This is the twenty-eighth chapter of the Fang & Bone serial; click here to visit the previous installment of Fang of Triseria. Please share your thoughts on the story in the comments, or visit the project hub for more information.
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Previously on Fang & Bone, Egg sets off to the north to track Fang, Erryl, and Corea. Egg reflects on his violent past.
Nathan Gorten felt thoroughly defeated. He’d managed to wrangle people back to the pyre following the Egg’s demonstration of anger, but the cost of sending off his mother was in spilled blood. The solemn moment of respectful memorial was reduced to a petty family squabble, blowing out into a riot. Kanaeth would never be able to use his hand again – there was already talk of just lopping it off his wrist – and Young Kent, the poor young man, dead in a single blow.
Corrigan was tucked safely away in his home with two guards to see to it; nobody would reach him at the behest of Mulluck Eghart. Everyone feared the Egg, his own men included, and if the man returned later to find the Mayor harmed, more blood would be spilled.
If luck were such a thing, Nathan had long refused to believe it existed; then Egg would find himself torn to shreds by the beastman and his swordsman companion. Maybe Egg would never return, and in time things could change. For now, a terrifying, pale ghost hung over everyone, and resentment and rage were building.
It all simmered here, at the inn. Most had retreated to their homes following the scuffle, but the conspirators – what else were they now – had gathered to quell the fires in their hearts with whatever was available and talk of what to do.
“Nathan, what do you think?” It was Martyn Genning, the town’s most productive farmer. He’d made his way to the counter without Nathan having noticed the creaking of his knees and heavy footfalls. “Do we storm the house? Do we drag Corrigan out?”
Nathan said nothing and walked into the kitchen, leaving the men to their scheming. When he emerged with a barrel, he tapped it in silence as everyone looked at him darkly – whether they were looks of concern, annoyance, or perhaps even hatred. After all, Corrigan was his brother. Nobody really spoke of it much, but it would surely be a topic to fill idle hours and to direct their disdain with life going forward.
Lavinia was laid to rest. Her body was nothing but charred bone and ash, and there was no risk of her body being corrupted by the Necromancer. But it still felt like Nathan had lost. Against Corrigan, he would always lose. Everyone lost.
In the hushed whispers and the crackling of the fire of the inn’s hearth, he found himself staring into the flames, periodically imagining his mother within them. He wished he could have waited for Corea’s return, but her decision to head out with the mercenaries made that impossible. Lavinia had to be spared a ghoulish fate.
Nathan was not sure why he had let Corea go so easily. She was headstrong, yes, but to let her leave with the beastman and a strange battlefield butcher, and a drunk at that? That was neglect. Yet, something in the way of the Wolf’s handling of the fight against Eghart said much, and the care by which they had tended to her had set his mind, if not quite at ease, to accepting of a possibility that maybe they could find Garen, his brother’s boy. He’d never been close to his brother Larian’s children, but he did what he could to do right by them. They reminded him of Larian too much, so it never sat right being near them.
But if they did find him, it would be thanks to Corea, and Nathan would personally make good on their efforts with what he had been saving for years. If she did not return and was dead, well, it might be better than living in this broken world.
It was a terrible thought, but it was honest.
He leaned on the counter and continued to stare into the fire. There were no more glimpses of Lavinia. Now he only saw himself consumed by flame, and felt oddly restful.
…
A new face entered the inn. He looked young, foreign in a way Nathan could not quite describe beyond black hair and a curious beard that framed his jawline but left his lips clear. Hair so dark the highlights appeared blue in the tavern’s light. His fashion was a blue cloak, and he wore a strange, ancient hat – a style of mages in ages past; the wide, round brim gave rise to a pointed conical shape, where the tip hung down as thin, unsupported fabric over the more stable base, giving him a threadbare look. This hat, too, was blue.
It was at once ridiculous and mysterious, and it appeared split fairly evenly in either direction from the stares of the patrons. The man, young-looking, seemed oblivious to the stares and eyed the bar, looking directly at Nathan. For a brief moment, Nathan was almost sure the man’s eyes flashed purple.
He approached, his pace even but slightly dragging, likely exhausted from travel. He pulled himself to the bar and leaned against it, parting his cloak. Nathan saw he had a modest shoulder bag and on his hip what looked to be a sword in an unfamiliar style, very thin.
“Could I get a drink?” He pulled some coins from his pocket and slid them across the bar. “Whatever your friends there are having.” He gestured over his shoulder with his head, back toward a corner where Cairn and Werth sat – both men staring at the stranger’s back.
Nathan obliged, pouring the acrid cider into a wooden cup. He set it down and pulled one of the coins back, studying it. It was good gold. He pocketed it.
“This is worth two.”
Nathan tapped on the table and stepped away to tend to something. Anything. Too many strangers as of late and too many familiars dying. He had no interest in the new or the old.
The man in the blue cloak and hat unloaded his bag from his shoulder, setting it on the floor where he stood. He plucked the hat from his head, flopping it on the counter. He wiped back damp, blue-black hair from his forehead, picked up the wooden cup, and took a sip. He grunted, loud enough that Nathan could not help but look. Nathan saw the man whisper something into the cup with a disgusted face, swirl it, and take another sip. This time he seemed to enjoy it. He enjoyed it so much he downed the glass, glanced over to Nathan, and clacked the cup on the counter; the sound of wood on wood meant to draw Nathan over.
“Could I get that second, now?”
Nathan obliged again.
Again, the same ritual; this time the man in blue removed his cloak, leaned it over the counter. But he didn’t sip right away, choosing to whisper into the cup. He downed the cider again, apparently satisfied.
Nathan knew the cider wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the stranger made it seem. He did not know what the scheme was, but he knew a scheme when he saw one. He’d seen it earlier with the drunk cutter and his wolf partner. They’d turned out alright, but the wileyness was quite apparent.
He’d have to watch this one. Again, Nathan found himself dragged into a world he’d rather forget. He sighed and shuffled over to the smiling man in blue.
“You’ve been on the road for sure; might want to ease up there. Drink too much after a long walk, and you’re asking for a rough night.”
The man smiled. “You’re probably right, but I’m just relieved to be off the road. You wouldn’t believe how many walking corpses I saw out there.” He shook his head. “Forgive me, but this seems like a pretty rough place to be holding up, given everything I saw out there.”
Nathan said nothing. The man continued to speak.
“It looks like you all may have lost someone recently, judging by the smouldering wood out there. Did one of the ghouls get someone?”
Nathan shook his head, his tone flat and brusque. “No. Burned to spare them that.”
The man went quiet for a moment as he glanced at the door back to the road. His eyes met Nathan’s for a moment and again, a flash of purple, almost a shimmer. The man slid another coin to Nathan. He continued talking.
“Have you considered an exorcism? A hunting party? Has this gone on for a while?”
Nathan pocketed the coin. He grabbed the wooden cup.
“Been this way for a while. I’m going to water your drink down so you don’t get pissed and sick if you’re staying. Unless you’re not staying, but I don’t recommend that.”
“I know well enough that walking into the night here is probably a death sentence, so please, water them down.”
As Nathan watered the cider down and set the cup back on the counter, he asked the inevitable. “Who are you and what brings you here?”
The man whispered again, in some tongue that Nathan couldn’t place. He heard some sound akin to “poo-ros,” with the faintness of an exhale. Then he took a sip and set it down. Now the stranger would take his time… he had gotten Nathan’s attention. It was his scheme.
“The name is Sutter. Sutter Cane. I’m a traveling scribe and collector of books.”
“Curious name.”
“Isn’t it just?” The man chuckled to himself, as though it was a joke that only he knew. Nathan was already exhausted.
“Sutter Sutter Cane then, welcome to New Gordhurst.”
“It’s not… shit. Never mind. Thanks, I suppose.” The man looked deflated.
After a moment, Nathan chimed in. “You should leave as soon as you’re able and not come back.”
“Is that for my safety, or is it that you don’t ‘take kindly to my kind?’”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed. He leaned in, his voice lowered. “If you mean magic sort, you’re right.”
He glanced past the stranger. Most of the patrons had lost interest and returned to their conversations, but they still cast glares at Nathan and the stranger, ever cautious. Nathan leaned closer to the stranger.
“I’ve seen enough death today and am likely to see more soon. This is for your safety. You leave well enough alone, you’ll be left alone.”
The man took a sip, calmly, not breaking eye contact with Nathan. He set his drink down.
“Something bad happened to you all. Someone magical. I understand, and I empathize. I want none of that myself. I’m just a humble scribe – scrolls and etchings for protection.” He glanced around, trying not to draw much attention to himself. After a moment, he picked up the wooden cup, nodded curtly, and drank. His eyes looked sad and full of understanding. “I think this is a place where protection is like smoke.”
Nathan thought of the phrasing. He nodded silently.
The man smiled a sad smile. “I don’t linger where I am not wanted. You have my word on that.”
“Appreciated, stranger.”
“In truth, my main interest is books. Are there any to be read here? Old ones?”
Again, a scheme.
“The last one who came to us came seeking old knowledge, and that’s why there are no books to be had here.”
“You took nothing from the old town, then?”
Nathan tensed. “What do you know?”
“What do you mean?” the stranger asked.
“Old town. What do you know?”
“Ah,” the stranger sighed. Again, a flash of purple from his glance. “Nothing beyond you calling this place ‘New’ Gordhurst. That implies an ‘Old’ Gordhurst. Given the mood and the unease around magic you’re showing me…”
The man made sense, but his presence was beginning to make Nathan nervous. He spoke confidently, words based on lies but clouded by truth – he knew more than he was letting on, but also seemed to revel in giving that away when he could.
“Most of the books were left behind in the escape from the dead. Few thought to keep any, beyond our Mayor. Most anything you seek is probably rotting away back at the old town, among the wandering dead.”
The man furrowed his brow, seemingly annoyed. “I see.”
“Listen, Cane. Everyone is tired and angry. Today was a bad day. You so much as peddle a scroll or try to talk to the Mayor, it will grow worse.”
Nathan watched the man finish his drink and collect the rest of his coins, leaving three.
Nathan continued. “I don’t doubt that you can defend yourself, but I’d rather that not be necessary. I burned my mother’s corpse to ashes. I’ll need to do that with a young man’s corpse who died a couple of hours ago. All of this death came from magic and a man who was a lot like you. I’m tired. Please leave us be.” Nathan paused for a moment, feeling himself grow choked up. “Please let me be.”
The stranger was quiet. After a while, he bent down to pick up his bag, then gathered his cloak and hat. He smiled at Nathan. It was a small smile, but a knowing one. He put his hat on, running his pinched fingers along the brim.
“I understand. But before I go… have you seen a Triserian recently?”
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Gentle and sombre, and with that, you’re doing a theme of unease. Yeah, with that I think this entire tavern scene just put me at ease with me trying to uncringe myself with all the research I’m doing at academia.