Lord of Nature

"Thank you," Berrodin said. He guided Cyrus away from the counter, and muttered beneath his breath. "I apologize for that. Morlen is a good man, just a bit wary of outsiders."

"I had no problems with it," Cyrus said, shrugging. "It wouldn't be easy to run a business by giving your goods away for free."

"A fair point," Berrodin said. He slid into the booth, and Cyrus settled on the opposite side. 

Soon, a young woman approached, carrying a platter of steaming bowls, and a basket of rolls and butter. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulder as she set the food down, along with two foaming mugs.

"Your first round of drinks is on the tavern tonight, as an apology for my husband's behavior." She glanced at Cyrus with a small smile. "Will you need anything else?"

"Not at the moment," Cyrus said. "Thank you for the meal."

"Of course," The woman bowed her head, and then hurried back to the counter. 

"Would you look at that," Berrodin said, stirring his mead. He took a sip, then grinned. "It seems they popped open a new keg for us. You're quite fortunate."

"I'm more excited about having a full meal for once," Cyrus said. He blew on his soup, then took a bite. The salted beef and fresh broth warmed his body, chasing away the chill from outside. An array of peas and corn deepened the flavor, and filled his stomach. As he ate, a lute played from across the room, filling the air with a soft melody.

"Looks like Osyras favors us tonight," Berrodin said, raising his head. "It's not often that Halbert plays for the tavern."

Across the room, an old man stood beside the fireplace, his wrinkles outlined by the flames. Despite his age, his knotted fingers danced softly between the strings of a rosewood lute, while a low song slipped from his scarred lips. The lyrics spoke of a long begotten time, when the first group of settlers discovered the bountiful lands beneath the mountains, after crossing the burning sands of the Ereth desert.

Cyrus struggled to hear over the clatter of forks and knives, and the low mutter of those around him. He scowled and glanced around, yet no one was talking. Frowning, he turned to the window, and scanned the streets outside. A sharp gust blew through the village, shaking the trees and rattling the shutters, but the village itself was empty.

'Tap, tap… tap.'

Cyrus shifted his gaze to the corner of the window, where a small gnarled vine knocked against the glass. Its roots dug into the sill, splintering the wood as the whispers drowned out the tavern clamor.

Cyrus winced, and covered his ears. It sounded like a waterfall, crashing into his skull. Calling for him, shouting at him to do something, anything. 

Then… it stopped, returning the tavern to its previous ambiance. Cyrus looked up. Halbert was finishing his story, ending on a grand note about the founding of Withro. Around the room, the villagers clapped and cheered, a few even tossing coppers onto the bard's table. Berrodin joined them, waving his mug in the air. 

"Quite the storyteller, wouldn't you agree?" Berrodin asked, grabbing a roll. When Cyrus didn't respond, he glanced over and furrowed his brow. "Say, are you alright? You look a bit pale."

"I- I'm fine," Cyrus said. He shook his head, and glanced back outside. The vine was gone, leaving only a crack in the windowsill behind. Beyond, the village continued peacefully into the night, with not even a dog barking. "It's nothing."

"If you say so," Berrodin said. His cheeks grew rosy as he down the last of his mead, then gestured for the barmaid for another mug. "More mead over here, Gaila. If you don't mind."

…

Later that evening, Cyrus retired to one of the rooms provided at the tavern, and hung his cloak beside the door. Despite his objections, Berrodin had paid for the room as well, claiming Cyrus needed a proper night of sleep for the journey ahead. 

After prying off his boots, he slumped against the straw cot, and glanced outside. From the second floor, he had a clear view of the surrounding homes, filled with dancing shadows flitting past the candle-lit windows. 

Overhead, the clouds flickered as the rumble of thunder echoed off the surrounding mountains. Then came the sheets of rain, pattering against the muddy streets as the last few stragglers scurried home. 

Beyond the village limits, the fields of yellow reeds swayed in the wind, while the cattle all huddled beneath a thick elm tree in the distance. Their tails flicked back and forth, while their ears were pressed back.

'They look afraid,' Cyrus thought, making his way to the window. 

A flicker of light pulled his gaze to the forest line, nearly a league away. A moment later, three men stumbled through the thick brush, fighting against the heavy gusts of wind. The one in the lead carried a broken spear and a lantern, while the two behind him dragged a strange beast through the grass. 

Cyrus squinted, but his view was blurred by the rain streaming down the glass. Still, he managed to make out a bit of coarse hair, and two jagged tusks before the men stumbled into the stables and slammed the doors shut behind them. He frowned, and shifted his gaze to the mountains, whose high peaks disappeared into the clouds above.

'I wonder what that could be.'