Poisoning The Well

[Fibonacci]

(Closed to Letho, Saxon, and Fibonacci for the prologue and epilogue.)

Prologue

Radasanth, Corone.

"What are you gonna read tonight, Papa?" a voice chirped from the other side of the bedroom, belonging to a little boy buried under the covers of his warm bed. It was night fall and under the light of a single electric lamp the boy's father looked about the shelves searching for something he hadn't yet read to his youngest son.

Row upon row of leather bound books of all shapes and sizes sat tucked in the bookshelf, almost all of them Fibonacci could count on both hands the number of times he had read them to his kids over the years. Stories of valor, wit, and the occasional crafty villain had poured off the pages and helped shape his sons into the men they would later become. It was such a big rite of passage at the Fibonacci household that the entire family had always fallen silent every night to let the storyteller begin teaching his children lessons of morality and character cleverly tailored inside of those thrilling tales.

Fibonacci loved reading to his kids, it was his time to bond with them and put on an act that they all thoroughly enjoyed until they began to grow up. Through the years it had never grown tiresome to pull those mouldering old tomes from the shelves and practice his showmanship with his sons.

"Hrm, what should it be tonight?" Fibonacci said as he crinkled his brow and put a finger to his lip. "What of the young sailor, Dimitrius, and his motley crew who rode the rolling waves in search of treasure?"

"Heard it!" Noah squeaked from his bed, a smile stretched across his face.

Fibonacci closed his eyes and nodded understandingly. "Silly me, of course you heard about that! What have I told you of little Tom Thumb and the catfish who granted him two wishes?"

"All of it!" Noah said, egging his father on.

"Well, well, son. It looks like you just might have your old man over a barrel this time around." The storyteller said as he began to walk towards the end of the bookshelf and then smacked himself in the forehead for effect. "Why, Noah! I've just the thing!"

Grabbing a thick, yellow-paged tome from the shelf, the wily father opened it and began to flip through it. "Ah!" He exclaimed with a smile as he strolled over to the bedside and sat upon a stool, "I remember reading this one to Alan when he was your age. Bardelbe, a very spooky story that your mother didn't want me reading to any of you kids."

"Please, Papa! Read it to me!" Noah cried as all children do when tempted with forbidden fruit.

Raising a finger to his lips, Fibonacci grinned at his son who quickly fell silent. Looking discretely over his shoulder, his voice fell down to a whisper, "Lucky for the both of us your mother isn't here, eh?"

Noah's smile grew wide as he and his father exchanged glances. Under the lamplight the storyteller flipped pages until he was at the place he wanted and cleared his voice. "Once upon a time, there was a town by the name of Bardelbe that rested in a glen aptly hidden behind rolling hills and seas of leafy green forests," He began to read, "Almost a three day walk from anywhere civilized, it was safe to say that Bardelbe and it's people were in the middle of nowhere.

"The townsfolk were a hardy people and deeply religious, learning that to live on their own and to be able to break bread that the Thayne's work must be done. A tightly knit community, the people of Bardelbe lived under strict rules to keep order within the town. The most important rule of all; if you didn't work, you didn't eat. A-"

"Is that true, Papa?" Noah interrupted, "Would they make people go hungry?"

"Only if they didn't work." Fibonacci corrected.

"So would you make me go hungry if I didn't work?" Noah asked with a look that was both naive and innocent.

Realizing his son's confusion, the father's expression softened. "Of course not, Noah! We're a family, and a family never forces their little ones to earn food for them. No, son, that's a job for your mother and I. Adults support themselves and the ones they love, it's what is fair and right. I mean, you wouldn't want me to stay home all the time and make you go to work in a factory when you're older to buy food for all of us, do you?"

Noah grimaced and shook his head violently, causing his father to laugh. Having sprinkled a little earthly wisdom he gained from his brutal childhood, Fibonacci turned back to the book. "All right. Now where was I.. Ah yes. During the day, the small town became as busy as a bee hive. The fields were full of men turning sickle to wheat, tending to the cattle, or hunting game. The blacksmith's chimney would curl with smoke and women would often toil at work cleaning homes, preparing meals, making clothes and other goods for the rest of the town. Children would run about the streets, caught deep in their games and at play as all children were. At noon the villagers would eat at the town hall, and afterwards would get back to work until twilight where fathers would return from the fields and rest with their families.

This would go on day after day, all week until Sunday. A day of rest, no work was permitted and most of the villagers spent the morning at the church whose bells would clang from atop it's solemn hill, drawing the townsfolk in like a shepherd would it's flock. It was a peaceful, challenging life with little strife, and most of the town's elders intended to keep it that way.

For years, the town of Bardelbe sat within it's own little world, too far away from the rest of the world to hear the talk of kings know the sound of war. Though, the town it's people never knew much of prosperity either. With trade being scarce and locked within their own world of laws and order, Bardelbe held itself back. It never seemed much of a problem to the villagers, that was until she came."

Pausing for a glass of water, Fibonacci looked to his son whose eyes were already beginning to flutter as sleep grew heavy over them. But, even if he fell asleep Noah was much like his brothers at this age, wanting their father at their side until they were safely in the fields of dreams. Maybe one more passage for tonight, his father decided.

"One day, almost a week before the harvest moon, an old woman came to town. Since travelers were rare and highwaymen far more likely, the people of Bardelbe were naturally suspicious. However, Yivayva as she called herself, was a simple old woman. What harm could she do? The only request the woman asked was to be allowed to stay for one week so that she might rest before she continued her long journey north towards the mighty city of Radasanth.

With a round face, apple cheeks and the visage of everyone's favorite grandmother, Yivayva was allowed to stay at the town's only inn on the condition that she worked with other women in the town for her food. She agreed and shortly after moved into the top floor of the inn. Every day during her stay, Yivayva would wake early to toil with the town's women at the lathes and kitchens. She did more than her share of work, often taking the time to learn from the women and sometimes teaching them tricks of her own. Each night, she'd return to her room at the top of the inn and wouldn't come out until the next day.

For many, it seemed normal. She was very friendly and spoke much of herself and her homelands of Salvar during her short time there. The only thing she didn't seem to want to talk about was why such an old woman would be traveling on her own. But, as much as the glamour of the old salvarian rubbed off on the townspeople, some began to notice weird things begin to happen within the town during her stay.

Though there weren't many to begin with, the cats within the town began to disappear. Strange sounds emanated from Yivayva's room at night and many of the townspeople began to experience the same dreams. It was so unusual that on the fourth night of her stay, the town of Bardelbe called it's citizens for a meeting at their church. A god fearing people, the townspeople toiled the night away under the fear that they might be harboring a witch. Arguing and fighting much unlike themselves, the villagers and their elders decided to keep quiet. Despite whatever Yivayva's crimes, she was a guest and had held up her end of the deal, so they would keep up theirs. At least, for the time being."

The household had grown eerily quiet and sleep began to grow heavy upon Fibonacci's mind as he looked over to his son who lay fast asleep with his face turned towards the wall. With a smile, his father closed the book and turned off the lamp. Sitting in the darkness at his son's side, the storyteller looked out the opened window over his son's bed. Something was bugging him.

Looking outside into the peaceful city of Radasanth, Fibonacci felt his mind tug at a memory he had long forgotten. Feeling a chill run down his spine, the storyteller realized why he had picked out Bardelbe among all the other stories he could have read, especially tonight.

With his silouette cast in shadows, Fibonacci sat beside his son on the very anniversary that it had started. Almost a year ago, a terrible plague had swept across the countryside like wildfire, wiping out entire villages and towns with no sign of it having ever occurred there. The only reason it had been called a plague was because it had baffled people across the country and the only rational line of thought was that a new sickness was in the air. But, others like Fibonacci's dark obsession, Saxon, knew better. It was something more sinister.

Slowly and diligently, the threads of Fibonacci's mind began to tether and pull memories back to the surface that he had wished were buried. It all began the night evil treaded ground upon a place called Willowtown, and only Saxon and a legendary lawman stood in it's way.

~*~

(Jesus. That took longer than I intended it too, and I still think I missed hitting the nail for this one. Sorry for the wait. For your intro, do whatever you like but make mention of an old woman fitting the description provided in this post coming to Willowtown around nightfall. Also, if Letho is into the news, make mention of that plague that is running rampant throughout the country wiping out entire towns.)

[Letho]

“Steady now, child. Steady,” came a whisper from a suspiciously large shrub. The words spoken were but one of the unnatural traits of the plump piece of forest flora. The others – a completely unnatural arrangement of branches and the withering leaves and the constant rustle and crackle from within – were even more conspicuous than the muffled voice. But the difference from the natural order of things was a small wonder considering that the bush had the task of camouflaging not one, but two humans.

One of them, a stringy, red-haired lass of no more than thirteen years of age, seemed to struggle with just about everything around her. She was struggling with a shortbow in her shaking hands, trying just a tad too hard to keep it steady and achieving completely the opposite instead. She was struggling with the leaves that kept lashing at her face and that one uncomfortable branch that relentlessly dug into her behind. She was struggling with a single sweat drop that dangled at her eyebrow, refusing to take the final plunge. But above all else, she was struggling with her rash nature and the growing need to just up and leave, sending everything to hell. Her father included.

At her side, as motionless as if he was unaffected by the world around him, Letho Ravenheart stared at the clearing ahead. His perception acknowledged everything; the mild breeze creating waves in the tall grass and tiny ripples on the surface of the pond; the merry sparrows that scudded between the tree crowns like feathery missiles; the orchestra of crackling and shuffling and rustling and chirping and every other sound of the forest on a sunny day. And once he took everything into account and filtered out the unimportant data, a fact remained. Their target was approaching.

“Do not hold your breath. Keep breathing. Relax your hands,” he instructed the girl, and even though he couldn’t see her through the thick foliage, he could sense her growing even more tense. It wouldn’t aid her, but it was natural, he knew. He felt the same before his first hunt all those years ago, when Lothirgan was the voice on his shoulder and his hands clung to the bow as if the next shot decided the fate of the world.

The rhythm of the forest symphony changed; a new series of sounds broke the usual daily chaos. It was a subtle thing this disturbance, a mere shuffle out of order here and there, but it kept approaching the waterhole and it wasn’t long before a pair of antlers announced the approach of a full-grown deer. The magnificent animal stepped into the clearing gingerly, sniffing the grass and scanning the surrounding for any trace of danger. Once it was satisfied, it proceeded to lap at the water of the pond.

“Stay calm,” his whisper advised. “No rush. Feel the shot. Feel it in your hands, see it with your eyes.”

In all truth, Lorelei had absolutely no idea what he was yammering on about. She didn’t see anything save a scared deer beyond the annoying leaves before her and she didn’t feel anything save the poke of that stubborn branch. So it really made no difference to her whether she should shoot now or two seconds later when the wind stopped and the animal raised its head. Such thinking made her pull back on the arrow in her bow...

“No, not yet!”

...and release it prematurely. The arrow whistled past the proud antlers and by the time it was gone in the forest beyond, so was the deer. Letho sighed.

“To hell with it!” the youth exclaimed, leaping to her feet. She was planning to toss her bow away, but she was so tangled in their intricate camouflage that she wound up fighting with the shrub instead, punching at the branches and leaves around her for several second before she was able to untangle from its grasp. By the time she was done, she was so red in the face that one could barely tell where her hair ended and her skin began. “This is dumb. I cannot do it, father. Why cannot I just use magic instead?”

“Rubbish,” was all that Letho said, slowly emerging from their hiding place. “Hunting with magic is not proper hunting. You will do better next time.”

“Truly? You said that the last three times!” She was fuming, obviously fed up with these fruitless hunting lessons that for almost a week now made them trek into the forest at the crack of dawn and return hours later with naught but a bad experience. “I am not like you, or my mother for that matter. I cannot see the damn shot!”

Letho laughed wholeheartedly, a deep, rumbling laughter that lasted for but a second and only further irked his daughter. “My dear, you are more like your mother than you know,” he said, flicking off the pieces of their camouflage that got stuck on his clothes.

“Oh, yes? How so?”

“She could not hit the side of a barn with a bow either.”

***

The walk home was a relatively short one. After her blood cooled down and her head accepted the affable jest for what it really was, the lowered tensions allowed for a normal conversation. There were still some black holes, moments when both of them grew silent and reminded Letho of the fact that she was after all his daughter and as such inherited some of his characteristics as well. But the uncomfortable silence usually lasted for only a short while before one of them restarted the dialogue. Letho found this harder than all the lessons he gave to the girl, though. Never one for small talks, he usually wound up remarking the weather for the umpteenth time or came up with suggestions for dinner. Today it was bean soup. And no meat again.

Willow Hill wasn’t far from the edge of the forest, rising from the generally flat land like a monument of sorts. The main trail leading to the top was lined on both sides by a century old willow trees, their long, flaccid branches caught in a perpetual dance to the beat of the wind, whipping at the air over and over again. The magnificent manor at the end of the trail, though, was gone. Burned to the ground during the Civil War, it was replaced by a significantly more modest, single-storey cottage. The walls were wood instead of stone and the roof was thatch instead of tiles, but it was a place the pair called home.

Willowtown has been kind to them. Even after all the commotion around the Civil War and their disagreement with Letho – the county Marshal once – they accepted the fallen hero into their midst yet again because their collective memory hadn’t forgotten. They hadn’t forgotten about Letho’s blind following of orders that made him arrest several of their citizens in the name of the government, leading them to their death. But they also hadn’t forgotten about the time when a gang of self-proclaimed Lawmen spread their reign of terror and extortion over Willowtown and Letho, a newcomer to the community, defeated them almost single-handedly. All things considered, they considered that it all evened out pretty well, so there was no bad blood between them and the legendary swordsman. They even went as far as protecting the man by convincing the bounty hunters that, no, they haven’t seen Letho in quite a while, and no, that wasn’t him in that house on the Willow Hill, and no, you couldn’t ask anymore questions, thank you very much, but you might want to talk with our new Marshal and his shiny twelve gauge.

That same Marshal, a strapping young man with some twenty-odd years underneath his belt, was making his way through the tunnel made of willow branches that afternoon. With a shotgun hanging at his shoulder and a hat carefully balanced above his short blonde hair, he walked like a man late for a meeting. His face – usually cracked open with a wide smile – was drawn with a more serious set of lines, the ones that made him frown more than he actually wanted. Lorelei, sitting on the porch and completing the dreadful task of cleaning the weaponry after their futile visit to the woods, was the one to greet the lawman.

“Oh, good day, Marshal Eames,” she said, raising her head from the oily rag and the shiny dagger it polished to perfection. She smiled with just a tad more modesty that she wanted; she liked Thomas and he always made her feel queasy.

“Lori,” he tipped his hat to the lass, but forgot to return the favor with the smile. Duty was the flavor of the day. “Is your father around? I need to talk to him about something.”

“Yes, he is. I think he is in the backyard, getting some firewood,” she pointed towards the back, pulled back her smile and returned to her task. By the time the Marshal swung around the corner of the house, Letho was there to meet him with an armful of split logs.

“Well, if it isn’t the long arm of the law,” the aged swordsman greeted him, offering his free hand. “What brings you here, Thomas? You on patrol?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. I... There’s been some disturbance,” the Marshal explained.

“In the town?” Letho asked, leading the way into the house and gesturing to Tom to follow. The living room was a simple, but cozy place, with a huge stone fireplace dominating the otherwise plain picture. A couple of armchairs, a couple of rugs, a couple of weapons hanging from the walls, it looked like a home of some retired mercenary rather than that of a famous Corone hero. The gray-haired swordsman dropped the logs into an open crate next to the crackling fire.

“No. Not our town anyways,” Thomas responded, his voice just worried enough to capture Letho’s attention. “But there’s talk of plague farther west.”

“You should send a bird, see what the situation is.”

“I did. And when no messages returned, I sent Arian to check it out. It’s been two days now and he is yet to return.”

“Arian”, Letho thought. That boy was even younger than the current Marshal, and Thomas was already way too green for his position. But the Rangers weren’t as numerous as they were before, so they accepted just about anybody with some skill into their ranks.

“So I was thinking of going myself. And I was wondering... Would you, you know, be interested in joining me? You’d be paid, of course. If something’s amiss I could use an experienced sword and if it’s not, you pocket some government money.”

It was a tempting offer, but not because of the money. It was the call of the road that beckoned, the old scars borne of adventure that shouted out, demanding to be opened once again. It would be so easy to pick up the sword again and challenge the world. But that was no longer a life that Letho led. He was settling down. He was building a home. He was a family man.

“Sorry. My sword is hanging up there for a reason,” he finally said, the words more difficult to come out than he expected, his finger pointing to the legendary Lawmaker shimmering in orange-brown hues. “I’m retired.”

[Saxon]

Night fell fast upon the land as the skies became smeared with violet and the watery sun glowered while it sank in the distance. Cast in the glow of the sunset, the same jagged edges upon the stalwart mountains now began to burn giving the spectacular illusion that they were being set ablaze. Entire forests in Corone began to shimmer as trees began to take on hues of oranges, golds, and an array of other colors that the sun itself seemed to be lending them. But, as beautiful as things became in a matter of hours it'd all be consumed by darkness and melt into a hungry, foreboding black.

While the eternal struggle between night and day wore on, life continued to limp on upon the quiet dirt roads that acted as an intricate web of crusty, dried up veins that littered the country.

"Ya!" A man barked as he jarred his spurs into his horse and felt it kick up clods of dirt as it drove it's hooves hard into the ground, barreling faster and faster down one of those decadent roads. Though it didn't look like it, both the colt and it's master were exhausted, having traveled across the countryside without much pause for almost a week. Sleep was rare, and the man tried to eat whatever he could while on horseback. It was an existence he'd regret, but some things became less important when lives were at stake.

Up close, the unwavering sense of determination and willpower to press onward began to show it's wear. The colt's once sleek coat and mane that had been dark as pitch now became a dark brown from all the dirt and mud it was kicking up. The horse's long, narrow face barred it's teeth upon the bit, feeling the exhaustion wasting away the high reserves of energy and endurance his breed was known for. It wouldn't be long now before the horse became too tired and lost control, falling over into the muck and possibly injuring or killing them both.

The rider himself had the appearance of any man that had been awake for four days and in constant motion. His face looked worn and haggard, with deep dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His stubbled face began to grow thick and dark, the appearance of a beard imminent while his unfettered black mane had grown unkempt with sweat from under his fedora. His clothes were caked in dirt and wrinkled with sweat, almost making him unrecognizable from his usual appearance. While it looked as if his horse would keel over at any second, Saxon looked as if he could go on for another couple of days before his body would give in.

But, he needed to keep moving if he wanted to make it to the next town in time. Saxon had spent a month tracking and following in the wake of something terrible, almost always a step behind it. Called by the papers and much of the country as a new epidemic that was killing tens of hundreds in a matter of days, the hunter knew better. Whatever was slaughtering entire villages of people was very much more than a disease, and it was systematically moving from town to town wiping out life indiscriminately.

It had already made it's way through a couple dozen towns, acting like a predator that had wandered it's way into the country and began killing people like they were cattle. It broke the natural order of things, and that was something Saxon intended to stop if had cost him his life. Though he had a guess of what this monster was, he hadn't seen it. Nobody that was still kicking did, anyway. The only chance the huntsman had was to try and head it off, beat it to it's next killing grounds at any cost.

As his horse began to waver and stumble across the road Saxon pulled tight on the reins to draw him back again. With a hoarse voice he called, "Easy, Ambrose! We're almost there. We'll be there in another couple of hours."

Knowing he might as well have been talking to himself, Saxon hoped he managed to soothe his horse and buy him more time. Having plotted the terrible creature's trek across the country, the hunter had began to see a pattern as the monster looked to be slowly moving west snaking it's way towards the coast. Able to stake his life upon the certainty of what it's next target would be, Saxon and his colt sped across the countryside like a bullet leaving the barrel of a revolver.

Luckily, the hunter might not be alone when he arrived in this place known as Willowtown. There was word of a rather famous lawman residing in it, though only a few years after the terrible civil war that had swept the country it was anyone's guess if this guy was still kicking. Staring at the road ahead with twilight fast on his heels, Saxon hoped he was right as time had grown short.

~*~

Night had beaten Saxon to Willowtown when he arrived late in the evening, the countryside growing dark long before he had made it to town. Half expecting to see nothing but bodies littering the streets, the hunter was pleased to see he wasn't too late when he saw throngs of people still wandering about the town about their business.

Slowing his horse down to a crawl as he came into town, Saxon could barely see much of the town other than the obvious. It was a shotgun style town with buildings resting on either side of one large, narrow dirt road that led to the black hills on the outskirts of town. Though the citizens looked at him suspiciously, one managed to point him to the livery where the hunter had his colt stabled, taking some of his belongings with him.

Knowing he had some time before the creature struck, Saxon wanted to eat and rest to give his body some time to recover. But, there was one piece of business he still needed to take care of as he staggered around the town, trying to endure an awful case of four-day saddle rash as best he could manage.

Walking up to an older man whose face looked ravaged and scarred with age who had been moving towards a tavern, Saxon spoke up. "Hello, would you happen to know if a 'Letho Ravenheart' still lives here? It's urgent that I speak with him." Sounding out his potential ally's name loudly as if he were saying it out loud for the first time.

The older man stopped dead and slowly turned to the hunter, eyeing him carefully. The smell of suspicion was thick as those that overheard stopped and looked to Saxon as well as if he were a pink elephant sitting in the middle of the street. Feeling the urge to put his hand on one of his many knives, the hunter suppressed it. Having sized him up, the old man spoke for the growing audience that began to surround him. "Letho Ravenheart, you say? Whatcha need him for?"

"My name's Thomas Saxon and I need to speak with him about an urgent matter that concerns this.. plague we're suffering. I need his help." Saxon said plainly as he locked eyes with the old man.

Shaking his head, the old man sighed. "Sorry, son. You're a few years too late for that .. he's dead."

Saxon said the question anyone who had been awake for days would have and he immediately regretted it as the words left his mouth. "Are you sure?"

The old timer snorted and looked at the hunter as if he had just spat on him. "Of course, I'm sure, you stupid bastard! Ask anybody here who was at his funeral that we held up there," pausing to point at one of the two hills that sat by the city Saxon would later learn to be the old town church, "Hell, son, I helped bury him. But let me give you a piece of advice; Don't go talkin' about any Letho Ravenheart around here. The name carries a lot of weight with it, and some of us aren't as forgiving to outsiders as others when it comes to something like this. So why don't you get on you're horse and get?"

Seeing the group of citizens having the same expression of disdain and disgust for him in the torchlight, Saxon knew this was futile. With his hopes dashed and almost half a week of sleep debt weighing in on him, the hunter shook his head, "Can't. Need to rest first. Could you point me to the nearest inn?"

Being shown to the only inn in town, Saxon didn't notice as one member of the crowd who had been a good friend of the Ravenheart family slipped away and walked towards Willow Hill. Though the hunter looked defeated, the brunette wasn't convinced. She needed to warn Letho that somebody in town was looking for him and was staying in town. After all, it was always better to be safe than dead. Who knows who this new stranger really was?

[Letho]

The bean soup was passable. It was perhaps a bit bland without fresh venison in it, but Letho wasn’t about to complain and add an insult to an already injured confidence of his daughter. If it were Myrhia on the other side of the table, spooning her soup in silence, he’d perhaps make a bad joke about the failed hunt and the lack of something coherent for dinner. And then she’d feign a frown and stick out her tongue and probably throw bread crumbs at him, and then he would laugh and she would laugh as well and suddenly the room wouldn’t be so silent anymore. But Lorelei wasn’t Myrhianna. Unlike her mother – who could be quite the little chatterbox in just about any situation – the teen was perfectly content with dining in silence, just like her old man. That unfortunate trait they shared turned almost every meal into an ordeal.

That was probably why, when a knock on their front door broke the monotony of utensils clinking and clanking, they both seemed almost relieved to hear it. Removing a napkin from his knees (the fact that it was even there a remnant of a time long past and the years spent amongst the royalty of Savion), Letho made the short trip from the kitchen through the living room and to the front door. On the other side of it stood Sienna Eames, wife of the current Marshal of Willowtown, packing those faded denim pants of hers as tight as only she could. It almost managed to distract one from the rather impressive bust she hid underneath that flannel shirt of hers.

“Marshal,” she greeted him with his old title. Even after so many years and the fact that she was married to the actual lawman of the county, she continued doing so. The old saying was right; old habits die hard. And the fact that there was once somewhat of an affection between the two made them even more resilient.

“Sienna,” he responded, tipping the invisible hat on his head “You are just in time for dinner. Would you join us?”

The woman stood on her toes for a second and fired a glance over Letho’s shoulder and towards the ongoing dinner, took a sniff, then return to her normal posture, hands on her hips. “Soup again, huh?” she asked in a low voice, adding a teasing smirk at the end of it. “I think I’ll pass. Not really hungry. I could use a drink, though.”

“Sure, come on in,” Letho gestured inwards and swung the doors open a bit wider to let her through. Soon enough there were three of them at the table with Sienna slowly milking a tall glass of wine, but the situation failed to improve in the silence department. The tension between a pair of almost-lovers added to the tension between father and daughter, creating an atmosphere where, to take a single spoon of the soup, one had to first spoon away the amassing pressure in the air.

“So, two visits from the esteemed Eames family in one day,” Letho finally managed to come up with an ice-breaker. “To what do we owe the honor? And do not say it is the wine: it is really not that good.”

Well, it certainly wasn’t bad either, Sienna thought, much better than the slop they serve back in town. But no, neither the wine nor the pleasure of company wasn’t the reason the woman climbed the Willow Hill. She set the glass down with a courteous, almost modest smile which made Lorelei almost suspicious. The young mage never asked her father about the history between him and Sienna, but she was pretty certain there were some given the way they exchanged looks and smirks.

“Yes, well, I thought you’d like to know that there’s a man looking for you back in town,” the brunette finally spoke. “Looks like a merc, a lone one to boot. From what he says, he’s on the hunt for whatever’s causing this plague and he wants your help, but the story could be bull. Old man Kieron certainly thought so. Gave him the old ‘Letho’s dead’ deal and sent him packing. But you might want to check it out anyways. He’s staying at Dina’s.”

“I see,” was the only response she managed to elicit from the swordsman before he returned to the soup that was rapidly getting cold. It wasn’t uncommon for people to come looking for him, whether they were squires looking for some tutelage from the ‘legendary’ Letho Ravenheart or bounty-hunters eager to collect the bounty set on his head by the Coalition. Most of them weren’t dissuaded by the story given by the locals, but Tommy did a good job of sending them packing. “Did your husband check him out?”

“No,” Sienna replied, picking up the glass again. She gave it a twirl, then downed the last of the wine. “Thomas rode out late this afternoon. Said he’s going to Oaktown to see what’s keeping Arian.”

“I see,” again the same reply from the moody Marshal. Seeing as neither the father nor the daughter were in the mood for chit-chat, the voluptuous woman figured it was her cue to leave.

“Well, I’m gonna go,” she said, getting up. Following the etiquette, Letho got up when she did and walked her to the door. “Thanks for the drink,” she added before she stepped out into the chilly night.

***

Once the dishes were clean and Lorelei retreated to her room for the day, Letho sat before the fireplace, watching the dying flames with his pondering mask on and one hand stroking his graying beard. He doubted that it was mere coincidence that Thomas came to him with the story of the plague on the same day this stranger rode into town, asking for the aid of the ‘departed’ Letho Ravenheart. There was bound to be something brewing in the west, something malevolent that spread the sickness, but that wasn’t really the main issue that’s been troubling tonight. There’s always trouble brewing somewhere on the Corone Island, some vile force or other rising to wreak destruction. And Letho had made it his job to fight these villains for most of his life. But now he had a different job, a different life. He had a teenager to raise and a family to take care of. Riding out the way he used to and taking care of the business like a bludgeoner didn’t come as easy when you had something to return home to.

So he weighed, and he measured, and he calculated, and he stared at the dying embers in search of an answer. It was going to be a long night.

***

Before daybreak, the town looked as if it was frozen in time and then subsequently forgotten. A thin veil of fog rose from the nearby river and covered most of Willowtown, and it was as if it tucked most of the locals in for just another five minutes of slumber. This left the streets hauntingly vacant; even the strays that usually sniffed their way through the gutters in search for some food were sleeping at the doorsteps and porches. A couple of them would perk an ear or two at the sound of the horse hooves on the damp road, and an old tom up on the awning would raise his head for a moment, but that was about as much disturbance as Letho’s arrival into town provoked. Unsurprisingly, he managed to make his way to the back of the inn unnoticed, where he tied down his steed and entered through the back door.

He didn’t have to ask in which room this newcomer was staying. There was only one key missing from the cabinet above the dozing innkeeper, so Letho didn’t have to wake the proprietor of Dina’s Inn. Instead he made his way up the stairs, oddly silent given his impressive physique and the gargantuan Lawmaker strapped to his back. Once he was in the first floor’s hallway, he took the gunblade off his back, sat on the windowsill with the weapon on his lap, with the door to the only occupied room several paces away. There he waited, serene and unmoving as the sun slowly rose above the mountains, bursting through the window behind him and bringing about the daily bustle that had been delayed by the fog. Not long after this wakening call of the nature, somebody within the room stirred and soon the doors swung inwards, letting the man out.

“So, I hear you are looking for the dead amongst the living,” Letho said to the man, his arms crossed at his chest as he remained seated. “You a bounty-hunter with a good cover story or are you really what you claim to be? Speak truthfully, so we can settle this as quickly and as painlessly as possible.”