Suzerain of the Beast (Vision Dream Series Book 3), page 19
Soon, they entered the outskirts of a village. There was a livestock trading house with large pens filled with sheep and pigs. A community miller and a small store for trading supplies were next to the livestock house. Across the street was a tavern. Its windows were fogged up, but its chimney was smoking heartily. There were homes set off of the main road.
“The tavern has a fire,” suggested Marelara.
“And by the Spirit, who knows what else,” replied Jeela, not liking the looks of it.
“I have coins,” offered Marelara. “I will treat us.”
“All right,” said Jeela finally. A warm meal did sound appealing.
“I have never been to a tavern. This is exciting,” said Marelara.
Jeela remembered some of the small taverns that Frankirwin and Erlerwin had shown her. She would put her hair up in a big felt hat and pretend to be one of the lads. Jeela got a firsthand look at what too much ale can do to a man. Wearing her pink coif under the hood of her lady’s cloak this day, Jeela looked anything but one of the lads. And seeing the curves revealed by Marelara’s cloak, a lad would be far from anyone’s mind. They tied their mounts outside the tavern, unlatched the heavy door and entered.
The main room was stifling hot from the roaring fire in the wide stone fireplace. Small candles dotted the room, but most of the light came from the robust fire. There were several round tables. Most of tables were taken by patrons sipping on mugs of ale or mugs of mulled wine, popular this time of year. The richest of the local farmers and tradesmen seemed to be the customers of this establishment, unlike the seedier taverns the twins used to frequent…mostly to watch Jeela’s reaction.
In the back of the room, but still very near the fire, Jeela located an empty table. She and Marelara made their way towards it. Someone grabbed Jeela’s arm as she passed a table of men. She glanced over to see a big man seated with two others, all eating meat pies and holding table knives. The knight spun around, snatched the man’s table knife, and jammed it hard under the man’s chin. Just inches from his mutton breath, she glared at him.
“Ferman, that one’s going to make a meat pie of ye,” laughed one of his friends at the table.
“If I slice thee open, I doubt I will find much meat there, ” said Jeela, still holding the knife to the man’s throat and poking him in the belly.
Everyone laughed. The man looked nervous for a moment, and then he too laughed.
“I beg the pardon of thee, Feisty Lady,” said the one called Ferman. “I mistook you for a softer sort.”
Jeela’s hood slipped down revealing her Pink mail coif.
“A woman knight, guarding her lady’s honor is a dangerous creature indeed. Best let them pass,” advised Ferman’s other friend.
Jeela pushed back Ferman. And pulled her cloak to reveal her sword. She made eye contact with every man in the tavern. She could see that neither her nor her charge would have any more trouble…for now. So they resumed their progress toward the empty table.
“That was amazing, Skybriel,” whispered Marelara, excitedly.
This woman was enjoying this entirely too much for Jeela’s tastes.
“Let us just eat and be on our way,” grumbled the lady knight.
“What ye ladies be needin’ this fine winter’s noon?” asked a tall scrawny man, wearing a stained apron. “Me meat pies be still hot and so too the wine. Warm ye right up.”
“We shall have two pies and two wines, if you would, kind tavern owner,” said Marelara, trying to suppress a giddy smile.
“Good choice. Only choice really,” admitted the tavern owner. As he scurried away, he yelled to someone in the back. “Vetta, fetch more pies.”
Returning with heavy clay mugs of steaming mulled wine, the tavern owner set down the wine and then gave them a tiny basket full of stale dipping bread.
Jeela sipped at the hot wine and stared at Marelara who was enthralled by the cramped, dirty tavern. The woman kept her hood up over her long black hair.
Just what was this woman hiding?
“The wine is surprisingly tasty,” noted Marelara after finally stopping to sip her drink.
“We will have to find a place to spend the night if this is the last village,” said Jeela.
“Barnteppy, give us music,” bellowed out Ferman.
“Ye have coin?” replied Barnteppy, the tavern owner.
“Ye knows I do,” said Ferman, and he slammed down coins on the table so all could hear. Then the big man looked over at Jeela and smiled. “Music for the ladies!”
Everyone cheered the idea.
“Vetta, fetch your fiddle,” Barnteppy hollered towards the back kitchen.
“How wonderful, music,” said Marelara.
Soon a young lass in a simple dress came out holding a vielle. The young tavern maid took a chair from one of the tables and placed it where everyone could see her. She sat and arranged herself without looking up at anyone. Holding the vielle’s base between her legs and letting its fret board and pegs rest on her left shoulder, she made ready to play. She took up her taunt bow and began to strum her fiddle slowly, while working her fingers along the frets. The instrument had a sad quality to it, not unlike the tavern girl. Then the girl sang a slow, sad song:
Green the glade a thousand miles away
Dark my heart when love’s at bay.
Some day soon, my joy will be.
When my love’s returned to me.
When she stopped, she looked up at the men. Seeing that everyone wished for a much heartier song, she began to fiddle a quicker, happier tune. The men clapped and pounded their tables, as she sang a cheerful song about wine:
When ale be stale, my son, my son.
And summer’s mead’s gone bad.
Give me wine; warm, warm wine,
To chase away the winter time!
Stomp, stomp those grapes, my son, my son.
And squash the juice of those bitty fruits.
And by the fall. We’ll fill the barrel tall.
And we’re ready for winter’s chill, my son.
Wine, wine, the hardy wine. Tis well in summer,
But in winter divine.
Wine, wine, the hardy wine. Celebrate when harvest’s done,
Now drink ye fill my son, my son!
“She is wonderful,” said Marelara.
“Yes,” admitted Jeela. “Eat up so we can be on our way.”
“Be a shame, we must leave so soon,” said Marelara.
“Be best we leave so soon,” replied Jeela.
❖ ❖ ❖
The tavern maid finished one more song before returning to the kitchen. Jeela had to concede that the music, the warm fire, and the warm mulled wine were brightening her spirits.
Carrying two meat pies, hot out of the oven, the tavern maid came over to their table and set one before each of them. There were no spoons, so Jeela grabbed a wedge of stale bread and scooped up some of the meaty contents of the pie. It was delicious.
“Cook could do no better than this girl,” commented Marelara.
“Cook? You have a cook, do you?” asked Jeela, seizing on a chance to learn more about this woman.
“Um…yes…occasionally,” said Marelara. “It is…what we call my aunt when she visits.”
But before Jeela could pursue this much further the tavern maid, Vetta, came over to their table.
“Here is a bit of pepper for ye pies,” offered Vetta, who set down a tiny pepper jar. The tavern maid took a rag and began to tidy up their table. Jeela thought the maid’s behavior appeared to be a bit staged, for the table looked clean enough. Then Vetta knocked over their basket of stale bread.
“Pardons, ladies,” apologized the tavern maid, as she crouched down to pick up her mess. Then to Jeela, she whispered, “There was a tall skinny man here. Not much more than one turn of the hourglass before ye arrived. He was asking the whereabouts of two women.”
“He was, was he?” Jeela whispered back.
“Aye, he was. He looked mighty strange to us here. Never seen him before. I believe he is still in the village. Just thought I would warn ye,” said Vetta, as she finished picking up the last of the stale bread and made to leave.
“Thank thee,” Jeela whispered, as Vetta returned to the back room.
Who could this mysterious man be?
If he was asking about the two of them, then he must have seen them together. But she thought she had been careful to watch for people following them.
Marelara.
Maybe this person was really after her new traveling companion.
“What were you two talking about?” asked Marelara.
“Nothing. It was nothing,” replied Jeela, not wanting to alarm her new charge. “Finish your meal. We need to leave at once.”
Then Jeela noticed Ferman and the others whispering to each other and looking their way. Ferman rose and lumbered towards the door. He glanced at them one last time before disappearing. Jeela noticed that he left his wine and his meal. This was not a good sign.
“Leave some coin on the table and follow me,” whispered Jeela.
“What?” asked Marelara, confused.
“Just do it!” hissed Jeela. And she rose.
Marelara tossed several coins on the table, an act that did not go unnoticed by Barteppy who nodded and smiled, pleased at the amount. Jeela led Marelara towards the kitchen.
“Tavern owner, we would like to thank your singer for her wonderful songs. May we go back and do so?” asked Jeela loudly.
Barteppy glanced one more time at the coins on the table to judge his response. “Of course, ladies, you will find her by the oven.”
Jeela and Marelara went through the door that separated the kitchen area from the tavern, but as she did, she glanced back at the tavern’s front door long enough to see Ferman returning. And he had someone tall with him. Jeela could not make out who it was.
In the kitchen area, there were barrels filled with mountain wine and large sacks filled with milled flour. Just outside of the small window in the back of the kitchen, Jeela saw deer carcasses hanging in the cold to drain out all the blood. Along the side wall was a large oven with an open flat slab for cooking lots of pies at once. Vetta was loading small chunks of wood into a lower chamber to feed the fire.
“Can you get us out of here?” Jeela asked the tavern maid.
Vetta stopped shoveling and nodded. She beckoned for them to follow. Vetta led them to a back door of the tavern.
“Let me bid father goodbye, while you bring your horses around back,” said Vetta. “Then I will lead you both safely out of the village.”
❖ ❖ ❖
They walked their horses down a winding, snow-covered path behind the tavern and into the woods as they followed the tavern maid, Vetta. No one spoke. Finally, they came to a small shack. Vetta indicated that the two women should go hide in the rear, while the tavern maid disappeared inside. Soon, an old woman came out of the home and disappeared down the trail. Vetta came back out.
“Tie your horses back here and come inside,” said Vetta, who then went back into the shack.
“What is this all about?” asked Marelara in a quiet voice.
“There was a suspicious man at the tavern asking about us,” replied Jeela.
“There was?” Marelara seemed surprised. “Just one?”
“Yes,” said Jeela. “Should there be more?”
“Ah…no. I just thought bandits traveled in groups,” Marelara said quickly.
This woman was lying.
Jeela was positive that her traveling companion knew more than she was admitting.
After securing their horses, they went to the front of the shack and entered. It was a tiny, tiny home, but it was well maintained. The floor was tiled and covered in straw and rugs. On one side of the room was a tiny hearth with a blazing fire in it. The room was very warm, almost balmy from the heat given out by the small hearth. There were a few chairs and a short sofa near the center area and on the opposite end of the room was an oak table and four chairs. There was a second room just off of the main living area. An old curtain was hung as a door to that room. Probably her sleeping quarters, thought Jeela.
“Come in. It is not much. Father built it for me when I….” Vetta did not finish.
“It is a good place…and warm too,” said Jeela, trying to be encouraging.
Then there was a rustling in the back. Vetta glanced back at the curtain with concern.
“Honey?” the tavern maid whispered.
The rustling stopped. They all waited for a moment, but nothing happened.
“Good. I thought he was about to—” started Vetta quietly.
“Mommy! Mommy!” cried a little voice excitedly and a very young boy flew out from behind the old curtain and rushed to Vetta’s side. The tavern maid knelt down, put out her arms, and let the little boy practically jump on her in his excitement. “I missed you, Mommy!”
“I missed you, too, Kirvonnel,” said Vetta to the boy.
After mother and child caressed for a moment, Kirvonnel looked up at the strangers in his tiny home.
“Who are they, Mommy?” wondered the boy, pointing at the two women.
“Friends. They are…I guess in the commotion I forgot to ask your names,” apologized Vetta, standing up.
“I am Jee…Skybriel,” the knight introduced herself. “And this is my traveling companion, Marelara.”
“I am Vetta, and this is my pride and joy, Kirvonnel,” said the tavern maid.
“We are pleased to meet you both,” said Marelara.
“Please take off your cloaks. I will make some barley tea for you,” said Vetta.
Jeela removed her heavy cloak and set it on one of the chairs. She noticed that Marelara kept hers on. And kept her hood pulled over as well, with just a bit of her face showing behind her long black hair.
“Come, take off your cloak, Marelara,” coaxed Jeela. “We may need to stay here for quite a while.”
“Yes,” said Vetta. “You are both welcome to spend the night and leave early in the morning to be rid of that man.”
“Not now, I…still have a bit of a chill,” said Marelara.
“You say you have never seen him before,” said Jeela, giving up when it was apparent that Marelara seemed to be in no hurry to remove her cloak.
“No. He was looking for two women who might be traveling together,” said Vetta.
It sounded to Jeela as if this man was not sure if she and Marelara were together.
Curious, thought Jeela.
“That girl has a sword, Mommy,” announced Kirvonnel, pointing at Jeela.
“Why, yes I do, young one,” agreed the knight, remembering how excited Chasladwinia was when the little girl had first seen Jeela wearing a sword. She missed Chassy, and it had only been a few days. “I am a knight.”
“No you are not,” insisted Kirvonnel. “You work at a tavern just like Mommy. Girls do not have swords.”
“Kirvy! Mind thy manners!” scolded Vetta.
“I swear to you it is true, young Kirvonnel. I really am a knight. Even though I am a girl,” Jeela assured the little boy.
“What about you?” the boy went up to Marelara. “You do not have a sword. Do you work at the tavern?”
Marelara knelt down to the boy’s level and said, “No. Young Master, I do not.”
“You have strange hair,” said the boy, and he suddenly yanked on it. The hair pulled off in his hand. “Mommy, Mommy, I broke her hair!”
“By the Saint’s Shoes!” exclaimed Vetta, dropping to her knees and pulling her son down as close to being on his knees as she could get him. “Forgive me, please forgive me! I had no idea it was thee!”
“You!” rebuked Jeela with an accusing finger. “What are you doing here!”
❖ CHAPTER 18 ❖
“THAT WAS THE fourth patrol in the last turn of the hourglass,” noted Gelfrondus from their spot within a heavy thicket which lined a ledge that overlooked a single tent directly below.
Earlier Ivindset and the other former Daravinian captives had crossed the swiftly moving waters of the Greater Grymetian River in two small boats. After some searching, they had found the Venordaladian’s stash of ten or so small canoes, which they hoped to use later for their escape.
As he now peered over the hedge and watched the backs of the four-man patrol disappear down a small trail, Ivindset wondered if they would have time to obtain the weapons they needed before the next patrol passed through this area.
“You are sure this is where you saw the cache?” asked Ivindset.
“Saw it? I helped carry most of the weapons here,” said Memdaren. “Penket nearly worked me to my grave filling that armory tent.”
In an effort to keep weapons out of the hands of their Daravinian conscripts, the Venordaladians stored extra weapons away from their main armory and in unmarked tents. This one happened to be in a secluded part of their small camp with only two guards watching over it. Since this armory tent was pitched nearly against the bottom of the ledge, it was considered to be in a safe area.
“The guards are sitting down to their supper. This would be the time,” said Jodonda. “I know these two. They’re slow eaters and like to socialize during meals.”
Ivindset saw that the two guards were now sitting a ways from the armory tent before a hearty fire that had a large metal pot hung over it. Something inside the pot boiled and steamed. Jodonda was right; it was their suppertime. Then Ivindset noticed a wagon and two horses tied near it.
“Jodonda, you, secure that horse and wagon and bring it to the back of the tent. Gelfrondus and Memdaren, load it with every blade and arrow you can find,” said Ivindset. “In the meantime, I’m going to try to keep our friends occupied.”
The four Daravinians silently slid down the gentle sloping part of the ledge and made their way towards the tent. Gelfrondus and Memdaren entered the tent from the back and began to gently, quietly set swords and other weapons on the ground behind the armory tent. Jodonda crept over to the horse, untied it and walked the horse from tree to tree as he made his way slowly towards the wagon. Jodonda paused and waited. This was Ivindset’s cue to distract the guards.
