Legacy, p.4
Legacy, page 4
‘To be honest I couldn’t tell you why I’m still here … truly.’
‘I reckon you’re afraid,’ Gwilym smirked. ‘You’re afraid of what might happen if you leave the safety of the dully familiar! I’ve seen it many times. It’s often the case that people are afflicted by a fear of the unknown.’
‘I’m not afraid,’ Torben snapped. ‘I just don’t want to let people down is all. Not all of us can drop our responsibilities and go gallivanting off into the wilderness!’
‘Prove it then.’
‘What?’
‘Prove it. Come with me tomorrow. Travel up the road with me for half a day, and if you get scared or tired, you’ll still have plenty of time to scurry back home.’
Gwilym’s abrupt demand left Torben taken aback. He was staring across the table, the amber light from the fire dancing and flickering in his eyes; it gave the dwarf a wicked, impish edge.
‘What’s the use?’ asked Torben. ‘Getting out of here for half a day isn’t going to prove anything.’
‘How do you know unless you try? In any case, it’s like I said: what’s half a day in a lifetime? You’ve got nothing to lose and you can be safely tucked in bed come the night if you want to be.’
Torben had never thought of himself as being a particularly proud man, but the dwarf’s words, even though delivered in a jovial tone, held a sharp edge. Like Gwilym said, what was the harm in going on a walk? He hadn’t planned on doing anything else with his day off. Going on a jaunt with Gwilym would probably be more diverting and stimulating than anything else Bywater had to offer.
‘What’s in it for me? If I go off with you for a day, I’ll lose out on a day’s wages. To a man of small means like myself, a day’s coin is the difference between life and death.’ The lie came more easily to Torben than he’d expected—but truly, he was only aware of what he was saying when it leapt from his tongue. Why shouldn’t he earn a bit of coin though, especially if all he had to do was go for a jaunt with this strange dwarf? And depending on how foolish this dwarf was, his coin could put him a long way towards being able to leave Burndale.
Gwilym surveyed Torben intently … so intently he began to squirm self-consciously. He was certain that Gwilym would dismiss the proposed bet without a second thought.
‘Hmm-mm,’ the noise rumbled deep from within Gwilym. He was silent for a moment and then a grin spread across his face. ‘It seems that you and I are cut from the same type of cloth, Torben. If you go out with me for a whole day, and prove to me that you aren’t afraid to leave your precious village, then I’ll give you this.’ He reached into the folds of his jacket and pulled out a plump purse that he tossed onto the table.
The purse clinked pleasingly as it hit the wooden surface, clearly full of coin. Through a small gap at the neck of the purse, Torben swore that he could see the glint of gold reflected in the firelight. His eyes lit up and he instinctively reached a hand across the table.
‘But!’ Gwilym’s hand swept across the table and scooped the purse back into the safety of his cloak. ‘If you don’t hold true to your word and leave my company before dusk, I’ll demand that as payment.’ He pointed to Torben’s arm, where the arm ring peeked from the short sleeves of his tunic and gleamed in the firelight.
Torben leaned back, his hand covering the arm ring from Gwilym’s beady gaze. He couldn’t risk losing the one connection to his family, his father, could he? But then, why should he lose it? How could he? There was no way that he would lose the bet. Gwilym was a fool and would soon be a much poorer fool.
Torben leaned forward again and placed his elbows on the tabletop. He smiled and felt a new air of confidence. ‘Alright, I’ll head out with you.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ Gwilym grinned. ‘Could do with a bit more conversation on my travels. It’s been mighty lonely recently.’ Holding up a hand, and placing the other upon his chest, he adopted a serious tone. ‘Now, as a sign of good faith that I shall not lead you too far astray from this boring shadow of civilisation, let me buy you a drink!’
Gwilym sprang to his feet and made his way to the bar with surprising speed. Torben watched, curious. What was the harm in it? It would do him good to get out of Bywater, stretch his legs, and spend time with someone whose family history he didn’t know inside-out. There was nothing of note, or excitement, to the north of Bywater, save the sprawling mass of the Downs. Like as not, Gwilym would give up hope of finding diversions and head back to the village with Torben by midday.
Gwilym startled Torben by appearing alongside him, as if from thin air, holding two overflowing tankards. He plonked one down in front of Torben and raised his in the air. ‘To the morrow!’
‘To the morrow!’ Torben grabbed his tankard and joined the dwarf in toast.
3
Torben awoke as dawn crept its way through Burndale and bathed everything with a soft yellow light. The air was thick with the musty smell of the rain, which had fallen during the night. The moisture in the air and the raindrops that clung to the buildings and trees surrounding Bywater added a sharp edge to the morning light, and painted a glossy sheen across the village.
Sharp fingers of reflected light forced their way under Torben’s eyelids; they brought him groggily back into consciousness. He was lying on a pile of dank straw in the small stable block that abutted the Rusty Sickle. The straw was intended for the bedding down of animals, but no one in Bywater had the capital to afford a horse. The nearest one came to a horse in Burndale was the odd mule or donkey that brought some of the wealthier farmers’ produce to market, and those beasts were far too precious to be left outside the tavern.
The stable was in poor repair, as evidenced by the shafts of light that poured through the holes in the ceiling and the puddles that had accumulated on the floor beneath. For the most part, however, the stable provided comfortable enough lodging for an inebriated patron and was deemed, by Johnny, to be a suitable resting place for customers who had taken enough drink that they couldn’t face the journey home, but not enough so that they’d become troublemakers.
With a groan, Torben sat up and held his head in his hands. If he started moving, he knew that he’d feel better. He grasped a stall partition and used it as a crutch to haul himself up. As he rose to his feet, the room swam and he resisted the urge to fall back to the floor. He stood still a moment, hanging onto the beam as he fought the sick feeling that sat like a lead weight in his stomach.
After a few fraught moments, Torben felt human enough to take stock of the surroundings. As far as he could tell, the other stalls in the stable were unoccupied. The door to the stable was ajar and next to it was a bucket of water and a small loaf of bread. This was typical of the hospitality that Johnny offered his regular patrons.
He staggered to the bucket and splashed water on his face. It was shockingly cold and it made him gasp and splutter. Torben slumped down on the floor and leaned against the door lintel. Pulling off a chunk of bread, he began to chew meditatively. The bread, however, was incredibly stale and the first mouthful stuck fast in his throat. The coughing fit that followed left him doubled over on the floor as he coughed up the sawdust-dry bread.
When the coughing subsided, Torben could hear rustling sounds from one of the nearby stalls. He tried to see the source of the noise, but his eyes watered heavily, and everything in the stable was a blur. From the stall in front, Torben could make out a shape in the hay as it moved slowly towards him and grunted softly.
Suddenly the figure erupted from the straw and filled the room. Torben leapt back towards the door of the stable, desperately trying to rub the moisture from his eyes so he could see the creature clearly.
‘What in the world has gotten into you?’
The voice was familiar and as he wiped the last of the tears from his eyes, he saw the diminished figure of Gwilym standing knee-deep in the straw.
‘Oh, it’s you!’ He slumped against the wall and waited for the pounding of his heart to slow.
‘Did I scare you?’ the dwarf asked, an odd smile of satisfaction pulling at his lips.
‘I thought you’d left.’ Torben tried to make himself seem calm and composed, but he was keenly aware of the fact that he was still breathing heavily and that his face felt flushed.
‘Now why would I leave? We have a deal, remember? You were going to prove to me that you were brave enough to leave and experience a little bit of the world … unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind?’ His eyes scanned Torben’s forearm, searching for the glint of silver—and, undoubtedly, looking forward to collecting his spoils from the wager.
‘No, of course I haven’t changed my mind. I was just taken aback is all.’
‘Ha, and here’s me thinking that I was going to win our little wager so easily. Glad to hear you’re still in the game.’ Gwilym strode to the bucket of water, splashed some on his face, and filled a water skin that he’d removed from his pack, buried deep within the straw.
Torben attempted to eat more of the stale bread, but did so cautiously. He watched Gwilym rescue his pack from the straw and take down his belt from the nail where it hung. It was only then that he noticed the short sword attached to the back of the dwarf’s belt; it had remained almost completely hidden from view when he was wearing the woollen jacket.
Nervously, Torben fingered his knife that he likewise carried on his belt. It seemed very small compared to the weapon that Gwilym carried, no more than a child’s toy.
Gwilym saw Torben inspecting his blade as he adjusted the belt around his waist. ‘It always pays to be prepared lad. You’d struggle to find a dwarf that doesn’t travel with a trusty seax to keep themselves safe.’ He reached behind him and drew the seax from its sheath, and gazed at his reflection. Gwilym held the weapon nonchalantly, but it still gave off a menacing air. ‘This blade has seem me through many scrapes on the road, all part and parcel of the travelling life, I’m afraid.’ He slotted the seax back into its sheath and looked directly at Torben. ‘But I’m sure you’ll discover that for yourself soon enough.’
Torben didn’t answer, but tried to look relaxed.
Gwilym pulled his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, hoisted the pack onto his shoulders, and peered past the stable door, inspecting the tavern yard. He sniffed the morning air, then breathed deeply. ‘Right lad, we’d best be off! Can’t be wasting good daylight now, can we?’ He stepped across the threshold, leaving Torben alone in the stable.
He dithered for a second, he no longer possessed the confidence that he’d found last night. It seemed that the brash, carefree attitude had come from the bottom of a tankard. On the other hand, if the dwarf had wanted to kill him and take what little wealth he’d had on him, he could have easily done so during the night. It would have been a lot easier than luring Torben into the wilds; no one in Bywater would have intervened or stopped Gwilym had his crime been discovered. The villagers would have been far too concerned about preserving their own hides than avenging one who they barely knew, or cared about.
Torben could hear Gwilym whistling outside and this goaded him into action. He grabbed the rest of the stale bread, scooped his overcoat from the floor, and half strode, half jogged out of the stable. The lure of coin was too much for him and this seemed too good an opportunity to be missed.
Most of the people who’d frequented the Rusty Sickle the night before had been marked as drunkards when they’d returned to their homes with talk of dwarven travellers abroad in Burndale. There’d been much clucking of tongues and wagging of fingers as wives and parents warned against the tricks that strong drink could play on the mind.
It wasn’t surprising, therefore, that Torben and Gwilym attracted many stares as they walked through the centre of Bywater, following the road to the east, towards the woodland. Considering it was only an hour after dawn, the village was bustling with people going to and fro—gangs of labourers heading to the fields, women and children carrying vessels to the river to collect water, the blacksmith hammering diligently in his workshop.
Many passersby stopped dead in their tracks and stared at Gwilym as he trudged by, and many viewed Torben with suspicion. Barely concealed mutterings drifted through the village.
‘Isn’t right for that lad to be gallivanting off with strangers.’
A group of villagers began to follow Torben and Gwilym through the village. They kept their distance, but it was clear that they didn’t like the intrusion by an outsider, nor the obvious collusion of one of their own with the stranger.
‘Well,’ Gwilym said sotto voce, ‘it seems the folk round here are even friendlier in the day time.’
‘Just keep walking and don’t look them in the eyes. You don’t want to frighten them, or they might get rowdy.’
To Torben, the walk through the village was a bit of a joke. He enjoyed being the centre of attention; it made a change from people ignoring him. And what did he care if the villagers whispered about him behind his back? As they passed people, Torben nodded acknowledgements, waved a hand, and occasionally hailed someone he recognised with a greeting.
As they reached the eastern outskirts of the village, the disgruntled gaggle of villagers began to peal off, satisfied that the dwarf wouldn’t cause mischief. The murmurings of conversation continued though as the villagers dispersed, wondering what could have lead Torben to take up with such a strange outlander. Almost every conversation ended with the same conclusion: Torben had always been a bit of an odd one. Being trapped up in that tiny farm with Amos and his fiend of a wife, with no real parental figures, must have addled the poor lad’s mind. Had Torben heard any of these conclusions, he’d certainly have had a few strong words to throw back in retaliation, but he and Gwilym simply continued to stride from the village.
As they left the last house behind, the road cut a straight line through rows of fields north of Bywater. Most of the fields on this side of the village were divided into small plots, and as the soil was very poor, cultivation barely extended more than a mile-and-a-half beyond the village boundaries. Hardly anyone tended this land; the majority of labour focused on more prosperous plots to the south and west, where most of the village’s food was grown.
The few people that Gwilym and Torben came across as they followed the road were the older men too sore and world-weary to be of much use in the big work gangs and tended the scrappy vegetable and fodder patches in this part of Burndale. As a rule, they weren’t very talkative and those that did acknowledge Torben and Gwilym, only did so through a curt nod or hollow grunt.
As they passed through the fields, the road became noticeably more rugged and unkempt, and as the two figures came closer to the eastern woods, trees began to encroach the road.
‘So what exactly are you looking for out here?’ Torben broke the silence that had settled over the two of them since they’d left the village.
‘Huh?’ Gwilym had seemingly been dwelling on the xenophobic attitude of the villagers and didn’t register Torben’s question. ‘What do you mean, what am I looking for?’
‘You must have had some reason for coming out this way. There’s nothing that I know of this side of Bywater, and the road only carries on for another couple of miles.’
‘How do you know that there isn’t anything on this side of the dale? Have you ever even been to the end of the track?’
‘Well, no.’ Torben paused and scanned the area. ‘But everyone in Bywater knows that there’s nothing to the north. If there was, they’d have continued building the road.’
‘No wonder you’ve never made it out of your village, if that’s how you’ve been brought up to think.’ Gwilym regarded the young man walking next to him. ‘People aren’t logical, and most things in life aren’t clear-cut. There could be any number of reasons why they didn’t continue to build the road, but then think laterally: why did they bother to extend the road beyond the confines of the village in the first place, if they knew there was nothing to the north?’
‘Errm.’
‘See!’ Gwilym jumped in before Torben could gather his thoughts. ‘No logic behind it, is there? Which makes me think that there’s something of interest and potential profit for anyone savvy enough to go and sniff around.’
Torben thought hard, trying to come up with a response, but he couldn’t deny the logic of the dwarf. He took in the scenery they were passing through. By now, the two of them were deep into the woods and the path was becoming rougher and more unkempt by the foot.
The bright summer’s day felt murky as a thick cover of foliage reduced light to a more gloomy, emerald hue. The only noises that cut through the dense silence were the sounds of Gwilym and Torben’s boots crunching along the dirt path, the occasional caws and trills of birds flitting between trees, and the rustling of four-legged creatures in the brush.
Torben didn’t like woods. Having spent the majority of his life in open fields, so being deep in woodland was intensely claustrophobic. As he walked along, Torben’s eyes constantly darted left and right, scanning the undergrowth. Gwilym, on the other hand, didn’t seem phased by the change in scenery. He was whistling under his breadth and there was a definite spring to his step. Being back in the wilds had obviously improved his mood.
‘Is there anything, dangerous, in these woods, do you think?’ Torben was trying to make his voice sound calm, but there was a distinctive quaver in his tone.
‘There are a lot of things in the wilder places of the world that could harm you … wolves, bears … hell, I’ve had wild boars come at me in the past … especially if you get in-between them and their bairns.’ He smiled dryly. ‘Though you never know when locals might band together and jump a passing traveller for the sake of a few coins. One time I passed through a village that had never heard of my folk, let alone seen a dwarf—aye, even more backward than your lot. I arrived in the evening, after everyone in the local tavern had had several ales, so they welcomed me graciously. I had as much food as I could eat and as much drink as I could sup. Never had to spend a single penny. I woke up the next morning, expecting the situation to be the same, and was ready for a spot of breakfast. To my surprise, I was met by an angry mob who tied me up and threw me in the Well.’
