Freystein's Tale: Misfits (Ch. 7)

• Posted by Incomitatus March 10, 2014 - 866 views

  When I awoke near mid-day on my 18th in this world, I expected to again be hailed as a conquering hero.

  I was wrong.

  I had slain, mutilated, and placed on display a trio of bandits the night before. I had done it for these people, at the behest of their blacksmith, and now none of them would meet my eye.

  I purchased some bread and a leg of venison from the gruff barkeep and returned to my room. I wasn't in the mood to find out what was going on. Instead, I took stock of my injuries: my armor had held against their blows, but chain can only protect so much and my sword arm was a deep mottled purple from elbow to shoulder. It wasn't broken, but the slightest movement hurt a great deal. I wouldn't be good for much for a couple days, at least.

  So I did the most sensible thing a warrior can do when he's out of the fight: I went back to sleep.

  Faendal came by and woke me early in the evening. He wanted to know if I was really the one who killed the three bandits in the shore road camp the previous evening. I confirmed that I was. Apparently some travelers from Falkreath had nearly run into town mid-morning, frightened by the discovery of three men, savagely killed, stripped bare, and marked with a strange symbol. Everyone knew I had been out in the wilds the night before and assumed that the killings must be my doing.

  I knit my brows and searched for the words before saying, "Yes, it was me. I thought people would be happy the bandits would trouble no more."

  Faendal sighed, leaned back in his chair, and said, "Killing bandits is one thing. Mutilating their bodies and placing them on display is something else."

  "I did that to frighten their comrades, in the mine," I explained.

  "I know that. I was a ranger in the war," Faendal said, as he gave me a tight lipped smile. I didn't know that word, ranger, and the confusion must have shown on my face, because he continued, "It means that I've done the same, and worse, many times." He stood, then and took a couple steps toward the door. He turned with his hand on the latch and said, "Give it some time, and when you assault Embershard Mine, just don't carve on the bodies or line them up neatly by the road. Once the trade starts flowing again, they'll all know who to thank. Now get some rest, you look terrible."

  With that he was gone, and I lay in my bed, thinking how strange these people were. Didn't they know war when they saw it? Weren't they in the middle of one?

  Sleep came again after a couple of hours and I dreamed of my childhood on Orkneyjar. How I wished I could go home.

  I rested through the 19th day. Gerdur came and worked with me on the language that evening, but I could tell she was uncomfortable, which made me uncomfortable. I was glad when she left.

  On the 20th, my arm had healed enough that I could use it, and I spent the morning chopping wood to loosen the joints up again. Hod didn't have anything to say to me when he paid me my wages at mid-day. I spent the afternoon practicing forms with my sword and testing my arm. As long as I kept it active, it seemed to be fine. I resolved to strike the mine early the following morning.

  When I returned to the Sleeping Giant, the skald... bard... Sven pulled me into a dark corner.

  He said something about Camilla Valerius. I had to search my memory... shopkeeper's daughter, I thought... and Faendal. He clearly expected some sort of a response from me, but I hadn't really understood him. He spoke too fast and too quietly. I grunted in an agreeable manner and he continued on for a bit, before giving me a letter and asking me to give it to Camilla.

  I didn't have much use for letters. Only holy men learned to read where I came from and I was certainly not a holy man. I knew enough to know the writing looked different here, anyway. I couldn't tell what the letter said, and I really didn't want to be a messenger, but Sven had already walked away and was beating on some drums and not paying me the least bit of attention.

  I muttered, "Guess I'm Ratatoskr now," and went down to the Riverwood Trader. I found Camilla and thrust the letter at her and said, "Here, from Sven," and turned to leave.

  I was just about out the door when she yelled, "Wait!"

  When I turned back, she ran over to me and asked, "You said this was from Sven?"

  I assured her it was, that he had just given it to me not five minutes before. This appeared to upset her greatly. I waited while she sputtered and cursed and when she calmed down a bit, she asked me to go tell Faendal that she wouldn't be spending any more time with Sven.

  Ratatoskr, indeed, I thought, but I agreed... anything to get out of there without upsetting her further. When I found Faendal and told him the news, he seemed to be very happy for some reason and wanted to know what had happened. I told him I had no idea, but a letter was involved. I also offered my opinion that nothing but trouble comes from writing things down.

  "Nevermind, he said, "it's the result that matters." Then he dug into his pockets and gave me some gold and offered to join me when I attacked the mine. I'd seen what he could do with a bow, and figured having an archer at my back could only help. Besides, I thought, no saga I could think of had the hero going into battle beside an alfar. I would be the first. 

  "By the way," Faendal interrupted my musings, "there's a second entrance to the mine, if you didn't know."

  So much for an alfar by my side, then. I'd need to leave him to guard the second entrance, in case any of the bandits tried to escape. Still, I couldn't do all that by myself, so I told him I'd be glad for his help. He left to get his gear and a quick dinner from his home, and I began walking back to the inn to do the same. I was just passing the smithy when Alvor called me over.

  The burly man was nervous, and kept wiping his hands on his apron while he spoke.

  "Sorry, I, uh... haven't been around to thank you. It's just... I didn't," he cleared his throat, "I didn't realize you were going to be so... um... effective. Yes, effective..."

  I just kept staring at him with what I hoped was a blank expression.

  He continued, still wiping his hands, "So uh... that chain and leather armor worked pretty well, I guess, but um... in the mine you won't have room to move around as much, so I... uh... made you something. Be right back with it." He went into his house, then, and came out a few minutes later with a large, and obviously heavy, bundle.

  It was an iron curaiss, like the bandit leader at the camp had worn, only this one also had a chain byrnie and a leather jerkin to wear beneath it. After Alvor helped me strap it all on, I could tell that, while it was heavy and would limit my mobility a bit, it would also provide substantially more protection from heavy blows than my lighter armor would.

  I wouldn't normally want to wear something that heavy in the open, but Alvor was right. In a confined space it would be a much better choice.

  I thanked him as neutrally as I could - he hadn't stopped nervously wiping his hands when he could the whole time - and stepped out of the smithy, newly armored just as Faendal jogged up.

  We left Riverwood together, heading west, two outsiders who had seen too much death.