The River Wife: A Tale of Bard the Bowman

Charity

Candle.

The flame wavered on the window sill, stirred by a spare draft between the cracks of the creaking house. A teardrop of red reflected in the glass pane against the black night sky. From what she could see, there was no moon. Only stars.

Star. Night. Bed.

She stirred. The scratchy woolen blankets and the worn linen shift that she wore were enough to keep her warm against the winter chill. Oddly enough, she heard water. It sloshed as though she were still on the barge that brought her there.

Her slumber had been a deep blackness, warm and dense as bear fur. Despite her confusion, she felt safe. Fire burned in a hearth nearby. It popped and a piece of wood collapsed into embers. Inexplicably, water ebbed and flowed outside.

Her gaze drew back to the stars outside. Something stirred in her heart. She once had known stories of stars. Years before, she had known their tales. Or maybe it was just yesterday?

Heavy footsteps startled her from her musing. She lay very still, safe behind the faded red bed curtains. A door opened and a voice sounded with authority.

Man.

"You've watched the house for days, Torrad. What is it that the Master wishes to know? Come up here and speak to me like a man, not like a slinking, spying rat in the shadows."

It had to be the stranger on the boat that spoke. How long had she been asleep? How many days?

"So you've finally come out of hiding, I see," a guttural voice echoed into the house. "Been holed up in there for as long as I've been sitting here on this corner-"

"Just tell me what it is that you want. I have no secrets."

As she sat up, her head spun. Her hollow stomach protested. It would be wiser to remain in bed and wait for a better moment. But she was hungry. And curiosity bit at the edges of her mind.

Gathering her long, thick hair over her shoulder, she edged onto the threadbare rug beside the bed. Her knees nearly gave way, but she grabbed the bed post before she could fall. It took a moment for her balance to return. Her muscles were like putty.

"We heard tell that you brought a stranger into Lake-town."

"What does that have to do with you?"

"The master wants to be sure that it isn't the dangerous sort of character. We never know with the customers you take into foreign waters."

Gingerly, she took slow steps out of the curtained bedroom and into the kitchen. The house was dark except for the fire in the hearth. There wasn't much she could make of her surroundings with her misty eyes and the deep, purple shadows of midnight. There was a table, chairs, and a set of stairs leading up to a second floor.

"It is only a poor, orphaned child that I found in the wilds. We are taking care of her till she is strong enough."

The man stood with his back to her at the door. It was the same stranger that had brought her onto his boat. He wore the blue linen shirt and his dark curls grazed his shoulders. She still had not seen his face.

The maiden stepped forward into the firelight, exposing herself in the sight of the open door. Beyond, on an elevated porch, stood a leather clad man, crooked back with an eye patch and a pipe in his hand. His single eye leered past the stranger towards her. She froze, realizing her stupidity at getting out of bed.

"She don't look like a child to me," he muttered, licking his bottom lip. "Can't say I blame you for hiding away with a creature like that for days."