Pillars of Hope Chapter 3

Chapter 3




Corrin entered the village from the east, sorrow sweeping over him. The village was not much to behold only several small wooden shacks. The walls had large gaps, forming more of a shabby wind block than an actual dwelling. It was obvious that resources were not readily available in this area. No light shone forth from any of the shacks. In fact, no signs of life were anywhere to be seen. Why am I here? What can I possibly find in a village that has less than I have? What am I to accomplish in such a sad display of humanity?
Near the middle of the hamlet sat a large two-story building. Its walls were a mixture of cobblestone and mortar, put together in a manner that actually made it pleasing to the eye. Not Dwarven quality, but good for human work. It spread wide and long in the center of the village. Smoke billowed from its three chimneys. ?For such a despondent little town, they sure do have an extravagant tavern,? Corrin commented aloud.
Approaching the ornately carved entrance, he read the sign hanging above the door, ?North Winds Tavern?. This might not be a bad place, but for the village around it. He pulled the door open and walked in.
Pushing his way through the crowded main room earned him a few dirty looks, all of which settled on his axe and quickly turned away. Corrin rested upon a barstool. Standing on the stool, he scanned the crowd. One corner of the room was crowded with what appeared to be all of the village children, intently listening to the words of an old man. Groups of poorly dressed villagers filled the main hall, drinking, laughing and carrying on. A few were moving from table to table slapping people on the back and joining conversations. Small groups were gambling here and there, including several visitors, judging by their fine clothing. They sure seem a happy lot, considering their circumstance. Not really knowing what he was looking for, Corrin turned to the barkeep. The man was dressed in a white shirt and leather breeches, he wore battered leather boots, in all, he was dressed exceedingly well for the area. A once white apron protected his clothing. ?Might I trouble you for an ale, kind sir??
?As soon as ya sits down Dwarf!? Extra emphasis was placed on the last word.
Corrin immediately reached for his axe handle then thought better of starting trouble. He wondered if he would ever get over being so easily offended. Regaining composure, he sat down.
?I tell you, it is getting so a man cannot go anywhere without meeting something vile,? he said, causing the barkeep to retire with his ale.
?No, no, let me explain. Ya see, as I was comin? down out of da mountains, I runned acrost a pack o? mangy orcs. I?ll tell ya, I gotta be nearing da end of me summers. One of ?em actually got away.? A chuckle slipped into his ale mug at the thought of the human dealing with a dwarf in his inn.
Sipping absently at his ale, his thoughts drifted again to the assault on the mountain stronghold. The only home he had ever known was destroyed, his family killed or taken, and his head and stomach were still aching from the blows. He wandered in the wilds for many days, wounded, thirsting, and malnourished. Even his extraordinary stamina could not withstand the extreme fatigue. Eventually, he collapsed.
When he awoke, he found himself looking into the face of an elderly, yet beautiful woman. She explained that the centaurs had found him and brought him to her. He was badly hurt, and had driven his body well beyond its limits, but she was able to aid in his recovery.
While he was healing, she taught him the human tongue, and also the language of the centaur. Elonindain, as she was called, taught him how to survive in forests and foothills. Teaching him which berries and roots were edible, which flowers had healing capabilities, and how to trap small game. The centaurs began to train him in the use of weapons. He excelled at this training, taking special interest in the battle-axe and the short bow.
After spending fifteen summers with his new friends, Corrin began to desire something more. He had become a formidable opponent, often besting the centaurs in mock combat. As Corrin left, an intense longing filled his heart. A feeling he would never forget. It was a similar feeling which drew him to his present location.
?Pardon me, friend dwarf,? a calm voice interrupted his thoughts. ?This may sound preposterous, but I do believe that we were meant to meet here.?
A blank look stole its way across Corrin?s face. Before him stood a man in a plain gray robe. A mace hung at his side; several leather pouches were staggered about his rope belt. The pack on his back looked almost empty. His tanned face was friendly, yet something about his pale gray eyes told that he was not to be taken lightly. His manner was calm, patient, and courteous.
?My name,? the stranger continued, ?is Pastlon. I was struck with an overwhelming feeling that I needed to visit this quaint tavern. Upon my entrance, I scanned the patrons. When my eyes fell upon you, I felt a resurgence of that feeling. I hope that I have not disturbed you too terribly.? With the last statement, the stranger turned and strode to a table near the center of the tavern. He sat with his back to Corrin.
Corrin was left; ale mug in hand, mouth draped open, staring. After a short pause, he was able to marginally regain control. Sliding off his stool, he walked to the table. Pulling out a chair, he asked, ?May I??
?Please,? replied Pastlon, holding his hand out as if to offer the chair.
?Ya appears to be a religious man,? Corrin stated bluntly. ?So I am sure that ya are more used ta getting? ?feelings? than me. I did feel like I oughta visit this here place. I hadda walk ferever, and hadda kill some orcs ta get here??
?It was not you that sent the prompting then friend dwarf.? It was more of a statement than a question that broke into Corrin?s rambling.
?Wha? Uh, no. I was kinda hopin? that ya could explain ?em to me.?
?Nay friend dwarf, I am but a pawn, as apparently are you.?
?I hate being toyed with!? Corrin said, raising his voice and pushing away from the table, losing his dwarven accent in the process. As he stood, his chair fell backwards with a loud crack. The noise in the tavern was gone, and he could feel all eyes on him. The old man even stopped in the middle of a story. He could do nothing but stand there, flushed.
?Sit friend dwarf. All things will be revealed in time. Let us talk and become acquainted. Patience has rewarded me in the past, and so it shall this night.? The mild manner of his new companion only served to humiliate Corrin more. His days of impetuousness, it seemed, were not all behind him. He still had much to learn. ?Perhaps you might start by telling me your name, friend dwarf,? Pastlon continued in a soothing tone.
?Yes. Of course. Many apologies. My name is Corrin Balethrong. Son of Drong,? he bowed regally, and returned his chair to an upright position. He sat, noticing the return of surrounding noise.
?Barmaid,? called Pastlon. ?My friend and I would like to partake in a repast.?
As the servant approached, Corrin realized the grip that hunger had gained on him. ?I would like a leg of mutton with roasted potatoes, and a tankard of ale.?
?If you please milady, I would like some fresh vegetables and fruits, as well as a tankard of water,?
The healer?s order brought forth a chuckle from Corrin. ?I am sorry,? he apologized earnestly. ?I have never met someone who eats as the rabbits, and drinks as the deer. Why not indulge in some mead, or ale, or at the very least, wine? It warms the bones and lifts the spirits.?
?My order does not allow for me to partake in the fermented fruits of the field,? replied Pastlon. ?We believe that it taints the thought pattern.?
?What twisted and demented order is that?? asked Corrin, a look of distaste crossing his face, while a laugh escaped his lips.
?I follow an ancient, all but forgotten, religion. To my knowledge, I am the only worshiper. I know it to be the only path to true happiness and enlightenment. It contains no corruption. Its principles teach one to withhold from certain worldly pleasures, in order to better understand what is expected of him. In exchange for my abstinence, My Deity has seen fit to bless me with certain abilities and powers.?
?If you are the only follower, then who would know of minor indiscretions??
?My Deity knows and sees all. To him shall I always remain loyal.?
?Yer sheetin? ya bloody elf!? Came the excited accusation. Both Corrin and Pastlon swiveled in the direction of the boisterous claim. There sat a small elf, clad in an assortment of bright oranges, greens, and yellows. Across from him was standing a very large, rather drab looking man. The man, obviously drunk, struggled to find the dagger at his side.
The elf quickly scooped a pile of silver talents into a pouch, and replied. ?You are merely drunk friend,? the smile never wavering from his face, ?I would not dream of cheating one of your stature. Barkeep, my friend has had enough.? He began to step away from the table, but the figure across from him had found his dagger, and was waving it carelessly, yet not unthreateningly. ?Let us not be hasty, friend,? the elf said still smiling. As he spoke, Corrin noticed the smaller figure reaching for a dagger of his own.
The human suddenly stiffened, and seemingly sobered. He slowly loosened the grip on his dagger, which fell to the wooden floor with a soft thud. Pastlon noticed another dagger, its black blade stretching across the human?s throat. Following the dagger, he came to a menacing face, pressed close to the big human?s ear. Pastlon was now staring blankly at the new figure, a now familiar feeling sweeping over him. Almond shaped eyes in what appeared to be fine porcelain first caught his attention. A twisted smile accented the telltale high cheekbones of an elf. The grimacing figure sneered, and shoved the slovenly human to the ground. ?You are free to leave cousin, and I suggest you do so swiftly,? he was looking neither at the human, nor the elf, but directly at Corrin and Pastlon. With his hand, he gestured for the other elf to leave.
?Blackwood, really, I wasn?t cheating this time,? the smile was no longer on the young elf?s face.
?Go now Fistendel! You have worn out your welcome here!? He kicked the downed human as if to emphasize his point.
?But?? he cut his protest short as Blackwood tore his eyes from the two intriguing strangers, and stared intently at his younger, smaller cousin. Fistendel turned slowly and walked to the door.
?You can get up now human,? Blackwood said, walking toward the table with Corrin and Pastlon. His black garb seemed a part of the shadows as he moved. His hair was jet black. In fact, all that proved he was not truly a shade himself was his fair skin, and bright golden eyes. A short sword hugged his thigh, and a bow was strapped to his back.
As he neared the table, he spoke, ?Mind if I sit?? Without waiting for a response, he pulled out a chair, unslung his bow, and sat, his back to the trouble he just left. The big human glared at him, and then thought better of it, walking quickly to the door.
Pastlon spoke first, ?so, I see another pawn is in place. My name, good sir, is Pastlon, and this is Corrin.?
?I am called Blackwood, I do not know why I am here, I thought maybe it was to save my worthless cousin again. However, when I saw the two of you sitting here, I was overcome with a strange urgency, the same urgency that drew me here to begin with. Why is it we have been summoned here??
?That I cannot answer friend Blackwood, we have not yet discovered that. In fact, we do not yet even know who our summoner is,? replied Pastlon.
?Blackwood, will you at least join me in a drink? Pastlon does not partake in the ?evils? of this world. He is one of those religious fanatics.? As he spoke, Corrin shot a wink and a smile in the direction of Pastlon.
Pastlon chuckled inside at his new companions. Here sat a truly odd trio, a dour elf, a merry dwarf, and a zealot for a long forgotten religion.

* * * * *

Tara had difficulty telling which made Aaron more miserable, the weather or the condition of the town they had just ridden into. When the rain began, his countenance had slipped from malcontent to anger. The sight of the town set him to mumbling to himself. Tara could not contain a giggle as she listened between peals of thunder. ?Shabby little shacks, all in disrepair? could be asleep in warm linens right now.?
The houses and cottages were little more than shacks. Large holes could be seen in walls and roofs, furniture pushed aside to avoid the weather. Windows were missing panes of glass, and doors hung tilted to one side. Most looked uninhabitable and abandoned. Despite the appearance of the village, Tara could not contain her excitement. They were nearing the ?North Winds,? she could feel it. Their journey had lasted two fortnights, and now their goal was finally near. Is this to be the end of our adventure, or merely a beginning? She could not suppress the smile brightening her face, threatening to chase the clouds, and dry the sodden ground.
Through the hazy drizzle, she could make out a small stone building. Next to the shacks, it appeared to be a palace. ?What an adorable little tavern,? she said absently.
?Were there another dry spot within miles, You?d not get me inside the door of such a hastily built, sloppy, poor man?s haven.? Anger twisted the last words from Aaron?s mouth. The shock on Tara?s face forced him to bite off his next statement. They rode to the stable and dismounted in silence.
?Please take good care of these horses,? Tara spoke kindly to the stable hand. The awe showing on her face rivaled that of the stable hand. She quickly took in the ragged and torn pants, the shreds of material passing for a shirt, and the complete lack of shoes. She pressed a silver talent into his filthy palm.
Tara noticed the cold for the first time. She was chilled to the bone. It will be nice to dry out, and dispose of this chill in front of a warm comfortable fire. A warm meal will be very welcome indeed.