Vortumbra - the old man's tale

3 - Without a home and routine

The old man woke up and stared at the starry sky. His left side was still getting a little warmth from the bonfire, the right side was icy. He wanted to have woken up in his bed, go out of the house to urinate, smoke his pipe, feed his birds, have a good breakfast, and leave to the city, resuscitating the blades of his clients. But there he was, not sure where, camping in a clearing by the side of the road.

He grimaced until he could stand. His back still ached from the fall, but his hand injury was already better. He walked a few steps and struggled to relieve his bladder. The trio slept around the fire. Nearby, the ghost wolf summoned by the sorceress guarded the camp. The old man tried to make contact with him, but he was just ignored.

It would still take a good hour for the sun to rise, but he was no longer sleepy. He watched the way the witch slept, she looked like a dead person covered in a shroud. She held the staff close to her chest and her breathing was so subtle that she really seemed a dead woman. On the other side, the big man snored like a diromi. The knight slept half sitting, leaning against the metal pile of his armor wrapped in his cloak. He moved a lot, and occasionally grumbled something.

A few days ago, the old man still had the chance to see the trio kill another dragon before Eriana decided it was time to leave Tedris behind. The city was lost. Thousands of people went down the mountain range to Jafe. He wondered why the hell he had not gone to Jafe either. After all, his grandson lived there. His grandson's wife would not like to see him, but they would not refuse to offer him shelter.

The old man was looking at Eriana thinking about things he was not supposed to be at that age, let alone have the physical capacity to act, he imagined. Was that the reason to come, something so stupid? The old man shook his head and decided that that was not the case. He was just being smart. Walking in the shadow of a powerful sorceress was perhaps the best way to stay safe. Even more so if what he heard was true, that the band of dragons that had ravaged the capital were only the first sign of much worse things to come.

Eriana did not want the old man coming after them, but Renkiou did, especially after the old man resuscitated one of his knives and also a piece of the sword blade that had gained a few teeth during the battle against the dragons. Besides, the old man was a good listener, and Renkiou was always in need of someone to listen to his stories, which Eriana and Matoku no longer tolerated. She did not want to admit it, but after a few days, it felt good enough to have someone else preparing meals instead. Matoku, on the other hand, was conquered by the stomach. He thought the old man's food much better than the sorceress's, but he was smart enough not to mention that fact.

They had plenty of supplies they bought in a village west of Tedris. The old man had a good eye for food, spices, and the like. For yes, for no, he bought some arrows for his old crossbow. Keeping it loaded seemed to be reasonable.

The old man put a few more sticks on the fire, picked up the ingredients, and started the breakfast preparation with Renkiou's old pot, the only one they had. Whether he wanted to or not, he had learned to cook a little bit by watching the late Ralye'ra cook over many years.

"Good morning, Grandpa." Matoku woke up excited. He was big, muscular, his skin was red and his eyes were slanted, like hiarawa people. His straight black hair fell over his face in a fringe that he always pushed with his hands. Matoku and Renkiou called him Grandpa, while the sorceress referred to him as the old man, and when he spoke to him directly, he called him the mister.

"Good morning," the voice barely came out.

"What do you have there? Sniffed interested".

"Bacon, xawalla root and kub grains".

"The smell is great! He stretched the bowl to the old man".

"Is not ready yet. The root needs to cook more".

Matoku sat impatiently.

"How is Guin'uji like?"

"It's a weird place ..." Motoko had a strong accent, but he spoke ked very well. "I don't know, I find all of your cities weird... Smelly and dirty too".

"I've never been to Guin'uji, but they told me it's a beautiful place."

"The mountains are beautiful. But you go there and build that pile of dirty towers and ruin the place".

"How are the towns of your people?"

"We have no cities. Only villages. Our village, at one day is near the river, the other at the foot of the mountain. When we leave, the land stays the way it was. We use only wood and canvas to make our dwellings. The wood, we burn, the canvas, we take with us. It's all very simple and it does not stink".

"I'd like to see this..."

"But you will not."

"I'm not that old, maybe ..."

"That's not it, Grandpa. My people have no more villages. All were killed, or made slaves by the zanzides".

"Sorry, I did not know".

Motoku shrugged. "Who cares?"

They were silent for a moment. The old man pointed to the bowl.

Motoku opened a smile, missing two teeth. The old man smiled back, his teeth very white and correct, totally strange in his withered mouth.