Sixteen

When Sylvie said this, Sebastian stopped to readjust his boots and to think about the scenery, what she said about the settlement and about the weather. A lovely shrine, Lady Land. He glanced down the slope. Very lovely, as a matter of fact.

He stretched mightily, catching up with brisk, long strides. The tension in his shoulders and legs reminded him of exactly how far they had walked so far. "All right. I think we will, too," he said, looking around contentedly. "I hope Garya Cross has an inn. Do you know?"

"It does. This road meets another one there; they get more traffic."

The winding road slowed them down where someone else took the direct way. Ayu-Asra had finally caught up, quietly this time, saving his breath for flying. Since it was a more convenient landing space than anyone's shoulder, he dropped onto Sebastian's hat and clung on.

Sebastian fidgeted a little and stopped, tilting his head backward first. "What in the name of..." When the weight on his hat didn't seem to shift, he raised both hands and took it off.

Ayu-Asra received a part amused, part warning glare.

The dragon ducked its heads, then the left tilted and cooed quietly.

Sylvie had likewise stopped and now watched the scene not quite managing to suppress her chuckle.

"Fine," the half-elf said and plopped the hat back on his head. As he resumed his walk, he shook his head and sighed. There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes when he glanced at Sylvie, eyebrows raised as if he was posing a silent question.

Sylvie shrugged, still grinning. She had enough diplomacy (or possibly self-consciousness) left not to suggest they could make up a freak show.

"Thanks."

The dragon meanwhile was not entirely happy with his shaking seat, and with some bending and flapping instead took hold of the folds of Sebastian's jacket, from where he climbed on his shoulder.

"For what?" he asked, now regarding the little dragon with a smug, victorious smile. Even so he did nothing to shake the dragon off his shoulder. But he was still thinking about the joking exchange he had had with Sylvie about Ayu-Asra's ability to find her.

"For neither handing him back to me nor trying to break his necks."

"Oh, that. My pleasure. He's kind of adorable, in that annoying and bothersome way," Sebastian said, then smiled self-deprecatingly. A bit like you, old chum? "It's not as if he weighs that much anyway. Just play nice," he said, directing the last three words at the dragon.

Sylvie nodded slightly, and Ayu-Asra gave another peaceful coo.

A little later he started gnawing Sebastian's ear affectionately.

Sebastian had always felt that settlements built near or over crossing roads were tempting fate, and so a part of him wanted to check the side of the road for four-leafed clovers. Garya Cross wasn't at all much different from the previous village, what with the scattered homesteads and their fields and granaries surrounding the settlement.

It was larger than the previous village, and though not large enough to call it a town, Garya Cross certainly seemed to be active enough. It was reasonably logical enough, and almost typical, Sebastian noted, as there were bound to be merchants travelling the roads as well: he wouldn't have been surprised if Garya Cross posed as a market "town" as well.

Sebastian considered the time and their chances, thoughtfully scratching Ayu-Asra between the necks as they neared the first buildings. "Looks pleasant enough."

Sylvie hummed assent. She much preferred towns and cities to villages, but as those things went, it wasn't so bad here.

Noticing the first curious looks directed at them mostly focussing on Sebastian, she asked, smiling, "Should I take the dragon?" She would not have minded being stared at less than on the way from Canyet, but it seemed unfair towards Sebastian.

Sebastian, having noticed the looks as well, turned a stare at the two tiny heads and thought for a while. "If you want him," he decided. "I don't mind either way, as long as I can keep him from eating my nose." At the same time he wondered if it was a part of his natural urge to make a scene out of things. Already he could tell he was walking in a certain way, and there was a smile he had to suppress as well as he could...

Ayu-Asra started to squirm under the half-elf's stare, which was the final straw that made Sylvie take him back. He jumped over on her hand as soon as she raised it and took up perch on her shoulder, from where he looked around excitedly.

Sylvie whispered to the dragon to calm him down so he wouldn't fly away; around settlements she preferred having him near, since you never knew what kind of nonsense he might get up to on his own.

The inn, by the sign of Two Oaks, already had a few guests when they reached it. It would probably fill up with locals later.

The air inside wasn't that bad, or at least not as bad as he had expected. There wasn't too much sawdust, either. Even the looks they received weren't too bad - at least the keeper looked hopsitable, but Sebastian wasn't sure if the expression on the woman's face meant she approved entirely. Granted, he looked out of place, what with bright eyes, but at least his ears were covered by his hair... which itself didn't seem common here, nor did he remember it being common.

Therefore he understood the curiosity in the looks he received. The looks Ayu-Asra, and therefore Sylvie, got... well, he supposed those were just as founded. They were, thankfully, fleeting looks, and the guests minded their own business and conversations as they two made their way across the room.

"Hello," he said simply and suffocated an insistent smile as they made it to the innkeeper. After a hospitable enough of a greeting, some negotiation concerning the price of rooms and the chance to clean up a little, it was time for some food.

The thick stew was heavy on vegetables, but even contained the occasional bit of meat, which might have been better news for some people if it hadn't been chicken.

Luck had it that there were free seats right next to a window, so the dragon could sit on the sill and nip outside without bothering any other guests. He was quite well behaved today; if he was brighter than he let on, maybe he didn't want to fly most of the next day, too.

Sylvie was tired, and happy letting the buzz of conversation wash over her without trying to catch any words, occasionally feeding the dragon a shred fished out of the soup.

The company around them gradually became more lively, particularly around a stocky man in clothes somewhat more garish than those of most guests'; probably not a local, but maybe not unknown here.

Poultry though it was, Sebastian found something humourous about the situation and ate as if the meaty bits were something else. The half-elf - also happy to just listen as he was to talk - paid good care to what was going on around the stocky man, watching with him with a bright-eyed curiosity.

He put two and two together and so wasn't too surprised when it turned out the man was, in fact, a travelling storyteller or minstrel. Sebastian spent a while listening to the man's voice alone, a gently rising and fading baritone that he immediately wanted to hear sing a song or two.

What he wasn't expecting was the story...

He stopped chewing for a moment as a feeling of foreboding came upon him.

"Not in my time or yours," said the stocky man, wearing a grin the shape of a melon slice, "there was a great deal of mischief about. Some say it was by Lesswain, some say Nerhoill - it doesn't matter anymore, but for now let it be Lesswain.

"In those days there were great and powerful bandits, each with their aspirations and dreams of wealth, respect and power. The troublemakers were an equal match to the ruling exalted lords, who sent mercenary, bountyhunter and assassin alike after these men who proved to be troublesome even when fighting between themselves.

"Some mercenaries would win their battles, but never to fight again: the pay was not enough for such a risky business. Some bountyhunters and assassins succeeded: most did not, but kept these troublemakers from uniting. The bandits, however, sent their own assassins to deal with the exalted lords and continued their merry path to fame and fortune."

Sebastian had completely stopped eating by now and was openly staring at the storyteller, managing to only absent-minded instead of surprised. A part of him thought the story was rolling a bit too slowly, but this part found it was being ignored.

"They spoiled the two harvests of the year until the peasants had just about enough of their ugly mugs! Villages and towns stood up to these men and their troops." The storyteller paused, lowering his voice. "This bravery was also foolhardiness and caused the deaths of many. But the peasants and soldiers together drove many of the troublemakers to their deaths at the gallows. But farms were sacked nonetheless when one bandit lord, an unkempt but mighty archer called Cowled Willy gathered the escaped men of the other bandits.

"On one such farm shortly after it was robbed clean, a fox made slender by hunger had snuck up to a chicken coop only to find it empty. Confused by this the fox first suspected a trap, but was greeted by sobbing instead of a hatchet. It is uncertain why the fox went to find out what the sobbing was about - perhaps it was curiosity, maybe compassion, perchance just a sick sense of humour."

The half-elf turned his spoon a little guiltily.

"The old farmer was too upset by his farm being robbed to first notice the fox. 'Is something the matter, grandfather?' asked the fox. 'You have no chickens.'"

The storyteller shifted his voice slightly to portray the old farmer. "'Of course I have no chickens! They took it all! Grain, ox and chickens!'

"'That is too bad,' said the fox, unable to understand why the old farmer hadn't done something about his plight already. 'Well, where did they go?'

"The farmer told the fox, still too teary-eyed to see that he was talking to a fox. He also warned the fox: they were Cowled Willy's men, practiced in barbaric and vile acts. The fox was no longer there to hear this and would probably been too busy with his plots to hear the warning anyway!

"The fox found Cowled Willy that night, camped with his bandit army by the bridge that crosses one of the three great rivers of Lesswain that flow with such intensity that a man could swim across with only a determined effort. Without as much as a second thought the fox walked up to a sentry in the darkness and simply asked: 'Do you see anything?'

"The sentry had been sleeping at his post and woke up with a start. 'No, too damn dark to see anything. Is it time?' The fox said yes without a moment's hesitation and licked his paw. The sentry smiled into the direction of their camp and, yawning and rubbing his eyes, walked toward the sleeping men near the wagons.

"The fox snuck behind him and padfooted into the safety of a wagon's undershadow, where he waited for the man to fall asleep. Nobody saw the fox enter the wagon and make short work of some of the food. But he still craved chicken, for it is a well-known truth that a fox will do anything for chicken. Unfortunately for him the chickens were too close to the men and in locked cages.

"Frustrated, the fox wandered toward the river and hoped it would help him find a way to get him his chickens."

The storyteller swigged some ale and, for the first time, noticed the stare of bright green eyes that were glazed over. Having flashed the same broad grin at Sebastian he continued his tale.

"Halfway to the river he felt a pair of hands grab him by the neck. It was a dirty man wearing a large hat and a cloak full of different writing symbols from lands faraway. 'What do we have here?' asked Cowled Willy. 'Is it a little fox, now, is it? And my, what wonderful coat of fur you have.' The fox grinned at him. Cowled Willy scoffed. 'We can't have you wandering around in our camp!' Having said that, he ordered two of his men to tie the fox to a log and to send him down the river."

Sebastian decided that was a good moment to pretend he was more interested in his stew.

"Down the stream the fox went, barking and howling as the log narrowly dodged rocks. The final obstacle the log could not steer clear of: it was a dam built by a pair of proud beavers, who happened to be sitting on the dam when the fox and the log came a-crashin'. The sound of the collision was terrible and could be heard all the way to the bandit camp, where it was greeted with a roaring chorus of laughter!

"The beavers, upset, began to give the fox the beating of the century. 'Stop, please!' implored the fox, 'can you not see I am tied to this? It was the two-legs!'

"One of the two beavers considered this for long seconds while the second continued to hit the fox on the snout with her tail. 'Hold it, dear, he's right!' The misunderstanding was cleared up, but the damage was done, and despite the obvious fact that the fox had not done anything at all except ride down the rivertide, they could not calm down.

"The fox, aching and soaking wet, sat down on the edge of the dam and shook himself dry. 'Beavers,' he said, 'I think I know how you build a great, great dam and show the two-legs the error of their ways.'

"'How?'

"'There is a two-leg bridge up the stream from here. If you cut the bridge-trees from one side and let them try and cross it, it will turn to one side. Their wagons will fall into the river, and so will they.' Having heard this, the beavers twitched their little whiskers and set off to work with such ferocity, the fox found it difficult to turn his back even to their slowly disappearing backs. So he followed them and watched from the river bank, admiring the tenacity and fervor with which the beavers worked while he at times sat, at times snoozed.

"In the morning the bandits began to make their way across the bridge. The beavers were still working when the first of the men crossed the bridge. When the wagons attempted to cross over, disaster struck! Cowled Willy, sitting in the first of the wagons, was the first in the water, hanging onto one of the beams. Those who had been on the bridge followed suit, one by one, and it was not long until Willy himself was sucked into the stream after the last wagon's locked chicken cages. He clung to the cages, spewing and coughing up water, watching horrified as he neared the ruined beaver dam.

"It was there that he felt a group of small, blunt, hard things press against his aching hands. A fox sat on the cage that was going down the stream, holding Willy's hat in his mouth. 'What do we have here? Is it a little human, is it? And my, what a wonderful hat you have!'

"'This is no time for jokes, little fox! Help me!'

"'What will you give me?'

"'With my men, I will make you a king among all men!'

"The fox considered this, watching the stream calm down. 'No, I do not think that is interesting enough. It sounds as if there are no chickens involved.'

"Willy tried to reason with the fox, only to find that a creature of such simplicity had no use for difficult things. As they traded words the stream slowed down and the cage came to a halt near the old farmer's homestead, the owner of which came forth with a pitchfork and other members of the peasant militia.

"What they saw first was the fox, now holding a chicken in his mouth, twitch and jump off that cage, laughing as he made a run for the woods. It was only then that they saw the rest of the cage and the wet, miserable figure of Cowled Willy, who was shouting angrily after the fox. He wanted his hat back, but soon found he had other things to worry about...

"Now, if you don't believe my story," said the storyteller, "give me a brass penny."

Sebastian grinned as the listeners bursted into laughter and presented the man with pennies, inquiring what really had happened to Willart, the famous rebel.

What with the general conversation dying down as most people listened, Sylvie of course heard the story, too - however, not with great interest. She did not like fables much.
While she noticed that Sebastian listened intently, there were nuances she missed, and she didn't even start to wonder about reasons for that interest.

While the storyteller made a show of being persuaded slowly to tell more, she finished the meal and decided she did not want to stick around.

"I think I'll make an early night," she said, extending a hand towards Ayu-Asra.

The half-elf smiled and nodded. "Sleep well." Then he turned his attention to the storyteller, thinking long and hard. He stood up and got closer, ready to listen through the tale of what had really happened to Willart.

It was, as he suspected, a rather superficial look at the man and his life, but at least it made mention of the old fort he had commandeered and how Willart had indeed been found floating down a river, barely alive and without his famous hat. Sebastian supposed they had never rebuilt the bridge.

As the story ended and people began to leave, he stopped by the storyteller and whispered something about ducks in the man's ear. Sebastian then followed Sylvie's example, though he had a feeling he wasn't going to sleep very much.

Ayu-Asra had his usual lullaby with the green orb - he'd gotten so used to it he became restless without it.

Sylvie didn't need long to fall asleep after that.

When she woke up the sky was dotted with clouds, which would make for good travelling weather, if it would stay like this.