Fifthwind (7 page)

As
if he had been waiting for this moment for a lifetime, he lowered his
voice to a harsh whisper and said, "It's more than just a story. A
doorway has been opened, and the foul ones have come through...The
Murg are in our midst!"

"The
Murg?" Ben rolled his eyes, regretting now that he had offered the
answer. "Those are just stories, created by parents to make
children behave. 'Do as your father tells you, or the Murg will take
you away'. You can't possibly think they're real."

Vincent
waved away the comment as insignificant. "I know what you think. At
first, I didn't want to believe it myself... until I saw them." He
raised a finger to emphasize his point. "Make no mistake about it
Ben. The Murg are real."

Ben
said nothing. He just shook his head in disbelief and turned away.

Vincent
wilted in frustration. "Now, you must understand—"

Kyla
playfully scolded her father, "That's enough for now, don't badger
him."

"But
Kyla, they're real... people must be told."

"Father,
people will come to believe at their own pace. Ben has not ridiculed
you like the others, give him a chance."

Vincent
flinched. "Yes, Kyla, you're right. I'm sorry Ben, I abused your
trust on our first meeting."

Ben
was quick to downplay the apology. "No offense taken, I should
apologize for mocking you. I understand it's been stressful with the
killings on the roads and all. Sometimes we grasp at superstition to
explain what we don't understand."

Vincent
welled up angrily, prepared to spit forth a rebuttal, but Kyla spoke
first. "Please forgive my father's overzealous manner. He can be
too forceful at times."

Ben
saw the hurt on Kyla's face and changed his tone, "I'll try to keep
an open mind."

She
smiled sincerely, "That is more than I can ask for now. You are a
kind man to give my father your time."

A
figure approached from the road. His long shadow preceded him as the
silhouette ambled toward the inn. Ben looked more closely and
recognized the familiar shuffle of heavy feet. Mason carried a large
sack over his shoulder like a desperate peddler in search of someone
to relieve him of his wares. He sported a fresh set of clothing but,
beneath a recognizable dirty tabard, it was almost for naught. He
climbed the steps up to the veranda and dropped the sack in front of
Ben. "I was thinking that some new clothes would be appropriate."

"I
thought you were still sleeping," Ben grinned. He was surprised to
see his friend not only awake, but washed and shaved. Even his
normally bushy mustache had been trimmed and tamed.

"Me?
No, not at all. I've been up for hours. I even rode with one of the
teams out toward the North Torn." He pointed over his shoulder
toward the distant trees. "It looks closer than it really is."

Kyla
said, "The road east is getting too dangerous. Did they have enough
men?"

Mason
shook his head, "They were a few men short when they left this
morning. It seems desertions are not uncommon these days, so I rode
with them for a while to see the manner of the men. They were a bit
scared, but they'll be alright I think."

Vincent
said, "When are these people going to learn? The roads are not
safe, especially at night when the Murg come out of the shadows to
hunt."

Ben
halted Mason's inevitable comment with a forceful stare and kept the
conversation where it belonged. "Looks like you found a nice way to
spend your morning."

"The
countryside is pleasant enough," Mason agreed, "but the roads are
damned rough."

Vincent
mumbled, "They get even rougher at night..."

Ben
turned to Vincent and tried to keep his tone in check. "There's
nothing to be gained from wild speculations. I'm sure there is a
perfectly natural explanation for what has been happening."

Vincent
lowered his voice to a near whisper and grumbled, "...says the man
with unnatural talents."

Ben
had intended to ignore the ramblings of the man, but stopped short,
"What?"

Vincent
said, "I saw what you did last night. Everyone is talking about it.
How did you learn to fight like that?"

"I've
always been good with my hands. There is nothing unnatural about it."

Mason
huffed, "I wouldn't go so far as to call it unnatural, but I've
always thought your speed was uncanny."

"No!"
Vincent stubbornly shook his head. "That feat required more than
simple skill with your hands. I never saw anyone who could catch a
knife right out of the air. And to do it blind—"

"Blind?"
Ben asked.

Vincent
gave him a blank look. "Yes, blind. You know... with your eyes
closed."

Mason
erupted into a deep laugh. He swatted Ben on his back and said,
"That's a good way to get yourself killed, but I'd pay good coin to
see you try."

Ben
also laughed. "You're obviously mistaken, maybe the poor lighting
affected what you think you saw."

Ben
saw a wounded concern on Kyla's face, so he quickly elbowed Mason to
stop laughing. He thought it best to end the conversation before he
tread too heavily on emotions. He offered a half-lie to Vincent,
"I've enjoyed some of your views, Sir. I'm sorry, but the morning
is getting late, and we have things to do. It was a pleasure meeting
both of you."

Vincent
managed a congenial smile. "Will you be staying in town long? Maybe
we can talk again sometime."

Kyla
said, "Father and I have enjoyed your company this morning."

Ben
said, "I'm sure we'll speak again at length. If things go well,
Mason and I will be in town for quite some time. In fact, you might
be able to help us."

"Anything
at all," Vincent offered. "Just ask."

"Would
you happen to know where we might find a man by the name of Tad
Haddaway?"

Vincent
took a visible step backward. He looked confused, as if it was the
last thing he expected to hear. "That one has made no friends
around here. You'd be better off keeping your distance."

"Why?"
Mason asked sternly.

"Don't
you know?" he said showing genuine concern.

"Know
what?" Ben asked.

Kyla
moved forward and said, "Everyone around him eventually ends up
dead. Things seem to have gotten worse since his arrival."

Mason
welled up defensively. "Captain Haddaway is trying to help! He will
make these roads safe again. You should be thankful that someone has
stepped forward to try!"

Vincent
reprimanded Mason, "There is no need to raise your voice to my
daughter, she speaks the truth. Death surrounds that man. I know
nothing of Mr. Haddaway or what you say he is trying to do. If it is
true that he is attempting to make the roads safer, then I applaud
him for the effort."

Then
under his breath, he mumbled, "but I don't see how he can help,
hiding away like he is."

He
met Mason's disapproving glare and rebounded, "I only know what
others say."

Kyla
silenced her father with a light hand on his arm. "I need to get to
my studies, it was nice meeting both of you. Haddaway stays in a
cottage against a small grove on the edge of town, just a few minutes
walk past Babbitt's temple. Please be careful, he might not be as you
remember him."

"Heed
my warnings, Ben. In time you'll thank me." Vincent took his
daughter's arm and hurried off down the street.

Ben's
eyes followed the girl until she vanished around the corner. "Have
you ever seen more beauty all in one face?"

"She
may be a rare flower, but her father is a weed that steals her
sunshine." Mason sat down and put his feet up. "I told you he was
crazy."

"Aside
from Mr. Woodlock, when was the last time you heard someone talk
about the Murg?"

"Those
old campfire stories?" Mason scoffed, "Not since I was a kid. My
mother told me those stories to frighten me into eating carrots."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I still can't stand the
taste of them."

Mason
was right, it was ridiculous to entertain such thoughts, but
something in the sincerity of Vincent Woodlock's observations
bothered Ben. "I hope Tad can explain what's going on around here."

He
bent down for the sack of clothing Mason had procured and paused when
he saw the faintest hint of a grin breaking over the old soldier's
face.

"What
did you do?"

"I'll
not stand by and watch you be disrespected by these people. So far,
blending in hasn't worked out so well, so I thought that maybe it was
time you made a statement instead."

CHAPTER SIX

After
changing his clothes, Ben had to admit that he looked impressive,
though he would never admit as much in public. He wore a white linen
shirt with brushed suede long-cuffs laced high to the elbows to allow
free movement of the arms; Mason was well aware that billowy fabrics
were not a swordsman's best friend. On top of that, he wore a soft
leather vest, light brown and studded on the chest and shoulders with
shiny rivets. The armored studs were mostly for decoration, but
protective to some degree. His trousers were a heavy, dark fabric of
the finest quality and his feet reveled in the luxury of a new pair
of boots. Mason must have spent a small fortune. It was an outfit
suited for one of wealth and power.

But
then, of course, there was the hat.

It
was a wide-brimmed, purple disaster where ridiculous design collided
with dysfunctional purpose. The puffy crown collapsed under the
weight of the heavy velvety material, and the exceedingly wide brim
drooped downward at the edges, necessitating that he tilt his head
backward to be able to see. In this position, he would appear to be
looking down his nose at everyone he encountered, which was possibly
the entire point of its design. Adding insult to injury, the
abomination sported a long, fluffy white feather that sprouted from a
bright green silken hat band.

No
self-respecting man of the sword would be caught dead wearing it.
Although, he considered the distinct possibility that he might end up
that way
for
wearing it.

With
the hat in hand, Ben left his room and made his way down the stairs
and into the awaiting stares of an assembled jury. Mason, along with
Jimmy and a half dozen young women sat patiently at the base of the
stairway in anticipation. Ben wasted no time tossing the hat to his
companion.

Mason
sat smugly with his feet propped up on a table and caught the hat
with ease as it sailed through the air like a floppy toy. "Is there
something wrong?"

The
collection of serving girls laughed at the show and promptly
scattered to get back to their chores. Jimmy stepped forward with a
smile and offered Ben his sword belt. He watched as Ben buckled it
around his waist and then took a step back and rubbed his chin
appraisingly. "Not bad. Now you look more the nobleman and less the
waif."

Mason
got to his feet and agreed. "It's a look that demands respect. All
pride, no weakness. A man to be reckoned with."

Ben
crossed his arms. "And the hat?"

Mason
chuckled, "What? Don't you like it?"

"The
rest looks terribly garish," he exaggerated, "but at least it's
functional." He drew his sword and flexed his knees showing the
range of movement the clothing allowed. He pointed the tip of his
sword at the hat. "But what possible use is that?"

Mason
casually placed the hat atop his own head and looked at Jimmy who
burst into laughter. He then turned back to Ben and grinned. "It
could serve as a distraction... who can fight when they're laughing
that hard?"

"Clever."

Mason
took off the hat and pulled the feather from the band. He studied it
for a moment and then threw the hat aside and took a threatening
stance with the feather out before him as if it were a deadly weapon.

In
response, Ben crossed his sword with the drooping quill and winked.
"Somehow, I don't think that'll be effective."

Mason
inched forward with a jabbing motion. "If I were to shove this up
your nose, you would lose all will to fight."

Ben
reached for his throat and rasped out a dry cough. "That's enough
to make me gag just thinking about it."

Mason
tossed the feather on the table, retrieved the hat and squared it
snuggly on his head. "I got it at no cost when I bought the rest.
Apparently, it was deemed unsaleable years ago, and I was fortunate
enough to become its new owner."

"You're
not actually going to wear that thing are you?"

"I
might." His defensive tone was convincing enough that Ben decided
it was best to not risk offending him.

After
a quick lunch, Ben and Mason made their way north toward their
long-awaited reunion with an old friend. The inns were returning to
life, and the streets were beginning to fill with people. A young boy
ducked between Ben and an ivy covered wall as he ran down an alley
carrying a package that evidently needed to be somewhere very fast.
As the boy disappeared around the corner, Ben heard him call back,
"Excuse me, M'Lord!"

Mason
said, "See, I told you the clothes would make a statement."

Ben
was feeling more at ease, now that his sword was once again at his
side, but he made an exaggerated show of irritation and wiggled
uncomfortably under the vest.

"I
feel like a court squire on Coronation Day. I must look ridiculous,"
he said, peering sideways at his friend to see if the lie had worked.
Mason only smiled.

On
the streets, the hard work of readying for the next wave of merchants
was underway. Men unloaded wagons of supplies and rolled kegs of ale
into the taverns in preparation for another night's assault by
thirsty travelers. Young women pushed small handcarts brimming with
fresh bread, eggs and milk to replenish the waning stores of the busy
pantries. In the backyard kitchens of the many inns, fire pits had
been brought up to temperature and were already roasting meat,
filling the air with an inviting aroma.