perilously on the rickety pine roof. He clutched a tall, long staff which he had had since he was a little boy. A long brown cloak wrapped around his small body, which concealed all his belongings, which was three daggers, a small leather purse which actually held a fortune, and the family heirloom, a small sapphire, which was small, but had a rich, deep dark blue. With black hair and wisps of grey, the stranger was still quick as a snake, and was surprisingly strong for his slim build.
He had just tried to get a night at this inn, and the inn-keeper was giving him an impossibly high price. Eventually the Stranger gave in and reached for his purse.
“I suppose I’ll have to pay anything for one night,” he sighed.
“Yes, I suppose you shall,’ mimicked the innkeeper, a strange glint in his greedy eyes.
Suddenly the Stranger, in a lightning quick movement, shot his hand up and grabbed the collar of the startled, fat innkeeper and gave a quick twist of his wrist. The sweating man gave a yelp of surprise.
“Now,” the Stranger’s voice was dangerously soft. “Lower the price and let me stay or my friend here will do the talking.” He nodded his head downwards, and the innkeeper was greatly discouraged to see a razor sharp blade stabbing into the fleshy part of his throat.
“Yes,” he gurgled, barely getting the words out. “Yes, I think that would be good.” He named the much lower price.
“I would quite like a three course meal,” the Stranger hinted cheerfully. “Living off dried beef for a while hasn’t been the greatest dinner for four months. For free, mind you.” The indignant innkeeper opened his mouth to protest, but the heavy blade of the Stranger’s dagger returning to the rough pine bench told him to not do so.
“Very well,” the fat owner muttered, outraged with the Stranger’s request for a free meal. “We have some lamb racks, seasoned with rosemary, with some roast potatoes on the side. Supper is an apple pie, along with coffee. Other drinks are ale or wine.”
“That sounds wonderful, thank you. I’ll have ale, if you don’t mind,” was the happy response. The Stranger glided towards the far corner of the building, seating himself at a curiously shaped table. He fiddled with the thin table cloth that wrapped itself around the top of the table. Soon after the meal came, steaming on a large, oval shaped plate. The head waiter worked his way expertly around the tables dotted here and there in the hot, smoky room. The Stranger gave a small nod, and tucked into it eagerly. His appetite was obviously big, because he devoured it quickly.
“That was quite nice,” admitted the Stranger. “Now, where’s that apple pie someone was talking about?” this last statement was addressed to the kitchen, which was hidden just around a bend in the room.
“Just coming, sir,” announced a nervous junior waiter who had just lurched into the large inn. He was holding the large pie, which had a flaky pastry top. The young waiter placed the apple pie onto the Stranger’s table, bowed deeply and scurried off without a word. The Stranger licked his lips, and snatched the pudding in two hands, took a huge bite and instantly flavour exploded in his mouth. It reminded him like his mother’s savoury stew that she used to make on cold winter days. The Stranger’s eyes watered slightly, the first sign of any true emotion. He cursed under his breath, shook himself and busied himself with the apple pie. Several sliced apples were buried in the pie like hidden treasures, and they squelched under the impact of the Stranger’s white teeth. The pie was one of the best in stock, and the cooks were outraged that this ‘imposter’ as they called him, could get away with this. The innkeeper soothed them by saying he would call in the watch as soon as he went to sleep. The cooks enthusiastically agreed, and so that was when the plan was set up.
*****
“Careful you fool! If you wake him he could kill us all!” hissed the captain of the watch. The last bit wasn’t exactly true, but it was effective to the young boy who had just made a good deal of whimpering.
“Sorry sir. I was just checking to see if he was awake, I was.”
“Very well,” muttered the watchmen. “All right men, swords out, and let’s put this ruffian under lock and key!” this was met by a low murmur of approval from the rest of the group. They strode over to the bed, and tipped the bed over. There was a heavy crash as the bed collapsed to the ground. The remains of several vases spilled onto the ground. Some whispering followed as the captain stood dumbfounded at the upturned bed.
“Who did this?” he fumed to no one in particular. The others in the group stayed silent. They knew that the captain was not a good man to mess with. Flinging the door open, the outraged man walked out with a reddened face, and spat out several curses as he tore down the narrow staircase. The others followed hesitantly.
A cloaked man, who had been hanging perilously from the window shelf, dropped silently to the roof underneath him, even though he knew the occupant in there would almost definitely be asleep. He stole over to the stable, jumped onto a small shaggy horse and sped down the broad main street. Small market stalls shrank back into the looming shadows. The inn was already a small tower amidst the smaller collection of houses that made up the town. A forest was now coming ever closer to him, and the Stranger grinned mirthlessly. The watch would have only just got back from their expedition, and he had zipped through the watch towers, their pine boards creaking in the cold wind that bit at the Strangers body. Letting go of the reins, he wrapped the cloak around his body even more tightly. He plunged deep into the forest, and nearly smashed into a towering oak that blocked a makeshift path. He slowed the horse’s gallop to a canter. Scanning his surroundings, the Stranger ignored his horse’s noisy breathing, but instead focused on what was around him. Dense undergrowth obscured the mud and dirt underneath. Towering trees of different varieties covered the overhanging clouds, making the forest feel stuffy. The Stranger could sometimes see birds roosting peacefully on the high branches that made up the darkened green canopy. He just then noticed that because he was looking up at the natural roof, he hadn’t noticed the sound of quiet voices, or hadn’t seen the burning campfire that was partly blotted out by a small pine tree. Realising that his gaze was always on the dying light, The Stranger hurriedly switched his fixing stare on the other parts of the forest.
“Stupid fool,” the Stranger muttered to himself. By looking at the campfire, his night vision was momentarily ruined. It came back to him, and instantly his steely eyes picked out an unnatural lump of something. It was hard to tell, but The Stranger thought he could pick out the hilt of a long dagger. He dropped to the ground and, forgetting about the horse, stole quietly across the underbrush.
Sandron moved his head in where the rustling had come from. He knew it was not what a creature would do, so he instantly drew another of his blades and prepared from the onslaught of this invisible opponent. The attack came sooner than Sandron expected, though he was still ready for it. The Stranger launched himself at Sandron, and the clash started. It was evenly matched, because where The Stranger was experienced and stronger, Sandron was quick and nimble. Sandron unleashed a furious array of cuts and slices with both daggers, pushing the Stranger into some thick fernery. Victory was near for Sandron, when the Stranger rolled into the underbrush and disappeared into the abundance of bushes. Sandron stood there, a little confused when the Stranger appeared again, his oak staff whirling above his head. He brought it down on his opponent and Sandron instinctively ducked to avoid the trimmed oak branch. He tripped on a rotting log, and tumbled back. The Stranger strolled over to where Sandron was lying, and unsheathed a long dirk from his leg. He pinned Sandron to the ground, and brought the blade to Sandron’s throat.
Sandron’s eyes watered slightly. His vision blurred. Suddenly he thought his sight was deceiving him. He could see Davis and David hammering punches into the Strangers body, which sent him reeling. Sandron found himself being picked up by gentle hands, taken to the clearing and being let down on the medics floor. Then his world went black.