All Lodoss© characters are not mine

All Lodoss© characters are not mine.  I'm simply borrowing, see, they're treated gently (well….FAIRLY gently at any rate…) and will be returned in complete working order at the end of all these shenanigans.  Veris© and the villagers of Vesper© are mineJ and they're not for sale or trade.  (n_n)

 

                                                                Chapter Six:  The Stranger

                                The wind that blew tendrils of light coppery hair gently across her face brought with it the clean, salt smell of the sea, and Veris breathed in the faint briny scent appreciatively.  She sometimes forgot how close Vesper lay to the Eastern Sea.  On days like this one, when the wind blew from the east, she remembered that the ocean was only a day's walk away.   The smell invigorated her, brought back good memories of the seaside village she had lived in when she had taken her Healer's training, and Veris had a smile on her face as she stood deep in her own thoughts.

                                It was a beautiful morning, clear and cool.  The sky looked vast and far away, the blue of it pale with distance and speckled with small, wispy clouds.  The wind tugged softly at the braid she had tied back haphazardly with a spare length of leather, gently unraveling it, and Veris tucked the stray strands behind her ears firmly.  

                                The mare snorted and bobbed her head impatiently, drawing Veris out of her contemplation, and the half-Elf realized she'd been standing with the harness in her hands for several minutes lost in thought.  She patted the mare gently with a chuckle at herself.   She resumed fastening the cart harness onto the old horse, tightening the buckles around the mare's chest.  As Veris passed by the mare's shoulder, the horse ducked her head quickly, her ears flat, darting as if she would deliver a sound nip to the Healer.  Veris slapped her away calmly, no longer intimidated by the feint.

                                "Crotchety old thing," she muttered to the mare, who went back to looking untroubled and calm, her ears relaxed and facing forward without any sign of malice.  Veris shook her head at the mare's incomprehensibility, attaching the harness to the small cart.  The horse stood relaxed, weight on three legs, one hind leg cocked as though she were contemplating kicking Veris into the next village.

                                "You really are insufferable," Veris told the horse, tapping her firmly on the flank to show her she'd seen and did not think it was as funny as the horse seemed to.  The mare shifted her weight obligingly with a long-suffering sigh. 

                                The harnessing of her horse completed, the Healer paused.  There was a basket in the back of the cart, just below the driver's seat, and it was filled with creams, ointments and potions.  Veris was going into town to buy groceries.  Or rather, she was going in to town to trade for groceries.  Most of the things she was bringing in were simple: creams to help heal cracked, winter-dry skin or to put on cuts to make them heal without infection.  There were also some sore throat and fever remedies, for Spring always meant colds and influenza. 

                                She suspected she could have someone come and deliver everything she needed to her door, but Veris liked going in to town to do her grocery shopping.  Vesper was a small town in population, but the town itself was actually very large and spread out: most of the families lived on large farmlands.  Veris' nearest neighbor was a twenty-minute ride away, and that was if her mare was going her usual brisk trot.  She didn't mind being on her own, but it got lonely sometimes.  Often it was days before someone needed her services or came by to pay her as Lira had done. 

                                Giving another look to the sky and sighing happily to herself, Veris vaulted up into the driver's seat of the wagon.  Swinging her sword out of the way with a practiced motion, she sat and took the reigns.

                                "Alright, old girl," she told the mare, giving the reigns a gentle snap, "let's go."

                                For a moment the horse looked as though she would be stubborn, but the truth was, the mare liked going into town.  Veris sometimes thought the horse missed the excitement of the battlefield, and was glad for a change of scenery from the old, dusty barn and the chicken-filled barnyard.  The mare started forward, pulling gamely on the harness, and was soon heading down the wagon path towards the village center at a cheerful, purposeful trot that seemed to be her normal speed of motion.  The mare was too impatient to walk.

                                The ride to town was actually not a very long one, but if she had walked, it might have taken the better part of the morning to reach the store.  She enjoyed the ride to town immensely when the weather was nice.  Alania was a beautiful country, and the rolling hills reminded her of the village she had grown up in.  Veris whistled a jaunty tune to herself as the mare trotted, her small, hard hooves making a rhythmic clopping sound on the hard packed wagon route.  

                                Before long, the houses grew closer together, and Veris had arrived in town.  She smiled to herself as she regarded the heart of Vesper.  It consisted of the general store, a tiny town hall, and a blacksmith's shop.  As Veris pulled up to the general store, she could hear the blacksmith hard at work, the hammer ringing against the anvil as he, or she – the blacksmiths for Vesper were married and both equally skilled at metalwork – beat a shape out of molten iron. 

                                Veris hopped down out of the cart, and tied the mare's reigns to the post outside the store.  Hooking the basket with her arm, she went up the worn, dusty steps to the store and let herself in.

                                "Welcome," Veris heard the shopkeeper call from the back as the door swung shut.  "Be right with you." 

                                Veris nodded, although she doubted the shopkeeper could see her, and looked around the store.  It was not big, as far as stores went, but for Vesper it was quite sizable.  Everything from saddles and plowing equipment to yards of cloth and dry goods were arranged with dusty neatness inside the store.  The sweet smell of leather and sawdust mixed with the dry smell of grain always made Veris feel at ease. 

                                Veris heard the floorboards creak and looked up to see that the shopkeeper had spotted her. 

                 "Healer Veris!" The older woman greeted her immediately with a warm smile.  "We haven't seen you downtown in weeks!"  Veris smiled to herself at the thought of the heart of Vesper being called 'downtown', but kept her amusement to herself.

                                "Goodwoman Cassan," Veris said to the tall, ruddy-faced woman that ran the store.  "It's good to see you again as well." 

                                "What have you brought us today?" The Goodwoman asked animatedly, inviting Veris up to the counter so that the Healer could set down her basket.  "I must say, Healer, that your creams and ointments are extremely popular this time of year.  The last jar was gone days ago, and everyone's been wondering when you'd bring us some more."  Veris smiled, enjoying the woman's friendly chatter.

                                "Sorry to have kept you waiting," she said, taking her small jars out of the basket and placing them carefully on the counter.

                                Goodwoman Cassan was a tall, grey haired woman with dark, bright eyes that never failed to remind Veris of a sparrow.  She had the habit of cocking her head to listen to people too that was also very birdlike, and Veris could only feel affection for the grandmotherly older woman. 

                                "These'll be gone in a week," the Goodwoman said cheerfully, holding one of Veris' sore throat remedies up to the light to admire the consistency.  "Seems like everybody has the sniffles lately.  I'll probably take one for my husband, poor man.  You'll have to bring me some more soon."

                                "Ah," Veris said with a grin, "but I have to stay in business myself."  The Goodwoman laughed.

                                "Fair," she replied.  "Would you like your usual order this week?"  Every two weeks or so, Veris came to the store to buy things she could not trade for with her neighbors: things like flour, corn, sugar, honey, and the spices and herbs she couldn't find simply growing wild around her own house.  Veris suspected it amused the fiercely self-sufficient villagers that their Healer did virtually no farming of her own, but then perhaps she was outside the realm of speculation by virtue of being half-Elven. 

                                Veris nodded to the shopkeeper, who brought out the list she kept under the counter for the Healer.  Eyeing the things on the list, the Goodwoman began to move about the store purposefully, gathering the paper-wrapped goods carefully in her strong arms like children. 

                                The door to the shop swung open and closed again, and Veris looked to see who had come in.

                                "Morning, Goodwoman," the man filling the door frame called.  He saw Veris and grinned.  "Morning, Healer."    Veris grinned back.

                                "Morning, Garn," she said to the blacksmith's oldest son, whose smile stood out a brilliant white against a dark face smeared even darker with black soot and perspiration.  "Long time no see."   He had come to deliver wood chips to her barn only a few days ago.

                                "Morning, Garn," the shopkeeper echoed, and then she made a noise of exasperation.  "Just look at you, Garn Dorval," she said with fine indignation.  "Have you been making horseshoes or playing in soot all day?  Don't touch anything!"  Garn grinned unrepentantly, the soot hiding his youth, and put his hands up placatingly.

                                "I'll keep them where you can see them," he promised.  "I just came over because I noticed the Healer's cart at the store-"  He was suddenly cut off as a small figure pelted through the shop door, came up against Garn's considerable bulk, and bounced off, dazed.  Veris could not help but laugh to herself at the sight of Garn's younger brother shaking his head in befuddlement. 

                                Garn laughed, looking down at the boy.  "Jem.  Watch where you're going, half-pint," he said good naturedly.  The boy grinned up at him.

                                "Watch where you're standing, giant," the boy replied impudently.  He was equally streaked with smithy grime, his hair sticking up in sweat-matted spikes, giving him a startled look.  He caught sight of Veris and waved.

                                "Morning, Healer," he said.  "Can I give some carrots to your horse?"  Veris nodded before she thought.

                                "Mind her, though," she said hurriedly as an afterthought, even as the boy turned to slam the door open, "she bites-"  but he was gone, the door swinging shut firmly behind him.

                                "Don't worry, Healer," Garn said, well-acquainted with the mannerisms of Veris' horse.  "He's meaner than your horse by a long shot.  He'll be fine."  Veris chuckled and shook her head, shrugging. 

                                "The pair of you," Goodwoman Cassan said, scolding, although it was belied by the smile she tried unsuccessfully to hide.  "Ruffians." 

                                The door to the shop opened again, and Veris half-expected to see Jem pelt through it once more.  Instead another village woman came in, smiling as she caught sight of the half-Elf.

                                "Morning, everyone," the woman said, brushing dust off of her sleeves and reaching up a hand to pat her dark hair.

                                "Good morning, Goodwoman Mirelle," Veris replied.  She looked around at the store that seemed to have rapidly filled with people.  "You seem to have quite a crowd today, Goodwoman Cassan," she observed after a moment.  The Goodwoman smiled.

                                "You're good for business, Healer," she replied.

                                "And besides, everyone wants to hear about how you saved Lira last week," Garn put in, wandering over to the counter.  At a warning glance from Goodwoman Cassan, he put his hands up out of danger of touching the counter, trying his best to look inoffensive. 

"Well, I had hoped to hear about that," Goodwoman Mirelle admitted, also drawing closer.  "When you live in a small town like Vesper, anything out of the ordinary seems exciting."  Veris laughed at their unapologetic forthrightness, and tried to elbow her sword behind her and out of sight. 

                                "Yes, I heard you fought off a pack of kobolds," Goodwoman Cassan added, putting down the foodstuffs she had found for Veris and leaning across the counter eagerly.  "Who knew our Healer was such a swordfighter!"

                                "Well, it certainly wasn't a pack," Veris said, and it wasn't modesty that compelled her to speak but a desire for truth.  "It was only two-"

                                "Two!" Goodwoman Mirelle said, looking horrified.  "And you fought them by yourself?"  Veris began to feel her cheeks warm in embarrassment; she hated it when people made a fuss about her.

                                "It's not as if they were Orcs," Veris said.  "Kobolds aren't much smarter than dogs." 

                                "Yes, but most people would think twice about fighting two of them at once," Garn said. 

                                "Well, I-" Veris began, but she was not to be given a chance at modesty.

                                "The way Lira tells it, the whole thing lasted less than a minute," Goodwoman Cassan said.

                                "Surely she exaggerates-" Veris tried again. 

                                "She said they didn't stand a chance," The shopkeeper added.  Veris could only laugh helplessly, seeing she was greatly outnumbered.

                                "If you've already heard the story from Lira, I don't need to tell it twice," the half-Elf said in bemusement, shaking her head. 

                                Whatever else might have been said was interrupted as Garn's younger brother burst back into the store, looking wide-eyed with agitation. 

                                "Easy there," Garn said.  "If you slam Goodwoman Cassan's door off its hinges, guess who'll get to fix them?" 

                                "Is there something the matter?" Veris asked the boy, noting his bewildered look  He shook his head, shrugging.

                                "I don't know, Healer, but there's a strange-looking man coming down the street.  He's got a knife!  I think he's talking to himself and he walks all zigzag.  He looks…"  Jem hardly got the chance to finish as this sudden piece of news galvanized the adults in the store to motion.  They pushed through the door out onto the porch of the shop to see what the boy was talking about.

                                The mention of the knife had caught Veris' attention first, and all she could think was that a soldier, drunk and perhaps disgruntled, had somehow wandered from Kanon into the peaceful village of Vesper.  She could see her mare's ears pricked, the dark eyes looking intently down the main street at a figure that was, indeed, not walking straight but staggering as though the slightest wind would fell him.  The mare had a good instinct for spotting trouble, and Veris suddenly had a bad feeling.

                                "Jem," she heard Garn say behind her in a somber voice, "go and get Da or Mam, ok?  Tell them to come out here."  The boy ran off across the street, heels kicking up dust.

                                "I don't like the look of that," Veris muttered to herself, her hand going instinctively to her sword.  She could feel the cold waiting to descend on her, the distant cruel logic of battle trying to settle a false calm over her thoughts.

                                "Healer," she heard someone say in alarm behind her, and realized she had walked down the steps to the store and stood in the road, watching the man stagger slowly closer. 

                                It was an ominous, odd sight that met her eyes as she studied the figure.  Even from here she could see that it was a man, but of what country she could not tell.  He was very tall and his face, Elven-pale, floated between the pitch black of his hair and the black he was dressed in from head to foot.  Not even the cloak he wore could hide the leanness of him.  There was a knife clenched in his right hand, sticking out like some sort of strange claw from the shadow of his cloak.  She could hear him mumbling to himself, a bass rumble that rose and fell in words she could not make out.  She felt as though she were watching some sort of macabre spirit or specter raised up by a dark mage, made to shamble about on the whim of some strange spell. 

                                "What do you make of that?" Garn asked, from behind her, sounding slightly grim.  Veris shook her head.

                                "Don't know," she said.  "Maybe a Kanon soldier, drunk and lost."

                                "This far north?" Garn asked doubtfully.  "Well, I suppose if the Kobolds made it this far, a soldier could, too." 

                                The man continued to stagger forward, none too steady.  Veris squinted at him.  There was almost something familiar about the man, but what it was she could not place.

                                "Halt, stranger," she called in a carrying voice.  "Halt, and state your business here."  The man ground to a stop, swaying on his feet.  She could barely make out his facial features at this distance, but he seemed to be squinting at her in some confusion. 

                                "State your business here," she repeated.  "We want no trouble with you." 

                                "Kanon….accent…?" She heard the man ask, and froze, shocked.  "…Grey…Healer's robes…No trouble."  Suddenly, the man dropped the knife and fell forward on his face to lie in the dust as if someone had hit him over the head with something heavy.  He remained absolutely motionless.

                               

                                Veris shared an uneasy look with the blacksmith's son, and started forward towards the man.  Behind her, she heard Garn move forward with her, unwilling to let the Healer go alone.

                                Veris kicked the knife away from the man, her hand on her sword.

               

                                "Help me roll him over," she instructed the young man, who nodded and bent.  Between them, they rolled the tall, dark-clad man over so that his pale, dusty face was visible.  Frowning, Veris studied him.

                                The man was wan and gaunt, shadows making deep smudges at his sharp cheekbones and half moons of exhaustion under his closed, dark-lashed eyes.  The beginnings of a beard on the pinched face served only to heighten the gauntness of his sharp-angled face.  His  arching brows and hair were in stark contrast to the pallidity of his skin.  The hair was matted and tangled, and the clothes he wore were quite the worse for wear.  The cloak seemed incongruous with the simplicity of his clothing, almost like a symbol of office, and Veris could not help but wonder briefly if he had stolen it. 

                                Still, there was something about him that pulled at Veris' memory, although she could not bring it up. 

                                "Looks like a Marmoan to me," Garn said, spitting the word.  "Dark hair, pale skin.  Those aren't soldier's boots, though."  He kicked the sole of one of the boots the man wore, and Veris saw that they were the only non-black things the man wore.  The boots were brown leather, cracked and worn, and looked more like the boots she had seen pages wear.  

                                Veris knelt to see if the man was still alive.  A pulse beat at his throat, and while it was slightly faint, it was regular.  She leaned to smell his breath, and could not detect any hint of alcohol there whatsoever.  She frowned down at him, and then stood to look at Garn.

                                "Whatever he may be," she said, "he's bad off.  Alcohol didn't make him walk like that.  We had better get him back to the clinic." 

                                "Healer, a Marmoan-" Garn began, but stopped as the petite half-Elf looked up and speared him with an emerald glare.

                                "Garn, Healers aren't supposed to see things like that," she said, indicating her robes.  "The grey means we Heal everyone.  Even those from Marmo.  If he is from Marmo.  He said something about Kanon…"  She trailed off, speculatively, and kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. 

                                "Healer Veris," a new voice said, and Veris looked over to see the Blacksmith had arrived.  He was a man that looked much like Garn, only older, and his shoulders were as yet still broader than those of his son.  The muscles that he had built over many years working in the forge were thick and bunched.  He was a wide, large man, and gave an immediate sense of gravity and calm that Veris always appreciated.

                                "Goodman Dorval," Veris said, nodding briskly.  "This man needs Healing.  I wonder if I could get you and Garn to lay him in the back of my cart."  The Goodman looked down at the man contemplatively.  He looked back up at her with a somber expression.  Veris could see he was plainly thinking the same thing his son had been thinking, but he said only:

                                "Very well, Healer.  Come on, Garn."  The two men hoisted the lean length of the pale man on their shoulders, and carried him to Veris' cart.  The mare snorted several times in the man's direction uneasily, although she never whinnied, which reassured Veris slightly.  If the mare had been made too ill at ease, she would not have abided the stranger's presence anywhere nearby.   

                                The man was too long to fit completely in the cart longwise, and so they propped him up so that he sat mostly upright, his back leaning against the driver's seat.  He slumped sidewise, obviously quite unconscious, and Veris could not help but feel a twinge of pity for the man because it looked like such an uncomfortable position. 

                                "Healer Veris," The Blacksmith said, "if you're taking him back to your infirmary, you're going to need help carrying him in.  Garn will go with you and help you."   Veris smiled.

                                "Thank you, Goodman Dorval," she said gratefully.  "That would be much appreciated."  The blacksmith's craggy face gave her a kind smile in return, and then he looked at his son.

                                "Do whatever the Healer needs you to do," he bid him, and Garn nodded, looking somber.  "I'll get the horse," Goodman Dorval said, and started back across the street towards the smithy.

                                "Healer, don't forget these," Goodwoman Cassan said, coming forward with her arms full of the things Veris had ordered.  The half-Elf laughed, hoping to diffuse the seriousness of the situation. 

                                "Thank you, Goodwoman," she replied, accepting the groceries and putting them in the cart beside the man.  "In fact, I had forgotten all about them."

                                She untied the mare from the post and climbed up into the driver's seat.  Before long, Goodman Dorval returned, leading a horse across the wagon route for Garn to ride. 

                                The little crowd that had gathered stayed to see them off, and Veris could sense their concern and intense curiosity.  She almost smiled to herself.  She would undoubtedly have a steady stream of curious visitors for the next week, or however long the stranger stayed.  Anything different was great for business, for better or for worse. 

                                "I'll be back in a couple of weeks," Veris called to Goodwoman Cassan, who waved.  Snapping the reigns, Veris urged the mare forward.  The mare strained under the added weight, but did not complain, and soon they were headed back towards the Healer's home.