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Chapter Two

The Trapdoor and the Stranger

The sitting room was too close for Loric’s liking. Ordinarily, he liked being near his father and mother of an evening, but the sour twist to Adie’s face and the extra energy behind her knitting needles told Loric his attempted desertion was still in her mind.
Grrr
and
Snarl
, the skin rugs Loric had named in his childhood looked friendlier than she did, and they were bear and wolf, respectively. Palen seemed not to notice Adie’s foul mood as he sat in the high-backed chair opposite the fire from her rocker, lost in his copy of
Lord Wordrick’s Tales
.

Loric wanted to ask his father about the trapdoor in the barn, but he had no wish to do so in his mother’s presence. Maybe after she cooled down from her present boil, but not now. Loric was unsettled and uncomfortable. He wanted to get out of the cottage for the evening. He decided to make an excuse to go to Taeglin. “Bruce said something’s going on at
Taggert’s Pub
tonight,” he started. “Do you mind if I go?”

“After dark?” Adie protested.

Palen looked up from his reading to inquire, “What kind of something are we talking

about?”

Loric fumbled, “I’m not sure.” Then his answer came to him, “Something for the fellows who will be leaving. It might be my last time to see some of them,” he added to sway his parents.

Palen and Adie held a silent exchange with their eyes, before Palen decided, “Take your bow. Be sure to string it. You can ride Sunset to limit your time on the road.”

“Thanks,” Loric replied happily.

Loric dashed to his room to collect his bow and quiver. His desire to leave caused him to consider the half-rolled bundle on his bed, but he dismissed it. Instead, he reached for the cloak on the peg inside his door, which still held a few jingling coins from his last trip to Taggert’s.

That made him smile. So did his bow. He was a fair shot. His father had taught him well, so he would never starve; and at need, he could defend himself. He put on his cloak, but he waited until he left the cottage to string his bow.

“Have fun, son,” Palen called after him.

“Do be careful,” Adie said over his father.

“Goodbye,” he called back. “Okay. I will.”

Loric hurried to the stable, where he brought the lantern to life once more. By its glowing light, he readied Sunset for the short ride to Taeglin. From the shadows beyond its circle of illumination, he saw the empty stall. It beckoned him to enter. Loric only paid half his mind to Sunset’s saddle and bridle. The other half wandered as he considered the trapdoor.

Loric finished and murmured, “I’ll be right back, boy. This will only take a minute.”

Loric swept aside the hay in the empty stall and stared in sudden wonder at the full outline of the hatch. It measured some three feet in width and length. The panel had no handle as such, but rather a small hole into which he fit his hand to lift it.

Loric pulled his lantern down and dangled it over the small, cobwebbed opening in the floor.

He peered into the vacant space. He could see a ladder by the glow of his lamp.

Loric stepped onto the top step, parting its sticky silken streamers. It was surprisingly sturdy.

He descended about a dozen feet and looked around as he stepped off the last rung. He was in a small, dusty chamber with a large chest.

“What is this place?” he whispered.

Loric was drawn to the simple wooden chest with its flat top and brass fittings. Spider silk and a heavy layer of dust anchored it to the floor.
What could possibly be in there?
Loric wondered, even as he knelt beside it. He reached out, slowly.... until he gently touched the latch.

There was no lock, so he eased the clasp back and lifted the lid.

The glint of gold was the first thing to catch Loric’s eye as he raised the cover of the wooden box. There was not a heap of coins within the chest, but rather, he was looking upon the subtle filigree pattern set into the scabbard of a beautiful sword. The sheath was made of simple brown leather, but the hilt was a wonder of materials and craftsmanship that included a diamond pommel. Open-mouthed, Loric took the weapon into his trembling fingers and drew it close, staring with amazement at its fine makeup. He held it gingerly as he studied every twinkling facet of its clear, polished gemstone. Loric pulled the blade a few inches from its sheath. That glimmering steel still held a fine edge, despite those many years it must have been lying beneath the dusty lid of the chest.

Loric propped the sword against the wooden box while he rummaged through it to find what else was hidden in the secret trove. Next, he found a round metal shield that was lacquered red and decorated with an insignia he had never seen before. It was the silhouetted bust of an armored knight. Beneath that protective disc, he found a silver helmet. It had a visor with eye slits and a tall plume of red feathers. Loric set the helm aside and pulled a shirt of chain rings from the trunk. He hung the shifting armor over the side of the chest. Then he turned back to the wooden box. In the very bottom, he found a leaf-bound package. As he lifted it from the trunk, brittle leaves crumbled away, revealing a neatly folded surcoat. Loric grabbed it at the collar and brushed away the remaining bits of its wrapping, letting it unfold itself as he beat away debris. It was faded red, with the same device embroidered upon it as the shield bore.

What is this place?
Loric asked himself.
Why are the armor and weapons of a knight hidden
beneath a barn? It does not make any sense, unless....

Loric drew in a deep breath to steady himself. He decided it was best to reserve his

judgment about that
unless
until he could ask his father for the truth concerning the wonders he had found. In the meantime, he jammed everything back into the trunk.
I will talk to father
tomorrow,
he decided.
I could use a ride and a drink.
Then he ascended to the barn, where his horse was ready and waiting.

Loric eyed Sunset suspiciously, as he stepped off the ladder. “Did you know about this?”

Sunset let out a quiet rumble of denial.

“Of course not,” Loric decided. “Else you would have told me, wouldn’t you, boy?”

Sunset’s reply was somewhat more spirited than the last one, so Loric took that for

affirmation. He knelt to close and cover the trapdoor, praising the red stallion, “Good boy.”

Loric shouldered his quiver of arrows, took his bow in hand and led the stallion out of the barn, where he climbed astride it and jogged it toward the lane fronting the stone cottage. Frogs were croaking along the Moonbeam Stream, as Sunset
clip-clopped
up the road running adjacent to that waterway. Otherwise, it was a quiet journey to Taeglin.

The raucous escaping
Taggert’s Pub
was opposite the silence of the road leading up from Palen’s farm. There was enough shouting and laughter coming from that squat one-story building to fill the entire town courtyard at festival time. Loric smiled. In light of the day’s disappointment, he needed this environment, which promised fun and laughter.

Taggert’s Pub
boasted a large common room full of square tables the patrons could shuffle about in any manner they saw fit to arrange them. At present, those tables were scattered about at random beneath thick clouds of pipe smoke. Tin tankards cluttered most of those surfaces, and men of the town filled out the majority of chairs round about them. Loric cut a path between crooked tables on his way to the bar, which was too short for the night’s crowd.

Loric did not mind standing. It was worth it for a drink. Besides, it was Belinda’s night to keep bar for her father, Taggert. It was doubly worth standing at the edge of the crowd. Belinda was the reason Loric had come. If he could not leave Taeglin, he might as well see the girl who twisted his chest into a tight knot.

Loric was surprised to see Taggert in Belinda’s stead. His hair was gray and wolfish, even in spite of the way he combed it over to hide his baldness. His sideburns were thick lupine pelts in the shapes of lamb chops, which made for a confusing mix of predator-prey qualities in a human being. His eyes were pale green, almost yellow in certain lighting, but his smile was broad and deep tonight.

“What are you having?” asked a familiar feminine voice at Loric’s back, distracting him from his study of her father. As Loric wheeled about to face Belinda, she said, “The first drink is free tonight!”

Loric wanted to ask what the occasion was, but the stunning appearance of the auburn-

haired maiden before him struck him dumb. She had bright green eyes that sparkled with joy. At present, they were tightened into something of a squint by the corners of her all-encompassing smile, which pushed her cheekbones up to her lower lids. Her nose was long and wide, but gently curved, and she was pretty as much because of it as in spite of it. She wore deep green ribbons in her locks to complement her mint-colored dress, which was cut to accentuate her fair bosom.

Loric ignored her chipped tooth, and he found her freckles altogether alluring, especially those revealed at the top of her dress.

“What’ll ya’ have, Loric?” called Taggert, from his post behind the bar.

Loric turned his way to say, “King’s tonic.” By the time he looked back to Belinda, she was gone. She had been swept away to an impromptu dance that encouraged tavern patrons to slide their tables toward the walls. Loric wanted to join the reel, but Taggert had already begun mixing his drink.

Besides, the barkeep wanted to engage him in conversation. “How’s yer father?” he asked.

“My father is well,” Loric replied politely. He watched with envious eyes as Belinda spun across the floor. “We sowed the upper field today. That made him happy.”

“Bet it did,” Taggert replied.

“There will be more to do tomorrow,” Loric assured him.

“There’s always another field,” Taggert reckoned.

Loric nodded absently, agreeing, “Yes.”

“And yer mother?” Taggert questioned. He extended a tankard toward Loric as he

suggested, “She is well too, I hope.”

“Yes,” Loric answered quietly. He looked into the tankard. Its contents were still swirling,

“She is well, too, but I’ll drink to her health anyway.” He raised his tankard.

“That’s the spirit, lad!” Taggert lauded him. “First one’s free, so why not?” The barkeep tapped his tin to Loric’s and said, “To Adie.”

Five other tankards appeared from all directions, as a chorus of voices repeated the toast.

Loric received foamy splashes from each of those tin mugs. Then he wet his mouth with contents from his own. That first taste was good enough to remind him why it was called a king’s tonic. It was the best drink in the land, and its imbibers would argue that point with any king who said otherwise.

“Thanks,” Loric said to his host. “What’s the occasion for free drinks?”

Belinda’s mother, Henrietta, appeared with a twinkle in her blue eyes. Her hair was dull brown, but neatly brushed. She was thick around the middle with her long nose leaning toward her left cheek. Her teeth were just as crooked as her smeller was, but she was the kindest soul Loric had ever met. “Hello, Loric,” she greeted him.

Henrietta opened her mouth to say more, but the door opened and a tall, sturdy woman with straw-colored hair entered, followed by her magistrate husband, Borag, who topped six-feet and three inches and had to weigh twenty stone. Barag came behind them, along with his younger brothers, Galen and Mikel. Father and three sons shared big bodies and stringy blond hair, but Barag was the biggest and loudest of them all. He was six-foot-eight and thicker than his Da, with the face of a bulldog.

Taggert and Henrietta greeted Borag, Sonya and their sons fondly. Belinda stepped toward the newcomers, looking a convoluted mixture of anxiousness and excitement that was altogether bewildering to Loric. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged all around, and out of the midst of that gathering, Loric heard Taggert ask, “Good magistrate, would you like to make the announcement or should I?”

Loric’s heart crashed through his stomach.

“Borag!” the magistrate corrected Taggert in his bass boom. “Call me Borag. We are

practically family, after all.” As an afterthought, he decided, “But you are the host, Tagg. Go on and tell them the good news.”

Loric slowly began backing away from the bar, with the walls shrinking around him as he did so. He sensed what was coming, and it was not to his liking. He had envisioned a different ending to this story than the one portended by this announcement.

Taggert banged his tankard with a spoon to quiet the commotion in his common room.

“Let’s hear it, then!” shouted Miller Wilton.

“All right,” Taggert grumped, waving Wilton down. “Barag son of Borag has asked for the hand of my beloved Belinda, and I have agreed to let them wed!”

Taggert sounded happy, but faraway to Loric. The wall behind him finally closed in on him to end his retreat. Likewise, the eruption of joy that followed was muted to Loric’s ears. He had thought that maybe his father was right. With Barag gone, perhaps he would build a farm and take a wife. Belinda would make a fine mate, but now she was promised to Barag. Loric slumped into a chair and stared into his tankard, wishing it were deeper. He turned it bottom up and emptied it, without realizing he was drinking to the happy couple. A critical decision had been made for him. He was leaving Taeglin tonight.

“You look like you could use another drink, friend,” offered the man across the table from him. Loric was without words, so the man said, “I’ll buy. I’ve seen that look before.”

Loric kindly thanked the man and lifted his eyes for a glimpse of him. His green hood was up, but he hung back in his chair, with his arms draped behind its tall knobs. He looked like a scarecrow. His posture allowed firelight to play upon his face, which featured cool blue eyes, thin lips that were pressed together to form a confident smile and a scar, high on his left cheek.

“That engagement caught you off guard; did it, Loric?” the stranger asked.