A Storm of Shadows (Shatterborn Book One)

Chapter I, A Stranger on the Road

The maid smiled even wider at that. “Such a big-hearted man you are, Dom. Did you get a good look at him?”

He grinned at her, then out at his very attentive audience. “I did indeed. And he’s a funny man, to be sure. No horse, not even a cart and oxen. He’s definitely not a trader, nor is he likely to be one of them sodding snotty royals what’re too good to take the Watcher’s Road.”

The local smith, Alex, frowned at that. “No baggage? The man’s mad. How does he expect to survive?”

Aha, Dom thought. They didn’t see the staff then. He smiled smugly as the townspeople muttered amongst themselves about how they would never have a man like that in Herondale.

Alex’s apprentice was the one to notice Dom’s huge smirk. “He ent told us summit, I reckon. What’d you see, Dom?”

Dom relished the feeling of knowledge he had that the others didn’t. Dumb Dom no more, he chuckled to himself. He drew a long, deep slurp from his Snowmelt Mead, drank the last of his soup and tore a huge chunk out of the breadbowl before speaking again.

With every eye on him, he eyed his empty glass. A moment passed, then a rush of voices called to buy him a drink.

Finally, after the chaos died down, Dom settled into his stool with a fresh jug of mead in his hand and several more full ones behind him.

“When I was up watching him on Kinsman Point, I took note of his inventory,” Dom said loftily, taking full advantage of the words he had learnt listening to royals as he escorted them through the pass. “And I saw he had but three things with him: his clothes-“

“I’d certainly hope so,” Alex muttered into his mead.

“Yep, we all would, Alex. Anyway, as I was saying. He had his clothes, a little satchel-“

The apothecary jumped onto his stool. He was a short man, and even atop his wooden seat, he was barely visible over the group standing around Dom. “I bet he’s an apothecary, eh?”

“Do you buggers want me to tell my damn story, or shall I shut up and get back to my mead?” Dom grumbled darkly. The apothecary sat back down promptly. “Thank you. Now, as I was saying. The man’s got ‘is clothes, ‘is satchel and… He has a staff o’ gold, I tell you. Gilded oak, like those mages in Skyfall. Might even be it’s a real Goldoak staff!”

An awed silence swamped the inn. In each man’s eyes, a spark of lusty greed shone brightly. Oh, the treasures one could buy with magic!

“Oh and one other thing I saw,” Dom added brightly. “I dunno if I saw right, but I think he had a silver hand.”

***

            The stranger arrived the next morning. Few of the townspeople were up or about, and he might have walked straight through the town unnoticed, were it not for a large horde of townsfolk’s children playing in one of the three town squares, Lowgarden.

            A small boy named Tyr chased a girl twice his age around the cobblestone courtyard. Her squeals of laughter brought a smile to the traveller’s lips as he walked into the courtyard.

“Stop it, Tyr!” the girl shrieked. “…Tyr?”

But stillness had finally found the children, and they gathered silently around the man, gazing up at him in quiet awe. He smiled back down at them, and carried on walking.

He’d made it nearly halfway across the Lowgarden when Tyr called out to him.

“Begging pardon, sir, but what’s your name?”