Young Writers Society

Author's Note: The first in hopefully many chapters of an idea for a story I had. Hopefully it turns into something worthwhile. Reviews and critiques are appreciated.

He sat by the fire, quietly watching the usual crowd of drunks and other townsfolk drowning away the evening in the old inn. The innkeeper, Frederic, had just finished roasting a large deer, which inspired many arguments concerning how much of the meat a few coins would fetch. He could not charge much, as he was fortunate enough that his usual customers decided to spend any of the little money they had in his tavern.

“Liam,” the owner called over to the figure by the fire, gesturing him over when he caught his attention. Liam approached the counter and was surprised when a sizable piece of the meat was placed in front of him.

“Frederic, I don’t have…” he started before the innkeeper cut him off.

“No charge, least I could do after you helped me sort out that trouble a few months ago. Not often I get my hands on a fine animal like this, anyway.”

Liam thanked the old innkeeper and carried the food back to his table, preferring it to the noisy atmosphere surrounding the counter. He would have liked to give Frederic something in exchange for the meal, however little, but knew there was no arguing with the kindly man over the matter. He thought back to the trouble that had inspired the gift, when he had retrieved a large number of the innkeeper’s more valuable ales from a pair of thieves.

It was not difficult; they were young and easy to follow. When he found them he went easy on them after seeing they were obviously poor like so many others. They were probably not interested in drinking the ales themselves, in stead hoping to make a little money from the goods. His quiet and solitary nature made some of the younger villagers nervous around him, so it was not hard to frighten them away from repeating their crime. He didn’t bother reporting them, knowing how desperate they were. He had even given them a handful of his own coins out of pity.

Eating the meat, he continued examining the people around him. An old bard had struck up a melody on his lute. The music was a welcome sound in the crowded inn. After filling himself, Liam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. He continued listening quite attentively, as he did not want to risk falling asleep in a place so welcome to pickpockets and their friends.

Hearing someone abruptly sit down across from him, he opened his eyes. The man had obviously traveled a good distance in a short amount of time. He was out of breath and his cloak was pulled tight around him to protect against the cold outside. Catching his breath, he asked, “Gadier?”

Liam nodded at the use of his surname. Well, adopted surname.

The man looked relieved and continued, “You may not know me. I am Adam Hillwood, I live a few miles north of the village.” Liam did know him, picturing the man’s large house by the river. While not particularly rich, the Hillwood’s were definitely well-off compared to the poverty that was all too common in the area. “A friend suggested you to me, said you were trustworthy and reliable, unlike so many others. Said…” His thoughts were obviously scattered as he went on and showed no sign of reaching his purpose.

“What do you need?” asked Liam, interrupting him.

“It’s my daughter, she was out riding when she was taken by a group of men. My nephew was with her at the time, they attacked him first and nearly killed him. Fortunately he was alive when they left with her, and he eventually made it back to my home and told me what happened.”

“And you wish for me to find her.” He was not completely surprised, he had helped sort out more than a handful of bandits and thugs over the past couple of years. The poverty in the area had caused crimes to grow, and the guards could not be bothered with anything they saw as minor. A kidnapping like this would draw some interest from them, though. “Why have you not gone to any of the guards? They usually help with something this serious.”

“You know what they’re like,” he whispered, looking around to see who might be listening. “They’re practically criminals themselves, just with the authority to ‘justify’ whatever they decide to do. If they found her, I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to sample my daughter themselves as a reward for their service.”

Liam nodded in agreement. Though Hillwood’s suspicions seemed a little extreme, it would not be out of character for the thugs parading as keepers of the law. They were basically there to make sure the King’s will was enforced, but did little else to help the villagers and were prone to abusing the power their authority and numbers granted them. The corruption was no secret.

“But,” continued Hillwood, “I am told you are an honorable man. I know these are hard times, so I will reward you generously if you find her.” His eyes were pleading as he finished his proposition.

In many cases the morality of helping would be enough reason for Liam to help if he could, but he could not deny that he was short on money and the idea of a reward was not unattractive to him. “Where and how long ago was she taken?”

“They were around a mile north of the bridge over the Helden River. It was about an hour before sundown, according to my nephew. I had a guest at the time of his return, the same friend I said informed me of you. After hearing what had happened and discussing the potential consequences of involving the guards, he suggested you and I rode right out.“

Liam considered it all. It had only been a couple of hours ago and the weather had been calm, so they should not be hard to track. He looked up at Hillwood. “I will do what I can. Return home and I will send you any news when I can.”

With that, he left the weary father and headed for the door. With a nod to Frederic, he stepped out into the cold night. There was barely a breeze over the snow-covered ground. It was a shame his current purpose was so severe on such a peaceful night. His horse lifted his head when Liam approached.

“Well, Gabriel,” he said, rubbing the black horse’s head. “Out into the night we are called.”