Chapter 2 - Rickard

The cute girl with the lute was still there chatting with her partner. Rickard noted the bag on the floor near the man's chair. He suspected it held items to juggle. The man was dressed a little nicer, on the same level as the girl. Rickard decided she was not looking at the man as a romantic partner. He made a mental note to watch Ernon around her.

Darrak headed outside. Rickard headed to the bar and took up a stool casually near the middle and not next to anyone.

Conversations were hushed a little, but not as much as they'd been in prior towns. People became a little cautious about strangers when their women and children were starting to disappear.

He ordered an ale, sipping at it for a while as he watched the room. Most of the others who had been in the room when they entered were now gone, replaced with others who talked over a late breakfast or with empty plates pushed back once they'd finished. A older girl moved swiftly from table to table, checking on the patrons while a younger boy trailed behind her, taking empty plates back to the kitchen as she handed them to him. She had the soft patient smile of someone who'd been waiting tables for a long while and was accustomed to most things a customer might say to her. It didn't take him long to figure out that the boy trailing behind her was probably her son.

One man sat alone at the corner of the bar, nursing a tankard of ale. Rickard had noticed the man when they'd first entered the inn, and he wondered if it was still the same drink. It was part of the reason he'd ordered an ale himself. That, and it seemed as if it had been too long since he'd had a decent pint. He took a long, grateful pull of it, savoring both the taste and aroma before he swallowed it and raised his glass towards the man at the bar.

"Glad I'm not the only one," Rickard said, gesturing at the cup in front of him.

The man stood and came shambling over. He had the kind of walk that only the perpetually drunk have. The man was not very drunk, but had been at it a while. His hard shoes were heavy on the floor, and his tankard was little less gentle coming down on the bar next to Rickard's. The man took the next stool and sat heavily.

"This town's too all rotten to stay sober. If yer stayin', you'll need another drink. But yer better off not stayin'," the man suggested.

"What's your name, friend?" Rickard asked.

"Arrel," the man replied before taking another heavy drink. Arrel's drink was getting low.

"What's so bad about this place, then, Arrel? It looked like a pretty valley coming in."

"Aye. 'Tis pretty enough I s'pose," Arrel nodded. "From a distance."

"We were considering staying the winter here," Rickard prodded. "I hear the snow around here comes early and heavy. We don't want to get caught crossing through the mountains."

"Mmm," the man half-grunted, nodding at his tankard. "More 'n a few men have died in those mountains. Winter here can be fair unpredictible. You must've talked to someone who'd been here afore."

"Perhaps," Rickard muttered, looking off to the door Darrak had left through.

Darrak had secrets, Rickard had figured out. While the man seemed fairly capable at planning out a strategy when they needed one, and was certainly a competant enough swordsman, the man was driven in a way that Rickard would normally only associate with someone like the Priestess. Everyone had pretty much figured out that something had happened to set Darrak on this path, but none knew exactly what. Suddenly Rickard found himself wondering if Darrak had actually been here before himself. He tucked that thought away for later, however, and turned back to Arrel, who was finishing off the last dregs of ale at the bottom of his tankard.

"Okay, so the mountains are treacherous when it snows," Rickard said. "But you make it sound like you don't like the town so much... How come?"

"It's just not the town it once was," Arrel muttered, frowning at his empty drink. Rickard thought better than to buy the man another if he could help it. The man was in enough of them already.

"How come?" Rickard asked. "Did something happen?"

"Nothin' ye need to concern yourself with, stranger," Arrel said. "Just finish up yer business and move on quick."

Marn stopped his wiping and looked at Rickard a moment. Rickard suspected the man was evaluating him in some way, it looked like the considering look the man might give weighing a man for his drinking capacity.

"His wife...went missing about a week ago," Marn explained. "For a few days people looked and searched, but..."

"But along the line he realized she was really gone, huh?" Rickard probed.

"Yeah, something like that. He probably gave you good advice, though...about the moving on part."

"His wife wasn't the first one, though, was she?" he pushed a little. Marn gave a slightly surprised and concerned frown.

"We heard some rumors not long ago," Rickard explained. "Rumors that some of the people that come around here don't ever get heard from again."

"Well, these mountains can be a mite treacherous..." Marn tried.

"I think you know what I mean," Rickard said gently. "We came here to see what's going on."

"Then you'd be better off looking for trouble elsewhere," Marn replied, frowning. "It isn't taken kindly to here."

"I don't me-" Rickard began, seeing that the conversation was slipping. The man interrupted him before he could get further.

"Looks like you're done with your pint," Marn said, sweeping the nearly-full glass of ale off the counter with one hand. "I'm sure you have plenty of errands you'll want to take care of during your short stay here."

He turned his back on Rickard, dumping the rest of the ale into a bucket before setting the glass in the basket with Arrel's empty tankard. Then he moved deliberately down to the opposite end of the bar and purposefully began drying some freshly cleaned glasses that one of the boys had brought in on a tray. Rickard watched him for a moment, puzzled and concerned, before he dropped a few chips onto the counter and slid off the barstool. He noticed that several others in the room were watching him, some more covertly than others, as he strode across the room to the door. Rickard pretended not to notice them as he pushed it open and stepped out to the street.

The street was quieter than it should have been for the time of day. Even the chickens loose on the street seemed to cluck worriedly to each other as they wandered away. He picked a direction randomly. A pig snorted at him and waddled away across the street.

The air was just cold enough to start seeing his breath. He thought that might be enough to encourage some of the children to play inside instead of out.

As he wandered, he did start seeing people outside, and he ruled out some town-wide reaction to his conversation with Arrel. There were people up on thatch roofs mending. There were people with hammers and other tools doing other repairs. One older woman led a stubborn and slightly scrawny looking cow down the road.

But none of the people he saw looked at him. It was not that they looked away from him, or pointedly ignored him. They all just seemed to be minding their own business. Almost pointedly so.

His eyes caught a flickering of light and he turned towards a small stone building that had a large chimney and a larger, secondary, wooden building built off one end of it. The shutters on a large window were open to reveal someone inside, busily pumping bellows to stoke a fire hotter. Rickard could hear the familiar sounds of metal ringing on metal and he found himself turning towards them. The young man pumping the bellows was tall and slender and wore a dirty pair of overalls over a thin, brown shirt. Wisps of brownish-blonde hair showed out from under a scarf tied around his head to keep the hair and sweat out of his eyes while he worked. As Rickard approached, he watched the man stop pumping the bellows and check on a piece of metal in the fire, pulling it out and inspecting the glow before moving off to one side with it. A second ringing of metal joined the first, almost in rythm together.

Rickard saw the sign outside, confirming the presence of the metalsmith inside, and he went into the door of the place. The chill from outside was immediately replaced by the intense heat that spilled into the room from the roaring fire. Rickard found the source of the other metalsmith to be an older, hulk of a man with wild, graying hair that tried to fly free of a scarf similar to that of the younger man. He had a thick layer of stubble across his broad chin and wore only the overalls, showing the thick, muscled arms that years of smithing had given him. Both smiths appeared to be working on the type of long, spearheads that would be found at the sharp end of a pike.

Despite the fact that there was a tiny bell that had rung when Rickard opened the door, neither had seemed to notice. Rickard stood, quietly watching for a moment as the two men worked. Then the younger of the two noticed him standing there and motioned to the older. Both stopped hammering, returning their work to the fire before the older man turned to Rickard.

"Luna, close those shutters or we'll lose the heat," the older of the two instructed. "Now what can I do fer ye sir?"

Rickard's words were lost for a moment as he took another look at the younger smith. Her blue eyes sparkled, seemingly amused, as she moved to pull the shutters closed.

"I-I was wondering if you do repair work?" he stammered, turning back to the older smith.

"My daughter's not so subtle with her work yet," the man replied, with a slight warning tone. "But I might be able to help ye, depending on what ye need done. My name's Evan."

Evan stuck out his hand with a smile, while Rickard saw Luna scowling as she picked up the bellows again. Rickard took Evan's hand and shook it as solidly as he could. The man's grip was strong and sure.

"I have a crossbow that's gotten a little banged up," he explained. "It's back at the inn, but I could bring it by later. I sort of stumbled across your shop and thought maybe you could help. It still works, the bows aren't bent or anything. But the trigger mechanism is bent and a little awkward."

"I'd have to have a look at it an' see. What happened to it?" the smith asked.

A vampire ripped it out of my hands and threw it... "A horse fell on it," Rickard lied.

"An' it still works? Yer a lucky man."

"I guess so."

"Hmm," Evan said. "Well when do you think you'll be bringing it by then?"

"I..." Rickard found himself trailing off. He had been using the damaged crossbow as an excuse to start conversation, really. But it seemed that the smith wasn't as much for gossip as he had hoped. He wondered if the whole town had clammed up or if he was just having bad luck. He supposed he would find out from Darrak, later on. He looked up at Evan, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"I have a couple of other errands I should run, but I can probably be back here before lunch," Rickard told the man.

"Well, bring it sooner rather than later," Evan replied. "Business has been busy lately."

Rickard had nodded and begun to turn when he heard the last bit. He turned back, his interest renewed.

"Oh?" he tried to act casual with the question, hoping it didn't sound eager. "Something special going on?"

Luna snorted from her position by the bellows. She had been gently moving them, keeping the coals glowing red while Evan and Rickard had talked. Rickard saw the smith give her a warning look before turning back to Rickard with a pasted smile.

"Winter is nearly here, lad," he said. "There's always work to be done afore the snows."

"Right," Rickard said, nodding. "I've already been warned about early snows."

"Well," he said, "I'll swing by the inn when I can and pick it up."

"We'll see ye after then, then," the smith said.

Rickard nodded and turned. Another thought struck him before the door.

"Hey, is there a healer in town?" he asked. "We have one who travels with us, and she'll probably want to compare notes. She likes to do that..."

"That'd be Old Millie," Luna said. "She's a hoot of a strange bird, but she's good to have around, especially--"

"That's enough, Luna," the smith said. "The man said he had other errands to run."

"Yes, pa," she replied, frowning.

Luna turned back to the bellows with renewed vigor as Evan smiled at Rickard, gesturing towards the door.

"I'll check that trigger mechanism as soon as you bring it by, sir," he said, stepping towards Rickard and the door. "Meanwhile, we wouldn't want to keep you from finishing your other errands during the daylight. The healer can be found on the east end of town, near the edge of the village, if your friend wants to see her."

"Thank you," Rickard said, nodding as he followed Evan's motions towards the door.

He was starting to wonder if the man wouldn't forcibly push him out if he hadn't begun moving. As soon as he was on the other end of the heavy wooden door, Evan smiled and said goodbye very quickly before the thick wood was closed between them. Rickard noticed the man watching him out of one small window to the side of the door, and he made his way down the street and out of sight before doubling back to try and listen to their conversation from the other side of the building.

Even trying to get back quickly, he missed part of their conversation. He crouched under the window a little awkwardly, worried that someone would come down the street. The other windows on the street were shuttered more tightly against the cold, so there was little risk of anyone peering out them.

"--For all we know he's part of it," the smith said.

"If he was, would they be traveling with a healer?"

"I'm not even convinced he has the crossbow. I think he was lying about the whole horse falling on it thing, so who knows what else he was lying about. I want you staying away from him, Luna, and that's that."

"Yes, Father."

He listened for a few moments more, but the conversation turned to smithing and there was nothing more that helped him gain insight as to what was happening here.

At least I've confirmed that there is something going on, he told himself as he slipped back around the building and into the road again. Now I just need some more specifics.

He wandered the town for a bit, watching the people moving to and fro. Most of the houses and shops were shuttered tight, as if winter had already arrived. The people themselves, did not pause in the streets to talk. While some acknowledged one another in passing, most just kept their heads down and hurried along to their destinations. He noticed that there were more men than usual carrying "walking" sticks or that had a knife sheathed on their boot.

Not that any of it seemed unusual for Rickard. To him, it was a sign that they were on the right track. Something was making these people afraid. And they were worried enough not to speak of it. Worried of strangers being part of it. He hoped that Darrak was seeing the warning signs too, or there could be trouble. There had been one town so paranoid that they'd nearly strung the group up before they realized the real source of danger.

He stopped by a bookstore and inquired about maps of the area. While he was able to purchase a map of the local lord's territory, the bookstore owner proved even more tight-lipped than the others he had been. After he was finished, he headed back to the inn, feeling frustrated.. He hoped that Darrak had had more luck.

Arshelle was already there, sitting with an early lunch. She had some wedge-shaped potato sections, a slice of ham, and an apple. She was trimming bad spots out of the apple with a knife, and did not immediately look up when he entered the room.

Ernon was walking towards her with a tray. His bore similar fare, except he had a tankard of something she did not. Rickard headed over and sat down just after Ernon.

"Well, something's definitely going on, but nobody's talking about it," he said quietly.

"You should have followed my suggestion of the bath," Arshelle commented.

"I don't really think bathing would have made the difference, Arshelle," he replied with a sigh.

"You should get yourself some food then," Ernon piped in. "The potatoes are good." He punctuated the sentence by waving one at Rickard and then popping it in his mouth.

"We've only just arrived, Rickard," Arshelle pointed out. "Rarely does anyone tell us anything in the first day. After lunch we can make some purchases to ingratiate ourselves with some of the merchants. We will find someone willing to talk. We always do."

"Usually you are more inclined towards the hunt," he told her. "I'm surprised to see you so complacent about this."

"Hardly," she replied. "I am merely conserving my energy for more useful pursuits. Besides, something here feels... different... than usual. I'm hoping we can pinpoint what it is before we encounter battle."

Rickard watched her as she took a large bite of the apple and then cleaned off the knife before putting it away. He still didn't really know what all Arshelle was capable of. She generally wasn't forthcoming about it.