Roar - A Wardstone Short Story

Start from the beginning
                                    

“That’s enough, lad,” Loudin said as his dagger tip found the young man’s throat. In his other hand he’d gathered up the reins of his horse. They were close enough that Loudin smelled radishes mixed with the steamy fear on the young man’s breath. “I won’t have you talking bad about us Seawardsmen like that. If you’d find a wash tub, people might quit thinking you’re a beggar. Now get along.”

One look into Loudin’s cold eyes stole any defiance the would-be camp guard had. He turned swiftly, pulling his juggler out of harm’s way, and dashed his mount south down the road.

“Thank ye, kind sir,” the tinker trader called down. He looked as though he was no more comfortable talking to a trained Seawardsman. “He was a sniffin’ at us all the way in from Low Crossing.”

“He just wants to make a few coins.” Loudin shrugged, showing a bit of distaste in his expression. He was no gentleman, or lord, nor did he desire to be. He’d learned a long time ago, though, that good clean clothes, and a hot bath every now and then can sometimes get you places. He was hoping to get somewhere now, though in a roundabout way.

“He may have been a cretin, but he wasn’t wrong about the festival.” Loudin could tell that these people were seasoned traders. They were from Dakahn, he decided, from the cut of their clothes, and the size of their wagon full of goods. They knew the Red Wolf guards patrolled the road, and the festival grounds.

“Tis’ true,” the trader nodded. “Last year we had a whole crate full of honey jars snatched right out from under our noses. I could ‘ave made two pieces of gold or traded ‘em for thrice that in wares.”

“’It’s a shame,” Loudin nodded. “If you don’t mind, I’m heading to the festival grounds on the morrow. If you are laying over in Castlemont, maybe we could travel together?”

“Not that a real fighting man wouldn’t be a welcome companion,” the trader’s woman said, “but can I ask why you would bother?” She was old and wrinkled and had a wavy mop of wind riddled red hair.

“My employer has entrusted me with a package to deliver, the sort of parcel that makes a man not eager to travel alone.” Loudin looked left, and then right, making sure that none of the passersby was within earshot. “It’s a sack of coins, for a wager he wants me to place for him. His brother knows a few Lords, and they seem to have the fix in on the Brawl. Folks like you, who earn their living, don’t worry me. And again, to be honest, I can tell by the size of that kettle dangling on the back of your rig, that if I camped alongside at the festival, I wouldn’t be eating jerked meat every night.”

“The fix is in you say?” the trader asked. By the almost desperate hope Loudin heard in the man’s voice, he knew he could set the hook.

“I’m to get my employer no less than two coins to one when I place the wager. I’m hoping to get three to one, so I can have a share.”

“We’ll make High Crossing by dark fall, and camp there,” the trader said, with eyes glazed and glittering with the sparkle of promise. “It would be fine if you shared our stew. In fact, I insist.”

“Oh, no sir,” Loudin answered. “I will catch up to you on the road about midday on the morrow though.”

The trader’s face suddenly looked stricken. He clearly wanted to ask who the wager was to be placed on. Loudin knew this and added to the man’s distress. “I swore an oath to keep my employer’s wager private, so there is no use asking about it.”

For an instant the trader’s face darkened, as if he were trying to reason out whether or not he was the butt of some jest. Loudin relieved his concerns like an old friend.

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: Oct 23, 2013 ⏰

Add this story to your Library to get notified about new parts!

Roar - A Wardstone Short StoryWhere stories live. Discover now