The Dead God Series Collection

Chapter 2-2

Johnny took the money and turned around, rooting under the bar to look for a dish and spoon to serve Torben’s meal. As he did, Torben raised the tankard to his lips and took a long quaff of the amber ale. He sighed audibly and wiped droplets from his mouth.

‘Good?’ Johnny had completed the exploration beneath the bar, and was surveying Torben with a thin smile.

‘Like drinking liquid gold, Johnny!’

‘Hah, that’s what I like to hear!’ The barkeep proffered a wooden bowl and poorly carved wooden spoon. ‘Help yourself to stew. There should be bread there too but, if not, the missus will be bringing some fresh out shortly.’

With a nod of thanks, Torben took the bowl and moved to an unoccupied table near the fire. He placed his tankard on the table to mark his spot and made his way to the cauldron. Lifting the heavy lid, he surveyed the dark brown liquid that bubbled beneath. He couldn’t discern many of the substances in the murky depths, but it smelt good so he ladled several large spoonfuls into the bowl. He picked up a chunk of crusty bread from a small crooked table beside the fire pit before taking his seat and digging into the simple but hearty meal.

As he ate, he surveyed the patrons. There were a lot of familiar faces, but Torben couldn’t conjure up many names. He noticed one table where the patrons were clearly having a similar dilemma trying to work out who Torben was. Faintly, he heard the whispered conversation wafting through the general hubbub.

‘Isn’t it one of them Ketch lads?’ asked one thin sallow man who Torben believed was a labourer on one of the farms east of Bywater.

‘Don’t be silly. The Ketches look shady as anything, and have been beaten once or twice by the ugly stick! Look, they’re over there in that corner!’

thatThe incredibly large, muscular man, who took up one side of the table and was speaking, was the village blacksmith. Torben couldn’t quite remember what name he went by, but the enormous jet-black beard and thick eyebrows were distinctive enough in their own right … not to mention that the blacksmith was still wearing his heavy work apron, pockmarked with singes and burns, which testified further to the man’s trade.

As he spoke, he pointed a beefy finger to the darkest corner of the tavern where, sure enough, the massive bulk of the Ketch boys could be seen slumped against the wall. The table in front of them had already gathered an impressive collection of horn cups and they were busy ploughing their way through another set.

The debate finally ended when one of them asked Johnny as he gathered tankards from recently vacated tables. Torben didn’t hear Johnny’s response, but the answer didn’t seem to help them connect the dots.

‘I don’t recall an Amos ever having lived in the village,’ the sallow man uttered.

‘Aye, he works that piss-poor farm beyond the Ketch place, and beyond the abandoned fields,’ declared the blacksmith.

‘I didn’t realise that they had a son,’ piped up another man, who Torben couldn’t see because he was almost entirely obscured by the blacksmith’s shadow.

‘No, he’s not their son,’ an older man stated, and held up a bony finger to add further weight to his years and authoritarian manner of address. ‘The boy was taken in after his parents died of the sickness, the last time it came to Burndale. They were tenants on Amos’ land and he felt duty-bound to take in the bairn.’

‘I thought they only took him in because the parents owed Amos’ wife money and they wanted to work it out of the lad,’ added the sallow man.

Torben let the conversation fade into the background noise. He didn’t want to hear the debate as to his origins, nor did he wish to hear people slander Master Amos. Regardless of why he’d taken him in, he’d always been kind to Torben, even if he’d made him work hard. Torben concentrated on his stew, hoping that the act of eating would take his mind off the conversation he’d overheard.

With a soft sigh, he made his way back to the cauldron and helped himself to another bowlful. As he was about to make his way back to the table, his eye caught a peculiar individual entering the tavern. Indeed, the attention of most of the other patrons was drawn to the figure that ambled to the bar where Johnny stood, warily eying the new customer.

Before him stood the stocky figure of a male dwarf, standing no more than four feet in stature. He looked up at Johnny and politely requested a drink, clearly trying his best not to let on that he sensed everyone’s eyes inspecting him intently. It wasn’t that the people of Bywater had never heard of dwarves before, but it had been many years since one had last been in the village. Indeed, there were few people alive in Bywater who could claim to have seen a dwarf in the flesh.

As the dwarf took a tankard of ale from Johnny and turned to survey the rest the room, the noise level immediately increased; everyone began talking to mask the fact they’d all been watching the newcomer—all except Torben. Having no one to strike up a random conversation with, he remained staring at the dwarf, who stared back. After a few seconds, the dwarf raised his tankard, took a swift drink, and made his way around the fire pit with the clear intention of sitting at Torben’s table.

‘Good evening,’ said the dwarf amiably as he drew level with the table. ‘Mind if I join you?’

‘Go ahead stranger, you’re welcome,’ Torben responded with a quick nod. He’d always enjoyed meeting new people, and the chance to converse with such an exotic character as this dwarf was one that, in his eyes, was not to be missed. A meeting such as this was likely to be the most exciting thing to happen to him all year, if not all decade.

notHe surveyed the dwarf as he placed his tankard on the table and pulled out the other stool. He looked young, or so Torben guessed. There were no flecks of grey in the full head of thick long black hair, roughly pulled from his forehead and held in a short ponytail, nor in the neatly trimmed beard that ran the full length of the oval face and jutted from the square chin. The dwarf had twisted the end of his beard into two braids, held together with etched silver beard rings, and he’d done the same to the ends of the moustache that dangled down to his chin.

Although the dwarf’s thickset brow and large squashed nose gave him a slightly dim-witted appearance, the vibrant bright green of his deep-set eyes made it clear that he was as sharp as a pin. He was dressed in a wool jacket trimmed with sheepskin, a faded blue tunic and thick wool trousers, all which looked dishevelled, and a pair of very road-weary boots. It was clear that he’d been on the road for quite some time. Removing a large rucksack from his back, he sat opposite Torben with a heavy sigh.

‘The name’s Gwilym.’ He extended a meaty looking hand across the across the table, several silver rings on his thick fingers glinting in the firelight.

‘Torben.’

The two shook hands and Torben was surprised by the strength of Gwilym’s grip. The dwarf surveyed the tavern, turned back and leaned in, confidentially, across the table. ‘No offence, but this place seems a little rustic.’

‘Aye, you’re not wrong there,’ said Torben with a quick smile. ‘Not many people round here have ever seen a dwarf.’

‘Why? When was the last time a dwarf passed through these parts?’

‘The Gods only know. Possibly whenever the last trading caravan ventured to these parts, but that would have been … over six months ago. In fact, so few of your folk are seen in these parts, most people here probably think that dwarves are creatures taken from stories.’

‘Creatures taken from stories.’ Gwilym bristled. ‘You folks want to get out a bit more and see the world! Though by the looks of it, the sight of the wider world might kill off a few of the people in here.’

‘You’re not wrong there!’

‘Outside this valley, people are a lot more open-minded, you know,’ Gwilym stated. ‘Used to dwarves, men, and all manner of folks wandering around at will.’

‘And where outside Burndale might you be from then?’ Torben stared intently, his eyes wide with curiosity.

‘Me? Well, where should I begin?’ Gwilym tugged his beard thoughtfully. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that I come from anywhere. I wouldn’t want to restrict myself to one particular geography. Things get awfully complicated when you say that you come from this area or that country. Nothing gets people to make a snap decision about you as quick as knowing where you’re from!’

Torben looked confused. ‘But how can you not be from anywhere?’

notanywhere‘No, lad, you’ve missed the point. I’m from nowhere and everywhere. I go where I please, I do what I please. I don’t worry about being tied to a piece of earth; you get plenty attached to the earth when you’re dead and buried in it.’

‘So you’re a wanderer then?’

‘Aye, that’d be one way to put it.’

Torben sat back and sighed deeply. ‘That sounds like a wonderful way to live, not having to call anyone Master, being able to get up and go where you please.’

‘There’s no feeling like it,’ acknowledged Gwilym. ‘As long as you’re savvy enough to earn enough coppers to buy a decent meal now and then along the way, you needn’t give a toss about the cares of normal life. It seems to me like you and I are kindred spirits.’ He nodded sagely.

‘I can think of nothing better than taking to the open road, leaving this godawful village, and never thinking of it again!’

‘But?’ The dwarf’s eyebrows arched. He knew what Torben was about to say.

But‘It’s complicated. I can’t just up and leave. It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘What’s fair got to do with it?’ Gwilym wagged a sturdy finger. ‘You ought to look out for number one! Think of all the exciting places you’re missing out on, because you’re trying to be fair to someone else, and not to yourself!’

‘What brings you to this remote part of the world then?’

‘Pardon?’ Gwilym was taken back by the abrupt question.

‘How come you’re here? You said it yourself. I could be experiencing all of the exciting, exotic places of the world and yet here you are, in this forgotten corner of boredom.’

youGwilym drank at length before replying. ‘I was stretching my legs, broadening my horizons, and all that.’ He ran a hand through his beard several times. ‘I heard that the country round these parts was well worth taking in … the area was recommended to me by a friend.’

‘Who on earth recommended that you come here?’ Torben was visibly shocked. ‘Whoever told you that this was an interesting part of the world is no friend at all! Forget broadening your horizons; if you’re not careful, this place will make you forget what a horizon is.’

here‘I don’t know about that,’ he said, surveying the patrons again. ‘This lot here don’t seem to be worried by that. They seem quite happy in their ignorance.’

‘Aye … most people are.’