Suddenly Philip woke up. His hand reached for his sword, but he stayed it. Someone was approaching and he wanted to know who and why before he did anything. Another person also came in hearing range, and then another. They snuck up “quietly” beside him.
“Quick!” whispered one. “Let’s get this over with.”
Philip laughed inside. They really thought it would be that easy! He no longer stayed his hand but clasped it firmly around his sword hilt. Philip stood up slowly and smiled grimly at the would-be assassins. One, a hulking dirty brute, had a wicked looking dagger in his hand. That one quickly lost his head…the other one ran. Philip wiped his bloody sword off on the dead man’s jacket and proceeded to put an arrow through the other thief’s spine. Moving to a different spot, he slept.
The morning dawned bright and clear without a cloud to be seen. Philip stretched and looked out over the fields to the west but could not see any towns. He packed up his bed roll and started down the road. Suddenly a disturbing thought came to him. He had heard three people approach him that last night. Two lay haphazardly buried in a small grove of trees, but the third must have slipped off into the night. Phil made a mental note to be very careful.
The road finally went under the stone arch and Philip passed through it. The guards, seeing he was a Tor, did not hinder him but looked at him suspiciously none the less. He entered the town and the townspeople, unlike the guards, looked at him with curiosity and wonder in their eyes. He saw one surly looking man jump up as soon as he saw the Tor and quickly run off down the road towards a large castle which was the center of the Eastern Realm of Anarion, land of the stout men. The villagers that had been staring at him now quickly left. Philip suspected that there would be trouble.
Wearily he led his black horse to a large door and knocked. Philip looked up at the sign and saw that it read BUNGERMAN’S in large red letters. He heard some scurrying from inside, and then the door opened, letting out a warm light and the smell of good food.
“Hullo?” said the surprised man. “I haven’t seen one of your types in many a good year! Oh, pardon me, you must be weary and your horse too.”
The man took the horse to the stables and returned with a ring of keys in his hand.
“I have had quite a few rooms open since those dratted brigands began to act up, so you may choose which ever you desire. Dinner is in the main room over here,” he said and pointed towards a slightly ajar door, thick and wooden as everything else in the town was. The sound of laughter and the noise of merrymaking came fluttering through.
“What do you go by my young sir?”
“Philip,” answered the Tor.
“Well then if this room is fitting, I will leave you to get comfortable. There you go,” boomed the short man as he waddled off toward the main room.
Philip entered the small room. It was nice and comfortable, with the makings of a fire left in the stone fireplace. The only thing to set off the homey feel of the room was the barred window on the far wall. It seemed that people were not too trusting. Phil set down his things; mainly his armor, bow, and food, and then headed off to the common room, making sure to lock the door behind him.
He sat down at a small, two-person table and then motioned for the inn keeper.
“Excuse me Mr.…Bungerman?” asked Philip.
“At your service! What might I do for you? I think I could scrounge out some vittles for you if you would like.”
“Yes please. But first I was wondering if you knew a man who I just saw leave here: brown, dirty hair; sallow face?”
“Oh…yes. That’d be Brown. He is…new around here,” said the man, stopping to glance around nervously. “I would stay out of his way if I were you!” warned the inn keeper. He left hurriedly. After awhile he returned with a tray full of food and then left to attend to the other customers.
The beef was good and the thick cider in his mug was even better. It was warm and the air was stuffy, causing him to almost fall asleep. The ride had definitely taken its toll on him, and Philip had just decided to retire to his room when a big commotion broke out in front of him. A young man stood with his hand on his sword facing two others. One, Philip saw, was the said Brown that he had seen earlier. The other man could be no other than the man who had escaped from him the night before. Phil had caught a glimpse of his face and it was unmistakable.
The young man’s voice lifted above the noise, “I am of the noble house of the Eastern Realm, do not stand against me!” The other two men scoffed, but Philip could see a flame in the man’s eyes and realized that a fight would break out very soon. The Tor stood up and drew his beautiful sword that he had kept concealed underneath his cloak. He approached the two laughing men.
“I am afraid I must ask you two jesters to leave immediately,” said Philip softly.
“What did he just say?” muttered one.
“Drop that toy before you hurt yourself!” scoffed Brown.
“No,” said the young man, “I can take these two!”
Philip held his sword low, ready to stab either of them if they took even one step closer. They noticed this and became quickly sober.
Finally Mr. Bungerman showed up with a large club in his brown hands and escorted the two troublemakers out of the room. Philip turned to the young man, expecting to be yelled at for interfering with the man’s own business, but was surprised. The fire was gone from his eyes and he smiled timidly.
“Thank you…I was angry. It would not have been good to fight them,” said the man and seeing the surprise in Phil’s eyes, he continued, “more of them would have eventually come. After all, I could not have fought them all…My name is Talme Oakenheart.”
“Philip Taer. I have heard your name before.”
“Yes, my father was Sir Halbeem Oakenheart, the vassal of the Realm of the East…you might have heard of him before.”
“I have. Now how comes it that the vassal of the King of the west could be beset by brigands while his subjects sit around and watch!” Philip said in a loud voice. Some people nearby looked at him strangely.
“Shh!” Talme looked around nervously. “I am not yet known. I am not the vassal, but I will be once I deal with Gerane. He set up an ambush for my caravan when I was young, killing my father. But Sir Halbeem was a warrior to the end and bought time for me to escape!”
“I see…the ruffians are Gerane’s cronies then?”
“No, not exactly. Tanid is their leader, and he is allied with Gerane…at the moment.”
“Well, you have told me of yourself man, so I will return the favor. I am an emissary from the great King Toran of the Forest of Hyril, sent to bring tidings of war to the majestic king of the west, King Faer Holen. Do you have an army?”
“No, that is my trouble. I would have one if the people would declare me their lord, but Gerane pulled some devious strings and became the official noble himself. Not all believe my story, for most believed me dead, and they cannot do much against Gerane unless much aroused. I would need a direct message from the King himself to do that. Even then I would still have the ruffians to deal with…”
“I will tell the King, and he will help I am sure,” said Philip.
“Thank you, but that requires that you get out of here safely,” whispered Talme as he glanced at a shady looking character sitting near the door, “so, I suggest you go back east and circle around. It is the safe and sensible thing to do.”
“Good. It’s decided then; I will go north.”
“What? Why go up there?”
“Precisely! They shan’t expect it, and then I can follow the Farmer’s Grove along to the west.”
“Hmm…then you could take the old road that runs parallel to the Western Road. Are you sure you want to go that way?”
“Friend, do not worry about me when I am in a forest. The brigands shan’t do well if they follow me in there.”
“Then it is settled! Thank you Philip Taer, and good luck!”
