Running Again

Note from the author: This story contains a term referring to a mental disability that some may find offensive. The character who is thinking at the time has zero understanding of disabilities, physical or mental.

* = 576A2 is a commonly used abbreviation of the date in the three kingdoms. Written longhand it would read “The five hundred and seventy sixth year of the second age.”

Sir George had led them to a fine mansion in Dalanor’s merchant district. Surrounded by stone walls eight feet high and vast snow-covered gardens, it was the perfect display of wealth from one of the richest families in Teraditha. The stone path they were trudging along had been cleared by one of their vast army of servants no doubt, another had lit the fire that was releasing its smoke out of the great brick chimney.

An old maid greeted them as they entered the reception hall. She could have easily been seventy years of age with her white hair, wrinkled hands, and creased face, but her voice was as light and fruity as a singer of twenty.

‘Welcome back sir, I’ve prepared the drawing room for your guests. There are fresh clothes laid out and a fire set in your quarters.’

‘Thank you Immelda, please make these gentlemen comfortable, I will be along shortly. If there is anything they require, let the kitchen staff know.’

‘Very good sir.’ She gave her master a warm smile and curtsey before turning to the rest of them. ‘If you’d be so kind as to follow me, I’ll show you to the drawing room.’

They followed her the length of the reception hall and through the last dark wooden door on the left. The first thing Gerrod noticed was the roaring fire burning merrily in the hearth. Without a second thought for the rest of the room, he made for the padded armchair closest to it to warm his frozen bones. Giant, Dwarf and Grey Man all perched themselves at the table, groaning as they took the load from their feet.

Gerrod stretched his legs out closer to the fire, bathing in its orange glory. The mantelpiece was made of the same dark wood as the door, with a dragon’s head carved in its centre. How appropriate he thought, rolling his eyes. Many fine jewels sat atop the mantelpiece, a black stone carving of a mermaid, perched on a rock, caught Gerrod’s attention. He stood up to take a closer look, examining the blue jewel in her crown. He knew of Lord John’s exploits during the crusades in the Teyan Republic, perhaps this was an example of his spoils of war?

His trail of thought was brought firmly back into the three kingdoms by Immelda’s return, pushing a serving trolly with an annoyingly squeaky wheel.

‘Pigeon pie and vegetables for you all.’ She announced, spooning portions on to plates.

In his determination to get warm, Gerrod had ignored the dining table that had been set for them, and the rumbling in his stomach, which had returned tenfold. His rationing of food on the last leg of his journey had begun to take its toll on him. Eagerly, he took his place at the left hand of the head of the table, hoping to engage Sir George in conversation when he returned.

But Sir George didn’t return for supper, so the four of them ate in near silence, clearly uncomfortable in their new surroundings. Gerrod enjoyed the pigeon pie, if a little gristly, but the vegetables were cooked to absolute perfection, seasoned with a little butter and garlic. 

After they’d finished their meal, Immelda cleared the plates and left a tray of drinks for them to attack. ‘There’s brandy, spiced rum and wine there for you. Please help yourselves.’

No sooner had Immelda finished speaking than Gerrod uncorked the bottle of brandy to pour himself a glass. Brandy was a particular weakness of his, especially after a hearty meal. Giant had taken a sniff of the wine and set it back down after making a sour face, Gerrod beckoned him over.

They walked a little way to the far end of the room, near to a bookcase that rose from floor to ceiling and overflowing with books.

‘Something is amiss here, make sure they have one glass and no more.’ Said Gerrod in a low voice. He kept his back turned to the other men, not wanting to involve them just yet.

‘What’s wrong chief?’ Asked Giant, nervously tugging on his beard.

‘I think we’re being duped – lied to.’ He explained when he saw the puzzled expression on Giant’s face. ‘If we really were in the house of one of the most powerful families in the kingdom, manners would compel our host to feast with us. I’m also beginning to wonder if this Immelda is their only servant. Why would the same maid answer the door, prepare rooms, and fetch meals?’

‘This is all new to me.’ He answered with a shrug. ‘What’s our move?’

‘We’ll see how it plays out. I hope you didn’t surrender all of your weapons at the gate?’

Giant gave a subtle shake of his head and patted his chest. Gerrod wasn’t sure Giant would need a weapon if it came to a straight fight, but he felt reassured all the same. 

Gerrod gestured to the other men with his head. ‘Let them know one glass only and be ready. If I’m right, this could get messy.’

Giant retreated to the table and spoke to the other men in a low voice, they leaned in close to catch his words. Gerrod watched for a moment to see if there was any dissent at his order of one drink each. Heads nodded, but faces were grim. Satisfied, Gerrod turned away to inspect the room further.

He’d had a love of maps since he was a child, so his first destination was a grand piece of cartography hung on the wall next to a velvet curtained window. This particular one bore the mark of Harlan Orwright, Royal Cartographer to King Edgar III of Teraditha, in the year 576A2.* Gerrod looked at the map closely, inspecting it with his own knowledge of history, daring the long dead royal cartographer to be wrong. Ultimately, he was foiled, he could not fault the man’s work, borders were in their correct place and the new settlement of Myllyria on the volcanic island south of Elvia was included. This, of course, was back when the three kingdoms were actually four kingdoms, before Norsivia was destroyed and her territory carved up by the butcher, King Robert III of Teraditha and the destroyer, King Tedrick III of Calladia.

Replaying history in his head made Gerrod head for the bookshelf next, if he looked like he was concentrating on a book he could ponder his next move in peace. One particular tome caught his eye. “The History of the Great Houses of Teraditha Vol I, A – J. By Scholar First Class Vayo Chen.” It looked a new copy, the leather bindings still had their shine, and the colour of the letters had not yet faded. Gerrod picked up the book and took it back to his armchair by the fire.

Gerrod flicked past the foreword as he had no desire to read some scholar’s boasting about his ability to read and write. He reached the first chapter “House Aylwerd” and scoffed. Aylwerd was an old lord with a dwindling fortune and a simpleton for an heir. The definition of great house was very generous it seemed. 

He flicked through the pages until he came to “House Dayton” nearly a third of the way into the book. He had no interest in Lord Richard Dayton who had lived over five hundred years ago. He advanced quickly until he came to the recent lords and ladies. 

He dismissed Chadwick Dayton, some problem child who’d been sent to the Warrior’s Guild to teach him some discipline. The book mentioned his training of the great Luthar Shoresmith, Gerrod wondered if House Dayton would ever get bored of milking that cow. Looking further down the page he settled on John Dayton, incumbent lord of Dalanor.

Lord John Dayton, son of Lord William Dayton, was born on the seventh day of Many Rains, in the year thirteen of the third age. Weighing a little over 7 pounds he was healthy at birth, with healers remarking on the volume of his screams during his arrival into the world.

Gerrod sighed and turned the page once more, who needed to know all of this nonsense?

The first-born child of Lord John Dayton and Lady Charlotte Dayton (nee Luhar) arrived in this world on the nineteenth day of Early Harvest, in the year fifty of the third age. Named George, he weighed four and a half pounds. Arriving eight minutes after George, Elizabeth weighed just four pounds. Both babes and mother made a complete recovery after a full night of labour. 

If George was born in the year fifty, that would make him thirty-four. Gerrod reckoned the pockmarked youth that claimed to be George was no older than twenty. Mind whirring, he sat to ponder their next move carefully, if they got this wrong it could be their last.

After a few moments careful consideration Gerrod stood up and returned the book to the shelf, taking care to place it correctly. Thankfully, whoever cleaned this room was good at their job, there was not a speck of dust on the shelf that might betray his curiosity.

He beckoned Giant over to the fireplace, they sat close to discuss their plan. Giant’s eyes fixed upon Gerrod, unblinking, his beard firmly in his hand.

‘That’s not George Dayton, the real George Dayton is thirty-four years old. Looks like we’ve been intercepted, my guess is the blood scholars. They don’t know we know, which gives us the upper hand. So, my plan is this…’

Gerrod spoke quickly into Giant’s ear for the next couple of minutes, laying out how he proposed to get them out of the mire they found themselves in. Giant all the time nodding and tugging on his great ginger beard.

After they’d finished, Gerrod settled back into the armchair by the fire, his knees still aching from the journey. He cursed getting old as he took another tiny sip of his brandy. Meanwhile, Giant headed back to the table where Dwarf and Grey Man sat playing at dice with a few coppers on the table between them. He engaged them quickly, relaying Gerrod’s carefully formulated instructions, mindful of the details.

By the warmth of the fire, Gerrod could feel himself nodding, the chair was comfortable, and the heat was soothing his aching legs. Soon, his eyes were drooping and his head slumping forward onto his chest. Suddenly, he jerked awake, jarring his neck at the arrival of the imposter.

‘Forgive me for keeping you all waiting. I had an urgent family matter that required my attention. I trust you are all fed and watered to your satisfaction?’ Said Lord, or Sir George, or whoever the hell he was.

‘We are, thank you sir.’ Replied Gerrod, rising from his armchair.

‘Please, come sit. We have matters we need to discuss.’ He indicated for Gerrod to take a seat at the table with him.

Gerrod slid into a seat at his right hand, Giant to his left. By the way Giant was leaning forward, Gerrod could tell his hand was on his hidden knife beneath his jacket. The imposter cleared his throat and began.

‘May I see the item? I need to verify its authenticity before the transaction takes place. I’m sure you understand?’

‘Can we see the gold?’ Replied Gerrod, determined to enforce his own will on proceedings.

The imposter pulled out a sizeable bag of gold from his belt and set it down on the table before turning to Gerrod, steely determination in his eyes.

‘Two hundred and fifty gold. Count it if you like.’

Gerrod allowed himself a smile. ‘The agreement was to meet with Vincent at the hall of trade. Why have the plans changed, and nobody informed us?’ Gerrod was pressing him now, eager to see if he would correct the deliberate mistake.

‘Vincent is incapacitated currently. There was no time to send word ahead, plus we wouldn’t want any correspondence falling into the wrong hands. The item you carry is of a sensitive nature.’

Gerrod had heard enough, the incorrect amount of gold, plus this boy didn’t know who their contact was. Now was the time for action. ‘I could use another drink.’ 

Giant stood up and tucked his chair under the table before quickly grabbing the imposter around the neck, knife drawn and at his throat. He struggled, but the sheer strength of Giant overpowered him easily. Dwarf and Grey Man stood up at the far end of the table, Dwarf drew a concealed hatchet from under his jacket, Grey Man was already holding a curved blade, ready for a fight. Gerrod drew his own hidden weapon, a dagger, before picking up the bag of gold and heading to the door.

‘Take him out first, anyone waiting for us will think twice about attacking if we have him.’ Gerrod instructed.

Dwarf grabbed the handle of the door and wrenched it open, revealing the imposter struggling in Giant’s iron grip. Two men garbed in leather and ring mail stepped forward before hesitating, clubs raised, ready to swing. They looked at each other, then the imposter, clearly awaiting orders.

‘Let them go.’ The imposter choked through Giant’s grip.

The two men took a step back and lowered their clubs, wide eyed and open mouthed. Dwarf walked up to them both in turn and snatched the clubs from their hands without a word. Two sickening cracks later, both men were in a heap on the floor, their blood mingling on the wooden boards.

‘Who else is here?’ Asked Gerrod calmly.

‘Two more outside the front door, that’s all.’ Replied the imposter, still unable to break free.

Giant gave him a punch to his ribs ‘Are you sure? Already proved yourself a liar.’

‘I swear, only two!’

Gerrod motioned Dwarf and Grey Man to the front door. ‘Call them in.’ He was grateful Immelda wasn’t present, he couldn’t abide killing women, especially one in her twilight years.

‘You two, come in here a moment.’ The imposter called; half choked by Giant’s grip.

The front door opened, and two more armoured men came in bearing short swords. Dwarf and Grey Man were on them in a flash, hatchet and knife found soft pink necks and the imposter’s last two chances of defence were gone.

Gerrod grabbed their cloaks which were hung by the front door before they headed out into the frozen gardens. Their breath misted before them in the night sky, and freshly fallen snow crunched beneath their boots as they made their way down the long path. The party paused near to a small hut at the gate where a guardsman had stored their weapons earlier.

‘What should we do with this one chief?’ Asked Giant, giving the imposter a shake.

Gerrod replied calmly as he was fastening the clasp on his fur lined cloak. ‘Deal with him.’