The Tale Teller

Ch 11

 Blue Anne had run Appleton's only inn for as long as Vaun could remember.

As a child, he would come to the village with his adoptive father to sell straw from their rickety old cart. If the night was cold and the weather rough they would have stayed in the inn, and it was there that Vaun heard the first of the magical stories that he shared today.

Due to that, the inn was one of his favourites, though it was small and humble. It was rare that a good story would be found here unless another teller would be passing through. Vaun didn't mind though, for Blue Anne was a good cook and her customers paid well.

Upon entering, it was those customers that caught Vaun's eye, for none were there. The inn was empty.

The fire's hearth was bare, cold, and the stools were still stacked upon the tables. One single lantern shone from the bar in the centre of the room where Blue Anne herself stood with a cup raised to her lips.

Her black hair, dyed with ink that gave off a blue hue -the reason for her nickname-, was straggly and unwashed, scraped back into an unfortunate bun that both tugged her temples too tight, and fell down in chaotic waves. She looked as though she had been dragged through a hedge, though Vaun knew he wasn't in a position to talk.

He took a quick glance around the room, eyes as vigilant as a preying fox. He needed to make sure that the shadows were empty.

"Get out." The cup slammed down onto the bar and Vaun turned to see a finger stabbing the air, pointing straight at him. He had yet to drop his hood, but the anger in her wide scared eyes told him his identity didn't matter.

Still, he'd try. "Anne,"

"No!" She straightened up, gathering herself from the slouch she had been in. "You can't be here." She too looked around, as though expecting someone to step from the stone walls or from down the chimney. "You're a traveller; they'll kill you, kill me. Go!"

All Vaun could do was to raise his palms in a gesture of surrender, it didn't ease the terror in her eyes. "I'll go! But you must tell me who these people are, what has happened?"

If he was in danger he needed to know more information, though it didn't take a master of words or numbers to know the merchant's guards were involved.

They still roamed the streets outside, and Vaun had had to climb from Branoff's wagon with his cloak wrapped around him, hood up, silent and stealthy, in order to walk the few lengths to get here. His heart had been thumping at the speed of running footsteps the whole time, hands covered in sweat. He had made it though, but he would be naive to think the danger had passed.

"They want to convert us all." She hissed out the words, voice shaking. Her knitted shawl fell from one shoulder as she again looked to the shadows around her. It was making Vaun feel exposed, vulnerable as he stood in the centre of the room. He was open to attack with no way to defend himself.

He made a mental note to ask Branoff for lessons on combat. He wasn't sure if the man knew much about fighting, but mountain men had a reputation for doing little but that. If anyone knew the ways of conflict it would be Branoff.

"Gods from Albazkur, they want us to worship them." Vaun gave a nod, for this, he knew. "They hate the ale, the smoking of herbs, the children born outside of unity. They hate those who spread the stories of The Mother and The Father. They ordered me to report any bards or storytellers who did so."

This was what Maiden Woods had warned him off. Though not unexpected, it was still a curse to hear.

"Have they hurt you?" She was clearly shaken, and as Vaun took a few steps closer he could see the bruise beneath Anne's left eye as she turned her head towards the lanterns light.