Synry
Episode Eleven
Doram was going to shut the gates early, figuring that the storm raging outside would keep honest travelers at bay. He didn't much want the other kind, no matter how short the coin was this month. He had the one guest, at least, and would be content with that, and he would not court the kind of trouble that comes of having an open gate on a stormy night, with a light showing.
Bundled into his heavy cloak, he slipped out of the inn, trotting across the innyard in the pelting rain to get to the gates. He managed to shift one closed, but was having trouble with the other; the rain had turned the packed earth to slippery mud beneath his feet, and he wasn't able to find proper purchase to throw his weight against the stubborn gate. He had just decided to run back for Torril, the stablehand, to help him when a line of mounted men came out of the driving rain. They rode without stopping into the innyard, and one of them leapt from his mount to help Doram push the gate closed and swing the bar across.
The lead rider swung down from his horse, and approached Doram.
"Where's the innkeeper?"
"That's me," Doram responded, his heart sinking.
"Looks like we made it just in time. We'll see to our own horses, but we'll want hot food, beer, and beds for six. Get yourself in out of the weather, man, and get things started. We'll be in after we get the mounts settled."
Doram nodded meekly, and turned back to the inn. He peeked discretely at the new arrivals, and was somewhat relieved to see that they wore livery. If they served the right lord, Doram had nothing to fear, and would even receive a token payment – not enough to cover all the expenses, but better than nothing. Of course, if they served the wrong lord, all bets were off. Better highwaymen than the wrong lord; highwaymen, at least, had their own sort of honour.
He went in through the kitchen, and told Gaytha to start chopping more vegetables for the stew, then he ducked down the kitchen stairs to fetch another keg out of the cellar. He came up the bar steps, keg on shoulder, to take a look around the common room and make sure everything was in good shape. Torril and Cadaynn were sitting at the table near the fire, with the single guest, a nondescript young man in rough clothes. The stablehand and the serving girl were feeding bits of stew to the bird that the man had brought with him, an evil looking raven, and were rewarded by the croaking repetition of their names. The man himself seemed completely uninterested in them, concentrating on a cracked old book he was reading.
"Guests coming in, Cadaynn. Go make up the big room upstairs, five beds, and one of the small ones with a single bed."
Cadaynn scampered up the stairs, watched carefully by the bird. Behind his book, the guest reddened. Torril looked up expectantly at Doram.
"They're seeing to their own horses, lad. Why don't you go into the kitchen and help Gaytha with slicing up vegetables? They look to be soldiers, so like they'll be hungry."
Torril got up and headed into the kitchen. He was a year younger than his sister Cadaynn, but still a well-grown boy for his fourteen years. Doram was glad of them both, ever since his and Gaytha's children had moved off to have children of their own.
The guest, meanwhile, picked up his plate and mug, book under his arm, and moved over to one of the tables in the corner, farther from the fire and more in the shadows. Doram sighed silently, relieved that there would be no squabbling over the best table between the newcomers and the current guest.
Then the soldiers came in from the blowing rain, and Doram was too busy being the cordial innkeeper to think of much else. He laughed and joked with the men while keeping their mugs full, and rushed Cadaynn and Torril around with bowls of stew and loaves of bread from the kitchen. The soldiers were rowdy but fairly well-behaved, and the sergeant took the time to slip Doram a pouch of silver at the beginning of the evening, which cheered him somewhat. He was just starting to relax, and to think the evening might pass without incident, when it all went sour.
It was closing in on midnight, and the men were starting to droop in their cups. The talk had turned ribald, and the soldiers were taunting the youngest of their number, who was apparently a virgin. As things started to escalate, Doram started to worry about Cadaynn. When she started at the inn, it was with the express understanding that her duties in the rooms upstairs did not extend beyond making the beds and cleaning the crockery. Her father would never have allowed her to take the job otherwise. Doram looked for the girl, to send her to her bed before anyone thought to take advantage of her, but couldn't find her.
Timidly, not wanting to give anyone any ideas, he sidled up to his other guest, who had spent the evening absorbed in his book.
"Excuse me, sir, but have you seen Cadaynn about?"
The man turned a blank gaze on Doram, and seemed to have trouble focusing. He had noticed this earlier, that the man, for all his reading, seemed as dense a clod as one was like to meet.
"The girl? Aye. Sent her up to m' room."
"Ah. I see. Um, I... that is, her... services... don't extend to..."
"Won't touch her. Just thought best get her out o' sight afore the sojers started lookin' fer bedmates. Don't fret. I'll see her safe."
"Oh. Oh, I see. Ah, thank you. That was kindly done."
"May want to send the boy out to stable. Figger these 'uns are lookin' for conscripts. They your wee ones?"
"No, they're from the farm about a league up the river. Their father lets them work here, as long as I look after them."
"Hmm. Best get the lad out o' sight, then. Don't think his da wants him t' be sojer."
"Yes. Right. Thank you, again." Doram bustled off to the kitchen, catching Torril by the arm as he went, and whispering instructions in his ear. Once in the kitchen, Torril bolted off for the safety of his loft in the stable, and Gaytha looked worriedly at her husband.
"Trouble coming?"
"Maybe. The quiet one says that these soldiers may be conscripting, and they are likely to want Cadaynn for their beds. He's let Cadaynn hide in his room, and suggested we get Torril out of sight until they go."
"Inkeeper!"
The bellow brought Doram hurrying back into the common room, plastering a grin onto his face.
"Sergeant? Something else I can do for you?"
"Where's the girl got to? We need her for young Naledus, here."
"Oh. I'm... I'm afraid that's not possible, sergeant. She's needed elsewhere."
"Bugger that. Fetch her back here to see to my men."
"Well, I can't really do that, I'm afraid. She..." The sergeant caught him by the collar before he could finish, and pulled his face close.
"Get. Her. Now."
"Piss off out of it, sergeant. The girl's spoke for."
All eyes turned to the quiet stranger in the corner. The raven was perched on his shoulder now, watching the entire scene with bright yellow eyes, and the book was closed on the tabletop. The man sat in a slouch in his chair, mug by his hand, and plate scoured almost spotless.
"And who are you?" The sergeant released his grip on Doram's collar, and let his hand drop to the hilt of the shortsword he wore on his belt.
"I'm the one what's spoke for her. First come, y'know."
"Well, friend, I certainly don't begrudge your claim, but you surely won't need her the whole night. You can send her to us afterwards."
"Nay. It's the whole night I paid for, an' it's the whole night I'll be taking."
"That's selfish of you, friend. What are we supposed to do?"
The face of the man maintained it's usual slack expression, but Doram thought he saw a bit of a gleam in the eyes as he spoke.
"Mayhap t'innkeeper's got some goats."
In a second, the soldiers were on their feet, hands on weapons. The sergeant held his arms out, restraining his men, but the fellow went on as if he wasn't being threatened by six armed soldiers.
"How bout it? Have ye got some goats t'service the brave Duke's men? Or will they need t'make do with each other?" The raven left the man's shoulder at that point, and winged its way upstairs.
Saying nothing, Doram retreated behind the bar. He had a stout axe handle back there, and he figured he'd need it to defend Cadaynn after the soldiers had finished killing this brave fool. He should have shut the gates an hour earlier. He really should have.
The soldiers had their swords drawn, now, and only the fact that the sergeant looked to take care of the problem himself kept them from pouncing on their tormentor.
"So that's the way of it. Well, friend, you may be pleased to know that we are currently recruiting for the Duke, and you like to be in fine health. How'd you like to join the army?"
"Did that fer awhile. Di'n't agree with me. Quit." He pulled a sheaf of papers from inside his tunic and tossed them on the table. Everyone could see the Duke's seal on the documents, and the sergeant picked them up. No doubt intending to make a show of looking at and then ignoring the papers, he opened them up and took a quick look. What he saw there made him hesitate.
"Your name is Synry?"
"Aye."
"Hm. Well, if these are yours, and not something you stole..."
At that moment Cadaynn reappeared from upstairs. The raven was sitting on her shoulder, and she was carrying a long bundle in her arms. She hurried up to Synry, eyes downcast, and handed the bundle to him. The raven hopped from her shoulder to his.
"Right. Well, if I stole them papers, must be I stole this firrim, too."
He dropped the cloth wrapping from the bundle, revealing one of the near legendary two-bladed swords, and stood from his chair. The weapon rested easily in his hand, balanced naturally, as if it belonged there.
"Prolly stole his bird, as well. Right, Bran?"
"I expect so," said the raven, so clear and natural that Doram thought there must be some trick to it.
"An' I prolly stole this power o' his, too." At that, the fireplace flared up, causing everyone to turn suddenly. Dancing in the flames were tiny demons, playing over the wood, and laughing at the men in the room. A few of them grew wings, and launched themselves from the fireplace, circling the room several times, before settling onto Synry's empty shoulder. His eyes had begun to glow with a fierce white light by that time, and the raven was muttering under its breath.
The soldiers backed off, putting up their weapons. Cadaynn had vanished, probably back upstairs, and Gaytha was standing in the kitchen door. Doram gripped his axe handle tightly, not sure whether he was more worried about the soldiers or the wizard. Everything seemed frozen, hinging on the actions of the sergeant.
The sergeant sensed this, and opted for the better part of valour. He stepped back, keeping his hands well away from his sword, and set Synry's papers on a table. Everyone seemed to relax, although the strange little devils on Synry's shoulders kept grinning maniacally at the soldiers.
"Alright. Fair enough. I think there's no need to dispute your ownership of these papers. Discharge in good order, service complete. But we will have to take the boy."
"Nay. Boy stays here."
"I have to bring back something. We will take the boy."
Synry nodded slowly, and set his firrim down. He picked up a crust of bread, turned his back and whispered a soft string of strange words. With a fluid motion, he tossed the bread over his shoulder towards the wall and, almost quicker than Doram could follow, spun in a circle, loosing a knife to speed through the air, pierce the falling crust, and pin it to the wall. All the fiery devils immediately took wing over to the crust, dancing and clapping their tiny hands in appreciation.
The sergeant turned back to look at Synry, his face wooden. Synry's next words were very soft, but the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire and the giggling of the devils, so Doram had no trouble hearing what he said. No one did.
"Bring back yer men. Alive. Tell Cap'n ye found nothing here, 'cept ol' Synry. Tell 'im I said hello."
The two men locked gazes for a long, long moment, then the sergeant nodded.
"Get to bed, men," the sergeant said, not turning from Synry. "We've an early start in the morning."
The soldiers trooped off upstairs, followed by the sergeant. Synry watched them with dull eyes, then turned to Doram.
"Bring the wee ones to sleep in yer chambers tonight. I'll sit up in here."
"Do you think they'll try anything?"
"Don't rightly know. Best give 'em every reason not to."
Doram hurried off to obey, fetching Cadaynn down from the upstairs room and Torril from the stable loft. He and Gaytha bundled them into their own bed, closing and barring to door, and pushing the wardrobe in front of it. In the morning, after a nearly sleepless night, Doram ventured out, admonishing Gaytha to seal things up again when he had left.
He found Synry in the common room, sitting near the fire, reading his book. He looked up when Doram came in.
"They left at first light. I give them some apples an' bread fer breakfast."
"Thank you. Do you think they'll be back?"
"Nay. Couple o' them are leavin' with some nasty cuts, an' one's got fierce frostbite on 'is face. Youngest one di'n't want no part o' it, so I had a quiet word with 'im. He's takin' a letter from me to Cap'n, should sort things out."
Synry stood up, and Doram saw that he had his pack ready beside his chair.
"You're leaving us? Already?"
"Aye. Want out o' these parts. No sense pissin' about."
He shifted the pack up to his shoulder, held out his arm for Bran, and started for the door. Doram followed, then turned back to the table, and the stack of silver on it.
"No, no, no, no. No charge for you, good sir. You've helped us immensely, and we can't take your coin."
Synry stopped and turned back to the innkeeper. His face was still the same dull, expressionless thing it had always was, but Doram fancied that he could see a little of the mind at work behind the unfocused eyes.
"I ain't a sojer no more. Don't take pay for fightin'. Don't take nothin' I ain't earned. Folk runnin' a tavern need the coin. It don't do to take a man's livelihood. You take them coins. Food were good, and bed were soft, an' that's what your inn promised."
"But surely you've earned a free stay with us."
"Nay. If'n you'd said I could stay free fer protectin' the place, an' I'd said aye, then ye'd owe me free stay. I ain't in the heroin' business, so it ain't right fer me to take aught for helpin' out when ye di'n't hire me."
He turned and walked out to the stables to get his horse. The raven flew from his shoulder and perched on the windowsill near Doram, and regarded him with a cocked head.
"I think he's trying to figure out why people try to help each other," the bird said conversationally.
Doram goggled at it. "Oh. Ah. I see. I think. Er. Yes."
"He hasn't got the knack of it, yet, or really an understanding of how it works. Everything's all muddled up in his head because of the books, and his real life. He can't quite make them mesh together, I don't think."
"Yes. Yes, of course."
"Of course, what do I know? I'm just a bird."
Synry emerged from the stable and swung up into the saddle. He held out his arm for the raven.
Bran winked at Doram, and whispered, "Say goodbye to Cadaynn for him. He thought she was sweet." Then the bird took wing, landing on Synry's forearm. Synry flung the bird into the air, where it circled the area, and then flew off down the road. Synry followed, not looking back.
Doram watched until he lost sight of him, then went in to tell Gaytha and the children that things were safe. He thought it might be time to send Cadaynn and Torril home to visit their parents for a few days. And maybe to send another letter to his own children.
