I thought I would share a little bit of one of the stories I've been working on...
By the end of his second day of travel, Justus was now in the area commonly known as Ashland Waters, and he was never without his dagger. As he looked down the dusty road a welcome sight met his eyes—an inn, a familiar one too. Dismounting, he led his horse into its roomy stable and flipped a coin to the stable boy who caught it eagerly.
Inside was quite the contrast to the solitary woods and the even more solitary stable. Being the last meal hour of the day, many travelers had gathered to refresh both body and spirit. Seating himself at a table close to the wall, he waited for someone to come and take his order.
A young woman with an apron tied loosely over her stomach came up to his table with a smile and a word of welcome, "Hello, Hugh, what brings you here?"
"Oh, just a little errand for my uncle, and a good meal at this fine inn. When will your little one come?" he said matching her smile.
"Any day now. Morgan and I work hard to keep this place pleasant, therefore the meal comes at a price," she said still smiling. "Will you take the usual?"
He nodded and withdrew a leather bag from under his tunic pouring a few coins into his palm and watching closely as they shone in the firelight. Out of the corner of his eye he made sure to see whose eyes glinted at the sight of gold.
The woman left to prepare his meal and while she was gone a newcomer seated himself across from Hugh. "Mind if I sit here, I don't know anyone in this vicinity and I'm up for a good dish of gossip myself," he stated rather than asked, and immediately leaned his elbows comfortably on the plank table.
Hugh's mouth smiled and said, "I don't know very many people here either so I'm pleased to meet you. The name's Hugh," but his eyes asked the question of what would happen next.
The waitress arrived and gravely set down Hugh's plate in front of him. He looked at her and nodded his thanks, and then his new friend gave his order.
"So where are you from, Hugh?" the man asked, as he watched the boy begin to eat.
Hugh laughed, and replied, "If I were brave enough to tell of the little town I'm from you wouldn't even recognize the name."
The man laughed and took a drink from his mug. "Now that is a good way of explaining the very plight in which I find myself caught," and he laughed again.
Although there was laughter at the table, Hugh found himself ill at ease with this jolly man who invited himself into everything. Even when he laughed, his eyes were steadily searching out what was below this man's jokes.
"I've just come from one of the smallest northern towns there ever was and I am brave enough to tell—it's Harvest," the man said taking a huge bite of the food that was just brought him.
"Well, then I see I shall have to be brave myself—Wilsy," Hugh said, for it was true that he had been born there. He studied the brawny man before him more carefully now that he knew he claimed residence at a town recently destroyed. His hands were rough and horny, possibly from farming but something about the man's eyes told him that there was some other explanation.
"Wilsy, eh? And what brings you to this fine inn?" his questioner asked.
"I've friends here," the boy said simply. He grabbed his napkin and placed it in his lap, perturbed that the man continued to stare at it. While he told a long story about the former farm he had lived on, he worked it open and felt a piece of rag nestled inside.
"You have much money for a farm boy," the man stated, as if relieving his mind of something he had much thought on.
Hugh shrugged and nodded, pleased that he was finally learning something more about this man's character. "One of the fortunate to have a new opportunity."
Something in the man's face changed, almost as if for the better. "You have a new opportunity," he said softly half stating and half questioning.
"One of the fortunate," Hugh repeated, lowering his voice confidentially.
"And does this opportunity happen to be in Ashland Waters?" the man asked almost excited, but still wary.
Hugh shrugged again with a slight smile. His meal was finished and he rose to his feet placing the empty napkin beside his plate. "Good to meet you." Then he turned to go.
"Wait, do you know about the trail?" the man asked almost urgently.
"Now is not the place," Hugh said wisely.
"Then you recognize the danger?"
"That is why I am leaving." He turned swiftly on his heel and left the inn, quickening his pace as he reached the stable.
The lanterns inside the stalls had been put out, but the sound of soft footfalls caused him to pause and hide behind a stack of hay. A low murmur of voices and a scuffling of feet sounded, along with the whinny of a horse, in the next stall over.
"You know what will happen," he caught the words. The horse that shared the stall with him moved uneasily and let out a whinny.
"Something's in the next stall over, quick!" one of the voices said louder.
But even as they were quick, they weren't quick enough for the intruder was now occupying the stall they had just left.
"Quiet, girl," he whispered soothingly, and stroked the frightened mare's neck. In the half-light that filled the stall he could see that someone had been rummaging in his saddlebags and he was immediately glad that there had been nothing to find.
Putting on his cloak, he mounted his horse and left the stable before anyone could know he had been there. They galloped along for a time, putting as much distance as possible between them and the inn. In the light of the full moon, he finally thought of looking at the message the waitress had given him.
"Hugh, I've become more accepted within their ranks and have gained the respect of the captain. They have captured more travelers, and are gaining more strength. We just received a shipment of weapons, anonymously. Now is the time. You know what to do. Be careful at the inn and the crossroads especially. Signed, Uncle."
Pocketing the piece of rag, he rode on in silence with one hand holding the reins of his horse and the other resting on his dagger. His keen brown eyes searched the darkness before him for any lurking shadows or glint of steel in the moonlight. A cold shiver, not unknown even to the bravest of warriors, crept up his back and he looked to the only thing he could find real comfort in—prayer.
And just for fun I thought I'd share the really silly picture I drew of this character. Please note that all of this is purely representational, and my brother drew his sword and advised me on the armor. : ) If the boy on horseback is real, my apologies to him for drawing him so badly.
