Strength of Fate - 11. Chapter Eleven

A foredawn sky of deep blue and purple hues welcomed Nathan, Brohm, and Cormac as they stepped onto the guildhouse veranda. The morning air, crisp and cool, functioned as a slap in the face to shed any grogginess that remained. Brohm, carrying a lantern in one hand and a multitude of bags in the other, headed toward the stables. Nathan and Cormac followed in his wake, similarly burdened with their own gear. Their steeds were groomed and tacked. Saddlebags were filled with goods and equipment. Rucksacks were donned.

By the time they were ready to mount up, the eastern horizon smouldered orange and red. Riding across the courtyard, Nathan glanced at the guildhouse one last time. It stood stately in the early morning light—a far cry from when they first laid eyes on it. He felt a pang of pride at what he and Brohm had accomplished. This house, and the people who worked in it, were helping others. A year earlier, he would’ve never imagined they’d be helping people rather than hurting them. Together, they’d somehow become laudable men. He turned his attention to Brohm, who was adjusting his reins. Seemingly able to feel his gaze, Brohm glanced back at him.

“All good?” he asked, offering his crooked smile.

“Yeah,” Nathan replied. “Cormac, you ready to lead?”

“I certainly am. This way, boys.”

He broke into a canter, and they followed suit. The cool wind on Nathan’s face was refreshing. He always enjoyed the beginning of a long journey—equal parts freedom and uncertainty. Travelling was often tedious, especially if the landscape was monotonous, but he always tried to appreciate the beauty of his surroundings. As they reached the edge of Millsfield, they slowed to accommodate the townsfolk starting their day.

A woman’s scream emerged from the north, echoing off the ramshackle buildings. Cormac pulled on his reins and turned his horse to get a view of the commotion, but nothing could be seen from their position. Yelling men—words of caution, judging by their tone—joined the woman, but their distance made it impossible to decipher any words. The folk on the street all stopped in their tracks, turning toward the disturbance, unsure what to do.

“Should we investigate?” Cormac asked.

As though in reply, the woman screamed again, her fear palpable. The men’s voices—rising in panic—matched her intensity. Nathan made the decision and turned his horse down the side street toward the growing pandemonium. Brohm and Cormac took up the rear. Hooves dug deep into the dirt road as Nathan forced his mount around two tight corners. Frightened onlookers jumped out of the way to avoid being trampled. The voices grew clearer at each turn until Nathan reached their source.

The woman stood trapped on a dead-end street, her back against the wall of a dilapidated wooden building. To Nathan’s confusion, two men threw rocks and taunted her. He advanced warily on his horse, with Brohm and Cormac following near.

“Hey!” Brohm shouted. “What’re you doing? Leave her alone!”

The two men glanced at Brohm. Faces fear-stricken, they stepped back and pointed at four iratxos that were nearly upon the woman.

“Gods damn it!” Nathan said under his breath.

He dismounted, pulled his quiver and bow free, and nocked an arrow. He took a deep breath, aimed, and released. The arrow whistled to its target and lodged deep into the head of one creature, knocking it down from the impact. Its fellows jumped in surprise and turned their attention away from the woman. Brohm, approaching Nathan’s side, yanked his sword free from its scabbard.

Nathan retrieved another arrow. “Don’t approach them. Not unless you have to.”

The big man grunted in agreement.

Realizing the threat, the three iratxos scurried toward Nathan, forcing him to fire an arrow prematurely. Instead of the head, the arrow hit its chest, but the creature still went down. Another arrow nocked, but with no time to aim, it flew wide. Brohm took this as his cue and ran headlong at the remaining two iratxos before they could reach Nathan. He let out a bellow, his sword held low and ready to one side. The iratxos responded in kind with teeth, claws, and guttural laughter.

Brohm swung as soon as he was in range. The blade sank deep, nearly bisecting the creature. That momentum caused it to fly into the air, spilling gore onto the dirt. He had tried to hit both with one wild swing, but the second dodged the attack and moved to claim its advantage. Nathan had another arrow nocked and aimed during the melee, freeing it before the last iratxo could touch Brohm. It hit true, embedding into its head with a hollow thunk.

There was a moment of silence while the onlookers held their breath. Nathan used it to make sure nothing else was coming. Brohm stood defensively, his sword at the ready, glancing both ways, looking for another fight. Nervous murmurs arose in the growing crowd, but with each breath Nathan took, they fell more at ease.

“That could’ve been a lot worse,” Nathan said to Brohm.

The big man lowered his blade and stepped toward him. “Look behind you,” he said with a smirk.

Cormac, holding the reins of their horses, stared at them with a mix of fear and amazement on his face. It was clear he wanted to say something, but nothing intelligible emerged from his open mouth.

A slow clap came from the gathering crowd, acting as a catalyst for others to join in. The throng closed in to bestow their thanks, but Nathan wormed past them toward the men and woman who’d been terrorized by the iratxos.

“Did any of you get bit?” he asked.

All three shook their heads, and then the woman drew near.

“Thank you,” she managed to stammer, fighting against the rush of fear-fuelled adrenaline. She rubbed her hands, eyes dancing left and right, searching for trouble.

“You’ll be alright,” Nathan said. “Just take some deep breaths.”

She nodded and followed his advice. “What were those things?”

“They have a few names, but most call them goblings.” Nathan tilted his head toward Brohm. “We run the local Adventurer’s Guild branch. We’ve fought those things before.”

“Where did they come from?” one of the men asked.

Nathan was about to speak the truth before biting his tongue. “Nobody’s sure. We’re actually heading east in search of answers.”

Brohm approached from behind. “Good timing on our part, I reckon.”

“No kidding,” responded the man, chuckling nervously. “Our rock-throwing wasn’t any help. Thanks, both of you.”

“Yuh, no problem,” Brohm replied.

They returned to Cormac and the horses. The old man had gathered his wits and wore an apprehensive smile.

“I’ve never seen such a display,” he said. “You handled yourself admirably.”

Brohm uttered a dry grunt. “It wasn’t anything special.”

“I beg to disagree,” Cormac said, gesturing to the crowd. “I wasn’t alone in my amazement.”

“If you say so,” Brohm said with a shrug. “Let’s get moving.”

They mounted up and found their way back to Millsfield’s main street. Cormac took the lead again at a trot, giving Nathan time to consider the attack. He pondered how long the daemon had been in the area. It had only been a few days since their first encounter. Had it been stalking him longer than that, flying around the guildhouse each night for weeks? Perhaps months? Zoe mentioned there had been more attacks at night, but didn’t say for how long.

Regardless, he was glad they were moving away from Millsfield, bringing the daemon with them. Hopefully, it would provide the townsfolk some respite from additional attacks. Of course, more iratxos could be hiding, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. He nudged his mount to position himself alongside Brohm.

“We should go back and warn the guildhouse about the attack. There could be more coming.”

Brohm shook his head. “If there is, people can get help from the town guard or they can go to the guildhouse. They can take care of themselves.”

Nathan raised his eyebrows. “We just witnessed that they can’t take care of themselves.”

Brohm laughed. “Yuh, good point. But we’re not their dads. Reckon word’ll spread real quick about the show they just saw.”

“I suppose.”

“Don’t worry about ’em, l’il buddy. Besides, we’re trying to end this mess for good. No time to waste.”

Convinced by Brohm’s words, Nathan nodded.

They were soon clear of town, allowing them to safely ride at an accelerated pace. He’d ridden this road many times, but he enjoyed it all the same. Being so close to Helmsley Keep, it was well maintained. Wide, flat farmlands allowed for uninterrupted views of the northeast mountain range, and he never tired of those vistas.

 

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

 

By midmorning, they stopped to eat a simple breakfast of meat and cheese stuffed into soft buns Edgard had baked the night before. Brohm let out soft grunts of enjoyment with each bite.

“I’m gonna miss Edgard’s cooking,” he said with his mouth full.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find decent food once we reach Etton Crossing,” Nathan said.

“You can count on it,” Cormac said.

Brohm perked up. “Yuh?”

“Indeed. The city is known for its cuisine. It has an unofficial food district where chefs from all over the region vie to hone their craft.”

“Sounds expensive,” Brohm mused.

“I have no doubt. I’ve never visited this district, but word spreads.”

Nathan nudged Brohm with an elbow. “I’m sure we can afford to indulge in a tasty meal or three.”

At first, Brohm frowned in confusion, but then remembered the ridiculous amount of coin they were carrying with them. He gave Nathan a sly grin in response. While preparing to continue their journey, Nathan winced at the warming sun and pulled up his hood.

“Where’s your hat?” he asked Brohm. “Did you forget it?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, untying it from a saddlebag. He donned it, adjusting the brim to his liking. “It look okay?”

Nathan smiled and nodded, still finding it surprisingly charming.

The day wore on uneventfully, and by late afternoon, they reached the traveller’s inn near the road toward Helmsley Keep. Every time they entered, Nathan hoped the owner would improve the lodgings—even fixing the uneven tables would go a long way—but, yet again, found himself let down.

“Why don’t we camp outdoors?” he muttered to Brohm. “The weather’s nice.”

The big man shook his head. “I’ll always choose a bed over hard ground.”

“Even if the bed is just as lumpy?”

Interpreting Brohm’s expression, Nathan knew he’d lose the argument if he continued. With a sigh, he allowed the big man to wrap an arm around his shoulder and usher him into the dingy parlour.

To reach the next day’s destination, Remich, meant leaving early in the morning and arriving well after sunset. While the day’s ride was long, the road’s flat and well-kept condition prevailed, and aside from passing a convoy of goods, remained tranquil.

They managed to reach the walled town before the massive wooden doors had closed for the night. Nathan actively reminded himself not to head to the Black Lamb Inn this time. He still missed Griff, but at least he’d managed to say goodbye, however briefly. Despite his wish to offer a proper farewell, it was foolish to risk going back again.

“You wanna stay at a posh inn tonight?” he asked. “It’d even out yesterday’s terrible sleep.”

“Sounds good to me,” Brohm said.

“While I’m uneasy to indulge in such luxury, I’ll not let that stop you,” Cormac said. “Lead the way, Whitter.”

Nathan directed them to a small, gated quarter he’d heard about, but never explored—a refuge from the unwashed riffraff. He considered it odd anyone of stature would decide to live in Remich, considering its reputation for attracting undesirables.

Passing through the open gates, the town transformed immediately. The streets were clean. Shops and houses were in excellent repair. No broken glass in the window panes, and many were gilded with ornate ironwork. Garden beds of blooming flowers bordered the houses, filling the air with exotic scents. Even the hubbub of the town had quietened. Aside from one passerby, the streets were deserted, and their horses clopped reverberantly on the cobblestone.

“Reckon there’s an inn around here?” Brohm asked.

As they reached an intersection, Nathan pointed to the right. A three-storey building, well-lit and well-kept, answered Brohm’s question. A few men, impeccably dressed, stood near the entrance. They chatted in hushed voices, glancing toward their group as they approached.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Nathan said. “Could you point us to where we can stable our horses, please?”

One of the men scoffed. “Do we look like stableboys?”

“Perhaps these are the stableboys,” the other quipped.

They chortled at their supposed humour.

Nathan snuck a sidelong glance at Brohm. The big man’s expression told him what he already knew. A year earlier, Brohm would’ve jumped down, lumbered over, and punched the man in the face. Now, he only rubbed a fist in his hand.

“Jokes aside, we’d appreciate if you could tell us,” Nathan said.

The second man used his nose to point. “Can’t you read? Around back.”

Nathan turned to the direction indicated and noticed a well-lit sign with an arrow pointing to the side of the building: STABLES. He offered a curt nod in thanks, and then led Brohm and Cormac down a wide alley.

“Assholes,” Brohm muttered.

“Yes, in this case, I would agree with you,” Cormac said.

The stablemaster emerged from a small hut as they drew near. Despite his station, even he was dressed smartly.

“Hi. Are there rules on attire for this place?” Nathan asked.

The stablemaster looked them up and down. “No, but rest assured, you’ll get some dirty looks.”

“I’m used to that,” Brohm said, and the stablemaster offered a knowing smile.

Nathan was pleased to find a rear entrance into the inn, meaning they wouldn’t need to cross those smug men again. He felt genuine concern Brohm wouldn’t be able to hold back his retribution a second time. They entered a dimly lit foyer, overcome by the smell of delicious food. A dapper headwaiter approached with apprehension.

“May I . . . help you, gentlemen?” he asked.

Hungry and tired, Nathan didn’t want trouble. They had the coin, and there was no reason they couldn’t stay here. Persuading this man to agree was another matter.

“Good evening. My colleagues and I would like dinner and two rooms for the night.” Before the headwaiter could reply, he cut him off. “I appreciate our appearance is not to your standards, but we’ve been on the road for a few days now, and would greatly enjoy the comfort of your establishment.” Nathan hefted his heavy coinpurse. It jingled reassuringly. “We can pay in advance if that helps you overlook our situation.”

The headwaiter pursed his lips, glancing from the leather pouch, to Nathan, to Brohm, to Cormac, and then back to the pouch. “Very well, however, I would ask you to dine in your rooms.”

Nathan nodded. “A fine compromise.”

After agreeing on their fee, they were stealthily ushered upstairs. The room was spacious and overly decorated, but a welcome sight compared to yesterday’s accommodations. A four poster bed, canopied with extravagant white lace fabric, commanded the room. To one side sat an intricately engraved table and four chairs.

Cormac was shown his own room across the hall, but Nathan asked him to join them for dinner. Brohm’s eyes burned into Nathan, but he ignored it. If they were to travel together, Brohm had to accept Cormac as part of their group.

A trio of servers appeared, setting the table with practised efficiency. Candles were lit, and a substantial carafe of wine was proffered, to which Brohm eyed with longing.

“Please be seated,” the lead server said.

Nathan and Cormac sat on one side, and Brohm moved one chair out of the way to sit opposite them. Three trays covered by silver domes were placed on the table. In unison, the covers were lifted, allowing steam to waft up, bringing with it delicious aromas. Brohm’s eyes grew wide, surprised by the generous portions of meat and vegetables.

The servers bowed slightly, and the lead server spoke, “Enjoy your meal.”

“Thanks,” Brohm said with a grin.

Matching their swift arrival, the servers exited and silently closed the door.

“Reckon you get what you pay for, yuh?” Brohm said, immediately tucking into his meal.

“Well, in this case, I’m not so sure,” Nathan said. “What we paid for the rooms and food was probably double.”

Brohm, his mouth full, grunted his disapproval.

“Thank you again, both of you, for including me on this journey,” Cormac said. “And of course, for paying my room and board.”

Nathan casually waved a hand. “It’s nothing. Thanks for being our guide.”

“I feel as though I’m cheating you. The road east eventually leads to the city. Any map could’ve shown that.”

“Maybe so, but we didn’t have a map.”

Brohm interrupted. “Let’s get one thing straight. You’re here because I don’t trust you outta my sight.”

Cormac stared at his plate of food, chewing hesitantly. He could only nod in response.

“Being our guide is a bonus, I reckon,” Brohm said. “At least you’re good for something.”

“Broh—” Nathan cut himself short before speaking again. “Sid, come on. Cut the guy some slack.”

Cormac glanced over to Nathan. “No, he’s right. ’Twas my inquisitiveness that has thrown us into this situation, and I apologize for that. Sid, I’ll do everything in my power to show I’m a trustworthy man.”

Brohm glared at him from the corner of his eye. “Don’t reckon that’s possible.”

Nathan slammed a fist on the table. Glasses and cutlery rang in response. All eyes fell to him.

He spoke with an even cadence. “We’ll be travelling together for a while. Cormac is doing everything he can to keep things civil. Sid, you—”

He flinched as Brohm pushed his plate away and abruptly stood up, toppling his chair.

“Oh! This is my fault?” the big man cried.

Nathan hid his face with his hands.

“This fucker gets in our business, and it’s my fault? This guy who saw us and somehow knew we’ve done bad things.”

“But ’tis the truth, is it not?” Cormac interjected.

Nathan winced. “I think it’s best you say nothing right now.”

Brohm’s wild eyes burned into Cormac while pointing at Nathan. “You better listen to him, old man, otherwise I’ll show you what a bad guy I really am.”

Cormac raised his hands as a sign of peace. “I’m sorry, Sid. I understand my words hurt you. ’Twas not my intent, and I aim to learn from my errors.” He nudged Brohm’s plate back into place. “Please, sit down and finish your meal. I don’t want it to go to waste on my account.”

Brohm’s chest heaved as he took deep breaths through his nose, considering the monk’s request. Nathan watched him, recalling their conversation about jealousy. His mistake now was siding with Cormac, but how else could he explain Brohm was the source of tension within the group? Perhaps Brohm already knew this but refused to accept it. Perhaps he aimed to cause a rift on purpose.

Nathan beckoned with an open hand. “Please?”

With a sigh, Brohm scuffed his feet back to the table, uprighted the chair, and roughly sat down. It was a wonder the chair didn’t buckle under the sudden weight. Nathan reached across the table and covered Brohm’s hand with his. Brohm glanced up—almost bashfully—then squeezed Nathan’s hand in return.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be,” Nathan replied. “I told you. One of the reasons I love you is that fiery nature of yours.”

Cormac nibbled on a chunk of roast, ostensibly appreciating their calm exchange. They joined him, completing their meal in silence.

“Well,” Brohm drawled. “It might’ve been expensive, but that was good.”

“We can afford it,” Nathan said. “The way things are going at the guildhouse, I don’t think we’ll ever have to worry about coin again.”

“Yuh, how weird is that?”

Cormac dabbed his mouth with a napkin and rose from his seat. “Well, boys, the hour grows late, and we have many long days ahead of us. My thanks again for the meal. I’ll leave you two.” He headed to the door but hesitated while reaching for the latch. Instead, he turned toward them. “Sid. Again, my apologies. I understand it might be impossible to earn your truth, so I’ll not push the matter.”

Brohm, his back to the monk, nodded sternly.

“Good night,” Cormac added in haste as he exited the room.

Once they were alone, Brohm rolled his eyes.

“What?” Nathan asked.

“I’m a fool.”

“Why do you say that?”

Brohm grabbed the carafe of wine and emptied it into his cup. “’Cause I let that old man get under my skin, again.” He downed his drink in one gulp and slammed the cup on the table. A lewd grin spread across his face. “But reckon I have a way to say sorry to you.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you have in mind?” Nathan asked.

Brohm rose and pushed the chair back deliberately, wood against wood resonating within the room. Unhurried, he stepped toward Nathan, then using his foot against the chair leg, rotated his seat. Taking Nathan’s arms, Brohm lifted him over a shoulder and carried him to bed. Nathan, chuckling, never revealed he loved it when Brohm did this, but perhaps he already knew. With a sweeping motion, Brohm laid him gently onto the downy mattress. Thick fingers fumbled at Nathan’s trousers, managing to free his manhood.

“Hold on,” Nathan said. “I thought you didn’t enjoy giving head.”

Brohm smirked. “Consider it my way of saying sorry.”

Nathan’s head fell back onto a pillow, uttering a moan as Brohm took him into his mouth.

 

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

 

Grey skies greeted them early the next morning. Nathan had been dreading this day, knowing they’d arrive at Summerton by nightfall. His old accomplice and friend, Samuel, used to own the Willow Inn in the village. It was also a front for their covert business: assassin for hire. Samuel arranged the jobs, and Nathan executed them, literally. Upon discovering this, Lord Helmsley had the place torched with everyone inside, including Samuel.

Nathan’s glum mood—or possibly the weather, he couldn’t be sure—crept onto Brohm and Cormac. Neither appeared particularly enthusiastic while preparing for the day’s journey. With a minimum of interaction, they were soon outside the gates of Remich.

Brohm was first to break the silence after a few hours on the road. He manoeuvred his mount alongside Nathan.

“Summerton’s coming up.”

Nathan gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m aware,” he said in a flat tone.

“I’m just wondering . . . uh, you reckon there’ll be somewhere to bunk tonight?”

Nathan shrugged with a sigh. “No idea. We can camp if need be.”

Brohm eyed the featureless grey sky. “Hopefully no rain tonight.”

Nathan grunted in response, wanting to end the conversation, but the big man’s gaze held on—wanting to say something else but unable to find the words. After a few moments, Brohm gave up and fell back to the rear position.

After leaving Remich, the northern mountains receded, and their surroundings—grassy flatlands punctuated by scrubby bushes—grew tiresome. Nathan’s mind wandered—thinking of the past, thinking of Samuel. His friend had warned him something didn’t feel right when giving the final assignment. Nathan’s response had been a cocksure reply. The job turned out to be a trap laid by Lord Helmsley. He would never forgive himself for that mistake, and hoped to never ignore a friend’s intuition again. Yet Brohm warned him to steer clear of Tarn, and Nathan had ignored that as well. Would he ever learn from his mistakes?

Around noontide, or what felt like it, Cormac signalled to stop. “How about a break? A bite to eat?”

Nathan wasn’t hungry, but knew an empty stomach would do him no good. With a nod, he dismounted, and they followed suit. While Cormac ran to a nearby bush to relieve himself, Nathan felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned to Brohm, whose eyes pierced through him.

“You okay, l’il buddy?” Brohm asked, wearing a grim smile. “Reckon this ain’t easy for you.”

Nathan wrapped his arms around him. “I’ll live.”

Brohm held him close, kissing him on the cheek. That tiny gesture worked wonders to etch away the gloom. Nathan might’ve lost Samuel, but at least he had Brohm.

“Once we’re past Summerton, you try to forget it, yuh?” Brohm said.

Nathan stretched up and gave Brohm a kiss on the neck in return. “I will. Thanks, big guy.”

After a hasty lunch, they continued on the road east. By early afternoon, the low clouds had gradually dispersed. Patches of sunlight streaked out, scanning across the grassy plains, bringing some colour to the otherwise bland countryside.

They approached a crossroads, familiar to both Nathan and Brohm. To the north was the road to Dead Man’s Pass. To the south, an abandoned farm owned by Brohm’s now-dead father. Nearby stood a copse with a creek running through it—a place they hid for the night while on the run. A small part of him wanted to veer off the road and head for those trees. They’d only known each other for a few days, and he sought to relive the experience of getting to know Brohm again. Cormac, of course, was oblivious to all this. He rode east without looking back.

The hours passed, and familiar landmarks emerged from the landscape. Farmhouses and their surrounding crops announced their near arrival to Summerton. Nathan’s gut tightened, knowing the village would appear over the next few rises. He took a deep breath. There was nothing gained by feeling anxious, but telling his mind that was a losing battle.

The late afternoon sun at their backs drew long shadows on the dusty road. Cresting the last hill, the plain and honest buildings that made up the village came into view. The Willow Inn, normally looming large over the rest of the settlement, was missing. He expected it, but that did nothing to ease the grief he felt.

Cormac slowed their pace to a trot and addressed a passerby. “Hail. Are there lodgings in your fair village?”

The man smiled, pointing farther down the road. “Sure is. The Willow Inn welcomes all travellers.”

Nathan fought the sudden vertigo assailing him, nearly falling from his horse. He had so many questions, but his tongue refused to work. Cormac, unaware of the importance of such a statement, offered his thanks and urged his mount onward. Nathan trailed behind, giving Brohm a baffled look. The big man could only shrug in confusion.

Reaching a small bend in the road, a new building stood in place of the original inn. It was smaller—only one storey—which explained why they didn’t catch sight of it earlier, but its design was quaint and welcoming. Small wooden flowerbeds hung from the windowsills. The burnt husk of the giant willow tree was gone, and in its place, a willow sapling. Nathan’s throat tightened as he tried to stifle his emotions. The stables stood separately behind the inn, however no one was there to receive them.

“I’ll take care of the horses,” Nathan said, his voice breaking. “You two go on inside.”

Cormac dismounted. “There’s no need for that. ’Tis a quicker task if we all do our part.”

Nathan took the reins from the monk. “No, I insist. You look tired.”

Cormac rubbed his chin. “Do I? I don’t feel particularly tired—”

“Let’s go, old man,” Brohm interjected while shouldering their rucksacks. He wrapped a free arm around Cormac and led them inside.

Taking another deep breath, Nathan silently thanked Brohm. He fell to the task of removing the horses tack, brushing them down, and checking for wounds. Waiting for them to settle, he stepped out to admire the inn again. The sun was near setting, and warm lamp light glowed from the windows. The grounds were carefully manicured with river pebbles lining the foundation.

The village grew muted as dusk loomed. Crickets began their nightly song. Faint, polite laughter emanated from the inn. Nathan felt content just to lean against the wall and enjoy the peace, but a few moments later, Brohm’s familiar form emerged from around the front. He lumbered toward Nathan, following his gaze at the inn.

“You okay?”

Nathan nodded, a small smile on his face. “I can’t believe this is here. Who built this?”

Brohm shook his head, unable to provide an answer. “We got two rooms. There’s a tankard waiting for you. Food smells good, too. But reckoned we’d wait until you were ready before ordering.”

Nathan headed back into the stables, motioning for him to follow. “I’ll feed and water the horses. Could you take in the saddlebags?”

Brohm grunted in affirmation, did as was asked, and left Nathan to his chores. “Don’t take long, yuh?”

After caring for the horses, Nathan entered the front door and was met with a whiff of fresh wood. It was to be expected considering the young age of the building. Brohm needlessly waved from their table—there were only two other groups of patrons—but Nathan waved back with a smile anyway. As promised, a tankard waited for him. He took a slow, deep draught of the brew, savouring it.

A young woman approached. “You men looking for some supper? We have roast chicken with all the fixings.”

Brohm nodded, licking his lips. “Yes, please. We’re all hungry.”

She gave him a wink. “Comin’ up.”

As the hours passed, the place began to fill up. Brohm was unexpectedly cordial toward Cormac, but Nathan refused to say anything in fear the spell would break. Their server returned regularly to check in on them, making sure their tankards were full. By the time of her next return, Nathan had worked up the courage to speak up.

“Excuse me. I was wondering if I could speak to the owner?”

She wiped her hand on a towel over her shoulder and offered to shake his hand.

“Name’s Katlyn.”

He was taken aback, presuming she was far too young to own a tavern, but realized she’d just proven him wrong. With an embarrassed chuckle, he shook her hand.

“I’m Whitter. My companions, Sid and Cormac.”

She gave them a nod in greeting. “I hope you’re all enjoying yourself tonight.”

Brohm raised his tankard. “Yuh!”

Cormac nodded back courteously. “Indeed. ’Tis a fine establishment.”

“Thankya, thankya,” she said, performing a mock curtsy.

“I was wondering if I could ask you some questions. Privately?”

She offered a quizzical look. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Nothing of the sort. I just . . .”

“Sure, but let’s keep it quick.” She led him to a quiet corner and gestured for his questions.

“What you’ve built here, it means a lot to me,” he said, absentmindedly scratching his arm.

She eyed him inquisitively. “Does it now? How so?”

“Did you”—his voice cracked and he cleared his throat—“did you know Samuel?”

Katlyn stood blindsided by the question, using a smile to mask her sorrow. “He was my uncle. You knew him?”

Nathan nodded. “He was a close friend. He’d be proud of what you accomplished here.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes glinting in the light. “It seemed the right thing to do, y’know? He had money squirrelled away, and that inheritance came to me. I thought: why not use that to rebuild and run the place?”

He smiled. “Even from the outside, it’s obvious you took great care reestablishing what Samuel had built. It’s beautiful.”

A patron called out to Katlyn, interrupting their moment, and she shrugged nervously, wiping her eyes.

“Are you really running this place on your own?” Nathan asked.

“I’ve got a cook, but yeah, it’s just me out front,” she said. “You want a job?”

They shared a laugh. She rushed to the customer, but then pivoted back to Nathan, mouthing a ‘thank you’.

“What was that about?” Brohm asked as Nathan returned to their table.

Nathan jerked a thumb at Katlyn. “Turns out she’s Samuel’s niece.”

“Who’s Samuel?” Cormac asked.

Nathan distractedly waved a hand, thinking of the past. “Just a friend.”