Interlude

Ferath

On the outskirts of Edas, there was a small village built around a large fir tree. The largest inn in the village was the Fir House. It was a squat building with a reasonably sized lounge area and bar. Inside the warm atmosphere, local men threw back ales and whitewhiskeys as if they were water.

The Fir House didn’t often see travellers passing through as the village was a little too far north of Edas for anyone to bother taking that road. It was for this reason that the tall, dark haired man with light tan skin drew the attention of most in the room. He kept his face predominantly covered by a cowl and kept to himself in a corner of the tavern. He had a fine sword sheathed at his hip but no shield or insignia to denote which Duke he worked for. As the night drew on and the local men drank themselves beyond common sensibility, a pair worked up the courage to speak with the mysterious stranger.

Erik was the tallest man in the entire village. He was also one of the village's only fighting men. Solo mercenaries and contract knights were a rare sight in the Fir Tree so Erik and his companion Shayn felt it was their duty to question the man. Both men had thick beards—as was the style for warriors. Erik’s long hair was tied back in a traditional warrior’s braid with the sides shaved to boot. Shayn was completely bald on top, but with his kept beard the man cut quite the handsome figure. They were exactly the kind of men Ferath had expected to find in an out of the way village. Less than average fighters that never had any reason to go much farther from where they were born.

“So is it contract work you’re looking for?” Shayn asked.

“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Ferath replied, truthfully, “he’s one of my countrymen. Have you seen any others like me pass through here?”

“Another big tall lad like you, yeah, I’d have noticed him,” Erik replied, “don’t think your mate’s been through. But then again, sometimes we’re off on patrols, don’t see everyone that passes through, you know.”

“Where you from anyway?” Shayn asked, his eyes glancing down at Ferath’s sword.

“Altarea,” Ferath lied, it’s not like these men would be able to tell. Ferath unbuckled his scabbard and placed the sword just at the edge of his reach on the bench to ease the man’s concern.

“Nasty shit, the Reldoni have been at in your country,” Shayn replied, giving Ferath a sad smile. Ferath nodded in thanks and schooled his face into a matching expression.

“What about a Reldoni man? Have you heard anything about Reldoni passing through any of the villages around here?” Ferath tried to make his voice sound like an innocent, concerned friend.

“Sorry, mate. Can’t say I have,” Shayn replied.

“Where’d you get that sword?” Erik asked, nodding at the blade. Ferath had considered discarding it in the river in Rubastre. It was too identifiable as his sword to anyone looking for him, which he knew the Archduke’s men were. He’d already left a trail of their bodies from the alleys of Rubastre and then along the road to Edas.

His contacts in Rubastre had taken a few days to verify that Daegan had fled the Palace. They had also discovered an unlikely ally in the Ironworks Guildmasters who helped him escape the city undetected from the guards. He likely could have done it easily on his own but with his still healing wound he was happy for the assistance. They had also helped with affirming that Daegan was no longer in Rubastre. Although, to be fair, they also believed Daegan was dead so their spies weren’t completely reliable. In either case, Ferath was confident that Daegan was no longer in Rubastre.

After his failed attempt at assassinating Daegan, he had laid low in a safehouse in the city. The wound he’d taken from Daegan’s revolver in his abdomen had taken a few days to heal—even with his bloodstone. His reckless mistake still galled him. How could he have failed such a simple task? The man was Hindered! And drunk… completely defenceless.

He also had not anticipated Tanlor Shrydan’s prompt appearance and the man had proved to be a worthy adversary. But Ferath was supposed to be better than everyday soldiers. Tanlor was indeed a skilled fighter but he should have been incomparable to Ferath. It was his flawed runewielding that truly caused his failure. He could feel his accursed affinity now, pulsing in his chest and his ears. His edir was becoming increasingly uncontrollable and he had to actively focus on keeping it restrained.

His hand shook as he touched the blade. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. It was Ferath’s most prized possession and he’d be damned if he would discard it. Instead, he’d wrapped the ornate hilt and scabbard in rough leathers in an attempt to hide its appearance. But a long and slightly curved Reldoni blade was still an uncommon sight in Rubane.

“A friend gave it to me,” Ferath eventually answered the man.

“The guy you’re looking for?” Shayn prodded.

“No,” Ferath replied, “a different man.”

The men tried to pry more into Ferath’s background. He figured they were looking for a good story to be entertained with but he kept quiet and after a while the pair grew bored and returned to the group of locals.

His lead in this direction was a bust, he’d managed to follow Daegan’s trail south of Rubastre but as he neared Edas, the information was becoming less and less reliable. Ferath had assumed that Daegan would be making for Edas to try and find passage on a ship back to Reldon. However once he’d arrived In Edas, Ferath had scoured through taverns and vicedens looking for any mention of a man matching Daegan’s description but there were all empty leads. On a whim, he’d decided to head north to see if Daegan had been clever enough to take the backroads around Edas and make for the coast road to Garronforn. It appeared that Daegan hadn’t passed through this way either. Could he have gone East? He’d been friendly with Duke Harfallow, could the Duke have stepped in and taken Daegan to Hardhelm? All Ferath’s instincts told him that Daegan would have fled home to Reldon, but perhaps the assisination had shaken him and his decisions were being influenced by the Dukes?

Just as Ferath decided to retire to his room for the evening, a bard had begun playing on a painfully out of tune fiddle in another corner of the tavern. Good timing, he thought, grateful that he wouldn’t have to listen to the countryside musician butcher any songs. The first long note of The Hunter and the Lady screeched out through the tavern and some of the locals jeered.

“Ah Pol! You’re not playing that shit again tonight, are ye?” one of them called out.

“Will ye play something with a bit more soul,” Shayn groaned.

“The Hunter and the Lady is a modern classic,” Pol the Bard retorted, his jowl jiggling in offence, “if you all don’t start appreciating me, I swear, I’ll leave this town for good!”

“Do!” Erik called out.

“Yeah, would ye ever fuck off, will ye,” another of the men shouted.

“Ruining the atmosphere in here, every fucking night.”

That was the last straw for Pol it seemed who indignantly tossed his battered fiddle into its case. He puffed out his chest and strode out of the Fir Tree, “I’m sick of playing for backwater fools anyway,” he declared, banging the door angrily behind him.

Ferath buckled his sword belt back on and made his way to the bar to settle his tab. “Pol will be back before the end of the night,” the barkeep told him, “if you were wanting music. Happens most nights, he’ll grumble and groan and say he’s too good for this place but he’ll be back when he remembers that I’m the only one that’ll even let him play at all let alone pay him.”

“I’m good,” Ferath replied, “not my tastes in music anyway.”

“You’re not a fan of the Hunter and the Lady, friend?” Shayn called out from the end of the bar, “bit fuckin’ dated if you ask me.” The man answered his own question.

“Yeah, Pol’s always playing those old songs. We want new songs, new stories,” Erik added, “sure Taran the Hunter’s boys are men grown already. Someone should be making songs about them.”

“Aye, yeah, Rowan Shrydan’s a good lad,” Shayn added, “comes through this way every few seasons.”

“You know, I heard the Shrydan brothers took care of some raiders up north not a week gone,” the barman said, his lack of teeth slurring his speech, “Pol should write a song about that.”

Shrydan brothers?

“Do you mean Tanlor Shrydan?” Ferath asked, leaning off-handedly on the bar in an attempt at being casually interested.

“Is that the other one?” Shayn replied, “I’ve only met Rowan, but he mentioned his brother before. Works up in Rubastre for the Archduke… or was it Edas?”

“Tanlor and Rowan,” Ferath said, looking to the barman to get the conversation back on topic, “they’re up north?”

“Aye,” the barkeep nodded, “some raiders had done some dirty business up in Crossroads.”

“Would never happen down here,” Erik added, “I promise you that. Not with me and Shayn here.” Of course.

“And the Shrydans?” Ferath prodded.

“Caught up to ‘em and butchered ‘em all, I heard. Two against forty of the bastards, I heard.”

“Forty?!” Shayn exclaimed, “That’s bullshit. Ain’t no way, two men can take on twenty each in a fight. No matter how good.”

“I heard it was a dozen rakmen, come down past Nortara,” Erik said.

“The rakmen have been over in Balfold, ye donkey,” Shayn retorted, “nah, it was just raiders. And no way it was forty of ‘em.”

“You’re sure it was Tanlor Shrydan?” Ferath pressed.

“Aye, yeah. Sure as shit, my mate Dan’s cousin was up in Ailsford,” Shayn replied, “and well his wife’s brother ran the store up in Crossroads. He got done bad by the raiders, I heard. His poor boy, had to take over the store and he’s just a kid.”

Shayn looked at him as if that answered the question. “And?” Ferath prompted, looking for more.

“Well Dan’s coursin himself went up to Crossroads to help once he heard, but the Shrydans had already taken care of it. Saw the pair himself, he says.”

“Was there anyone else with them?”

“He didn’t say,” Shayn shrugged.

“Didn’t he say somethin’ about some foreign lawman or some shit, screwing him out of his inheritance?” Erik added.

“Don’t know if he was with the Shrydans though, might’ve just been passing through.”

“Did he get his name?” Ferath asked. He didn’t think that Daegan would’ve been so stupid as to use his real name. But he had followed the trail south of a Reldoni man going by the name ‘Desmond’.

“He didn’t say, n’ sorry, why you so interested anyways?” Shayn’s eyes narrowed.

“Just curious…” Ferath said, waving his hand dismissively, “would make a good song, you’re right,” he added and grinned disarmingly to the barman.

Ferath paid for the drink that he hadn’t touched and another round for Shayn and Erik before bidding them goodnight. A part of him resisted the urgent desire to run out of the bar and ride his horse north to Crossroads as fast the mount’s legs could take him. But riding through the countryside on roads he didn’t know in the dark was almost a guarantee to get lost. He would rest first, have a letter sent to his contacts in Rubastre and leave another for the team arriving in Edas.

Then he would ride north to Crossroads.