The next day, Stephan also stopped at his seventh town. Instead of going to the inn, which he didn’t even consider, he headed straight for the local temple—a clean, cool place with not a flea in sight.
“Good evening,” he greeted the Priest as he entered, a faint smile touching his lips. “I am Stephan, a traveler sick and tired of fleas and lice and other pests in my bed at an inn and of staff and other patrons seeking to rob me while I sleep. I would like to make a small donation to share a simple meal and to spend the night in the hospice or on the floor here at the temple, anywhere really that’s clean.”
The Priest, a stout middle-aged woman as solid as the stone around her, sized him up. “You know the temple isn’t a roadside inn, young man?”
“I do. I also know that the faithful can receive various benefits from temples for their donations. If you think my request is unreasonable, I understand.” A random idea struck him as he spoke and shifted his weight with an over-exaggerated wince. “Though my feet do hurt from all the walking, a healing salve and rest might just be the thing I need.”
The Priest snorted. “All right, you little fox. What’s your offering?”
Stephan fished out two silver coins from his purse. “Is this enough?”
Her eyebrows rose, and she eyed him suspiciously. “That’s a lot of money for a meal and a place to stay.”
“In the last inn I visited, I paid one quarter this for a private room, and I still had to share it with thousands of nasty critters and a thief who barged in during the night.” Stephan smiled kindly. “Besides, this is a donation, not a business transaction.”
The Priest held his gaze, then took the coins. “I don’t know who you are, young lord, nor why you’re traveling in disguise, but you can stay in the hospice tonight. It’s empty anyway. As for food, you’ll have to join my family for supper if you want some.”
She offered her hand. “I’m Ednah, by the way.”
“Stephan Cobblerson,” he clasped the hand and shook it just right to match her grip. “A pleasure to meet you.”
***
Much like Lady Clara, Ednah, her husband, and their daughter lived in a house next door to the temple. Stephan caught a glimpse of a narrow strip of land behind the building with chickens scratching and clucking between rows of beans climbing corn before they entered a small but wealthy home.
“Mike,” Ednah shouted, “we have a guest for supper.”
“I’ll be right over!”
Stephan observed a home very similar to his own, if a bit wealthier. The ground floor was a well-tended common room with a stairway up and a door leading into a kitchen from which Mike emerged. He had a slim figure, not gaunt like the sick, but the skinniness of those who disliked eating.
“And who’s our dear guest?” he asked in a civil tone, offering his hand. “Michael Thornton.”
Stephan shook it and introduced himself yet again, explaining his circumstances.
“What brings someone so young on the road?” Mike asked a question Stephan had luckily considered.
“I’m heading for Treetop,” he replied straight. “I wish to visit the Trackers’ Academy and see if I can make the cut. I’m the third son, and while I know a bit about shoemaking, I won’t inherit the business. So my folks gave me some coins and let me loose to try my luck.”
“Sensible,” Mike said while Ednah pointedly ignored the answer and went into the kitchen. “We were blessed with two daughters, so right from the start I knew they’d abandon us.”
“Mike!” Ednah chided from beyond the door. “Do you think I abandoned my parents to be with you?”
“Never crossed my mind,” Mike answered without hesitation, a small smile dancing where Ednah couldn’t see it.
She emerged from the kitchen and placed the bowls in front of them. They were smooth, blackened things, painted by the years of broths and stews served in them. While Stephan and Mike chatted about nothing, Ednah went back and returned with a clay pot full of bubbling stew.
“Meg! Supper’s ready!” she shouted.
Footsteps banged on the boards above their heads, then rumbled down the stairs.
Meg was the spitting image of her mother, wider in the hips and shoulders than most girls her age, with a few pimples scattered across her face. She froze in shock when she noticed Stephan.
“Meg, this is Stephan,” Mike introduced him. “He’ll be sharing dinner with us.”
She nodded too quickly and sat, hands busy with nothing, her cheeks blushing as her father praised her.
In no time at all, Stephan found out that Meg did embroidery, working on religious scenes in the hope that she would become a Priest like her mother. Her older sister, Lil, once harbored similar aspirations and practices, but still became an Artisan, like her father.
The older folks were comfortable around him, while Meg was all thumbs, stuttering and having trouble speaking, stealing glances whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.
The dinner and evening passed without incident, as did the night Stephan spent in the hospice, enjoying the refreshing aroma of various herbs, which helped him fall asleep quickly.
Stephan’s luck held true, and his hosts remained hospitable for another six days. But the closer to the border he drew, the fewer travelers he met along the way. The forest grew unnaturally tall, with branches tangled high above his head. Even at noon, the light had dulled to a murky green.
Sounds of the forest were everywhere, from bugs and birds to the chatter of squirrels. Then, a man joined them.
“Hey kid, what are you doing here all alone?” A gruff voice asked from the dense shrubbery.
Its owner turned out to be as rough as his speech suggested when he emerged onto the path. A strong arm ending in a massive hand held a long dagger or a short sword in a relaxed grip.
Five other men followed his lead, jumping off branches and stepping from the bushes, weapons in their hands, vicious grins on their faces.
“Look at him, he’s real pretty,” someone said behind his back.
Stephan turned, spotting another three of them.
“Pisses me off, that. Makes me want to gouge his eyes out.”
They laughed, even the one with the bow, who was the only genuine threat. The rest would have to enter melee range, and Stephan was certain he could pummel them even if they all ganged up on him.
The bowman held his arrow notched, but kept the bow lowered.
Nine on one. Stephan estimated his odds, then his spirit moved, just in case.
“Shield of Fate.”
As he said the words, he pounced on the archer. The laughing man straightened. He drew back the string, raising his arms, then a fist slammed into his face, breaking his jaw and sending him flying.
The sudden burst of violence shocked the bandits, but only for a blink.
“Get him!”
The eight of them rushed towards him, clubs and blades raised. Their charge was sloppy and lacked any semblance of coordination. The first bandit to reach him should have been the leader, but wasn’t. Instead, it was the man to his left, the boss letting others test Stephan.
Stephan caught the man’s wrist as he swung and broke his arm while grabbing the club. He was a whirl of violence, punching and hitting with the snatched club. At one point, his foot slipped, helping him dodge the leader’s stab in the kidney; the blessing he had cast expended.
He turned and smashed the club across the stunned bandit’s face. The gang’s boss fell to the ground; the three bandits still standing broke, running into the woods.
Stephan looked at the six prone and bleeding men. All of them were alive, Mercy having kicked in once to save one of them from a particularly brutal elbow to the temple.
“What do I do with you?” Stephan didn’t have it in him to execute them.
He had slain some fae and destroyed a bunch of undead, but he had only ever killed that one warlock. And that was fighting a man attempting to kill him. As far as he was concerned, the bandits were just trying to scare him into giving them money. He refused to believe there were people who would gouge his eyes out for fun.
Am I even allowed to execute them? What little he knew about the law told him he probably wasn’t.
The next town should be two to three miles away. It’s a wasted hour, but I don’t want to think about this.
“Get up, the lot of you. We’re heading for the town, they’ll decide what to do with you there.”
The bandits whimpered, none of them getting up, the man whose spirit Mercy had drained still unconscious.
“Come on, up with you. Don’t make me kick you.”
“Kick me,” the leader spat the words along with blood. “They are gonna beat us bloody if they get their hands on us; better not to drag out the misery.”
Stephan looked at him, then at the rest who were curling up, cradling their heads in their arms. They were preparing for a good kicking, but they had no intention of getting up.
What’s the right thing to do here? Who am I to execute them? I don’t even know their crimes. If I strip them and tie them up to the trees with their clothes, they will either free themselves or someone might come by and find them helpless…
Should I leave them at a nearby farm or homestead? He liked the idea, but he would just saddle others with the burden.
“Give me your sacks, weapons, and boots, then get out of my sight. If you attack me again, I’ll kill you. Is that understood?”
The men nodded and hurried to do as he said before running away, carrying their unconscious friend with them.
The forest swallowed them in moments.
Stephan stood alone on the road, a bow, boots, two daggers, and three hefty clubs piled before him
“…Great.” His voice was bitter as he collected the weapons.
I’m going to look ridiculous when I walk into town with all of these.