Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (6 page)

Across the street from the tavern sat a large three-story building, dimly lit and smelling of incense. The windows were all curtained in red, and the boys discovered that this was where the music came from. Approaching the broad doorway the trio was quick to discover a sign beside it proclaiming the building to be a brothel. Next to the brothel, across the street from the inn, were several small buildings and stalls. This was where the traders would set up their wares to sell, but of course at this hour they had all packed up and gone home.

The boys stood in the middle of the road looking around, if not somewhat nervously, than at least undecided. Garret’s eyes kept flickering to the brothel, and Seth couldn’t help but to slug him in the shoulder and laugh at him. Ashton caught the meaning and laughed as well. They stood there a minute longer surveying their surroundings, deciding independently if it would be safer to stay within the town or to continue through it and find a place to shelter for the night then return in the morning.

“Seems safe enough,” Seth was saying, almost to himself, before adding for everyone’s benefit, “If the inside walls are stone, too, one of us could sleep against the door to be sure no one comes in while we sleep.”

Seeming a brilliant idea, the three marched off towards the inn, Seth and Ashton looking around warily and Garret glancing back to the brothel longingly. Oh, the things money could buy!

They came to the inn door and could hear from inside many muted voices in relaxed conversations. Light streamed around the poorly fitted door and from two oversized windows, one to each side of it. Above the door a sign danced in the slight evening breeze, marking this as the Sunrise Inn. The boys gave one another a nod of approval before pulling the door open. Garret placed his hand on the handle and gave it a sharp tug. Nothing happened. Thinking it stuck, Seth too took hold of the handle and the two large boys pulled in unison to no avail. Looking at each other in defeat, they shrugged their shoulders in acceptance and turned as if to leave. Ashton reached one of his slender hands up to the door. The twins paused to watch what would presumably be another failed attempt at dislodging the door. Ashton gave it a light push, not a pull, and the door swung effortlessly, silently open on its hinges. Ashton smiled at them as the twins’ faces flushed in embarrassment.

The three walked through the door, Garret mumbling something about the door needing a sign saying ‘push’. They were welcomed by many strangers’ stares and the strong scent of ale and garlic. They looked around quickly and met the gaze of the barkeep who smiled at them widely, and welcomed them in a deep booming voice to the Sunrise Inn. They each nodded to him in response and quickly located somewhere to sit. Choosing a table in the corner, Garret led them to it so that they could keep their backs to the wall and face the expansive room ahead of them. They looked around, appraising the many people seated throughout the common room. There were three men at the bar laughing drunkenly at their own jokes. Many of the tables were occupied by men and women of varying ages. Some of them were obviously travelers like themselves, but more than half showed no sign of travel, their hair well kept, their clothes clean.

One man in particular caught all three of the boys’ attention, though Garret was the first to spot him. He was old, shriveled by age. His hair hung in long white cascades over his shoulders, nearly reaching his waist. He had a full snowy beard as well, nearly the length of his hair. He was dressed in a peculiar gray garb that had once perhaps been black, but faded by years of wear and travel now had a muted earthly stone color to it. He seemed out of place. It wasn’t his clothes that seemed made in another time, in a fashion no longer used. It also wasn’t his age that seemed to keep him apart from the others here in the inn. Something about his posture, his too graceful movements, left a feeling of unworthiness to those around him, as if the man were some holy artifact that was too great to touch or even look upon directly. Yet everyone within the room had looked upon him, and left him to his own musings, sitting in the opposite corner from where the boys had seated themselves. Garret watched the man from the corners of his eyes, pretending to look around the room again and again. So caught up in his secret appraisals of the old man, Garret hadn’t noticed the woman when she approached their table. Apparently his companions were too distracted to notice as well.

“Hello fellas,” the woman greeted the boys, scrutinizing their clothes as if to measure their worth. Assured by the quality garb the twins wore she smiled at them all and continued in a softer, nicer tone. “Welcome to the Sunrise Inn. What can I get for you?”

The boys frowned at each other, puzzled, not having decided upon anything yet. Seth and Ashton looked to Garret as if to let him answer for them all. Garret took their meaning, returned the barmaid’s smile and gave his reply.

“Miss, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, we’d each like a cold mug of your finest ale, a hot meal and a room if you have one to spare.”

“Well,” she began her reply, “tonight we are serving spit roasted hog, spicy bean soup and oven toasted bread. The ale is neither fine, nor is it very cold, but I’d be happy to get you some, and as we are quite filled to capacity tonight, I only have one more room available, with two beds, if that will suit your needs for the night. Perhaps if you’re here for an extended stay tomorrow we should have a few more rooms free.” She said all this with practiced perfection as if she had made this same exact statement a thousand times before. Assuming somehow that he was their leader, she looked to Garret, waiting for a response.

“Miss, I believe the room should suit us fine for one evening, and we will take the food and drink as well,” Garret replied with a wink.

“Well then sir, the room is a silver, and the food and drink is twenty five copper for the each of you.” The woman kept her gaze fixed on Garret, who nodded in response before she whirled on her heel and headed for the bar, Garret appreciatively watching the swaying of her hips as she departed.

Each of the boys pulled from their belts a small coin purse, but Garret, raising a hand, signaled for them to put their money away. Seth looked at Garret questioningly, while Ashton’s look was one of relief.

“I’ll pay this time,” Garret said. “Next time one of you guys can pay. We will take turns.”

Both boys nodded in agreement, and Seth and Garret met eyes a moment. Both of them had noticed Ashton’s face when he realized Garret would be paying for him as well. Both twins came to the conclusion that he must not have much money and they agreed silently to save him any embarrassment by paying the majority of the way for their newfound friend.

All three companions sat silently a moment, their eyes flickering around the room again. It wasn’t long before the woman returned with her unremarkable smile, this time carrying a tray covered with mugs, plates and bowls. The mugs were filled to the brim with a light-colored ale that, after a few tastes, became evident that it had been watered down a bit. The bowls were filled with a fragrant, steaming melody of beans and cabbage that tasted delicious if not also rendering the consumer thirsty after every flaming bite. The plates too were piled with thick cuts of pork roasted and peppered, and each plate also held a toasted half loaf of bread. Eyeing all the food, unsure how any normal sized person could eat so much, Garret paid the plump, smiling woman two silver and instructed her to keep the remaining twenty five copper for herself. She thanked him graciously and handed him a key with the number eighteen engraved upon it.

The boys sat stuffing all the delicious foods into their ever reddening faces, attempting every so often to quench the heat with a large mouthful of ale. The trio was lost in their meal, oblivious to everything around them when, as if the world had ceased to exist, the room went unnaturally silent. Practically in unison all the inn’s gathered patrons inhaled as if witnessing some great event. The three boys looked around in sudden wonder as to the commotion, or rather lack thereof, and saw immediately the cause for the disruption.

All eyes were locked on the old man in the corner. He had stood, as if to leave, the only really significant thing he had done since the boys arrived. Instead of leaving, however, the old man glanced around the room, pausing briefly when his gaze fell on the boys. It was as if he was appraising their worth, as if he was the only person there who hadn’t seen them arrive. He stepped nimbly to the great polished stone slab bar beside the three drunken men. Turning his back to it, he placed his hands behind him, each to one side, and rested them palms down on the edge of the stone surface. Despite his apparent age, despite his withered features, he lifted himself gingerly to sit upon the edge of the stone surface with grace beyond that of those around him. The room remained silent, everyone fearing to move or make a sound as if that might scare the old man back to his seat.

The white haired man looked around the room again as if remembering where he was, and then inhaled silently to speak. Everyone in the room leaned nearer as if his ancient lips would not be able to make a sound big enough for them to hear. He spoke then in a melodious tone to the dozens of unworthy human ears.

“Would you be so kind as to let me recite a tale both old and glorious?” It was as if music escaped his lips when they parted. The entire audience, already enthralled, sat silently waiting for him to continue, and he did.

“Once was a man blessed with powers so grand,

The women could not help but adore.

Unite his race was the mission he had,

Given to him by his god Gorandor.

It took him no time to travel the land,

His body’s size of a man times four,

Yearning to save his race of man,

Whose conditions of life were so poor.

Though peace he wanted, he did understand

To save them he must make war.

Many armies he crushed beneath his heel,

Improving man’s life with his sword.

Banners rose, his cause gaining strength,

His race was united once more.

It would not be long, he was assured,

Armies would march with him by the score.

They cleared the lands of the evil it had,

And brought peace to his world’s doors.

His quest fulfilled, but man not safe,

For evil is like a festering sore,

Needing to ensure the safety of his race,

Knowing all too well their ancient lore,

He built a great city, named after his fathers,

Then arose from the stone, Castle Valdadore.

For many hundred a year peace was protected,

The King now growing old and sore,

He passed his kingdom to his only son,

Known now as King Sorantore.

Evil again strikes at our borders,

Always into the shields of Valdadore.

But each day the evil grows stronger,

As dark armies amass once more.

It seems the dark ones test our defenses,

Anxious to settle the score.

Too soon it seems our world again,

Will be drenched with the blood of war.

It falls to you, the young and the strong,

Blessed by the gods at your core,

To pick up the banners, and the cause,

And fight for your King Valdadore!”

The song was like none that the boys had ever heard before and the entire room sat enthralled, hanging on every word the old man sang. Even the drunkards at the bar had quieted their clamorous jests to listen to the old codger singing. Finally, when the song came to an end, many a man in the room lifted his mug and shouted, "Long live Valdadore!"

The old man scrutinized the small crowd, most of them still sitting with their jaws agape. It seemed to him his words had had the effect he intended and so, with effortless grace, he launched his body down from the bar and strolled straight across the room and out the door.

A few moments had passed since the old story teller had departed. Most of the people within the inn looked from one another in astonished glances, not feeling the warning the grave tale had told them. People started talking again, in hushed voices at first, repeating parts of the tale. The large room grew louder and louder as the twins and Ashton looked at one another, knowing all too well that if the tale were true, The Choosing would be much more uncomfortable than anticipated.

The boys were engrossed in discussing the old man’s tale when a loud thud followed by a bone shattering crack broke the tension in the room. Across from them, at the bar, stood one of the drunken men holding a stool in his hand. Next to him on the ground lay another drunk, writhing in pain and clutching his face as blood spilled out between his fingers. Several men in the inn stood up. The barkeep, large as he was, ducked behind the counter as if to hide. The large, burly drunk scanned the crowd measuring up those who had stood to intervene. Still holding the stool raised above him in one hand like a club, he turned back to the bar as the barkeep emerged from behind the counter. He was now holding a small crossbow, drawn and loaded. If the drunk persisted, he would drop where he stood.

“Its time to call it a night, John,” stated the barkeep coolly. “Why don’t you go home? We can square up your tab tomorrow.”