Escape from Valn

 

Part 3

The Knight and The Thief

         Sir Errc Rhudven listened to the ebb and flow of the music, locked in a trancelike state of nostalgia. He knew the “Anthem of Alderiche” almost as well as he knew his own name, for when he was a boy, his father would often sing it to him as both a lullaby and bedtime story. The thought brought a smile to his face as he recalled the tales his father told of the legendary heroes of old, or the stories of how his forefathers fought alongside the likes of Daladon Half-Elven and Aristobulus the Mage to rid the world of the tyranny and darkness of The Horned God, Unklar. For a moment, he was lost in the images of his past as he took a journey through the memories of his childhood. It was that very anthem, which flowed over the patrons of The Oaken Tankard like a musical tide, along with the tales of his ancestors and other legendary heroes that had played a major role in his life and influenced his desire to become a noble warrior. For as long as he could remember, both as a page, and later after he had obtained the position of squire, Errc would often imagine that he was one of the great heroes of legend as he practiced his knightly training. A whimsical smile spread across his face as he recalled the many grain sacks that he had “slain” in the name of all that was just- enacting various battles with the foul likes of orcs, goblins, and trolls. Looking back on the days of his youth, Errc had always hoped that, one day, he would bring honor and glory to his family name, and that his own deeds would be written in the hymns, ballads, and tales of renown along with the legendary heroes whose very names and deeds inspired such great songs of valor as the one playing now. Filled with pride and swelling with integrity, Errc raised his tankard in a solemn salute to both the song from his past, and to the performer whose magical touch on the lute had brought the images of his youth alive once more, before draining its contents in a long swig of dark, foamy, bittersweet brew. Still enraptured by the epic melody, the knight brought the empty flagon back down to the table with a solid clap and then wiped the excess moisture from his face. A young barmaid sauntered over to his table bearing a tray in one hand and a decanter of frothy brown ale in the other. She set the tray on the table long enough to refill Errc’s wooden flagon before placing a platter with a bread-made bowl full of steaming hot venison stew before him. The aroma of spiced meat and vegetables in a thick hearty broth wafted up, tantalizing the young knight’s nostrils, reminding him that it had been several days since his last hot meal. He thanked the barmaid, who just smiled in response before ambling back off into the crowd. Errc spooned a heaping mound of the aromatic stew into his mouth, savoring the robust flavor that seized his taste buds and held them captive for the duration of the bowl. The hearty stew and foamy ale filled the young knight’s belly and warmed his soul, allowing him to relax and escape from the day’s endeavors- yet not so much as to keep him from catching a movement out of the corner of his eye. In a swift blur of motion, Sir Errc’s hand shot out from his bowl, catching the hand of a thief who had thought to relieve him of his coin purse.

          “Hey,” the would-be thief protested as she wrestled and tugged against Errc’s vice-like grip, “let go o’ me, ya’ filthy son o’ a goblin’s arse!” Errc eyed the girl evenly, giving her a casual once-over. His trained eyes carefully took in every detail about the rogue- she was small and lithe as a ferret, with eyes that sparkled like emeralds, reflecting the fiery spirit held within, and hair the color of deepest chestnut, that even though it was pulled back, draped gracefully over her trim, well toned shoulders like a silken cascade. Although the young rogue was barely sixteen years of age, she could move with all the skill and grace of a panther skulking through the shadows. Judging by the scarred leather cuirass that she wore, along with the scimitar and dagger that was cinched at her waist by a sturdy leather belt, Sir Errc could tell that the slender thief was no stranger to battle. She continued to wrench and pull at her captor, creating a scene that had begun to attract the attention of some of the nearby tables. “I mean it ya’ bullheaded oaf,” she demanded as she struggled fiercely to free her captured hand; “let me go!” As she spat the last words, her free hand shot to the handle of her dagger, only to be restrained by the knight just as her fingers brushed the pommel. Flustered by the sudden turn of events, she renewed her efforts, twisting, turning, and pulling to escape from the knight’s grasp. When it was clear that she wasn’t going to free herself anytime soon, she ceased her struggle and regarded the knight with a scornful glare that told him that she would not be easily broken.

          Sir Errc returned her gaze with a stern look that said more than it needed to. “It seems to me that your luck has run out, thief,” he declared flatly- his voice leaving no doubts to his claim; “but perhaps not entirely.” The knight watched her for a moment to see if anything he was saying was getting through to the headstrong youth. Whether it did or not, he couldn’t tell for sure, but he continued on anyway; “I’ll let you go this once; however,” he emphasized with a stern expression, “do not try to rob me again; are we understood?” The young rogue glared at the knight disdainfully as she stood there, trapped within the warrior’s grasp. A pouty look of defeat had begun to cloud her otherwise pretty face as she accepted the circumstances of her position. “Are we understood,” Errc reiterated with an uncompromising glare and a matter of fact tone that let her know that he was not to be trifled with?

          “Oh alright,” Selira Luran responded with an exasperated huff that seemed to deflate her already petite form. She allowed her arms to slacken a bit to show that she was willing to comply with the knight’s demand; however, as soon as Sir Errc relinquished his grip on the young rogue’s arm, she snapped them away with a swift, fluid motion that betrayed her true skill. Selira eyed the knight disdainfully as she rubbed the feeling back into her wrists. “Ya’ didn’t have to be so rough, ya’ know,” she scolded him sulkily, but if Sir Errc felt any remorse from the sting of her words, it didn’t show.

          “Well, in that case,” he responded- his face softening to once more reflect his more amiable nature, “maybe you shouldn’t try to take things that don’t belong to you, hmm?” His witty retort earned him a flustered scowl from the young rogue that invoked an inward chuckle that Errc could not easily resist. “Come;” he invited her with a chortle as he slid out an empty chair and motioned for her to sit, “join me for a drink, if you like.” He watched as her pouty, disdainful expression softened, melting away to form a warm, if slightly defeated, yet accepting nod. “Great,” he continued as Selira slid into the offered seat, “what’ll you be having?”

          Selira raised an arched eyebrow as she regarded the man of whom she had just tried to rob and his strange sense of generosity with a certain amount of curiosity. “Ya’ buyin’,” she inquired as Sir Errc summoned a barmaid with a wave of his hand?

          “Aye,” he replied with a polite nod before taking a swig from his wooden tankard, “I’m buying”. There was a particular sparkle in the knight’s eyes that Selira instinctively liked, even if she couldn’t understand the motives, if there were any, behind his actions.

          “Well then,” she said with a wry grin that revealed much about the young rogue’s spirit, “in that case, I’ll have a mug o’ Elven Mead.”

          Sir Errc accepted her request lightheartedly as the barmaid approached the table, ready to fetch whatever the youthful knight needed. “Bring a mug of Elven Mead and a bowl of stew for my guest, if you will,” Errc requested as he dropped a few silver coins into the maid’s hands. She looked at the coins for a moment, and then back to Errc, giving him a courteous, if quick nod before turning to make her way back to the kitchen. “So,” Errc said as he turned his attention back to the young rogue, “what brings you into town on this cold winter’s night?”

          Selira was dumbfounded as she sat, staring at the knight- unsure of how to answer. She considered his question for a moment; then responded. “How do ya’ know I’m not from around here,” she inquired, her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out how the knight knew that she was a vagabond? At that moment the barmaid returned, placing a flagon of mead on the table before her, taking her from her thoughts long enough to regard the woman, who was probably only a couple of years her senior, politely. “Thanks,” she said, offering a solemn gratitude to the barmaid as she offered a simple smile.

          “Ye’re welcome,” the barmaid replied; then glancing to Sir Errc, she asked, “anything else while I’m here?”

          “That’s all, for now, thanks,” Errc replied returning her smile with one of his own. With that she turned and disappeared among the gathering patrons of The Oaken Tankard once more. Errc cast a glance toward Selira noticing her baffled expression in response to his inquiry. “Well,” the knight responded with a nonchalant shrug and a knowing grin that was only hidden in part by the rim of his mug as he lifted it to imbibe another mouthful of ale, “for one, no one seems to notice you, recognize you, or even know you; yet even a rogue like yourself is often recognized in their hometown.” He watched her response as she mulled over the knight’s general observation, taking special note of his precise attention to detail. With a glance that shifted from him to the table, the rogue’s face darkened into an expression of thought.

          As the implications of the knight’s revelation sorted themselves out in her mind, Selira looked back up, from the table to the knight sitting before her. A hundred and one questions swirled like angry hornets in her mind as she pondered who this peculiar traveling knight was, and moreover, what he was about. “Ah,” she replied thoughtfully as she took in a mouthful of mead and began rolling the semi-sweet liquid around on her tongue, “I see. Well, it seems I’m a bit o’ a wanderer and needed to get out o’ the cold for the night.”

          “There’s more to this knight than meets the eye” Selira thought as she considered her circumstances, “things could be much worse, though.” She took another drink of her mead as she accepted the hand that fate had dealt her. “Oh well, whatever happens, happens; the night’s still young after all.”

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