Story excerpt

This is from a fantasy story I am writing

Cloud brushed skies sprinkled mist on the wetland below, so the dancing faeries shone only faintly in the wet. A lone rider, all else that could be seen on that blustery day, made his way slowly down a muddy road, battered by weather and also weariness. His cloak was old and nearly in rags, and whatever face was beneath the hood, it would surely be drenched, no matter how low his head was bent.

Evill Road was full of trenches and potholes, and the rider’s horse was walking slowly and deliberately, eyes looking down to watch where he set his hooves. The wind blew the mist softly but irritatingly into his large brown eyes, though his thick, long lashes kept most of it out, and he whinnied at his rider, who grunted back something Epon.

The only light the two could see, though it was midday, was a twinkling dot about a quarter mile away, if the mist did not obscure their sense of distance. The rider made a sort of purring sound that only Epon speakers could pronounce, and the horse moved a little quicker, after rumbling a little and sniffing loudly.

The two travelers found that the light was from a small inn by the road, around which the fractiously impatient faeries danced, trying to stay warm, for they were not welcome within. The light that shone from them was not very bright, but enough to be seen for some distance, drawing travelers to the place (though that was clearly not the faeries purpose; they grumbled and ground their teeth and stamped the air with their feet in protest of the weather).

The rider dismounted and, followed by the horse, walked with a slight limp towards a covered area, which seemed to serve as a place for the horses to stay. The inn and stable were not an old buildings, but whoever had built them obviously had done so only from necessity. The buildings were roughly built, and the several horses that were tied in the “stable” grumbled loudly in Epon, about both the condition of their dwelling, and of the manner in which their masters treated them.

The man did not tie his horse, but merely rumbled something to him. The horse rolled his great eyes visibly, and muttered something, and the rider limped off towards the entrance of the inn. The roof was badly designed, and the water that came from the skies dripped right on the threshold of the small building.

The man swung the door opened, and walked into the front room. It was small and smoky, but reasonably warm and filled with bare comforts. It was light at least, and the other travelers spoke animatedly with each other, some in tongues usually quite rare in that part of the world. None of them looked up as he entered, and none noticed as he took a seat far from the fire after removing the water from his cloak with a quick dog-like shake of his shoulders. For a moment he just sat, at ease, but not taking off his hood, and then he limped up to the counter, and ordered some food, with a gold piece that the innkeeper looked carefully and incredulously at, with many a glance between the man’s shabby cloak and shadowed face, and the shining piece of money. But he was at length satisfied, and the man went back to his seat, and threw back his hood.

He had a square, blocky face, with a prominent chin and thick eyebrows that made his eyes seem placed in hollows in his face. He was clean-shaven, and the hair on his head was of a reddish-black hue. His eyes were a cross between green and brown, and were intelligently calm and watchful. His large hands were folded gracefully on his lap, and he looked around the inn with vague curiosity. Still no one had seen him, and it was not until one of the innkeeper’s servants (a lad with a wide smile full of gaps) brought his meal that the travelers stopped their conversation and stared at him.

He smiled at them, and ate, but they continued to stare at him.

“Gare,” one muttered, and the word was repeated around the room. The man did not seem to hear, and occasionally looked up to smile at the watchers, outwardly not in the least perturbed.