Uncle-Jaska's writings

 Whenever help was needed he went, be it lifting a broken wagon or treating the ill. During the celebration of beginning of the harvest season he was asked to sing any song he chose fit, perhaps to prove that he truly was a bard. He sang for the course of the whole party, a tale from faraway lands which the villagers had never heard before. After that it was not uncommon for him to be asked to sing in tavern or smaller occasions. And every time he left his audience either tear eyed from a touching song, or dying from laughter after a jolly drinking song. But when he was not singing he stayed quiet, only speaking when asked something.

A small smile rose to his lips when he thought about all the questions the kid had asked him. He was a good lad, even if some of his questions were difficult to answer. Perhaps the most difficult was when one night he had asked if he was a runesinger, since he could sing so well. The question struck him by surprise, so much that the old man had to scold the boy from asking so much. The old man himself knew, perhaps from the moment he first saw him. That much Tim guessed. But even if he truly did, never had he asked about him to show his power.

How wonderful it would be to live like them. Stay here in peace and tend to the land, only needing to worry about the turn of the seasons. But the road called to him, so strong was his need to roam. He would give one last thing as a gift to the old man and his grandson who had saved his life. Lifting his hands towards the house, he begun to sing quietly. Power flowed in his words and all other sounds seemed to quiet down and listen.

“A hovel stands on the estate, past the farmlands and fence's gate, wretched hut is so very small, fields bear fruit hardly if at all. From this hovel petite and bleak, with crooked roof and walls so weak, a sturdy cottage I will craft, the fields I shall sing full wheat's shaft, the timber I will to be strong, beams I'll set right where they belong, from now your fields always yield crop, never will they be filled with slop. Happiness I give to your part, thanks for the kindness of your heart.”

Once his song was done, he turned and left to the cold morning. Soon, the first snow of winter quietly fell over the land. Yet the old cabin withstood much in the coming years, and its field never succumbed to drought or disease.

Then the runesinger turned to travel down the road which he was dragged down what felt like only few weeks ago. He lifted the hood of his new travel cloak up. It was the only gift he had received from the villagers along with food for the journey. He gave a silent thanks to the old wife who had made it for him.

He spent his next few days alone, traveling southwards. Not that he minded being alone, there was plenty of time to listen to the world around him or deepen into thought. Sometimes he would sing to himself, the road and to the world around him. What the songs were about, no-one knows, for even if someone were there to hear, his voice was as low as a whisper. Whenever he was hungry, he ate some of the rations given to him, occasionally looking for berries in the forests near the road. The fresh snow made this a little difficult, but he found enough to stave off his hunger. For the night he set up a small lean-to and a fire to keep away the cold.

After four days he finally met another traveler, a traveling merchant hauling his wares south for the winter. After a while of arguing he agreed to let the traveler hitch a ride on top of his wagon. The pace was not much faster than walking as two oxen pulled the wagon, but after days of walking in the cold rest was a welcome change.

“What business you have in the south? I thought you farmers liked to stay indoors during the winter.” The merchant asked after few hours of traveling. He clearly didn’t like the stranger too much, but perhaps a chat could take the mind way from the cold.

“I am not a farmer, but a traveling bard. I spent some time as a farmhand though.” The other replied.

“Heh! Why’s that? People not paying enough for songs these days? Must have been a first time you’ve actually done any work. Well go on then, sing us something. Perhaps it’ll warm us a little.”

With a sigh Tim agreed to sing. A small price to pay for easier journey. It took a moment for him to think of a proper song, something he had heard travelers sing on their journeys.

“Long and tiresome is this road of mine, no fancy feasts with pork and wine, just bread and water for the weary, but one day I’ll see my deary.”

“On and on goes my road, sometimes narrow, sometimes broad. Where it leads, I don’t know, perhaps only time will show.”

“Oh how I hope to see you again, distance between us brings me pain, yet I hear the road calling to me, another time we’ll have to see.”

“On and on goes my road, sometimes narrow, sometimes broad. Where it leads, I don’t know, perhaps only time will show…”

He sang for a while before his song was reduced to humming. This way they traveled for a long time without words, the runesingers humming being the only noise besides soft crackle of snow under the wheels. Once they stopped for the night Tim finally broke the silence as they sat warming themselves by the fire.

“How long do you think until we get to the next city?”

“City? You’ll be walking a long way if you’re looking for a city. Though there is a town well be visiting on the morrow. And that’s as far as I’ll take you unless you have the coin to pay for your travel. I might be a good hearted man, but there is a difference giving to those in need and helping freeloaders.”

“I understand. Wake me up when you need help packing up the camp.”

Tim huffed, there was no reason to argue with the man aiding him, even if he thought him to be wrong. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself before falling asleep. Crackle of the flames sang a sweet lullabies to the travelers as they slept.

In the morning they packed what little they used while making camp and set back on the road. The day was well over noon when they saw other travelers, the first they had seen since meeting each other. Few farmers marching on the snow to buy and sell in the market. Their faces were rough and thin, worn from days of working in the fields. And now the cold winter would provide its own hazards for them. Tim did not envy them one bit. His way of life was definitely uncertain, but at least he was not bound to one place.

As the day went on they met more travelers. Though there wasn’t enough people to crowd the road, it was quite the chance from long solitude. Just as the merchant had said, they reached the town before evening. First small farms appeared on both sides of the road, and soon enough they could see the worn palisade protecting the town. Houses of less fortunate folk were built outside the gates, the crudest shacks resting against the palisade. Most certainly not safe in the event of an attack or a fire but the cold winters seemed more threatening than them. At least winter would always come.

“What is it called? The town I mean.” Tim asked the merchant.

“Eroka. I thought you bards travel a lot, you really haven’t been here before? It’s small, but still an important stop to travelers. Then again you probably look for big cities and not small towns.” He replied.

Thanking the other for his kindness, Tim hopped of the wagon and headed for the gate. Two men stood on guard at the gate, while four others inspected carriages and belongings of travelers. Both the men and their equipment had seen better days, their plates showing rust at places, gambesons’ hems torn. The men themselves looked like they never had seen proper battle, they leaned on their halberds like they had nothing better to do. All but the youngest of them, who on the contrary was too eager to pry people’s reasons for coming to their hometown.

They paid little attention to him only asking what was his business in the town. A moneyless bard looking for work didn’t seem like much of a threat or a troublemaker. Though he did seem to amuse them a little, small smirk appearing on their faces. In their minds there was no work for a bard, at least not in his own profession.

The town itself was nothing special, but still in better shape than the palisade was. Main street broke down to numerous smaller streets which in turn turned in to crooked little alleys, wide enough for only one man to walk them at once. The houses along the smaller streets were built less tightly than those outside and most of them had stone foundations. They were the workplaces of numerous artisans; barrel makers, bakers, smiths, tailors, butchers, carpenters along with every other profession a town needed to function. But he paid no attention to those shops, as he was looking for a place to find a job. And there was no better place for to look for a job than an inn. So he wandered the streets until he found what he was looking for.

The inn was large and wealthy looking, courtesy of the fact that it was the only one in town. A large plaque depicting a slumbering bear hanged over the door. Under the picture was the name of the inn, “Snoozing bear.” For some reason he found that name quite amusing.

It was dim inside, as the day was turning to evening. Candles had been brought out to every table and chandeliers were lit to bring more light as the day faded. A small fire played in the large fireplace at the center of the inn. The man who owned the place was standing behind the counter, cleaning glasses and serving his customers. Occasionally he instructed one of the barmaids to bring orders to the tables. He was stout man, no doubt made plump by the wealth his inn had brought him. Few strands of silver ran through his dark hair. His beard and mustache on the other hand were in perfect condition.

The other customers paid little attention to the stranger, there were plenty of folk traveling southwards out of winter’s way. Though the minstrel playing a lute was sure to make note of him, perhaps thinking about earning some coins from a song request. Tim approached the counter and the owner immediately started chatting to him.

 “Good day to you traveler, my name is Aleks! What can I do for you? I’ve got plenty of ales to choose from. This lovely dark brew came all the way from Algro couple of months back. Sure it’s a bit fancy, but it goes well with the chicken our cook makes. Or perhaps you’d like something else to eat? We’ve got a lot different meals.” The bartender said as he reached for a list of foods and drinks. However, the runesinger lifted his hand to halt him.

“I’ll have to stop you there, as good as all that sounds. I have no coin you see. I came here to look for a job. Do you know anyone who’d be willing to pay me for work? Anything goes, though I am a bard by trade.”

“Job eh? Well there’s not much work for bards around here, at least not until there’s a reason to celebrate. But I guess there is always need for spare hands.” Aleks said while stroking the sides of his mouth where his mustache became one with his beard.

“Sadly I do not need help here, I’ve got plenty of people to pay already. And as you can see I already have an entertainer for my inn. You might find job at the warehouses or as a laborer for the craftsmen.”

“I understand. Thank you for this information but there’s one more thing I’d like to ask you. Could you spare a meal for me? I’ll take anything you are willing to give.”

Aleks scratched his head for a moment before answering. “Well, I can’t go giving away free meals. I’d soon have hordes of beggars at my doorstep. But you seem like a good man… Tell you what, I’ll tell the girls to bring you whatever people leave on their plate. It might not be much or of the best kind, but I’m sure it’ll fill your stomach. Perhaps you’ll get lucky and someone leaves some of that chicken on their plate. Just don’t go around telling people I gave you something.” With that he left Tim alone and got back to his work.

He sat there for some time, occasionally taking a look around the inn to see if any of the customers left food on their plates. Few times his hopes got up when he saw a barmaid coming his way before he actually got a plate of leftovers, along with a pint of water. He gave a warm smile to the barmaid along with a thank you before starting to eat.

His meal was soon interrupted when the minstrel of the inn came to him. He was a young man of perhaps twenty summers, and as often young men are, full of himself. A smug grin rested on his powdered face when he looked down at the feasting man.

“Oh how low have the artists of this land fallen. Eating scraps left by others to survive. I heard you called yourself a bard. For a moment I were worried that my position was threatened, but now that I see there’s no way you compare to me.”

Tim continued eating, paying no attention to him which seemed to infuriate the minstrel as the corner of his mouth started to twitch. After a moment of silence he raised his voice. “Well? Aren’t you even going to defend yourself? Or are you too intimidated to see who you are up against?”

The other responded only after finishing his meal. He turned his head towards the minstrel and spoke in a calm manner as if he was explaining to a child what they did was wrong.

“I am not here to stay or to take your job. I’ll work here until I have enough coin to travel southwards, doing whatever job I am given. I have no interest in staying as an entertainer in a place like this. I am a wanderer, so your job is safe. Now could you please leave me alone?”

“A place like this?! Do you think I am in this excuse of an inn because I want to?! Years in the teaching of best singers of the wealthiest cities just to be stuck here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by drunks!”

 The minstrel was almost yelling now, and their quarrel had caught attention of quite a few customers. He could feel their angry gazes on his back. Tim let him take in the silence he had caused for a good while before speaking.

“That’s no way to speak of your workplace. Words carry weight. Mine far moreso than yours.” Then the runesinger broke in to a song.

“Without honor you sing your songs, with no regard for rights or wrongs, only yourself do you give praise, others with insults you braze. I'll sew your mouth shut with my song, only you may know for how long, until you know how to behave, 'till that you'll be silent as grave. “

By the time he finished his song the whole inn was silent, staring at the traveler in awe. “Go now, and may you find humility in your travels.”

The minstrel tried to speak but not a sound came out. A grimace of horror rose to his face as he realized what had happened. With shaking hands he went and grabbed his lute, never letting his eyes stray away from the runesinger. On his way towards the door he hit multiple tables and chairs, almost falling over. Once his back hit the door he halted for a moment, made a gesture used to fend of curses before slipping out the door and running for his life.

Tim watched him leave before sitting back down and took a last sip from his drink. He knew well that everyone looked at him, though it didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“Thank you for the meal.” He said to Aleks as he lowered the pint. The innkeeper was unsure how to respond at first. His fingers wavered a little as the petted his beard.

“You are welcome. You… You aren’t just any traveling bard are you? I’ve seen mages cast a curse upon someone. But to sing a man mute… Is he going to stay that way? Sure, he wasn’t all that nice but we don’t have any other bard. Unless you are willing to stay that is.”

“I did not lie when I said that I do not want his job. I can’t say how long he is mute either, it depends on himself. But I think he’ll learn humility soon.” The runesinger said as he stood up. “I thank you for your hospitality. Hopefully I can pay you next time.” With that he turned to leave and left the bartender to process what had happened. Though losing an entertainer would definitely be harmful for commerce, he couldn’t help feeling that the minstrel had earned this lesson.

Tim shuddered as he stepped outside. Spending such a long time in the warmth of the inn had almost made him forget the oncoming winter and the cold it brought. Following the bartender’s advice for jobs, he asked a passer-by for directions to the warehouses. They were located on the other side of the town so he hurried through the streets in hopes of catching the warehouse master. Luckily the streets were mostly empty as daylight started to diminish.

After few wrong turns and dead ends he could see the warehouses. Four large barns stood in middle of a small square, separate from all other buildings to protect them from fires. Two guards were posted on both sides of the door on each of the barns while few others patrolled the square. The men were clearly not happy about their posts, shuddering in the cold and occasionally muttering unpleasant things about their job. As he approached the warehouses one of the patrolling guards met him halfway and stopped him.

“What business do you have here at this hour? If you are here to check on your goods you’ll have to come back in the morning.”

“No, I’m not a merchant, just a traveling bard. I’ve come to ask if there was need for a pair of hands here.”

“I don’t know about that. Go ask the owner. He went home some time ago. It’s the large house at the end of that street. You can’t miss it.” The guard said and pointed at one of the streets at the edge of the square. Tim thanked the man and headed to the street pointed to him. Hopefully the owner of the warehouses would be kind enough to give him a place to sleep. Having to sleep outside while snow covered the street was not at all a pleasant idea. Especially if he’d have to survive the whole winter on the streets.

As the sun set he started to make his way down the street. It was clearly a wealthier part of town. The street was wider than most to allow carriages to carry merchandise from the personal storages of the towns rich. Houses were built from sturdy timber, their gables ornamented with complicated patterns. Many of the houses had sheds and storages next to them, few even a man guarding them. It seemed that even the poorest of the rich were not strangers to vanity. Another indication of wealth was the fact that the street itself was kept clean. Tim wondered if he too had to settle for such a job. So far things didn’t look too good for him.

Just like the guard had said, at the end of the street stood the largest house on the whole street. Unlike the other houses, it had a small fenced in yard thanks to its position, though the fence was low enough for even a child to jump over. A chicken coop stood against the side of the building, small shed next to it. Few of the birds still roamed around, paying no attention to the stranger hopping over the fence.

Tim stood in front house for a moment. It was quite a beautiful work of craftsmanship. A large porch covered the whole front of the house, three pillars holding up its decorated roof. At the top of each pillar a head of a wolf stared down the streets. Outer walls of the house had a lacquer coating. Or at least so he thought, it was hard to tell now that the sun had set.

Suddenly the door was opened and a man stepped outside. He wore expensive looking clothes and carried a lantern. “Go chase the chickens inside, they’ll be stolen otherwise. Pah. I work hard every day and all she does is invent new chores for me to do…” The man muttered, fixing the position of his belt as his eyes happened to the trespasser.

“Oi, what business you have on my yard at this hour? Spit it out before I call the guards!” He threatened while taking a step back.

“I’ve come to ask the warehouse master for a job. A guard pointed me here.”

“A job? Hmph. I don’t think there’s a need for another laborer. Or a guard. Not that you look particularly strong.” The master said, lifting his lantern up so he could see Tim better. “What exactly do you do for a living?”

“I am a traveling bard, but I’d do any job you give me. I’m hoping to have a job for the winter and once spring comes head Southwards. If I’m not fit to be a laborer, perhaps I could keep track of inventory. I know how to write and read, quite well might I add.”

“You wish to cross the marshlands? That’s a feat without either a hefty amount of gold to bribe the locals with, or a large armed escort. Both of which you seem to lack. Not that I care what happens to you. I’ve got no job to give. I already have a bookkeeper.”

Tim sighed heavily. He’d have to look for a job with the craftsmen, but that would have to wait for the morning. A more pressing problem weighed on his mind. “I see. Sun has set and the winter nights are cold. Would you be willing to give a place to sleep for a traveler? Anywhere is better than the streets.”                

The man thought for a moment before a hint of a smile came to his lips. “Tell you what, round up the chickens to their coop and you can sleep in the shed. There’s some old pelts there. Should be enough to keep you warm for the night.”

After thanking the warehouse master Tim got to work. The simple task was made difficult by the chickens, as they did not appreciate a stranger chasing them around the yard. But one by one he managed to chase them to their coop. He made sure they couldn’t escape again before going to the shed. It most certainly wasn’t much of a place to sleep, a pile of tattered pelts on the floor next to piles of crates. He grimaced as he moved under the pelts to sleep. Their stench was horrible, though he’d rather take the smell than the coldness of the winter night. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

The runesinger was awoken by a sharp pain in his abdomen. Air escaped his lungs and he curled up right before another kick hit his side. He lifted his gaze to see a spear pointed at his face, and a guard behind it.

“Get up, you have visitors! And you keep that mouth of yours closed or I’ll make sure it’ll open never again!”

Tim stood up with a grunt. A bad resting place had left him stiff, and being kicked certainly didn’t help. Now that he was standing he could see a man in deep blue robes behind the guard. A mage no doubt. But what had he done to anger a mage? The guard gestured him to move outside, where this question was answered.

Behind the mage cowered a familiar face. The minstrel he had sung in to silence. He took a step back and averted his gaze as soon as he saw the runesinger. At least he had learned his lesson, the runesinger thought.

“I thought I’d never see a runesinger in my days. Your sort is rare to happen upon these days. Much less one who attacks a person. What reason did you have to sing him silent? Though he has recovered his voice already, I cannot overlook this manner of offense. Gag and chain him.”

Before Tim could resist, the guard forced his hands behind his back and slammed a pair of cuffs on to him. There no reason to try to break free. Even if he came up with a song, the mage would silence him instantly. Or kill. So the runesinger submitted to his fate. No matter where he went, he always seemed to end up in chains. The guard showed him forward and they were on their way.

Much to his surprise, they did not head towards the jailhouse. Instead they headed to a lone stone cabin near the main road. The whole building was made of stone, even the roof. It was most likely built by unnatural means as the stone was impossibly smooth, as if it was raised straight out of the streets.

“Thank you for your help. I’ll manage on my own now.” The mage said to the guard, whom nodded and left the two alone. Then his captor opened the door to the house and beckoned Tim to enter. “Why would someone leave their house unlocked?” the runesinger questioned in his mind. But then again he wasn’t a mage, so he had no idea what sort of enchantments might have been cast on that door.

Inside of the cabin was dim, only a small fire crackled in a large stone oven. That soon changed as the mage light up numerous candles with a spell. Even though he possessed similar powers, it was impressing for him to see someone do so much with few words.

Though the candles were light, many corners of the house remained dark. Now that he could see Tim noticed bookshelves, cabinets and tables lined up against the walls, all containing curious trinkets and books. A comfortable looking bed had been pushed right next to the oven. No doubt to combat the coldness of winter.

The mage pulled a chair for each of them so that they sat opposite of each other. After a moment of staring judging the runesinger with his gaze he spoke. “I have no quarrel with you, I am simply doing what is my duty. I’m supposed to protect this town and its residents from anything magical. I heard you were looking for a job so that you can travel south come spring?”

Tim responded with a nod. He understood well that he had to do something to punish him or else he’d lose the respect of the townsfolk and his livelihood with it.

“I see. In that case, here is what I propose. You’ll work for me until spring, without pay for some time as a repayment of your crimes. Then you’ll get paid so you may be on your way. It’s either this or spending few weeks in a cell, after which no-one will give you a job. Do you agree to this?”

Again the runesinger nodded. He would be a fool to turn down such an offer. “Excelled!” The mage exclaimed as he stood up and moved to remove his bindings. “My name is Darien. No need to introduce yourself, I already know your name. And I have to urge you not to use your powers unless it is needed to help someone. They are common people, easily scared. We’ll begin on the evening. Look around or have a nap, but don’t touch anything.” Once his bindings were removed Darien moved his chair in front of a table, opened the book laying on it and begun reading as if he were alone.

Tim licked his lips. For a moment he sat on his chair, unsure what to do. Then he stood up walking in front of the oven in order to warm himself. He might be indoors now but a night in the shed had left him a little chilly. As he extended his hands towards the oven a glimmer resting on top of the oven caught his eye. Curious, he leaned a little closer and stood on his tiptoes to see better.

His breath escaped him as he found himself only few centimeters away from a large adder. It was curled up to a shape of an oval, its head resting on its midsection and faced right at him. The scales of the snake were grey on black, causing it to hide well within the darkness. No wonder he couldn’t see it properly. Tim didn’t dare to move as he had seen the speed a snake could strike, even from seemingly innocent poses. He took a deep breath and quickly pulled his head down. Much to his surprise the snake did not react in any way. A sigh of relief escaped him and he sat down to calm his pounding heart.

“You…Do know there’s a venomous snake on top of your oven?” He asked from the mage once he had calmed down.

“Ah, yes, you’ve met Richard.” Darien replied without lifting his gaze from the book. “Don’t try to have a staring contest with him. You’ll lose. Snakes do not have eyelids. Besides, he is hibernating now. It’s extremely hard to wake him up. During summer he keeps the house free of mice and other rodents, whenever he’s not with me.”

“So you keep him as a pet? While you do your job? Is that not dangerous? I’ve seen what a northern adder’s bite can do to a person. It is not pretty.”

“He’s quite harmless. He knows who I am and that as long as he’s with me no-one is a threat. And he does not move much, usually he sleeps in my pocket or hood. He has saved lives, I’ve brewed antidote from his poison and given it to people bitten by other snakes. Surely that is worth keeping the oven warm all year round?”

“I…Suppose it is.” Tim replied while eyeing the resting reptile on top of the oven. Darien seemed to trust the animal but he was not quite sure. He sat on the bed, eyes still locked to Richard.

Eventually Tim relaxed and allowed his gaze to wander around the room.  The bookshelves housed a variety of books of different size. Some of them were nothing more than plainly bound notebooks, some well decorated novels. A large part were textbooks on a variety of subjects, at least judging by their names. Sons and daughters of lust, insight to demons. Animals and plants of the north. Healing brews and ointments. Such an extensive library was not a surprising find in mages house. People often joked that the only reason copiers still had a job was due to mages and their thirst for more books.

His attention moved from the books to the items on a nearby table. Multitude of bottles and containers cluttered the table, containing all kinds of peculiar things. He stood up and went to get a closer look. Everything was labeled, though the handwriting was so shoddy it was impossible to read. Tim could only guess what the contents truly were. One bottle was filled completely by a reddish sand. A box right next to it seemed to contain coal. Jar behind them had some kind of green liquid. On the center of the table was a clear space, and in the middle of it rested a mortar and a pestle.  Miraculously enough they were clean.

The contents of the table were bizarre enough to hold his attention for a good while. The urge to pick them up and take a closer look was great but he knew it would irritate the mage. That, and the ingredients might be dangerous.

On the other side of the table stood another bookshelf filled with various tomes, though this time they seemed to be fiction, prose and religious texts. Tim easily recognized the Song book by its back. He had read it time and time again until he remembered every song it contained. The Great Songs were easy, as almost everyone had heard them at celebrations. But the less known folk songs had caused him some trouble.

Other books in the selves were stranger. Life of Laghen. Stheven. Demon of Lothrus. It seemed that Darien enjoyed reading novels. Or at least these books seemed to be novels as most of the religious text were simply labeled the subject they were about along with the name of the writer. Darien didn’t seem particularly religious, but the mage of a village should be acquainted with the beliefs of his people. Or perhaps he found the topic interesting? Tim shrugged at the thought. It wasn’t his place to question the mages taste in literature. He had promised him a job and a place to stay after all.

As he was about to return to sit on the bed, one unusual book caught his eyes. It rested atop the rest of the books and was the only one to be placed like that. The books back lacked all markings and was bound with dark black leather. Tim took a peek at the mage to see if he was still reading. Once he was sure he wouldn’t notice, the runesinger reached towards the bookshelf and took the book for closer inspection.

It was a surprisingly light book in Tim’s mind. Or perhaps the dark leather made it look heavy. He ran his finger over the back of the book while looking at its cover. The Black Book Of Death written in golden letters. Quite a dark name for a book, perhaps a taste of what was written between its covers? Necromancy, deals with demons, curses and hexes of the worst kind? Tim shot a glance over his shoulder towards the mage. If he dabbled in dark arts he’d have to warn the townfolk immediately. Such mages were widely known for their madness and dangerous experiments.

Before he managed to take a look at the books content, Darien closed the book he was reading. Hastily Tim’s hand shot towards the bookcase to place the book back. It was in place only seconds before the mage turned around. He didn’t seem to have notice anything, judging by his friendly smile.

“I think it’s time we had something to eat don’t you think?” The mage asked as went to one of the cabinets. He took out some bread, dried meat and cheese. It took him a moment to set aside everything that cluttered the table. Once the food was on started to look for something in the cabinet. “Come on, where have I put them…I ought to clean these someday.” For a moment longer he muttered before letting out a huff. “Pah, these will do just fine.” He took out a two small glass jars and set them on the table. Then he went outside, returning with a bucket of water.

“It’s not the grandest of meals, but quite good nonetheless. I always get a little better spiced meats and cheese. The perks of being the town mage.” Darien said as he sat down in front of the table. Hesitantly Tim pulled a chair next to him and sat. He eyed the food, but particularly the jar. Having seen what was in those other jars, drinking from one was suspicious to say the least. Darien poured both jars full of water and took a sip from his own. “Don’t worry, they are clean. I don’t use these jars to anything dangerous. Only jam.”

The runesinger took a careful sip from his jar. He didn’t taste anything in it, which calmed his suspicions. He took a piece of bread and devoured it quickly. It had been a while since he last ate. Next he piled some cheese and dried meat on top of a bread. Either his hunger made everything taste sublime, or there was some truth to what Darien had said about his food.

“Where exactly will we be doing in the evening? If you can tell me of course. I’d like to know what to expect.” Tim asked while munching on his food.

“Ah yes, we’ll be looking for flowers called nightblooms. Do you know of them? Like the name says, they bloom at night which is when they must be harvested. They can be used to sooth pain and fever. I’m hoping we could find some of before the snow destroys them completely.” Tim nodded while emptying his jar. He knew of them and had seen many of them. Beautiful, large white pedals that shined in the night. Which is why the common folk called them ghost flowers. Though he did not know how to use them in any way. But it was hardly surprising that a mage knew more than he did.

Once their supper was over Darien went back to his book, while Tim took a nap in the bed. He woke up few hours before they were leaving. They ate lightly before leaving for the forest. It was not the most pleasant journey. On the roads feet and hooves packed the snow tightly, but the woods had little travelers. Perhaps a rabbit at most. The snow came almost to their knees yet the mage insisted they’d search for the flowers.

Both of them had a torch to light their search, and holding it properly while crouching down was quite hard. At least to Tim it was. The mage occasionally shouted to him, telling where to look for the flowers. He seemed to be perfectly happy shoveling away snow with his hands, maybe to find flowers as white as the snow itself. Tim would have left after few hours but Darien kept them working long in to the night. Near the end Tim couldn’t hold back curses under his breath. Both his hands and feet had been soaked for hours and he no longer could feel them. Yet they remained in the forest.

A sigh of relief left him when the mage finally called him over and told him they’d leave. Darien spoke throughout their trek back towards the town, telling him every use for the flowers they have found. Once he was finished with the uses of nightblooms, he continued talk about the plants related to nightblooms and their uses. Tim stopped listening even before they were out of the woods but that didn’t seem to discourage the mage. How could a man remain so happy after something so unpleasant?

Soon enough the town came to view. Journeys always seemed to be faster when a pleasant bed was waiting for the traveler. In the dark, only few trails of smokes and lights gave away that the shacks around the town walls were inhabited. The sight of the town gates gave him some strength. Soon he’d be warming by a fire, after which he’d go to bed. Guards greeted them before opening the gates. His heart went out for them. They’d have to stand around in the cold night for the following few months with naught to do. Even if his work was hard and the way to the woods long, at least he had had something to do.

"Runes. Everyone knows of them. The rune of the Smith etched to an anvil or another tool, the rune of the Mother painted on the stomach of a young mother, the rune of the Taken on the forehead of a slave, and so forth. Though ordinary folk use these runes to as charms that give good luck or protect, a person who possesses power and knowledge can give them real effect." The old man said, sitting in his rocking chair. Though he looked old, hair and long beard both shining white as the tops of mountains, his eyes were bright and attentive. It was clear that he had seen much in his time. He had a pipe in his mouth and took occasional puffs from it. Next to the old man on the porch sat a young boy, asking his grandfather about everything imaginable as they watched people pass by. Their village was rather small, though built along a busy road so travellers were a common sight. And a house on the outer edge of the village was a fine spot to watch them go.

"Where was I? Oh yes, the runes. They say everything has its own rune, every item, action and animal. Though those are not known by everyone, like the Great Runes. These lesser runes also don't have songs but they still have their names."

"Where did the runes come from? And what about the people who know how to use them?" The young boy asked, fascinated by this topic and eager to hear more. His elder took a long puff from his pipe, clearly in no hurry to answer.

"No one knowns where they come from. That knowledge was lost even before the first kingdom of man was built. All the scholars know is that all writing has come from the runes. That's why some letters look a little like runes. Now for your other question. People who can use runes to their full potential are called mages or runesingers. Now, you should not mix the two, mages and runesingers are different, even if their powers are similar. I do not know or understand much about the details but I'll tell you what I know. A mage casts spells through his own power, giving charge to the rune. Runesinger draws his power from the rune itself, forming a song about what he wants to happen. Of course, they both can use their powers without etching or drawing runes. They are powerful, and you should always treat them with respect."

The boy nodded, about to say something when four men slowly rode in to the village. Each of them held a long spear and a sword rested on side hip. Their armor was heavy and black as the darkest night, while a red cloak hanged from their shoulders. Visors of their helmets were down hiding their faces. They rode in loose formation, two riders side by side and two behind them. In the middle of them walked a shabby looking man, chained and gagged. His hair was long tangled mess, shirt and trousers mere rags stained by mud and rain. His beard was uneven and wild, an overgrown hedge to the unkept forest of his hair. He tried to look around discreetly every now and then. One of the riders noticed this and poked him in the back with his spear if his gaze wandered from the road for too long.

The boy was excited, knights (to him, any man wearing armor was a knight) were not often seen in their village and even if they were, they rode quickly through it. But these men were different, they weren't in a hurry so you could get a good look of them. Right when he was going to ask about these riders and their prisoner, his grandfather silenced him with a raised hand. "That's enough questions for this evening. Go inside."

"But-" "No buts. Go inside." The child hung his head low and slowly dragged himself inside. The elder watched the riders slowly make their way towards the center of the village. These riders were bound to bring trouble.

Few moments later the old man decided to head to the center of the village after the riders. As always before he left, he told the boy to lock the door and stay inside. Even though he was old, years of exercise and work had done their job and he moved quickly, though still not matching the speed of younger people. Not to mention to the riders. In the center of the village, at a tavern located on the side of the main road was buzzing as the villagers mobbed to see the rider’s prisoner. He had been left outside, chained to the drinking through of the horses but he wasn't able to drink. That poor devil the villagers gawked at while sharing their opinions on his role.

"He's a slave of highborn origin when they have four men for one prisoner. They're taking him up North to the big cities." One of the villagers said. "He don't even have a rune on his forehead. A thief, and a wizard at least. That's why four men and a gag." Replied other.

"That one's guards are not men. Black Sisters, mercenaries and bounty hunters. Fight like a bear with a sore head. Thief's hand would have been cut, wizard would have lost his tongue. Go gawk at something else." The old man said as he passed the mob. Feeling a little ashamed, few of the villagers returned to their homes, but not everyone listened. Inside the tavern the riders had already chosen a table for themselves and quenched their thirst without caring about the stares of the villagers or other travellers. Their helmets rested on the table or at the feet of their owners. Hair was kept short or tied tightly. They were perhaps in their thirties, but experience from several battles shine from their faces, along with a few scars. All of them watched a little confused as the old man sat at their table.

"Your kind aren't often seen in our part of the world. Your fellow traveller is awfully strange. I'd much like to hear about your journey and him." The old man said while hailing the waitress to bring another round for the travellers. Eldest of them, apparently leader of the group grinned widely.

"So, grandpa wants some more stories to tell? Perhaps we could tell something. But you'll answer first. Are you this village's wizard old man, or just seen the world when you recognized us? And have you heard any news from Torasnus?" The woman's voice was clear, if you only heard her voice you could have thought that she was a singer.

"Wizard I am not, that position belongs to Edmun. Instead I have seen the world, travelled as a mercenary like you. The only thing we've heard from Torasnus is that the old lord has died few weeks backwards." As he talked the warrior’s expressions tightened and one of them cursed quietly.

"Is that so... In that case that man is not much fun for us. The lord of Torasnus wanted him you see. He didn't tell why, but would have given us a good pay. We won't drag him with us anymore, all that's waiting for is a shallow grave." The leader of the group said coldly, as if she was just talking about putting down a sick sheep.

"I doubt there's need to kill a healthy man. I just so happen to have a need for an able man, grandson isn't strong enough to help me on the fields you see. With a little rest, he would make a great helper. Would you be willing to sell him?"

"Rarely do the people of the north ask that... Sisters?" She asked, looking at each of her companions. After a moment of contemplating each of them nodded, and she turned back to the old man. She spoke quietly so that other customers wouldn't hear. "50 silver. A fraction what we were promised, but I doubt we can get any money from him otherwise. Cut the tongue within two weeks. He knows magic. We gave him poison that takes the speech away for some time. We'll burn the Rune when we get paid."

"25 silvers. He's weak enough already, the cutting might kill him. I'll burn the Rune myself, it brings bad luck to have someone else do it. You'll get your pay on my cabin on the southern edge of the village. Bring him before nightfall." He responded, and after a moment of haggling they got in to an agreement 32 silvers, though the warriors were a little sullen.

The old man left the sisters alone and headed home. His pace was rather brisk and once he was sure that no-one saw him, he broke to almost to a sprint. At least for a moment, as the old age had done its job. Once he was back at the cabin, he hastily unlocked the door and stepped inside.

It wasn't much of a place to live, but a home nonetheless. It consisted of two rooms, main room with a fireplace and a small excuse of a bedchamber, which had two nooks for sleeping.  There wasn't much furniture, and what they had was old and worn. A table in a corner with two chairs pushed under it, a few wall mounted cupboards and a cabinet.

"Boy! Go light the sauna and carry some water for a soup! After that you'll go to bed and stay there until I say you can come out. No buts. And be quiet." The old man said to his grandson as he started to light a fire to the fireplace. For a moment the boy hesitated, but soon ran outside. It was best not to question grandpa when something was clearly up.

When the child had left to do what he was told to, the old man kneeled in front of the fireplace. Carefully he began knocking on the floorboards on the right side of the hearth. One of the boards fell in slightly. He pressed it further down, forcing the other end to rise up. Underneath laid a satchel, worn by wear and sunlight.

The old man reached for it, opening the buckles with haste. Inside was a small fortune in silver and gold, spoils of war fought long ago. Once he had taken the agreed upon prize and placed it to his purse, he made sure to hide his savings well.

As the boy came back with the water, he had just got the fireplace lit. "Good lad. Now go to bed. We'll speak about this another time." The old man said as he poured water in to a large kettle. The child did as he was asked, disappearing behind the curtains of his nook. As the elder waited for his purchase to arrive, he prepared a soup and made sure that sauna was warm enough to have a wash in. Then he just sat and watched as the fire played on the logs in the fireplace.

A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. He took a deep breath before opening the door. As he had expected, he was met by the Sisters and their prisoner, whom was still in chains.

"Rather small place to keep a slave." The Sisters leader noted, looking in through the doorway. "More importantly, it does not seem like the home of a wealthy person. You do have the money?" She asked, her tone making it quite clear what would happen if his response was anything else but yes.

"But of course." The old man said, handing her the silver from his purse. A sliver of disbelief shined from the women's faces, before they gave a nod to their leader. Once she had counted the coins, she handed the shackles and an iron ring to the old man.

"Well, he's yours now. Grab your iron and mark him. We'll be on our way then. Of course we can help you, if you so desire."

"By all means. Escort him to the sauna an-"

"Sauna? What's stopping you from doing it now? You already have a fire burning, a poker would be burning hot in an instant." Her expression grew tight, hand reaching towards the hilt of her sword. "You are not trying to trick us are you?"

"Well I can't give a dirty offering to the gods can I!? No, you need to wash away their dirt, their past life. Hmph, youth these days. No respect for the gods." The old man muttered as he moved the prisoner towards his sauna.

For a moment it looked like she would draw her blade, but she soon let out a huff and turned around. "Blah. Northeners. Do as you please old man, we are leaving now." With that the women put on their helmets and mounted, leaving the village the way they had come in. As they rode, the old man escorted his slave to the sauna and made him sit on the benches. He took of his shackles and spoke gently.

"Bathe for as long as you like. There's hot water in the stove, the vat is quite cold by now. I'll be waiting you outside with clean clothes. Just knock when you are done." The prisoner washed himself, and once he was dressed the two headed for the cabin. Inside, a kettle full of steaming soup awaited them.

They sat down in front of the fireplace. The prisoner seemed suspicious of all of this, but made no effort to flee. Either he had submitted to his faith, or lacked the energy to try and flee.