Hilda's Inn for Retired Heroes Read online

  His voice could also gentle people. And Rob really liked the cook. She had found him in the kitchen making soft doe eyes her. The cook didn't seem to realize that she had an admirer. It was one of the reasons Hilda hadn't fired the cook, yet.

  "Why don't you go into the kitchen and help the cook." Well, why not. If the cook had something else to think about, maybe she would forget about the fire element that almost ruined her "endless stew."

  "There has been some excitement in there," she decided to explain. Rob shouldn't go in there without some idea of the chaos he was about to calm. "Sassy was at it again."

  Rob nodded his head, then sauntered to the kitchen. Even with only one arm, Rob was graceful. She knew that the kitchen and the cook would be in good hands, or hand in his case.

  Hilda walked into the Inn's public area. The drudge dressed in a ragged dress, she wouldn't take new clothes, didn't have a name, pushed, pulled, and dragged a keg of ale. It didn't move. Her bony arms and back were not strong enough to man-handle the keg to its proper place. Hilda rushed to help her. They pulled and tugged until the keg was placed where it the bartender could draw pints of ale.

  The ale must have arrived while she was quieting Sassy. Hilda never watered the ale because the ale was weak enough that one or two wouldn't get the men drunk. She had had enough of drunken men in her mercenary days. The black plague had made everyone distrustful of water. Weak ale was cheap.

  If the men had the coppers for harder liquor, they would have to walk to the tavern closer to the warehouse district. The men loading ships and other transportation were a rough lot. They liked their beer and women slightly stronger than what could be found in her inn. And rowdy, they could rowd their way through the entire town if they weren't confined to one district.

  Normally her men didn't need that kind of entertainment. But, sometimes needs must, so she looked the other way when they went whoring. It wasn't like she was a squeamish missy. She had needs too, but kept them submersed in her duties.

  The drudge hurried back to the kitchen.

  Soon some of the men trickled into the inn for stew and ale. They were a little subdued this morning. The drudge carried bowls of soup on the table in front of customers. Hilda poured the ale into mugs and Danny slammed the mugs on the tables. The foam fizzed and splashed on the table.

  Hilda had her back to the room and was filling more mugs, when she felt a tickle and itch on her neck. It traveled down her back. It wasn't the first time her body had warned her of trouble. Turning, she slowly scanned the room. Her customers were noisy and cheerful. Some of the chairs scrapped against the floor as some left the room and others filed in and sat down.

  Across the room from her was a table that was suspiciously empty. Above it was a dark spot. As she watched, the dark spot grew larger.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Hilda patted herself for a weapon. Damn. She had a small belt knife on her hip, but all of her weapons were in her room, locked up in a travel trunk. The sword she had carried for years was hanging on the wall behind the dark spot.

  The last time she had seen a growing spot like this, it had been a gate to a wild place. A mage had opened it in the middle of a battle to let demonic creatures out so that they could ravage the humans in the battle. The creatures had ripped men apart like pieces of rotten meat and then shoved the pieces in their mouths. The smell of bile and feces had made her sick. The sight had made her want to scream. She had rushed the mage, but when she saw this gate opening she froze for a few vital seconds.

  A scream of rage howled out of her mouth because two of her men in the courtyard burst into the public room with swords drawn. Rob ran from the kitchen and threw a large kitchen knife to Hilda. It was much better than the small knife at her belt. He grinned in anticipation. Even with one arm Rob was still a warrior.

  All four of them faced the opening gate as the customers streamed out of the inn, bumping each other in their haste. No demon or wild creature rushed out of the gate. It was almost anti-climactic when the gate poofed and was gone. It took a moment for Hilda to gather up her courage. Who knew what had been left on the table near the gate. The men closed around her as she carefully poked the table. No explosions.

  She saw a white piece of paper on the table. Interesting. No one she knew could afford this kind of paper. There was a rampant lion on the seal, which meant that it could only have come from the castle on the hill. She broke the seal.

  No smoke, no unusual noises, no problems. The words were gibberish, understandably since she couldn't read. "Arnie," she called. "I need your expertise."

  Arnie was the clerk and the only reader of her bunch of men. He rustled in wrapped in a long cloak and a soft hat. It made him look slightly official. He took the letter from her and began to read out loud.

  To the owner of Hilda's Inn

  It has come to our attention that Hilda's Inn has not paid taxes to Lord Barton of San Sierra for the last two years. To remedy this error, the owner of Hilda's Inn has been assessed ten gold pieces to be delivered to the Treasurer of San Sierra in one week.

  If the owner is unable or unwilling to pay, the Inn will be taken in lieu of taxes.

  Signed,

  Sir Santrose

  Treasurer of San Sierra

  Arnie handed the letter back to Hilda. "What the heck," she said, an explosion of sound. "What the heck is going on? We already paid our taxes for the year. Why does he all of a sudden want ten gold pieces? Impossible."

  "Mistress," said one of the men. "We can find out what is going on if you give us leave."

  She nodded. Intelligence was good. She would see if she could collect from her debtors, but it would not be easy or possible. She could see the writing on the wall. Lord Barton wanted her piece of property. She needed to know why.

  The men took their leave. It would be awhile before she knew anything.

  Meanwhile the inn got hectic. The lunch crowd arrived for stew and ale. The drudge and Danny set down ale and stew, always the stew, in front of them. They began to eat. Hilda went up to her room dragging Arnie with her. Arnie had all of her creditors in his head. She needed that information plus he would have to write the letters.

  She already knew the outcome of this quest. Most of her creditors were strapped for cash like she was. Realistically, she needed the information of why the Lord wanted this money. Were other merchants and trades people being squeezed too? Were the aristocrats getting ready to start another war? And why would this Lord use magic to send the letter. He could have sent a messenger. It smacked of intimidation. When intimidation was involved she got suspicious.

  Black Forest north of Delhaven

  Michael Ordson

  The daylight went from orange to gray-green to blue as Michael trudged on the small path, while leading his horse. He had not been able to feed the horse much in the last few days. The horse had snatched a few mouthfuls of grass on the path and during the night. He had decided to dismount because to save the horse's energy for any quick escapes. Michael needed to stretch his legs. It had been a long time since he had ridden such a long distance and his legs were sore.

  Both he and the horse looked slightly hard-used. Usually Michael sleeked back his hair and tied it in a ponytail. His coat and breeches were brushed and immaculate. After days on the road and the pull of the geas, he barely had time to eat a piece of trail bread, drink, saddle the horse and continue on. His coat and breeches were dusty. There were little bits of grass in his hair and on his clothes.

  The trail stretched out before him. He had been hoping that soon he would reach some type of civilization so that he could make a little money with his lyre. Maybe buy a few oats for the horse.

  Although he was a mage, most people were uneasy with his vocation. It was much better to assume the guise of a bard or storyteller and keep his other skills undercover. But in this vast land of forests and now high deserts, he hadn't seen anyone interested in a little song. The birds, squirrels, and chipmunks made their
own music. He had stopped a few times and listened to a warbling brook, trying to imitate the sounds that came from nature. Actually he wasn't really good at it, but it did soothe some need inside him that held the magic.

  The music soothed the magic enough that he didn't need to use it. Sometimes the magic could swell until he had no choice. It would be there begging to be used, and then demanding something anything, just flick his finger and light that fire. It was using the magic that made him a target.

  The magic was scary to ordinary folk. There had been too many mages who had been pulled into the grasp of magic, becoming power-hungry and killing until they became rulers and kings. It came to a point that their king had to take a test to prove his inability to use magic, thus keeping the realm safe from the power-hungry mage wars of the past. Mages were kept under the eye of the king and his loyal subjects.

  He shuddered of the king's justice. It was cruel and final.

  In school, Michael and many of the other mage students had been feeling a darkness, spreading in the main city. He hadn't volunteered for this mission. He shielded his mind. Even if the forest seemed empty, this information couldn't leak even in his mind until he followed the end of the geas. The geas would only let him talk to one person. If he were in charge, he would have sent more than one messenger. He let his mind calm and felt the breath of the horse on his neck.

  Maybe tonight he'd find a farm house where a farm family would let him sleep in the stables with his horse. For a moment, he smelled meat and heard the cackle of fire. His stomach grumbled and he stopped. The horse muttered in his ear as the vision of food disappeared.

  He put one foot in front of another, keeping his mind carefully blank. If they kept moving, they'd eventually find a barn. Even a ruined barn would do.

  Chapter Three

  Delhaven, port city

  Hilda Brant

  After the lunch crowd thinned, the Hilda's regulars came to the Inn for ale, conversation, and poker. The ambiance was free and most of the regular members knew each other from days past. Sometimes they had been on opposite sides of wars, beating on each other and sometimes on the same side. The past was past. If you had been a mercenary you were accepted here.

  In the back corner, a group of men played poker. Rooso, short for rooster because of the shock of red hair he used to comb straight up and was now gray, dealt the cards. He held one end of the cards with his wrist and the other with his free hand. He grinned wildly as the other three card players watched him carefully. Rooso was not only famous for his red hair, but also for his ability to cheat at cards especially one-handed. Rooso's friends and sometimes enemies used to say that his hand was not cut off in battle, but that it had been chopped off due to his other activities. Rooso claimed he lost it in battle.

  Rooso was an accomplished liar, and they whispered, never to his face because his temper was as volatile as his hair, that he had been caught stealing. It made a lot more sense.

  When he sauntered into other Inns and gambled, most innkeepers would throw him out on his ass, but Hilda was a different innkeeper. You'd better not steal from her. And, if she wanted a favor, you were more than willing to help with your skills. Plus, if you were stupid enough to gamble with a known thief, then you were asking for it.

  Unfortunately for Rooso, the card up the sleeve was the only card trick he used. When he dealt cards, his friends would always check both of his sleeves because he might put it in either sleeve.

  Since Rooso was a slim man, he didn't defend himself, another reason his friends were sure he'd never been in battle. They would take bets on which card would be up his sleeve this time. It made for a lively card game.

  The man sitting on Rooso's right was a big broody bear of a man. Every whisker and every eyebrow was black. Hilda was sure that he dyed his hair, but that wasn't the kind of question you asked a fighter who could break you with one hand. The man was a mountain. She had seen someone pummel him in the stomach as he stood there watching the boxer sink his fists into his stomach. When he finally got tired of watching the other guy get tired, he bopped him once on the top of the head. His opponent dropped.

  When asked his name, he'd grunt, but Rooso called him Casper. Sometimes Casper acted as Rooso's bodyguard, and sometimes for unknown reasons, or reasons no one wanted to know, Casper would break one of Rooso's bones. It was an uneasy relationship. Heck, any relationship with either Rooso or Casper was uneasy. He hardly talked and mostly grunted.

  The third guy, across from Rooso, was named Andy, just Andy. So the that is what they called him. The man liked to dress in black from his black silk-shirt to his leathers. It must have cost a fortune for him to buy the leathers, but he never discussed finances or even home addresses with the rest of the customers. Sometimes when the main door would open, his eyes would shift back and forth. He always sat so that his back was against a wall and facing the door.

  While most of the folks had assorted long knives, Just Andy carried perfectly balanced knives hidden all over his body. It was unusual to see these types of knives. First they were extremely expensive and second, they were carried by assassins. No one was dumb enough to ask if he was an assassin. It was best to stay away from any trouble he represented.

  The last person in this foursome was a woman. Anyone looking at her would know immediately her occupation. In some towns she would call herself a seamstress although Hilda was pretty certain that she didn't know the first thing about plying a needle. She called herself Annie. No one questioned the name. Even though she looked soft and feminine in Hilda's public room it wasn't safe to question even the most innocuous customer.

  She had confided in Hilda that it was time for her to retire. Aging prostitutes didn't do well in the business. However, age and experience were necessary for being a Madam. As long as Annie didn't fleece the customers too much, Hilda left her alone.

  There were others less remarkable customers in the public room all eating, talking, and enjoying a full stomach. Hilda's favorite was the old man, Grampa Stephen, who spent most of his days talking about being a mercenary in Hilda's own troop. Most of the tales were tall and very very untrue, but it kept a majority of the customers quiet and happy.

  It was the poker game that usually kept her attention. If something was going to go wrong, it would be at that table. She sighed when she saw Casper pull Rooso from his seat, and turn him upside down. He shook Rooso like a salt shaker. Several cards fluttered down from pockets and sleeves and other hiding places. But, when Casper placed Rooso on the table so that he would have better leverage to break his arm, Hilda put a stop to it.

  "Rooso, get off the table." Casper stopped and watched Hilda like a snake watching prey. Rooso scrambled off the table and scuttled behind Hilda.

  "Leave." Rooso ran out the door. Usually if he stayed away for one or two days after these incidents, all would be forgotten. There weren't too many people who were willing to risk their money with these poker players.

  "Could you suggest..." Annie's voice trailed off when she realized that Hilda was frowning at her.

  "I suggest that this poker game is over for today." Annie put her head down. She was shaking, which knowing Annie, it was laughter not tears. The other two looked ashamed. When Oscar shambled out of the public room, Hilda breathed a sigh of relief. Just Andy followed him.

  Hilda didn't know why Casper didn't take her on...she had thought that someday she would have to do something about him. She watched him leave, then turned back to Annie.

  Annie lifted her head, laughter tears running down her face, "Does this type of thing happen often here?"

  Hilda smiled. Yea, it was very like taking care of a bunch of rowdy boys."Men don't change much," said Hilda. "Just the size of their toys."

  Annie gulped once or twice and then howled. For the first time since Hilda met Annie they had something in common, two women against the men. Hilda's mouth quirked. She hadn't had much time lately to laugh and have friends. She sat down next to Annie.

&nbs
p; Annie pulled a handkerchief from her bosom and wiped her eyes and cheeks. "It was worth seeing Casper almost run when you stopped him." She tried not to laugh, but the more she tried to stop laughing the more she hiccuped.

  "It gets me every time when Casper turns Rooso over and shakes him like a shaker. And when the cards float down, I have to nip into the kitchen to get the laughter under control."

  "Boys," snorted Annie.

  "Men," snorted Hilda.

  The rest of the room stopped and listened for a moment. Then the noise started again nervously when Hilda and Annie turned their heads to the room and glared. Some of the occupants ducked their heads and and sipped the soup. Grampa Stephen started in another rendition of "I was a mercenary." No one noticed that he told the same story as before.

  Hilda ignored them. "So why do you play in that card game?"

  "I like men."

  Black Forest north of Delhaven

  Michael Ordson

  The first inclination that Michael had that he was in trouble was when he noticed the same rock and tree formation with a small yellow flower next to it. They had traveled at the same steady pace all day and only succeeded in going in circles. He was tired as if he had walked twenty miles. In a few more steps, he was in front of the ashes of the dead campfire from the night before.

  The same babbling brook, the same meadow, the same animals and there was the same horse poop from the horse where it had grazed. He and the horse were in a time loop.

  In the war, some mages had been successful in making time loops during battle. It made it hard for the opposite group to continue fighting when they were being hit by the same men they had killed over and over. It gave rise to stories of ghosts coming back to haunt their killers. This spell took a lot of energy to perform and sometimes took more than one mage melding their powers for it to be successful. It had killed many weaker mages who had tried to cast the spell.