Erlend Andvari sashayed into town with Geros lumbering beside him. The old bear was always good for clearing a path. The shift changed at the salt mine as they entered town. Erlend was known for his bear friend and his skill at Kings and Thrones, but still fearful scoundrels and unknowing passersby gave the pair a wide berth as they moved down the street, a fact that made Erlend smile just a bit.
“Erlend!” a five-and-a-half foot drákōnblood called from the doors of The Salty Crone roadhouse. She stood on two legs, like any humanoid, and had scaly green skin and a long, powerful tail. Her head was shaped the same as the dragons of lore, but proportioned to her body. She wore sapphire blue linen breeches tied by a rope around her waist. The leg holes slapped loose around the top of her calves. Her strong drákōnblood legs had three claws on each foot and a dewclaw above the ankle. She wore a buttoned sleeveless vest, tight around her torso with a flowing train attached to the bottom of the vest that hung down only eight inches in the front, but almost touched the floor in the back. Around her neck was an orange spiny coral oval pendant. It was flame in rock form, gleaming with oranges and yellows of every hue. It matched the color of her eyes. “Erlend, it’s been too long. Come on in. Eat, rest, and tell me how things have been.” She escorted him inside.
“Thank you, Saquiroth,” he winked as he entered.
“You, too, Geros,” she called. The lumbering bear pushed through the double swinging doors of the roadhouse following Erlend and Saquiroth inside. They walked through the room full of round tables and chairs. Patrons sitting in their path stood as Saquiroth and her friends passed by. Others not in the path studied the trio.
“He ain’t gonna eat us, is he?” A man in the crowd shouted.
“He prefers a better cut of meat than you, Wartbelly!” snarked Saquiroth, pointing at the toothless human standing by the fireplace. A laugh filled the room, easing the tension. Erlend glanced over and made note of the man. His gaze then caught a group of men sitting in front of Wartbelly. They played their game of Kings and Thrones, paying no attention to the bear in the room.
That’s odd, he thought. A circus act walks through the room and they just sit there playing their game? He glanced over again and recognized the look. They were being coy—stealing glances one at a time while pretending not to care. Erlend noticed the man sitting on the right side of the table, facing the door. He was a stout human with short dark hair with a thick, black mustache. He was leaned back in his chair playing cards never looking at Erlend and Geros. The man’s scabbard was tooled leather with embossed but tarnished brass fittings and he had a dagger on the table. It was made of Damaskos steel—the same rare, wavy-patterned, steel Erlend carried. Not something a typical traveler or merchant could afford. Erlend spied the pommel on one of the men’s long sword. It was a red-footed cuckoo. These men aren’t ordinary salt-seekers, he thought. No. These men are here for another reason. They are calm and don’t overreact.
Squiroth led him to a nice round table in the corner of the room.
“Here you go, Erlend. Best seat in the house, as always.” Every time he came to town she sat him at the same table against the wall at the back of the room. She pulled out the chair in the corner. “You can sit here,” she said as she walked around the chair. A man sat at the table to the right of Erlend with his head resting on the table top. Saquiroth kicked her foot up to the table edge and shoved it out of the way. The man’s head dropped and he fell out of his chair.
“Hey,” the man screamed. What the …” he said as he looked up, spying the bear. He noticed Erlend smiling. “Um, why don’t you sit that bear over there,” he said softly pointing at Erlend. Saquiroth gasped and grabbed Geros by the face.
“Nobody puts my baby bear in the corner,” she said in a baby voice as she nuzzled the old bear and scratched his jowls. Saquiroth turned to the man and frowned. “Git,” she yelled as she kicked. The man scrambled up and scurried through the room and out the double-swinging doors.
From this vantage point Erlend could see the entire room. He sat against the back wall in the right corner. To his left was a solid wall all the way to the corner. A long counter ran half the length of the other wall. Behind it a man served food and drink. Behind the counter was a door, which led to a kitchen, store room and a backdoor to an alley. Above and behind the counter was a staircase that led to the rooms upstairs. To Erlend’s right was a long wall. Next to him Geros sat on the floor. A stone fireplace lay farther down the wall; the heat warmed his fur. A small stage was built in the right corner by the front doors.
A servant brought over a pint of ale and a wooden Kings and Thrones board with pieces. He shook his head at the ale, but grabbed a game piece and fiddled with it in his fingers.
“No, thank you, but my old friend here,” Erlend pointed at Geros, “loves it. Would you mind pouring that in a bowl for him?”
“What else would you like, honey pie?” The woman was stout shouldered. Her corset was tight around her broad belly. She wore a white, long-sleeved shirt under her corset and a long flowing skirt with her hair up, tied with a long scarf. On her pinky finger she sported a turquoise ring, more expensive than a server would be able to afford.
“I’ll start with Jasmine tea, please, milady.” Erlend bowed his head slightly and smiled.
“Milady!” she snorted. “Well, would you look at that. He thinks me a proper lady!” she announced to the room, filling it with laughter.
“A woman as beautiful as you, surely must be a lady,” he said sweetly.
She snorted again “Milady! Did you hear that, Saquiroth? You better start paying me a lady’s wage!” She clapped Erlend on the shoulder and trotted off.
Erlend twirled the chess piece in his hands, staring at the three levels of game board stacked one on top of the other in front of him. Pieces were lying overturned on the different levels.
Soon, the server returned setting a pot on the table. “Milady,” she laughed then returned to the kitchen. Mr. Andvari poured himself a cup of tea and watched the board. The server came out of the kitchen with a platter of trout, freshly gutted with the head intact.
“Fool!” shouted Saquiroth. “Don’t bring raw fish into the dining room with a bear in here.” The server turned around and disappeared back into the kitchen. She never returned, embarrassed of being called out in front of everyone. A thin male server dressed in drab brown took her place. He brought a wedge of hard cheese; a bowl of creamed snail and mushroom soup served in a round of bread that was hollowed out, and a pint of bitter oatmeal stout.
Erlend ate quietly alone, keeping to himself. When he finished, he pushed his food away and leaned back picking his teeth with a sliver of wood that came with his food. He smiled and watched the room. There were several small tables with Kings and Thrones games on them. It was a common custom to go into a tavern and play games with bards. Some bards sat at the same table night after night. Others were travelers from far away lands. All bards were master gamers and storytellers. Among strangers and friends, an exchange occurred before game play. Some swapped trinkets, food, drink. Sometimes people bet instead. The most common practice was to trade stories and songs. During game play each gamer would regale the other with a spectacular yarn of adventure, comedy and woe.
Erlend was known for his stories; his travels and experiences were far reaching. Soon after finishing his dinner, people came by to play. Some came for his stories, but others came just to get a glimpse of Geros. “I teach at the Iasos Unified Preparatory Abbey,” he said, often offering a wide smile. “We’re just here picking up some salt for the kids. Nothing to be afraid of,” he repeated to many passersby and players.
As soon as he set up the Kings and Thrones board, patrons lined up to play. Others stood around the table to hear one of his stories. The first to sit down was a bard from the north, heading to warm waters of the south for the winter.
“It is said you are a most talented storysmith, good sir,” the man said as he lowered his head. He was short for a human yet still taller than Mr. Andvari. He wore a green tunic with blue and gold trim around the neck, sleeves and bottom hem tied at the waist with a blue and gold silk sash. He wore a rapier at his side and had a harp strung to his back. On top of his head he donned a floppy felt beret with a peacock feather in it. “Allow me an introduction?”
Erlend nodded.
“I am Tingron Turlow.” He took off his hat, bowed deeply, and extended his arms outward. “The Bard of Myrddin. The Singer of Rainbows and Storm Clouds.” He paused. “You have, no doubt, heard of me.” Tingron rose and smiled, nodding to light applause.
Erlend stood up and bowed quickly at the waist, keeping his eyes on the boastful bard then sat back down. “I am Erlend Andvari. The Bard of Nowhere and the Singer of Nothing.”
“Ho!” Tingron bellowed. “A shy and humble raconteur! I pray your story is bolder than your introduction,” he said as he sat down. “Surely you do not plan to exchange some trifling curio?”
“A story, good company, and a friendly game is all I require,” Erlend said as he set up the board. “And a good oatmeal stout,” he laughed as he sipped from his wooden cup.
Tingron moved first then leaned back. “Oh, hark ye friends and gather round to hear my tale of woe.’ Erlend moved his piece as Tingron stood. “For I shall tell ye the saddest story in all the world,” he turned at his seat, grasping his chest, tilting his head downward in sorrow. He glanced at the board, moved, then continued the story. “The gruesome story of …” he paused and held his breath. Tingron’s eyes were wide and his mouth open in the shape of a circle. “The Fall. Of. Qayin!” He shouted the last word and played another piece, still standing.
Tingron and Erlend continued to play as Tingron continued the story of Aether dwarf brothers, Qayin and Habel, who were created by the All-Smiths and placed on Akkad without being birthed, the same as their parents. Qayin—it was well known—was jealous of his younger brother’s prowess and success in almost all things. Habel was taller than his eldest brother and more handsome. He was a charming dwarf with golden hair and beard braided with beads and bells. He smelled of jasmine.
Qayin was interested in smithing steel and iron, silver and gold—working his hands and body in a dirty smithy. He stunk of sweat, coal, oil, and the burning sweet smell of beeswax. He created stunning artifacts and works of art. Qayin cared little for reading books, wearing expensive clothing and drinking fine wines. He was content with a kilt and a hammer. Habel, on the other hand, excelled at academics. He studied art, history, languages, engineering, architecture and mathematics. Habel designed massive structures that stretched from ground to sky, testaments to his culture’s achievements over the world. He designed roads, bridges and aqueducts and recorded his knowledge for others to learn. Habel attended parties with his father and mother, King Aatami & Queen Efa. He conducted lectures and acted as envoy to other kingdoms.
King Aatami was proud of his son, Habel, and touted his achievements, but was disappointed in Qayin. “A prince should be noble and kingly, not a dirty smith,” he was known to say. Thousands of years passed, as the Aether were immortal, and over time Qayin’s anger towards his father turned to jealousy of his brother.
When it was announced that Habel would marry a princess from another land before his older brother, Qayin refused to go. Habel went to his brother and pleaded for his brother to stand at his side.
“You are my blood, Qayin. I love you. Do not blame me for our father’s folly,” Habel begged.
Qayin, torn between love and jealousy, agreed and stood with his brother at the alter. Once married, the abbot moved aside and King Aatami stepped forward. He asked the couple to kneel and announced that Habel, not Qayin, would succeed King Aatami as ruler. Incensed, Qayin drew his Damaskos sword—a sword he had made—and slew his brother and father in a macabre scene of blood and hate. His uncle, Dvergur, tried to intercede but was too late.
It was then, with the first death on Akkad, that mortality was placed upon all living creatures. As he lay dying, King Aatami gazed upon his slain son, his beloved boy, and used his last breath to cast a curse upon Qayin. While all creatures would meet death, Qayin would live forever and suffer eternal loneliness as everyone he cared about would die.
Tingron, who was standing on a table, bowed low as the crowd applauded him. He stepped down, moved a piece on the board, winked at Erlend, and sat down. “My story is not the only thing done. I believe I checkmated you.”
Erlend nodded and smiled. “Well-told story, sir. And finished before I could tell my story no less.” Erlend had brought with him a wineskin filled with an elderberry wine he traded for months ago. A coveted drink unusual to the area, it traded fast and well. Since he was unable to tell his story before the game ended, Erlend poured Tingron a drink.
“Dangerous business, it is, playing a bard,” Tingrin said as he examined the wine. “Ah, the price of playing,” Tingrin said as he drank the wine then sat the glass down on the table. “Thank you for the game.” The bard stood up from the table, and disappeared into the crowd. A small line of players remained lined at his table, but the rest followed Tingrin in hopes of another story.
Erlend played several people, trading for some nice trinkets in the process: a rectangular quartz prism about the size of a walnut, a silver-inlaid cypress box about an inch cubed, and an inkwell and quill. After an hour, a man with rotten teeth, nothing more than a wisp of hair on his head and sunken eyes, accompanied by two small children dressed in nothing more than rags approached. The man set a carved wooden dragon on the table.
“Play me?” he said, “for a glass of that wine?”
Erlend examined him. The wooden dragon was not a trinket, but the oldest child’s toy. It was obvious. The child stood quiet, her large dark eyes focused on the carving. Her mouth turned down slightly although she tried to hide it. Most likely the child’s only toy, he thought. A bruise peeked out from under her dirty tunic at the collar bone. It was faded yellow, an old bruise probably from a beating she took at the hands of the man standing in front of her. The man’s hands shook slightly. He was addicted to drink. Erlend had seen this before. He beats her when he drinks too much or when he can’t get enough drink, Erlend thought.
“No,” Erlend said. “Thank you, but I am not interested in dragon carvings. I have plenty at home.” It was a lie, but Erlend didn’t want the man to blame the child and thrash her later.
“Play me for something else?” asked the man, glancing at his daughter to the right, then back at Erlend? The man’s stink wafted about the table, smelling of onions, urine and hate. From head to toe, Erlend’s body turned hot and his palms sweated. He hid his anger and smiled.
“No need to play if you want to just trade,” said Erlend. “I have two casks of wine back at camp. I’ll be here a couple of days. I’ll trade you both casks of elderberry wine if the girls work for me while I’m here: clean, cook, sew, run errands.”
“I don’t know. These girls are special to me.” The man smiled. His teeth were black and some were missing. His eyes were sharp and told his lie. They slid behind him. For the girls, the known of their father’s rage was a better choice than the unknown of what the dwarf sitting in front of them might do. They’ve been traded before, thought Erlend. Still, the man’s hands shook. He needed wine and desperation was his weakness.
“Fine,” stated Erlend. “Who wants to play me next?” Erlend looked around the room.
“Wait just a minute,” the man’s smile disappeared. “We aren’t done yet.”
“Two casks for two girls for two days. Yes, or no?”
Erlend peered up at the man. “Deal.”
“Let’s get you what you deserve.” Erlend stood up. Geros followed suit. “Saquiroth, I’m going out for a bit of business. I’d like to come back in a while if that’s okay.”
“Sure thing, Erlend. I’ll hold your table for you,” Saquiroth said, with a smirk as she wiped down the counter. Erlend handed the man his wineskin.
“This is a security deposit, to show my good faith.” Erlend said. “It’s yours.” The man opened it immediately and guzzled.
“I still get my two casks,” commanded the man.
“Oh, yes,” said Erlend. “You are getting everything you have coming to you. I’d like the girls to stay here, watch my table, and keep my bear company.” He paused and whispered. “While we do business.”
“Okay,” the man managed to get out between gulps of elderberry wine, some of which streamed down his face and chin, staining his already filthy tunic with purple-red blotches.
Erlend led the man outside The Salty Crone and took a left, heading through town. They walked along the rutted dirt road. Above them the stars sparkled in the night; a crescent moon hung in the sky. Inside The Salty Crone, it was hot and muggy and smoky. Outside, however, the air was cooler, brushing against their skin, giving his sweaty body a momentary chill. Erlend went down an alley, then turned down another one. He made his way to a wharf against the river. Two ships were docked, swaying to and fro with the gentle waves. The sound of the water lapping the sides was calming. Bronze oil lamps hung from posts along the pier casting hot spots of white light against the boardwalk melting into yellow and then darkness… Along a wall was an unassuming door, nearly hidden. Erlend walked up to it and knocked.
“I thought you said your casks were in camp?” asked the man. “This isn’t camp.”
“I lied about that. I don’t keep my valuables in camp when I’m gone. That would be stupid.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” said the man, as he swallowed the last swig of wine.
A small opening in the door, just the height of a dwarf, slid open. Two eyes peered out.
“Woeltje,” Erlend whispered. He said nothing more and stared at the eyes. The opening slid closed. Erlend and the man stood in front of the door. Nothing happened for nearly ten minutes. Erlend leaned against the wall and looked out at the river.
“What’s taking so long,” questioned the man as he tried to extract every drop of wine from the skin. “I better get my casks.”
“I’m going to give it to you. Don’t you worry.”
The door finally opened and a dark-skinned half-orc stood in the doorway. The hulking creature was taller than the door and had two small tusks on his bottom jaw that stuck out from his lips. His arms were sculpted like a heroic statue of old. The half-orc stood aside and Erlend entered. The man followed, too, rubbernecking around the well-lit room with a stone floor. Crates and bags of spices, wine, ale, dried meats, and trinkets sat stacked all over the room. Erlend whispered to the half-orc for a minute. He nodded and smiled.
“Where’s my casks?” The black-toothed man asked.
“This man is due a barrel,” said Erlend. The half-orc motioned to two sailors who disappeared to the back of the room behind a stack of supplies.
“Two.” He snarled as he held up two bony fingers. Erlend shrugged. The sailors rolled a large barrel into the room and set it up on end and pried the top off. The black-toothed man peered inside the empty cask. “What’s going on, here?” The sailors grabbed him and stuffed him head first inside as Erlend leaned over the cask.
“Today is the last time you beat those girls or trade them for wine,” Erlend said softly. “They need a father not a slaver.” He looked at one of the sailors and motioned for him to seal it. The half-orc who answered the door walked up behind Erlend and clapped him on the shoulder. Erlend turned and they shook forearms. “Thank you, Wilendithus. I owe you one.”
“The man who freed me from slavery owes me nothing, Woeltje. It is him who is owed—everything.”
“Take him far from here, “Erlend commanded softly. “Across the sea if you can manage it. I don’t want him coming back.”
“Of course,” said Wilendithus.
“Don’t sell him,” pleaded Erlend. “Even though he deserves it, please don’t sell him, hurt him, starve him or kill him. Just send him away.” The half-orc moaned.
“As you wish, Woeltje. But you take the fun out of everything.” Wilendithus let out a raspy laugh.
“That name is long forgotten, friend,” Erlend said. “I am Erlend Andvari now.” Wilendithus harrumphed.
“Why are you here?”
“Salt for the the abbey. I work there now. Have for a while.”
“How are you getting enough salt for that many people back to the abbey?” asked Wilendithus.
“Packing it on Geros.”
“That will not do,” stated Wilendithus. “I won’t have that old bear working as a pack mule. Come.” Wilendithus lead Erlend through the store room and out a back door. Several carts and buggies sat unused. “Take one of these.”
“Oh, I couldn’t, Wilendithus.”
“You will take it…Erlend. And I’ll hear no more about it.”
“Fine, but you have to let me pay you something for it.” Erlend dug around in his satchel. He only had enough money to pay for salt he needed for the abbey.
“It is my gift to you,” said Wilendithus. “I can do nice things for you if I want.”
“No. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone,” said Erlend.
“Well, did you trade for anything tonight?”
Erlend grimaced. “I traded for an inkwell and quill, a salt box—which I know you don’t need—and a quartz prism the size of a walnut. And I have a wedge of Foggy Corpse cheese. They are all back at The Salty Crone.”
“Okay, friend. It is a fine deal.”
“It’s really not. Those things aren’t worth a wagon wheel, let alone a cart.”
“But they are from you and that is enough,” said Wilendithus. “Besides, I love Foggy Corpse and I never get it. The deal is struck.” Erlend relented and accepted the deal.