Book Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Fate Takes a Hand
The music of the crickets filtered through the air, soft and constant as the gentle hearts of the people who dwelled inside the warm wee cottages scattered haphazardly across the quiet valley. Small ribbons of white smoke curled out of chimneys, and the smell of supper being served at the inn was wafting through the air. Everything was just as it had always been, during this time of year in the Valley of the Yew.
John, the owner of the valley’s only inn, The Valley’s Finest Inn, was outside collecting the last armful of firewood. He always enjoyed this time of day, so he was in no hurry to get back inside the kitchen. He reached down with his free hand and patted the tan hound by his side.
“There’s a lad,” he said soothingly. He looked to the west and watched the orange disk of the sun slip behind the distant hills. “What a sunset, ‘ey Rascal?”
The dog seemed to smile in agreement and raised his head for a more effective petting. He nuzzled up against John’s leg and almost knocked him over with his enthusiastic display of affection. A stick of firewood fell from John’s arm, and Rascal instantly scooped it up in his slobbering mouth.
“Good boy…now come along and help me stoke the fire.”
John turned and started inside. He looked around to see Rascal standing with his front paws spread far apart and his tail end wagging in the air. The dog looked at John then hopped to one side playfully. John immediately recognized the dog’s mood and played along.
“Very well,” he said, putting down his load of wood at the kitchen door. “So you want to play now, do ya? I see that there stick means an awful lot to ya, ‘ey Rascal? Tell you what: if I can get that stick away from ya…”
The dog dropped the stick and looked away from the inn. He perked up his normally droopy ears while tilting his head from side to side. The husky innkeeper looked up to see what distracted his canine friend so. Downhill, a piece, the road went into a thick grove of trees. John looked hard into the shadows of the small hollow. Finally he perceived someone coming out of the woods: two riders – in a hurry.
As the two approached, John could see that they were dusty and their horses lathered from a long hard ride. He brushed himself off and prepared to greet them. This proved to be a waste of time for the two riders galloped directly up to him raising a cloud of dust. Rascal barked fiercely at the strangers and did his best to look twice his size and half his age.
“Quiet, Rascal!” John shouted.
The dog skulked from his master’s side, his hackles still bristling, and went to watch from inside the kitchen door.
When the dust settled and John finished dusting himself off for the second time, he looked up and smiled at the new arrivals. The one closest to him was a large burly man. He wore a tattered brown cloak with fine chain mail armor peeking through in places. The other, a younger man, was slight of build and wore leather armor under a gray cloak. This one hung back, avoiding John’s eyes. Both were unshaven and appeared to have been on the road for several days. In the gloaming, John still noticed the hilts of their elegantly crafted swords. The large man’s sword looked heavy and broad while the smaller man’s was long and narrow.
The big man shifted his weight in the saddle and asked, “Art thou the innkeeper?”
“I am John, the owner, milord,” John replied.
“Well, John-the-owner, I see by yon sign, that this is The Valley’s Finest Inn. Is it so?”
“That is what they say.”
Quickly, the man retorted, “I would wager that they also say it is the valley’s only inn.”
John grinned, knowing that the game was up, then replied sheepishly, “I am afraid milord would be richer for that wager, if he could but find the fool daft or drunk enough to take such a…”
The younger man cleared his throat. His large companion looked at him and raised his hand slightly. “I know,” John heard him whisper.
The large man returned his attention to John. “Well then good John-the-owner, let us go into your inn and enjoy the finest this valley has to offer.”
During this short conversation, John observed the slighter of the two men looking back in the direction of the road several times, as if expecting there were to be others in the party but decided to appear less observant and keep his nose out of business that might shorten it.
Putting his beak in the wrong feeder had been one of John’s shortcomings in the past, but he discovered that sticking his nose into other people’s affairs often hurt business, not to mention his nose. So most recently he had adopted an “anti-intrusion policy,” which he strictly applied to strangers, and hoped for reciprocal consideration where his life and nose were concerned.
John led the way into the inn with the big man following close behind. Once inside, John showed the man the commons room and asked him to have a seat. The second man was nowhere to be seen, so John went to see if there was anything he could do to help him. As John got to the door he nearly collided with the slender man who was carrying a bundle cradled in the crook of his arm. John turned out of the way to avoid being plowed under and found the man’s large companion standing behind him holding two plates heaped with food.
“Milord, please…!”
“We shall eat in our room,” was all the man said.
John immediately saw the urgency of acquainting them with quarters and inquired, “Do you have a preference, milord?”
“A private room overlooking the stables,” the man said tersely.
“But milord would not be comfortable in that room.”
“Nonsense! I can never sleep unless I know my mare is safe.”
“Very good, milord.” John picked up the key to the back room and motioned for the two of them to follow him up the stairs. While still on the stair, he asked, “Any special instructions for the stable boy, milord?”
“Give them a good rubdown and a good portion of oats. Let them drink freely of water. The mare has a cut on her foreleg, so have the boy put on a clean bandage. I’ll be down later to examine it. Also, have the boy put some oats in a pair of bags for our journey.”
“Very good, milord.”
They reached the door of their room, and John opened it. The large man stepped into the room, looked about, then motioned for his companion to enter.
Once the slighter man slipped into the room, the large man stepped into the doorway, blocking John’s entrance. He then handed John a small bag of coins and said, “We leave with the rising of the sun. Have our horses ready, and pack a cold breakfast and lunch.”
“Do you wish me to turn down the bed, milord?” asked John, his eyes vainly searching past the man.
“No.”
John turned to leave, and the man snared his arm. “One last thing,” he said, taking John aside, “tell no one we are here, and bring up some warm milk in a short while.”
“We have goat’s milk, milord.”
“Goat’s milk would be fine.”
John went downstairs with his suspicions highly piqued. However, he remembered his new policy and was determined to steer wide of the entire topic. This was not easy, for when he started fulfilling his latest guest’ requests, he was met with a flurry of queries concerning them. A free pint of ale and a song easily distracted his nosy regulars, but nothing could deter his implacable wife, Moira. Her many years as an innkeeper had made her a well-established and much honored institution of local rumormongery. Fortunately for John, he didn’t know much. However, this lack of information made Moira more persistent than ever.
“Well, did this mysterious stranger have money at least?” she asked.
“Aye!” John replied. “He paid me in advance, and I’d imagine a lot better than the scrubby blokes we have blowin’ through here half the time.”
“You imagine? Ya mean you don’t know?”
“Well you haven’t given me much chance, now have ya?”
At this John opened up the small bag of coins and dumped it on the table. Their eyes nearly popped from their heads when they surveyed the pile of gold and silver coins that lay on the table.
“Gaww! Did ya ever…?” cooed Moira.
“No. Not ever!”
“How much is it, John?”
“Don’t know. But it’s a kettle more than any other pile in this valley.”
“Are those really…real…?”
John carefully eyed one of the yellow coins. He bit it then smiled and said, “Real gold!” He looked at the coin again. “He must mean for me to keep these for him. Zounds, put ‘em back quick!”
The started to scoop the coins back in the bag when the back door opened, and in burst the stable boy. This so startled John that he dropped a few coins on the floor.
“Go milk the goat!” John barked at the boy.
The boy jumped back and hastily retreated out the door. John picked up the money and threw it into the bag. He wiped his forehead and tucked the bag into his tunic with a sigh.
John raised a warning finger to Moira and said, “Not a word,” to which Moira replied by pretending to lock her lips and throw away the key. John was not greatly encouraged by this, but knew it was the best he could hope for.
By the time the goat’s milk was ready, only one regular remained in the commons room. John ushered him out with a quick but hardy “g’night” and sent him on his way. He lit a lantern and toted the milk upstairs to his mystery guests. When he got to the door, it was slightly ajar, and he took this as an invitation to bring in the milk.