Oracus: The Lavorian Rider

Three - The Storyteller

"And I'm not going to," Garrin said sternly.

"You won't even tell me about the Riders and the icy lands to the south?" Oracus tried.

Garrin almost choked on his ale at Oracus's words. "Where did you hear that?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"And come to think of it, I heard something when I was younger about Pharia having a King too. Do you know anything about him?"

"Don't be so loud!" Garrin hissed, glancing over his shoulder to check that nobody was listening. "It's the King that we're keeping this village a secret from."

"So there is a King?" Oracus said with surprise. "And what about the Riders and the icy lands?"

"I don't know who told you this, Oracus, but you need to forget it."

"Forget it? How do you expect me to do that?"

"I don't know, but you shouldn't know anything about it. I could get into serious trouble if someone found out that you know."

"But-"

"Please don't beg me, Oracus. As a friend I'm asking you to let this lie." Garrin shook his head anxiously. "If I could tell you then I would. But I can't."

Oracus struggled to hide his disappointment and he looked away from Garrin. He took a gulp of his ale and wondered why it was so important for Garrin to hold his tongue, and why it was necessary to keep Thessley a secret from the King of Pharia.

There was an awkward silence between the pair for a while, in which time Garrin bought two more tankards of ale. During sips, Oracus glanced at his friend and noticed an expression of concern on his face. He looked tired too, like their earlier altercation had drained him of energy.

Suddenly, there was a bustle from the table beside them as Elnir finished telling the story to his group of rowdy listeners. There was a scraping of chair legs as the men stood and drained their tankards. Then they all stumbled from the inn, leaving Elnir by himself at his table. The old man held a half-full flagon of ale in one hand and a smoking pipe in the other, while the breast pocket of his dungarees held more silver than Oracus would know what to do with.

Forgetting about the awkwardness between them, Oracus leaned towards Garrin and lowered his voice, "Do you know anything about the stories that Elnir tells?"

Garrin appeared to become even more concerned. "I wouldn't pay attention to him," he replied. "He's a strange man who takes coin from curious people and tells them nonsense."

"You think he speaks nonsense?" Oracus pressed.

"I think he has told the stories so many times before that he believes them himself."

"But it was Elnir who I heard talking of Riders and the icy lands to the south, Garrin. Obviously not everything he speaks is a lie."

Garrin's eyes narrowed and he suddenly became very serious. "You're stepping over the line, Oracus. I asked you before not to pursue this subject but you can't help yourself." He pushed his chair back and stood up, much to Oracus's surprise. "I can't be with you when you're being like this."

"You're leaving?"

"Yes," he said bluntly. "I'll see you again when I'm home in a few weeks."

"Alright, I'm sorry!" Oracus protested. "You don't have to go."

Garrin waved his hand dismissively and moved towards the door of the inn. "Goodbye, Oracus. Enjoy your ale." And with the slam of the door behind him, he was gone.

Oracus's first thought was to follow Garrin out into the night. He felt guilty for pressing his friend for answers, and he knew he needed to apologise properly. He rose from his chair and started towards the door, but a gruff noise from behind him caught his attention. Turning around, he saw that Elnir was snoozing in his chair with his bushy white beard resting on his chest. Every time he exhaled a breath, a firm grunt swiftly followed.