Toric's Dagger

Three Corpses Part 1

Typical, Belwynn said, looking up as the sun disappeared behind thick clouds and the temperature dropped. Why did we have to do the walking through the heat of the afternoon?

Soren didn't turn to look at Belwynn. The twins always spoke in their heads when they were alone. It had become second nature to them ever since childhood. Instead, he squinted up at the sky.

It's going to rain soon. You wouldn't have wanted to walk through that.

Belwynn came close to making an irritable retort, but controlled herself. Was that a spot of rain? They walked on a bit. A drop landed on her cheek.

That was the trouble with her brother. He was always right.

As they approached the outskirts of the town, the spots of rain turned into a steady drizzle.

For all the wealth that's supposedly here, commented Belwynn, I see a lot of poverty.

Small wooden huts with sunken floors were scattered about in an irregular pattern. They looked soaked through already, as if they hadn't dried out from the last shower. Pitiful wisps of smoke could be seen emerging from the thatched roofs. They all had their doors open, and Belwynn peered in as she walked past. Babies crying. Women sewing. One woman was brewing beer, the pungent smell of hops emanating from the house. There were no men around - they presumably worked in town. Most of the houses had animals and small garden plots outside, as if the owners couldn't decide between living like peasants or like townsfolk. Some kids played outside in the rain, splashing through the mud. They got an earful from a tough-looking matron for running through her garden. But, in truth, it was impossible to tell where the mud ended and the garden began.

They continued into the centre of Vincente's town, where the homes were more substantial. The people they passed looked them up and down suspiciously. They were strangers, so it was to be expected. But Belwynn sensed more tension here than was normal. People who were out seemed keen to get on with their business and get in. Not just because of the rain. There was no chatting or laughter, like back home in Magnia.

Arriving in the market square, Soren looked around, squinting up at the shop signs.

Is that it? asked Belwynn, pointing over to an inn on the opposite side of the square. The Three Tuns, she added, reading the faded lettering on the sign; it bore a picture of three wooden casks, the kind that held wine. The front of the inn wasn't much to look at: old planks of wood that would soon need replacing, no windows, a narrow entrance.

Yes, that's it, agreed Soren, and led them over.

Belwynn had never mentioned it, but she was sure her brother's eyesight was deteriorating. Too many late nights reading old manuscripts had taken their toll.

It didn't look much on the outside, but inside, the Three Tuns was a substantial building, with a large open plan hall downstairs and rooms for guests on the top floor. It wasn't busy, though. A few groups of travellers had arranged themselves near the fire, and the smell of roasted meat set Belwynn's stomach rumbling. Soren was peering in that direction, but Belwynn was already looking into the shadowy, mostly empty recesses of the hall.

Sure enough, a figure emerged from a secluded table and headed towards them. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair and eyes above a sneering mouth.

'Took you long enough to get here,' Herin spat out.

He led them away from the inviting fire to his isolated table.

He sat down, fingers drumming on the table top. Belwynn and Soren joined him, shrugging off their packs.