The Viscount and the Witch (Riyria #1.5)

The interior of the barn was much like any other except that this one showed signs of serious neglect and recent occupancy—an odd combination. The sagging loft was filled with old rotting hay. The few visible tools were rusted and wrapped in webs.

Enough light pierced the gaps in the roof and walls to reveal a man lying asleep in a pile of hay. Thin and incredibly filthy, he wore nothing but a nightshirt. Grass littered his hair, and his face was nearly lost in the unruly wreath of a wild beard. Curled in a ball, an old sack acted as his blanket. With his mouth hanging agape, he snored loudly.

Hadrian sheathed his weapon and then gently kicked the man’s bare foot. The only response was a grumble as he resituated himself. Another prod produced a flicker of eyelids. Spotting Hadrian, he abruptly drew himself to a sitting position and squinted. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Hadrian Blackwater.”

“And what is it that you wish, kind sir?” His elocution was more sophisticated than his appearance had suggested.

“I was sent by the lady who owns this farm to inquire why you’re in her barn.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” He squinted even more.

Well spoken, but no genius, Hadrian thought. “Let’s start with your name. Who are you?”

The man got to his feet, brushing hay from his shirt. “I am the Viscount Albert Tyris Winslow, son of Armeter.”

“Viscount?” Hadrian laughed. “Have you been drinking?”

The man looked decidedly sad as if Hadrian had inquired about a dead wife. “If only I had the coin.” A realization dawned and Albert’s expression turned hopeful. He got to his feet and brushed the hay from his nightshirt. “This is really all I have left, but it’s made from the finest linen. I would sell it to you for a fraction of its worth. Just a single silver tenent. One simple coin. Do you have one to spend?”

“I don’t need a nightshirt.”

“Ah, but my good man, you could sell it.” Albert spit on a dirty smudge and scrubbed the material between his fingers. “If given a good wash, this garment would be beautiful. You could easily make two silvers—perhaps three. You’d double your money most certainly.”

“He’s alone.” Royce jumped down from the loft hitting the ground beside them, making only the whisper of a sound.

Albert gasped and jumped backward where he froze staring fearfully at Royce. His reaction was not unusual—most people were frightened of Royce. Shorter than Hadrian and bearing no visible weapons, he still put people on edge. The layers of blacks and grays along with the hood did not help. But the real source of menace that caused all but the bravest to step back was simply that Royce was genuinely dangerous. People sensed it, they smelled death on him the same way they smelled salt on a sailor, or incense on a priest.

“So now I see…you’re here to rob me, is that it?” Albert shouted. “Well, the joke is on you.” He looked down at his feet and made a noise—a pathetic laugh. “I have nothing…nothing at all.” Just then he dropped to his knees, put his hands to his face, and began to cry. “I have no place else to go,” he whimpered. “While it provides little more shelter than the maple tree it leans on, this barn is at least a roof over my head, and provides a soft place to sleep.”

Royce and Hadrian stared down at him.

“So, this is the great ogre, then?” Royce asked with a smirk.

“If all you needed was a place to rest, why did you threaten the farmer’s wife?”

Albert wiped his face and looked up with a puzzled expression. “Who?”

“The woman who owns this farm. Why didn’t you just ask her permission to sleep here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Old witchy looking woman? She lives in the house just up the hill. She says you threatened her.”

Albert looked first at Hadrian, then at Royce as if trying to decipher a riddle. “No one lives there. Have you seen it? I sleep here because the house is a disaster. The floorboards are all rotted and there’s a giant wasp nest in the rafters. This farm has been abandoned for years. Any fool can tell that.”

Royce looked to Hadrian who quickly left the barn and ran up the slope.

The sun had slipped behind the treeline casting long shadows across the fields and the house. Just as Albert had described, the building was a wreck. A good size sapling grew out of the kitchen floor. With slumped shoulders he returned to the barn where Royce was gathering wood for a fire.

“See,” Royce said. “Told you this wouldn’t go well. She’s gone, right? The nice lady you wanted to help has fled, taking our horses and all our belongings with her.”

Hadrian allowed himself to collapse on a fallen oak beam and muttered a curse about the woman.

“Don’t blame her. This was all your doing. You practically begged her to rob us. Now will you listen to me next time?”

“I just can’t believe someone would do such a thing.” Hadrian shook his head.

“I know. That’s why I had to show you.”

Hadrian looked up. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew.” Royce pointed at Albert. “Like he said, any fool could see this farm hasn’t been lived in for years. And didn’t you wonder why she was hiding along the road like that?”

“So why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you had to learn a lesson.”

“This is one costly lesson, don’t you think? Our payment, our gear, not to mention the horses themselves.”

“Well, that’s what you get for helping people.” Royce replied. “Didn’t they teach you anything in Hintindar? If you had been raised properly, you’d know better.” Royce turned to Albert. “Isn’t that right? I bet no one has ever helped you, have they?”

“No,” Albert replied with his eyes downcast.

“How long have you been here?”

Albert shrugged. “A week maybe.”

“What have you been living on?”

He plucked the material of his nightshirt out from his chest. “I didn’t come here in just this, you know.”

“You’ve been selling your clothes?”

He nodded. “The road has a good flow of traffic. I had some very nice pieces. My doublet fetched enough for an entire cask of rum, but that only lasted a few days. I was serious about the nightshirt. You’d be doing me a favor if you bought it.”

“That’s all you have. What are you going to do, walk around naked?”

Again he shrugged. “No sense leaving anything behind. My father taught me that.”

“See, this poor bastard is going to die here—penniless and miserable. He’ll starve. The world is a cold, ruthless place.” Royce paused to study Albert. “Probably in less than a month, I’d wager, and no one is going to lift a finger in his favor. That’s the way the world is, cold and indifferent, even on its best days.”

Hadrian sighed. “I was just trying to help.”

“Yes, you can see how much she needed you. She needed to be saved from this scoundrel. Look at him. He’s a monster if ever I saw one.”

“You’ve made your point, Royce.”