Reynaer woke up to the sun harassing his eyes through the window. Surprisingly enough, he didn't feel as bad as he'd expected. Must have been all that water Mirlín had me drink before I left. Excellent woman, she is, just excellent. Even with the awkwardness of the whole whore-thing the evening would have been nigh perfect if that dimwit, Desiderius, hadn't started assing around with all the stupid questions and pissy retorts. One of these days... I'll just have to knock the fool's teeth down his throat and it'll be for his own good because sooner or later, someone will not take all the shit he spews and impales him on a sword or something. Asking questions about Mirlín, the poor girl! What she does to earn her keep... that's hard. Good thing I noticed what she was doing. Now that we've made the agreement about the muggings, her life will become a notch easier. Poor thing.
Opening his eyes, Reynaer saw that he was alone. He wondered if the boy had gotten up early. Now, what were we supposed to do today? Oh, right. We need to restock and then head back out. There's another sorry figure, Fyen. Just a little chicklet and yet she has to carry the burden of a stained sword and a lost mother, dead, alive, who knows? Oh well...
He noticed he had fallen asleep on his notebook and graphite pen. Re-reading the poem he had written last night, the man smiled. Oddly fitting. Then, without further musings, he stood up, put on his brigandine, belted his sword and dagger, threw on his black cloak, and stepped out of the room. He looked around and was glad to be alone in the corridor. He went to the door of the room where the girls stayed and knocked lightly. On the other side of the door the girls were just waking up.
Mirlín was the first to react to the knocking. She stirred and croaked from under a stack of ashen hair. "Mm, is there someone at the door?"
Somebody warm moved beside her, spooning her. Huh? I can't remember picking up anyone last n... oh no... the woman thought, realizing with whom she was actually sleeping. She missing her mother this much? Does she consider me some kind of a… substitute? Again somebody knocked on the door. Mirlín noticed that tufts of her hair were glued to the pillow by Fyen's drool.
"Eww, not very nice at all!" She pushed the girl who fell on the floor with a loud thump.
"Ow! Why'd you have to do that?" an agonized moan sounded from the floor. Mirlín sat up and apologized without much regret in her voice.
Again with the knocking and then came Reynaer's impatient voice. "Girls, you gonna sleep all day or what?"
Fyen opened her eyes and, with the energy of her youth, jumped up seemingly with no signs of last night's drinking. "Reyn! Swords! Where's my sword?" She rushed to the other bed, realized it was actually Mirlín's, ran back, struck her toe against the trunk at the end of her bed, cursed, and finally found her blade.
Then she limped quickly to the door and opened it before Mirlín had a chance to shout: "Don't you open that fucking door!"
Confusion ensued as Fyen jumped to Reynaer's neck, who barely noticed the girl as he had an unobstructed view, for a microsecond, at a half-naked Mirlín, who dived to the floor, grabbing the blanket Fyen had dragged down there while she had been debunked.
"Look, Reyn! I gave my sword a bath! Look at it, no more blood stains... what?" The girl turned around and saw the blonde woman on the floor, covered in a blanket and disheveled morning hair, her eyes seething with anger.
Fyen looked at Reynaer who by now had realized to avert his gaze to the ceiling. "Oh... right... erm, we'll be right out, aight?" the girl mumbled, closing the door.
The man nodded and backed out of the room keeping his eyes firmly fixed to the ceiling. As the door closed he shook his head. Damn! Was that a tit I saw? Nah, couldn't have been... or could it? Well, no sign of drowsiness anymore, that's for sure! He felt as awake as he had ever been. Reynaer decided to head downstairs to see if he could find them some breakfast and a couple of new water flasks. He met the innkeeper in the tavern side and bid him good morning.
The busy man waved his rag. "Morning, sir. Sleep well?"
Reynaer nodded as he sat at an empty table. "You serve breakfast?"
"Sure do, sir. What'll you have?"
The tall man rubbed his neck and listened for footsteps. "Nothing yet, actually. I'm waiting for two dames to come down. Should be any century now."
The innkeeper's grin was hidden beneath his moustache as he winked. "I'll come back when the ladies arrive."
After a few minutes of tranquility Reynaer heard a door open and two pairs of feet pattered across the floor towards the stairs one floor up. The footsteps were accompanied by a woman's voice scolding someone while a young girl's voice answered the accusations sheepishly. As Mirlín and Fyen walked into the tavern they were still arguing.
"I can't help it, I get cuddly when I'm drunk." Fyen explained.
"But I'm never going to be able to comb my hair again, thanks to you drooling all over it throughout the night. Look at it!" Mirlín tutted and waved a lock of tangled hair in the girl's face who seemed apologetic enough.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, honest! I'll never drool on your hair again. Next time I'll wear a muzzle, promise!"
Mirlín sighed. "Fair enough. Let's see if this place serves anything edible this hour of the day."
With that they sat down at Reynaer's table and the innkeeper waddled towards them. "Good morning ladies, gentleman. What can I get you for?" Reynaer motioned at the girls to order first.
Mirlín puckered her lips in thought. "Two slices of bread and some marmalade, please. Some water too."
The big-bellied man scribbled down her order. "Excellent choice, good lady. Now, what about you, m'lady?" he said turning to Fyen.
She licked her lips and twirled a lock of black hair between her fingers. "I'll have the same, except bring lots of marmalade and butter, then I'll have two eggs, some fried chicken, sausages, bacon, a jug of apple juice, a jug of water, and sweet bread. Do you have sweet bread?"
The man's forehead was sweating as he scribbled away. "Yes, my wife makes it. I'm partial to it myself."
Fyen nodded. "I'll have that as well, then."
Reynaer started when it was his turn to order for he had been staring at the girl with his mouth open while she had listed all the things she was about to eat. Well, at least the girl's got a healthy appetite.
"I'll have the same except ditch the juice, the marmalade, and the sweet bread."
The innkeeper nodded. "Best get busy then, eh?" He turned and shuffled into the kitchen.
Fyen clutched at her belly. "Man, I'm famished!"
"Yeah, noticed!" Reynaer and Mirlín said in unison.
The girl shrugged and looked around. "So, Reyn, what about that second sword lesson?"
The big man yawned. "First, I need a steady breakfast, second, we need to resupply, third, we need to get going as time's not on our side. I wager the next lesson won't happen until we're on the road again." Fyen's face fell but she didn't say anything.
"By the way, has anybody seen Desiderius?" Mirlín asked, her eyes roving about the tavern.
Reynaer shook his head. "Not since he left the room last night."
Mirlín nodded. "Yeah, we saw him late last night coming down as we were heading up."
Reynaer blinked. "We?"
Mirlín glanced at the nervously shifting girl sitting next to her, crossed her arms, and sat back, obviously enjoying the upcoming array of explanations.
Finally Fyen shrugged. "Well, I kinda met Mirlín here when you had gone upstairs."
Reynaer raised his eyebrows. "You were here? While we were here? Doing what?"
The girl averted her eyes. "Just... you know, hanging around."
Mirlín cleared her throat. "Yes, she wobbled to me just as you had left, came onto me, sought oblivion, and wanted to run away from the moon, all the while I did my best to keep her from drowning in her tankard."
However, her voice wasn't without humor. Reynaer's gaze moved slowly from Mirlín to Fyen, who was by now trying her best to disappear into her chair with little success.
"You were drunk?" the man asked.
"A bit, I guess." she replied meekly.
Reynaer roared with laughter and slapped Fyen on the shoulder. "You're a born trouble maker! Next time, try to do all the falling and bumping while I'm around so gentle Mirlín here doesn't have to carry you into your room, deal?" The girl nodded quickly, clearly surprised that she wasn’t going to get a worse scolding.
The kitchen door slammed open as the innkeeper burst out with Isabel and two kitchen boys, all carrying a myriad of plates, jugs, trays, and cups. When they had laid all the food and drink on the table, there was scarcely any of it visible.
Before the innkeeper could leave, Fyen pulled his sleeve. "This one's on me, how much?"
The man did a quick count in his head. "Five silvers."
The girl slipped the money to him before her companions could protest and then turned back to them. "This is for me giving gray hairs to you lot." She looked at Mirlín and smiled. "You dig in, too, all right?"
The woman smirked. "Well, just this once but next time I'll pay so you won't run out of money before we reach the third village."
Reynaer managed to drop his fork on the floor and hit his head on the table coming up. "Damnit!" He placed the fork on the table and looked at Mirlín. "The next one's actually on me since I managed to sell that extra sword for double its worth, then Desiderius, and then we can see if it's your turn."
The woman lowered her eyes for a moment but then smiled and agreed to the proposition. "We'll see then."
Fyen guffawed and sprayed the table with food as she was already munching away on a fried chicken breast while holding two sausages in her fork in the other hand. Reynaer stared at her for a while but then followed her example and shoveled four strips of bacon into his mouth, grease dripping down the front of his leather armor. Mirlín shook her head as she spread a spoonful of marmalade on her slice of bread.
Desiderius woke up in Snappy's stall. He hadn't dared enter the room at the inn because he feared Reynaer might have gone all berserk and thrown him out of the window as well. Then I'd be the one jutting out of manure right next to my notebook, feet skyward!
The boy's stomach rumbled. He got up and brushed straws off his clothes. With a yawn, he grabbed his lute, bid Snappy good morning, and then strolled to the inn, singing a jolly melody. The sun was shining and the air smelled fresh. Stray dogs barked at him as he passed them by. Desiderius went inside the inn and headed straight into the tavern. He saw Fyen, Mirlín, and Reynaer sitting at a table strewn with empty plates, mugs, and gnawed bones.
"Please send our regards to the kitchen, outstanding breakfast!" Reynaer shouted to the innkeeper.
"Morning, seems like you already ate," Desiderius said.
"Where have you been?" Reynaer asked.
The boy glanced at him grudgingly. "As far away from your fists as possible."
Reynaer laughed. "When I'm in a foul mood you should keep to yourself instead of raining stupid questions at me and then getting all pissy about it when I want to be left alone. Just stay out of my way when I get like that. Now sit down and eat something."
Desiderius perched on the edge of his chair and waved at the innkeeper who walked over briskly.
"Yes, sir?"
"Umm, I'd like to have some breakfast, too. Err, eggs, ham, and—"
"Er, we don't serve breakfast anymore. This lot pretty much cleared our kitchen anyway." The stout man shrugged apologetically but then looked up in thought. "I think we may have a bucket of lard somewhere."
All four were quiet for a moment until Fyen broke into a fit of uncontrollable giggling.
Dead serious, Reynaer asked: "A bucket of lard, you say?" and then he and Mirlín burst out laughing.
Desiderius looked confused and at a loss at what to do. "So, does this mean I'm not having any breakfast?"
The innkeeper spread his hands, trying to come up with some solution. "I think the neighbor inn might have a jar of dried figs." Desiderius' reply was drowned under the roar of laughter from all of his companions.
"Dried figs!" Fyen gasped. The innkeeper shook his head and walked away.
"Why is it always me who misses all the good things?" Desiderius cried.
The foursome was walking towards Desiderius's aunt's item shop, talking about what supplies they needed for the rest of their journey.
"You'll also need a stone to sharpen your sword," Reynaer was telling Fyen. Then he noticed the instrument Desiderius was carrying. "Where'd you get that?"
The boy glanced at the man and then at the lute. "This? I bought it from my auntie's shop."
Fyen looked at him dubiously. "Who buys a lute?" Desiderius sulked and decided not to dignify her question with an answer.
Mirlín walked beside Fyen and then turned to look at the raven-haired girl. "Fyen, just wondering, how old are you anyway?"
The girl puffed out her chest. "Just turned fifteen, actually the day we met," she replied, not without some pride.
"Oh, congratulations," Mirlín smiled back at the girl.
"Congrats, niblet!" Reynaer said and ruffled her hair.
"Quit it!" Fyen exclaimed but laughed nonetheless.
Desiderius's stomach was still rumbling loudly when they stepped into the shop. Beatrice, the chubby aunt, greeted them with a warm smile.
"Desiderius, dear! You returned sooner than I expected! How can I help you? Oh are these your friends?" she asked and tried to hug Mirlín but then noticed the studs in her leather brigandine, so she turned to Fyen only to notice the long, two-handed hilt of the girl's sword between them. Finally she glanced at Reynaer but didn't even try to approach him. Desiderius was the only one to fall victim to her hugs and moist, wet-lipped kisses.
"We need some water flasks, two sharpening stones, and... do you know where we could find a decent blacksmith? My horse is missing a shoe," Mirlín asked. Then she frowned. "The stable master of the inn was supposed to take care of it but he seems to have disappeared."
The woman’s face lit up. "Oh, right! You have a long journey ahead, yes?" She started to gather the requested supplies from the shelves.
"Yes, a long journey. Say, you got cake or biscuits here, auntie?" Desiderius wondered, looking around hungrily.
"Oh you poor boy! Of course I have, uh, wait a minute, where did I put that jelly cake... oh right here..." She handed a wobbly cake to Desiderius who proceeded to gobble it down in seconds.
"Now here's the water flasks and two stones. Anything else, dearie?" Beatrice asked Mirlín. The woman shook her head. "You might want to take your horse to Rupert the blacksmith. His smithy is two blocks down the street."
Reynaer pulled Mirlín aside and the two grown-ups whispered something or the other. Then they paid for the items and stepped out after Fyen while Desiderius was still stuffing his pockets with biscuits. Eventually he appeared out of the shop holding another jelly cake.
Mirlín went to get Midwin while the others went straight to the smithy. The blacksmith was a short, stocky man with broad shoulders and a bald head glistening with beads of sweat. He was just hammering a bar of steel, holding it against a large anvil.
"Good day!" Reynaer shouted over the noise.
The blacksmith looked over his shoulder and put down his hammer. "Good day, folks. What can I do you for?"
"A woman is bringing a horse shortly. Needs one new shoe. You manage that on the run?"
The blacksmith rubbed his hands and nodded. "Sure, anything else?"
Reynaer pointed at Fyen. "A buckler for her."
Fyen looked startled, her green eyes wide. "A what-now for me?"
The blacksmith reached behind a table and handed a small, round shield to the girl.
She held it, turned it in her hand, and smiled. "It's cute!"
"Cute?" the blacksmith and Reynaer exclaimed.
Fyen shrugged. "It's small, it's round... it's cute. I like it. How much?"
The blacksmith glanced at her warily. "15 silvers."
The girl looked at Reynaer who nodded. Fyen opened her purse and counted 15 silver coins and handed them to the blacksmith.
"What is it for?" Fyen asked Reynaer.
"You need to learn how to use a shield and that's a good place to start," the man replied.
Fyen nodded, smiling broadly. Then she turned to the blacksmith. "Say, I need an armor. Do you have anything at all my size?"
The gruff man eyed her up and down and stroked his moustache. "Armor?” He glanced from Fyen to Reynaer and then back at the girl. “Well, hold on a moment, I just might have one thing..." He disappeared behind a counter and rummaged around. When he stood up he was holding a relatively small but sturdy-looking, sleeveless, black leather brigandine. "A rich family passed through this town a while back and for some reason their son wanted an armor. They ordered this from me but never came for it, the bastards. Guess if anybody's gonna buy an armor this small?" the man spat.
Fyen's face lit up. "I just got a feeling..." She walked over to the blacksmith and took the brigandine. "If I just try it on..."
The man crossed his arms. "Go ahead, see if it fits."
The girl strapped it over her gambeson, tightened the belt that was on the brigandine, and grinned. "Perfect, wouldn't you say?"
Both, the blacksmith and Reynaer stared at the girl. "It does seem to fit like a glove," Reynaer said.
"How much?" Fyen asked.
The blacksmith looked pained. "Well, I did make it for rich folk—"
The girl shook her finger. "—but nobody else will buy it."
The man sighed. "I guess I'll part with it for... 150 silvers."
Fyen glanced at Reynaer who pointed his thumb down. "50 silvers," she said.
"What? You've got some nerve, kid!"
"And you've got an armor nobody else will buy!" Fyen smirked. Then she looked at a table which had several daggers on it. "How about 60 if you throw in a dagger?"
The blacksmith thought about the offer for a moment and then nodded. "You've got a deal. Pick one off that table."
Without Fyen suggesting it, Reynaer went through the daggers and eventually chose a medium-size dagger of simple design. He slid it back into its sheath and handed it over to Fyen.
"Thanks Reyn," she said and belted it on the other side of her sword belt.
During the exchange, Mirlín had arrived in the yard with a prancing Midwin at her side. She stepped in and tossed her hair off her face.
"Good day, you have time to put a shoe on my gelding's hoof?" she asked.
The blacksmith gathered up his tools and walked over to the horse. "Sure, the gentleman here already told me that you were coming. That's a fine horse you got there, he for sale?"
"Never. Rather sold myself."
After an awkward pause the blacksmith turned back to the horse. "Which hoof?"
"Left front."
As the blacksmith got to work Fyen walked over to the woman. "Could you, like, do that again?"
Mirlín looked at her, puzzled. "Do what?"
A smile lit up the girl's face. "Toss your hair."
"What? Like this?" Mirlín asked and tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder.
Fyen clapped her hands and giggled. "That was soooo beautiful! I wish I had hair like yours!" Mirlín gave an inquiring look at Reynaer who spread his hands, shrugged, and turned to examine a rack of weapons.
"Nice brigandine, Fyen but what's with that shield you're carrying?" Mirlín asked.
Fyen smiled and raised the shield with both of her hands. "Oh this? This is a butler! Reyn said I needed one."
"All right. He's so spoiling you," she muttered. "Next you are probably going to get a crossbow."
Fyen raised her eyebrows, still smiling, and went to tug Reynaer's sleeve.
"What?" he asked impatiently.
"I want a crossbow," Fyen said.
Reynaer shrugged. "Well, go get one then."
Fyen kept pulling his sleeve. "Come and show me which one to get, you know all about weapons!"
Grudgingly the tall man turned and walked over to the stand holding different kinds of crossbows. He handled several but settled for a very simple design of wood and steel, bearing no decorations. It was also slightly smaller than most of the other crossbows.
Reynaer handed it over to Fyen. ”See if you can arm it."
The girl took the weapon but looked puzzled. "How?"
"Put your foot in the stirrup and pull the string back with both hands."
Fyen did as he had instructed and, with some difficulty, managed to arm the weapon.
Then she held it in her hands, looking at it with wide eyes. "Neat!" She chose a quiver she could carry on her hips and then proceeded to fill it with bolts Reynaer had chosen for her. "How much for the lot?" she asked the blacksmith.
The stout man was just putting finishing touches on the horseshoe and let go of Midwin's hoof. He looked up and counted the bolts. "That crossbow, the quiver, and fifteen bolts... that would be 100 silvers."
The raven girl glanced back inside where Reynaer pointed down with his thumb. "How about 50?" she suggested.
The blacksmith tutted. "No less than 80."
Fyen pretended to look at the crossbow as if evaluating it. "65, my final offer."
The blacksmith laughed. "You're a pain to barter with, kid! I'll agree to 65 just for your sheer nerve."
Fyen thanked him and waltzed back inside the smithy. "He said I have nerve," she told Reynaer with pride.
"And an armory to boot," the man grunted.
Suddenly Desiderius appeared from behind a full body armor and exclaimed. "Hey! What's this? You got yourselves fancy new weapons? And armor!"
"Reynaer and Fyen are having an arms race. Apparently the first who can carry their own bodyweight of weapons wins," Mirlín chuckled.
"She can't even use them," Desiderius muttered, clearly envious.
"That's why I have a teacher," Fyen smirked, pointing at Reynaer.
"You signed up for this when we decided to take on this journey?" Mirlín asked the man, a crooked smile on her lips.
"Suppose I didn't but look at the bright side: when we part ways, at least niblet here will be armed to the teeth so we don't have to worry about her so much," Reynaer replied with mock seriousness.
"Oh, you too have noticed she's very good at getting into trouble when we're not keeping an eye on her?" the woman smiled, looking at Fyen who had just pricked herself in the finger with her new dagger.
"Yeah, she seems to have a knack for it. All the more reason to train her to take care of herself," he said returning her smile.
"I'm right here! Hello!" Fyen snapped at them, sucking her bleeding finger.
They heard a loud clank as Desiderius managed to knock off the helmet of a standing armor.
"I guess that's our que to leave," Mirlín said and paid the blacksmith for shoeing Midwin.
After filling their water flasks at the village well, Reynaer tapped Fyen on the shoulder. "Say, hold up a moment, kid."
The girl turned around and noticed that Mirlín was holding a parcel under her arm. "Huh?"
The woman handed over the package, an awkward expression on her face as if she wasn’t perfectly at home in such momentous occasions. "We decided to get you a little birthday present. Hope you like it."
Fyen felt a stab in her heart as the mention of her birthday and the present forced her memories back to the day her mother had been taken away. Her lower lip had barely started quivering when she clenched her teeth, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. She would not cry, she would not show anything else but gratitude for these people who had now become practically her family.
She conjured a smile on her face and took the parcel. "What the…? You really shouldn't have..."
"Why don't you open it already?" Desiderius piped in, looking expectant.
Fyen started tearing at the paper and finally pulled out a black cloak. Now she was genuinely surprised and happy. "Holy crap guys! It's awesome!"
Reynaer grinned. "Try it on then."
The girl wrapped it around her shoulders and tried the hood on as well. "Everybody beware! The great sorceress, Fyen is here!" Then realizing that magick could get one killed, she quickly lowered her raised hands and took off the hood. "Seriously guys, thank you so much." She smiled but then abandoned all tact and jumped to Mirlín's neck, hugging the woman tightly.
"Give the lads a hug too, the cloak's from all of us," Mirlín laughed.
Fyen giggled and threw her arms around Reynaer. "Thanks Reyn!"
With the awkwardness of a warrior, he returned the hug and tapped her on the back. Then Fyen turned to Desiderius, took a deep breath, and gave him a hug as well. It felt a bit weird because the boy seemed reluctant to let go. Fyen placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away, thinking of something to say to anyone else to mask her escape from Desiderius' clutches.
"So much for cold nights, huh?" she said, smiling.
Reynaer chuckled. "We'll see, the weather has been surprisingly good so far."
Mirlín looked at the sky. "We should probably get going."
The man nodded. "We have a long ride ahead."
As they went to fetch the rest of the horses Fyen spun around and watched her cloak swing through the air dramatically. Now just how neat is that?
The party of four rode out on their horses and one feisty pony. As they trotted through the village gates, Desiderius was lost in thoughts that pretty much revolved around Fyen hugging him, her breasts pressed against his chest, smelling the faintly vanilla-ish fragrance that hung around all girls. Then the boy noticed a familiar looking cow just about to disappear behind another tavern.
Just as the bovine had gone out of sight, the thin farmer with the wormy moustache stumbled out of a nearby outhouse and cried: "Trent? Where'd you go, Trent? Has anybody seen Trent?"
Desiderius squinted his eyes, looked away, and concluded that the village was bewitched as weird things kept happening everywhere.
"Say, Reynaer, yesterday... did you pick up a cow and, uh... never mind," the young man fell silent.
Reynaer glanced in his direction but only shook his head, returning to his thoughts. Now they had to find the river that would lead them to the next village of Brycgea. For a few miles they rode along a wide wagon road but then they had to dive into the woods that were luckily less malevolent than the Great Forest. The sun was still shining and for once they could enjoy riding on and on undisturbed.
Midwin pranced around every now and then, wanting to break into a mad gallop. Mirlín rode him calmly, smiling at the excited gelding. Nightmare trotted on without any whims. Fyen had learned to control her surprisingly well. Brownie tried to snatch some grass and leaves from the bushes whenever he felt the reins loosening in Reynaer's hands. Snappy followed the big horse's example and once in a while jumped into the bushes causing Desiderius to curse loudly, especially after wading through a large thicket of nettles.
Finally they came to the river that glimmered beautifully in the midday sun.
Fyen looked longingly at the water and said to Mirlín: "Looks awfully inviting, doesn't it?"
"Don't let it fool you. It's probably cold as hell," the woman replied and shivered under the wolf hide.
"I don't know," Fyen wondered. "I think I could survive the cold. I bet it would be refreshing."
Mirlín nodded towards the men who were now riding in front of them. "Those two are the ones in desperate need of a bath. Have you noticed the air getting a bit whiffy when they're around?"
Fyen frowned. "You're right." Then she shouted to them: "Oi! You both smell like pigs! When we stop, bathe in the river or alternatively maintain a distance of at least half a mile at all times!"
"Now that's tactful of you, Fyen!" Desiderius shouted back, and stuck his tongue at her.
"Don't talk to me about tact, smelling like that," Fyen retorted.
"She's grown a sharp tongue," Desiderius mumbled to Reynaer.
"She has, but besides that, she also has a point," the man replied.
Desiderius sniffed his armpits and jerked his head back violently. Maybe she does have a point.
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