Broadswords - 10. The Swamplands

Broadswords

Chapter Ten
The Swamplands

Keeping Harmon an honest man, the journey to Dorre did indeed take the dragonslayer and his squire a full week. Though the prince had also referred to the distance as a short one, it was clear he meant only in a topographical sense. The terrain between Jhirdyr and Dorre, while short on a map, was rough and ragged and was the cause of the passage being so lengthy.

In fact, it was early evening on their seventh day in before they approached the marshes that surrounded the village. The sun was rapidly setting and Daegon knew that they would need to reach civilization soon so that they could stable the horses, get a warm dinner, and sleep in a real bed for the first time in a week. At last, when the sun was barely more than a sliver of orange above the mountains to the west, he could make out a few buildings in the distance.

And as the men neared them, they realized that those few buildings were all that comprised the village. The prince hadn't exaggerated the size of the place, either. There were maybe ten or twelve wooden structures along the main road, and two or three dozen more scattered beyond in either direction. Daegon assumed based on the locations and sizes of the buildings that the ones lining the street were the businesses, and the ones further off were the residences.

Thankfully, one of the buildings on the opposite end of the stretch had a few troughs and hitching posts. Though there were no other horses docked there, he took it to be the town's version of a stable. The stalls provided measly shelter in the form of a threadbare canvas hanging above. It was a small town indeed. They secured the horses and wandered back in the direction from which they'd come. Daegon had noticed the sole inn to be located in the middle of the row of buildings, on the left.

When they reached the door, he re-read the signage above. Dorre Inn & Eats. Pulling open the handle, the two made their way inside.

It was what could be expected of a small village. It, too, was tiny. Every inch of the interior was made of the same wood as all the structures themselves. The walls, ceiling beams, tables, chairs, and everything else in sight were made of the same dark material. It appeared to be the only type of wood available to these people.

The other thing that clearly indicated the size of Dorre was the reaction of the people within. There were a handful of guests, quite possibly the entirety of the population, and they all turned and stared as the newcomers entered. It was clear by the looks on their faces that they weren't used to visitors.

An aproned man approached, and he seemed less taken aback. He was petite, yet had a commanding presence. His hair was probably shoulder-length, though it wasn't certain as it was pulled back into a tight ponytail. A thin mustache adorned his face, underlined by a practiced smile. Though it was certainly not necessary in a place of this size, a small nametag reading Brev was fastened to the apron. "Hello, gentlemen, and welcome." His tone matched his drab expression. "Will you be dining or are you looking to rent a room for the night?"

"Both," Daegon said gruffly, as weariness and hunger were indeed tugging at his insides. Resultantly, Brev showed them to a table and handed each a menu, which he seemed to develop from nowhere.

"I'll give you gentlemen a moment?" he droned, somewhere between a statement and a question. His eyebrows raised as he said it, leading Daegon to decide that it was more of an inquiry.

"Please," Birten said, immediately taking to perusing the menu.

Brev made to step away to give them time to choose their dinner, but Daegon stopped him. "Actually, I had a couple general questions, if you don't mind. Non-dining questions, that is." The ponytailed waiter stopped and gave a terse nod in response. "First, we've hitched our horses to the posts down at the end of the road. Is there a stabling fee?"

"No, sir." He offered no more. No explanation on why the stable, for lack of better words, was so makeshift, nor if there was even an attendant. He stared at Daegon expectantly, waiting for the second of the queries.

The dragonslayer wasn't used to such curt behavior from others, with the occasional exception of Birten if they happened to be quarreling. Aside from that, he got full attention and proper responses from commonfolk. However, he had to remind himself, his reputation would not be known in such a small, distant village such as this. Thus, he swallowed his pride. It was a hell of a hard thing to do. But they had a mission, and he couldn't waste time educating this peasant.

"We're looking for a man named Elsior. Do you know where we might find him?" And as the words left his mouth, Daegon was met with a response that he wasn't quite expecting.

A collective hush fell over the rest of the room. The entire populace of the dining room once again fixed their eyes on the two outsiders. Birten fidgeted nervously in his chair. Narrowing his eyes, Brev glared at them, but otherwise kept his composure.

After a few seconds of the uncomfortable silence, the room slowly began to fill with chatter once again. It was mainly rapid, whispered speech, none of which Daegon could make out. Though they were all communicating with one another again, he could still feel the steely eyes of each of them fixated on him.

"What is your business with Elsior?" the waiter asked, his eyes narrowing still.

"We were sent here regarding the dragon, and were told that he could provide us further information," Daegon explained exasperatedly. He didn't understand why this commoner was making such a fuss out of the situation and why the rest of them were so frantic. Surely the village would be happy to have someone involved with slaying the monster that was wreaking havoc on their livestock, and if this fellow would just give him the information he needed, he and Birten could be on their way.

Instead, the room once again began speaking louder in unison. And somehow faster. Brev's eyes shot open wide and an accusatory look crossed his face. "The dragon! Who sent you? Where are you from?"

Daegon had had just about enough of the theatrics. He felt heat rushing to his skin, certain his face was reddening. He didn't like to be questioned. This waiter was getting out of line. He opened his mouth, gritting his teeth, and began to speak. "We're here from Jhir—"

"Jurrit Junction," Birten said out of nowhere, cutting him off. Even more than being interrogated, Daegon hated being interrupted. And Birten of all people knew that. He jerked his head toward the squire, about to snap at him, when he saw the expression on his face. There was a desperation in his eyes and he had his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. It wasn't unlike the face he made when he was trying to get Daegon to sleep with him. There was something else there, though, that differentiated it from his bedroom face. Concern.

While Daegon wasn't always perceptive to Birten's signals, there was something about the intensity he was currently displaying that made him tone down his own aggression. There was a reason Birten lied about their origin, regardless of if Daegon knew why. He could tell there was something he was missing that Birten had picked up on, so he decided to play along.

"Jurrit Junction," Daegon echoed. He recalled seeing a sign for the place on their way to Dorre, though they hadn't actually passed through. Though he still wasn't sure what was going on, he was impressed with how quick on his feet Birten was.

"You're here from Jurrit Junction for Elsior?" Brev asked.

The warmth was creeping past his collar again. He was beginning to feel patronized. This waiter was awfully slow in absorbing information. Daegon's jaw was clenched so tightly he feared his teeth might crack. "That's the story."

Brev stared at them both, shifting his gaze from one to the other. "Two men from Jurrit Junction, dressed in battle gear, in search of Elsior? For what purpose?"

"Why is this concept so titillating to you? He called upon us for help slay—"

"Slating his roof," Birten blurted, jumping in once again. "This isn't battle gear, though it does strike a resemblance, doesn't it? It's for construction, recently shipped in from Baronne. It's sturdier than the old linen uniforms we used to have. It protects better against a crookedly-swung hammer or an off-centered chisel." Whatever it was that Birten was aware of was still lost to Daegon. While he didn't always give him credit where it was due, Birten was a very insightful individual. He recognized the need for a story, and a story did he give.

At that comment, the waiter pulled a third chair up to the table and joined them in sitting. His posture mimicked his tone: accusatory, probing. Suspicious. "So Elsior is renovating his home from a wooden structure to a stone one? That's rather convenient, don't you think?"

Noting that Birten clearly had a handle on the situation, Daegon kept his mouth shut and looked at his squire expectantly. Birten's lip quivered, almost unnoticeably. Daegon wouldn't have caught it had he not been so familiar with the movement of Birten's mouth, so he was hopeful that Brev didn't notice it either. If there was a need for deceit, it wouldn't do them any good if it was detected.

"I'm afraid that's all we know," Birten said. "He sent a messenger dove to Jurrit Junction a few days ago requesting a pair of stonesmen. We answered that call."

Brev scooted his chair closed to the table, bringing his voice to a volume so barely audible that they had to lean in closer to hear him. "Let's say I believe you. That you're truly two unknowing stonesmen who happened to get a work order from a stranger in a village so tiny that it doesn't appear on most major maps. That you aren't working on a grander scale with Elsior, who happens to be an enemy of our community. Let's say I believe all that. Even if I do, I can't help you. You're not welcome here. Even if you're innocent, we cannot allow any ties to Elsior in our village. I wish the both of you wellbeing, if you are who you say you are, but either way you must leave." He pushed his chair back out and away from the table, stood up, and walked away.

"What in the hell do you think you're—"

He was cut off a third time, but this one wasn't by Birten. It was by a grungy old man at the table nearest them. And it wasn't an interruption with words, but instead a knife held up to his chest. The old man spoke, exhaling his words past the handful of teeth that remained in his mouth. "You heard the man. Get out of our village. Now."

Untying the reins of his horse from the post, Daegon looked at his squire. "What exactly just happened back there? And where exactly are we supposed to stay if we're not welcome at that inn and if we don't know where this Elsior lives?" As if making a mockery of him, cold raindrops began falling around them.

Birten fished a cap out of his bag and pulled it down over his ears. He had already released his horse from its pole and had mounted it, waiting for Daegon to do the same. "I don't know where we're going to go," he began, "but I know that something wasn't right back there. Didn't you notice how worked up everyone got just at the mention of his name? And when you referenced the dragon? Whatever's going on, I didn't want them knowing where we came from or why we arrived here. And clearly by their reception to the yarn I did share, I'm glad I didn't tell them the truth."

By that time, Daegon had finally freed his horse and had swung himself atop. "It seems like you're onto something, but Harmon had to have known what he was sending us into."

Though it was dark and he could only make out his silhouette, Daegon could tell that Birten was staring at him. It was a pointed stare, knowing yet unknowing all at once. For a few moments, the only sounds were the horses hoofing the ground and flapping their mouths, and indeterminate noises from somewhere in the marsh.

Eventually, Birten spoke again. "Either the prince is involved in some bizarre stuff, Daegon, or he doesn't know Elsior as well as he thinks he does."