By Rebecca Morgan
“Bert! Another.”
I throw my empty tankard against the wall, where it clangs and rolls under a table. The customers there give me a look of wariness and move to hide in a shadowed corner. They are the fortuitous ones. Shadows no longer hide me.
Bert gives me a look of disgust as he slams the fresh ale in front of me. Froth spills over the edges onto the worn, sticky table.
“Your tab, Rian, is high. You owe me another mucking of the stalls.”
“When I have time.” I take a long gulp before I set my drink down, gasping for breath.
Bert still stands beside me, so I wave him away and sink down into my drink. It drips down my beard. Onto ale-stained clothes. But I don’t care. I drink to forget the time I fought vagabonds and slayed dragons. Aided the old. Defended the weak. Held the enemies of my country at bay. Then, I had thick, auburn hair that the ladies would swoon over. I could have had my choice of many. The one I did choose left. But that was all a lifetime ago.
The door to the public house opens, letting in a cold draft that bites through my threadbare clothes. I hide from the cold in another swill.
“Excuse me, sir.” A soft voice intrudes on my rumination.
I continue drinking, letting the ale numb my emotions, my stomach burning with pain as the alcohol consumes it.
“Sir?” The voice comes again. A hand rests on my shoulder, delicate and apprehensive.
I lower my tankard and jerk away with a scowl.
A young girl shrinks back. Thirteen, I’d say. But I don’t trust my own judgment anymore.
“Girl,” I grunt. “Leave me.”
She stays in place as her eyes widen slightly, rocking back and forth on her heels. Murmurs of conversation die away as the other patrons watch.
“But I really need your help, sir. The villages in the mountains are being tormented by marauders. The messengers we sent never returned.” Her voice falls. Eyes fill with tears. “I’ve walked so far.”
The mountains are two days by horseback, with a healthy horse. I couldn’t imagine walking. My heart twists, but I repress the feeling.
The young girl takes a deep breath, and I hold up my hand. “Take your story elsewhere. I’m busy.”
“It isn’t a story,” she whispers as she takes in my grotesque abdomen. My filthy clothes and unkempt self. My name no longer falls from people’s lips. So how she heard of me, I do not know. A frown pulls at her forehead. “Are you not Sir Rian the Resilient? The village Master said I could find you here.” Her eyes fall to my worn scabbard with my coat of arms. “Though he laughed while he pointed me here.”
Her childlike innocence is a sharp blow to my chest. “The man you are looking for died long ago.” I mutter.
“That’s no surprise.” A rough voice scoffs from behind me.
Anger burns in me, fueled by drink. I stand up, knocking my chair over with a clatter. “Who said that?”
Bert pauses from cleaning a tankard to give me a look of pity. I hate pity. No one answers. Some avoid my gaze. Others glare.
I’m used to sneers and taunts as I walk down the street. Buckets of refuse being thrown in my path. So I never go outside anymore. Betrayed people don’t forget easily.
“Why did they send you, lass?” Bert sets his rag down.
The girl’s eyes survey the room of men watching her. “There is no one else. They are dead or off saving what little is left.” Her eyes return to me. “I ran away to get help myself. My uncles have told me stories of Sir Rian and what he did in the wars. We had heard of his… fall from grace but I thought, I hoped…” She steps closer. The calming scent of lavender fills my nostrils beneath the dirt and grime that covers her. She really has come so far…
I stare down into my ale. Watch the hopes I’ve lost dance in the amber liquid. Lost hope cuts deeply in the soul.
“I haven’t fallen from grace,” I whisper.
“Oh yes.” One of the men I drove into the shadows crows. “How the mighty have fallen. My father fought with him also in the wars. Never stopped talking about his idol Sir Rian.” The speaker spits my name out as if it were foul. “He won’t help you, lass.”
The jeers that follow sting. A raw unhealed wound. It bleeds my soul dry. I can see the hope die in her eyes. Replaced by disgust. Loathing. But I’ve seen it before. So why does hers hurt worse?
I look at the man. Clean-shaven face. Clothes disgustingly neat and pressed. No ale in sight. Only a plate with dregs of stew left behind. The gods are taunting me, showing who I used to be. The image hurts worse than words ever could.
“But I will come.” The man rises. His sword gleams in the firelight compared to the dullness that has settled on my own. Assenting murmurs follow. The sound of scraping chairs on stone. It would be so easy to clean my own sword. To walk out the door into the night and join the gathering ones. But that was before I let terror rule the day and faintheartedness snuck her claws into me.
The girl’s shoulders fall in relief and gratitude. She turns away. A few men follow. I stay in my seat. Empty my tankard to forget the look on her face. To drown the despair and hopelessness.
Songs and ballads of hope and victory were written once. Now they sing songs of lost loves and pride that brings you down. I am so weary and no longer try to fight.
I slam my tankard down.
“Bert, another.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wow!!!! I continue to be impressed by your writing! I really enjoyed this story and how in such a short time you developed Rian’s character. Keep up the good work!
Thank you!
a fallen hero, sad, poignant, out of shape, dirty… we feel his shame, his inability to act…
I like the way you developed his mood combined with the disgust of those around him. Fear of failure is a paralyzing thing.
Thank you! And yes, it definitely is.
Rebecca, you are very talented. Your descriptions of the setting and characters transported me to that time and place. Much success in your continuing endeavors.
Ahhh. Thank you, Mrs. Gail
Wow, Rebecca, this was excellent. I want to read a novel about Sir Rian now!
Well Done Rebecca! Very descriptive and like the first person perspective.
Thanks Amy!
The worldbuilding for this one… was absolutely stunning.
It hurt my heart, though. :'(
Such a sad ending! Very thought-provoking.