Fifthwind (6 page)

"Any
suspects?" Ben asked.

"The
leading rumor among the men is that the Empire is behind it. Some
think they're trying to soften the area before attacking. Others say
it's a haunting by the angry ghosts of those who died protecting
these lands. And then there's the local lore monger out there
preaching about monsters."

"What
does your gut tell you?"

"One
thing's for sure. It's not the Empire. Those Tanian dogs are as tired
of war as we are. It's got to be more localized than that. If I had
to make a guess right now, I'd say someone's not playing fair,
probably trying to get an upper hand on the trade routes. I bet
there's at least one merchant that gets through untouched every time.
Find that man, and you've likely found who's behind it all."

"What
if it's not thieves at all. What if it's something... else." Ben
didn't see a need to go into any detail about what he had heard from
the merchant. He couldn't even imagine himself repeating such
foolishness. It would be a sad day if he ever lowered himself to
believing in demons.

Mason
leaned back in his chair, satisfied with his own reasoning. "As far
as the other explanations go, I don't believe in children's stories."

"The
ghosts or the monsters?" Ben jabbed.

"There's
no such thing as monsters."

Ben
kept his humor hidden. Like most soldiers, Mason was very
superstitious. Ghosts were a very real thing to his kind, and given
the recent events, Ben was beginning to question even his own beliefs
on the matter.

He
weighed the thought for a moment, then shrugged it off and said,
"Maybe Tad will know something."

"What
about what you saw in the meadow?" Mason tried again.

Ben
pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as if the thought
gave him a headache. "Just do me a favor and be careful. Something
doesn't feel right. Keep your eyes and ears open."

Mason
nodded and took the opportunity to change the mood with a lighter
subject. "It's been a long time since we last saw the Captain.
It'll be good to see him again."

"Apparently
there are some who don't appreciate Tad's presence here. I don't know
what has been going on, but just try to blend in until we have a
chance to talk with him."

Mason
leaned in close. "By the way, you showing off like that before
complicates things. There's going to be eyes on you now for sure."

Ben
shrugged. "I can't change who I am. Maybe no one noticed."

Mason
laughed, "What happened to blending in? Or were you just talking
about me?"

A
young woman delivered a bowl of fruit and two more drinks.
"Compliments of Jimmy, he appreciated what you did to end that
fight earlier. The men can get out of hand sometimes, but you
probably saved someone's life and everyone is already talking about
it. No one has ever seen anything quite like it. Anyway, Jimmy sends
his thanks, and so do I."

Ben
stopped her before she could step away. "Kyla, right?"

"Yes,
is there something else I can get you?"

"No,
I have everything I need. I was just wondering if the inn is always
this busy."

Kyla
said, "For a few more weeks maybe, at least until the snow comes,
then traffic slows. It doesn't help that the merchants are traveling
with three or four times the normal amount of armed men."

Mason
asked, "Do thieves really run in big enough packs to warrant that
much protection? I know the roads are dangerous, but these traders
are traveling with a lot of extra men."

"Who
said anything about thieves?" She looked up across the room and
acknowledged someone with a nod. "I'm sorry but I'm needed
elsewhere."

CHAPTER FIVE

The
morning sun warmed the cold stones of Kishell Springs. All evidence
of the prior night's activity had vanished when the caravans packed
up and moved out in the early morning hours. A forceful silence rode
in on the heels of the retreating clamor and the weary town slipped
back into a state of rest.

Ben
had risen early to witness the spectacle of a dance rehearsed for
years. Men, horses, and carts moved in perfect harmony in the
practiced ritual of life on the road. It had only taken an hour for
the entire town to awaken and depart. In the resulting void, a gentle
breeze disturbed the fallen leaves of autumn while the distant echo
of a barking dog resonated like a mournful song. The trade wagons had
only just departed and already the town felt abandoned. Lonely.

He
sat on the veranda of Holton House with his feet propped up on the
railing, sipping from a cup of warm, sweetened goat's milk. The
rising sun bathed him in warmth, though the morning air carried the
unmistakable chill of a coming winter. After months on the road, he
was earnestly enjoying the opportunity to just sit and think.

He
found himself admiring the rugged construction of the many inns and
realized that the builders of these massive structures had reinforced
them to withstand more than the mere assault of time. It occurred to
Ben as he examined the layout of the town that perhaps these were
once the barracks of an old garrison. It was conceivable that the
town had at one time been a stronghold.

The
valley was secluded, hidden in the cradle of the majestic Kreggorian
peaks. To the east was the endless green of the great North Torn
forest and in the embrace of its ancient branches, his mind easily
drifted into serene oblivion.

"Good
morning."

The
distant voice came to him as a whisper carried on the wind, a tender
voice that swept him up and carried him deeper into the solitary
corners of his own mind.

"Sir?"
The voice repeated. "Good morning."

He
opened his eyes and squinted against the morning sun. He raised his
hand to block the glare and saw a young woman leaning against the
railing in front of him. She had long pale-brown hair and a soft,
innocent face. Her eyes were the color of spring cabbage, an icy
green that seemed unnatural but at the same time hauntingly
beautiful. She wore a flowing yellow dress and no shoes, an
unexpected gem of fragility in such a harsh place. He realized he was
staring, and scrambled for words.

"Yes,
it is." He said, "I mean, the morning...it is a good one." He
remembered his manners and stood, "Ben Karr, at your service."

The
young woman blushed, "No one has ever been at my service before.
I'm flattered, Mr. Karr."

"Please,
call me Ben."

She
spun gracefully on one heel and turned away to admire the sunrise.
The flowing movement of her dress caught Ben's attention as he
regarded her thin waist and long legs. She was youthful and vibrant
and probably only a few years younger than Ben's twenty-two years. He
wondered how such an exquisite beauty came to be jailed away in such
a remote place.

The
melody of her voice sang, "My name is Kyla."

"I
remember. You work at the inn."

"Not
really, I just help out Jimmy on the busier nights. He and my father
are friends."

"It
must be hard, subjecting yourself to that madness, in the name of
friendship."

She
twirled a long tress nervously around her finger. She made only
momentary eye contact then looked away again. She was obviously
flirting with him, but Ben didn't mind. In fact, he was enjoying her
company and the subtlety of her game.

Ben
stretched away his morning stiffness and stepped up to the railing
beside her. He was torn between a compliment on her hair or maybe the
color of her dress when a commotion inside the Masked Pig distracted
him.

He
heard a chorus of laughter as a voice rang out, "...the loathsome
creatures of the forest will not show you mercy! Lay down your
doubts, lest we all be destroyed!"

A
gruff voice replied, "We need answers! Not childish tales of
monsters in the woods!"

"You
will see!" The first voice continued, "You will all see..."

A
man emerged from the tavern with a look of disgust on his face as he
shook a clenched fist back toward the door. He kicked at a chair that
was in his way and paced nervously biting on a fingernail.

Ben
nodded toward the man and said, "That must be the town fool that
I've heard so much about. Does he actually believe those things he
says?"

The
man looked up and smiled. "Oh, there you are Kyla." He looked
back at the tavern and shook his head. "What do I have to do? Don't
they understand lives are at stake here!"

Kyla
nudged Ben and whispered, "My father."

Ben
tripped over his tongue.

Kyla
smiled. "It's alright, he just gets a little wound up sometimes,
but he's not crazy."

The
man was small, and had a tanned face with friendly lines that
radiated from the corners of bright eyes. He was almost completely
bald except for a thin ring of dark hair just above the ears. It was
difficult to gauge the age of the man but he carried himself well and
was clearly in good health. He strolled purposefully toward Ben and
immediately offered his hand. "I hope you are being a gentleman
with my daughter."

"Of
course, sir," Ben said, "she is a wonderful girl."

"Full
of wonder," he nodded. "Yes, you could say that." The man eyed
Ben for a moment as if appraising him, then seeming satisfied, he
said, "I'm Vincent Woodlock. This is my daughter Kyla...but of
course, you already know that."

"It's
a pleasure sir. My name is Ben."

Vincent
eyed him with a flicker of recognition. "You're new in town, I saw
you and your friend come in last night. What brings you to Kishell
Springs?"

"I
didn't know my arrival would draw so much attention."

"Sorry,
I didn't mean any harm. There are extraordinary things happening
around here. The kind of things that may attract unusual visitors, so
I try to make note of any new faces I see."

"What
manner of things?"

Vincent
leaned in close, looked both ways and said in a low secretive tone,
"There's an evil brewing, these hills are crawling with an
unnatural presence."

Kyla
interjected, "Father, I have only just met him. Don't scare him
away."

Vincent
turned to Kyla with a longing expression and she gave him a reluctant
nod to continue. He turned back to Ben and said, "Tell me Ben, do
you believe in monsters?"

"I
guess that depends on what you mean by monsters," Ben said, trying
his best to sound sincere. Even though he thought Vincent was crazy,
he decided he would humor the man -if
only for Kyla's sake.

Vincent
walked to the other side of Ben and joined him against the handrail
which he gripped tightly and then looked out toward the North Torn.
"When you were a child, what stories frightened you the most?"

Ben
considered the question carefully before answering. The telling of
stories was an important part of Kreggorian culture. As a child, he
had heard stories from the master story weavers of the famed
traveling Wordsmiths. Many great memories sprang to mind.

"The
Ghost of Edgehill Manor," he finally said, remembering how that
story had kept him up at night. As a child, he had been terrified of
the dark and fearfully believed in ghosts.

"Anything
else?"

"There
was a story about an evil sorcerer who wanted to take over the world.
I don't remember what the story was called but it was pretty scary I
guess."

Vincent
raised an eyebrow and glanced toward Kyla pleadingly, but she seemed
miles away, occupied with tracing patterns in the dust on the top of
a nearby table. She didn't seem interested in the exchange going on
between the two men. Vincent was getting impatient and was starting
to wring the railing with white knuckles. "Any others? Think
harder. How about a story with terrifying creatures?"

"Terrifying
creatures?" Ben stroked his chin thoughtfully. He could tell
Vincent was baiting him, so he decided to have some fun with the old
kook.

"Clowns,"
Ben said. "I was always afraid of stories with clowns..."

Vincent
let out a sigh of resignation and gazed out toward the distant
forest, his voice softened in his surrender. "Clowns..." he said.
"I've always hated them too... dreadful things... and quite scary."

Kyla
moved to Ben's side and elbowed him harshly, "But you can hardly
call them terrible creatures."

Ben
strained to keep a straight face, but he was growing weary of playing
'Guess the Monster'. He knew that Vincent had a specific story in
mind and this was going to go on all day if he didn't find the answer
soon.

He
became aware of a lilting voice humming a hopeful tune, and he looked
up at Kyla who pointed innocently with her eyes to the pattern she
had traced on the tabletop. He casually leaned to the side and peered
down. There, embedded in the artwork that adorned her dusty canvas,
were the letters M-U-R-G. Ben instantly recognized the letters for
what they were.

Vincent
was getting more agitated by the moment, staring off into the
distance and mumbling something about clowns under his breath while
he drummed his fingers against the railing of the veranda. Kyla
caught Ben's eyes again with a pleading look that seemed to say 'Help
him'. Ben knew that he was not the first to mock her father, but he
was now regretting the way he had treated him.

He
snapped his fingers and exclaimed, "The Murg! The creatures who
steal children in the night. Those were some of the scariest stories
of all!"

The
pot that was Vincent had been removed from the fire and the steam of
his angst finally cooled. The drumming of fingers and the mumbling
ceased in unison as satisfaction settled over his face. The answer he
had so desperately sought had been given, and he turned to Ben with a
smile.