The Blue Beard had the best ale for miles, or so it many patrons swore. Be that as it may, its warmly-lit windows and spacious common room looked especially inviting on a night such as this. The stranger strode up the wooden steps that led to the abandoned porch, knocking his boots against the railing to rid them of most of their mud. Then, pulling his wide-brimmed hat down closer over his eyes, he entered the building.
It was fairly quiet at the moment, only a few folk were out of their homes on a night like this. The stranger looked around carefully, taking stock of the room and its occupants before choosing a table in a corner next to the stone fireplace and sitting down with his back to the wall.
On the far side of the large room sat a low bar, with a portly man sitting behind it, polishing spoons. There was an entrance to the kitchen behind the bar as well, and even though no one could be seen through it, snatches of laughter could be heard from time to time. Tonight business appeared slow.
Several wooden columns stood about the room, aiding the exposed wooden beams in holding up the story above. The staircase that gave access to the upstairs was tucked into the near right corner, across the fireplace from the stranger. There were at least a dozen tables scattered about the common room, but only three had any occupants. Four elderly men sat at one, telling tales and talking of the times, two young boys sat at another, playing a game of fourlens, and the third held two middle-aged men talking politics over their ales.
“They say the Featherwen faction’s planning to assassinate Flamehope’s Fanglen leader.”
“Scaeldren, Lynx-lord?”
“Aye, the very one.”
“Bah, you listen to every rumor you hear, Scratch. There isn’t an assassin good enough to even get close to the Lynx-lord! Why, he’s won the Fistfire matches every year for nigh on four years now!”
“Aye, but that’s why they’ve got the best assassin since before the Blood-Invasion.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “Tell me, did ye ever hear of Crestlen, Hawk-assassin?”
The other shook his head, leaning towards the other.
“They say he’s the one what killed Toring, Bear-tooth.”
“You don’t say!”
“And… Castar, Jackal-fleet”
“Really?”
Scratch nodded. “Let me tell you, Havi, if anyone could do it, he could.”
Havi whistled under his breath. “If the lynx-lord were to fall… who would take his place?”
Scratch shrugged. “Who can say? But the Fanglen faction ain’t going to let Crestlen walk in there as easy as the wind, no sir! They’re prepared, they are, an’ if they catch him snooping around…”
He drew his finger across his throat, grinning devilishly.
Havi frowned. “How do they know what he looks like? I mean, would they know it was him if they saw him?”
Scratch laughed. “Oh, he doesn’t keep his face a secret, he likes to let folk know it’s him what got the job done. Plus there’s the way he dresses, all flashy and flamboyant. He didn’t used to be called Hawk-flare for no reason!”
Havi chuckled. “So, what do you mean, flashy?”
“Well, he’s got lots of daggers strapped all over his body, an’ he’s always got strings of beads hanging from his belt, an’ strips of cloth around his wrists, an’ brightly colored feathers in his hair. Plus, they say his boots have silver spurs on ‘em.”
“You mean, like the stranger’s over there?” And Havi jerked his thumb subtly back towards the stranger in the corner.
Scratch picked up his mug and took a drink, leaning back to peer over the edge of the pewter at the cloaked and hatted stranger. When he finished, he leaned in again, nodding softly. His voice turned to a whisper.
“Aye, the very same!”
Havi’s eyes widened. “Say, you don’t think…”
His friend nodded again. “Aye, he’s even got the cloth round his wrists an’ everything!”
“What do we do? He could kill us without old Forster even knowing who did it!” He motioned to the aging tavern keeper as he spoke.
Scratch tried to look unconcerned. “Well, what would he want us dead for? We’re just simple fishermen!”
Both pondered the situation for a moment, casting uneasy glances all the while back to the shadowy corner.
Havi spoke first, his voice an emphatic whisper “Well, I’m not going to just sit here and get killed like a fish in a net! I’m going to go warn the Fanglen leaders in Hillseat!” He nodded to himself, then took a large swig from his mug, as if to steel himself for the task.
If he had been a little less hasty in his drinking, he might have noticed the look of abject terror that had frozen Scratch’s face. As it was he stood up, turned around, and found himself face to face with the stranger. His own face froze in terror, and he gave off a whimper of fright.
“Sit down, Havi. I’m no Hawk-assassin,” said the stranger, his voice gentle yet rough.
Havi sat down obediently, and the stranger took a seat opposite the two.
There was a pause, and then the stranger lifted her hat, revealing a pretty face creased with a merry grin.
“Do I look all that dangerous?”
The looks of astonishment on the faces of the two fishers caused the girl to break out laughing.
“Close your mouth, Scratch. You look like one of the fish you catch.”
Scratch shut his mouth.
“Oh, come on now, it hasn’t been that long!”
Havi shook himself. “Why, it’s Korra! Korra, Cougar-rogue!”
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you liked the post (or conversely, didn't) leave a comment! It helps me keep in touch with my readers, and gives you opportunities for constructive criticism and feedback! Thanks for reading!