An Unexpected Encounter

A disgruntled wind, cold as ice, bit at Rena's exposed skin as she forced her way through knee-deep snow towards the tavern. Thick furs covered her back and head and hands, but they seemed to make no difference against the elements that wormed through whatever gaps they could find. She figured it wouldn't take more than an hour for the storm to take her in its savage clutches.

Fortunately, the tavern was close. Dusk neared with each minute, taking the sun, closed behind a thick bed of clouds, with it. Even still, Rena could see its shuttered windows, the pinewood boards of its siding and its low-vaulted roof of straw with a hole for the hearth. Warm light issued out in small streams from slits and cracks, as did the sounds of the tavern's patrons and the melodic hum of a lute. Rena pulled her hat close and quickened her stride. She was almost there.

The sign at the doorway displayed a spilled tankard and the faded words: Lazy Aabrum's Ale. Rena had beheld those words a thousand times, and they never ceased to put a smile on her face. The memories the tavern held had no end for her, and few of them were sour. She pushed through the planked-oak door without further hesitation and let the hot arms of the room envelope her.

The wind and snow proceeded her, causing many heads to turn to the doorway. Few things were worse than an open door on a cold night.

"Shut that door!" a gruff patron bellowed.

Rena did as the man bid, trapping trailed snow inside the tavern to melt under the heat of the roaring hearth at its center. She brushed herself off and searched for an open seat.

Lazy Aabrum's was brimful. The benches overflowed with rowdy patrons. Others who couldn't sit stood around or hunched beside them. Every stool at the counter was taken, and more people leaned against it. All wanted out of the storm, but none wanted to go home. They came here, instead.

Rena edged her way between a man in farmer's wear and a merchant who had their backs to her. Lazy Aabrum worked at drying a tankard behind the counter, locked in a debate with someone at the other end from Rena. She motioned him with a hand, and thankfulness washed over his face. He said something to the person and came over with a smile.

"Good night, Rena. Will it be ale?"

"Mead. Hot. Please."

Aabrum shouted over his shoulder and turned back. "How're things looking out there?"

"Getting worse. Doesn't seem an end to the storm in sight."

"Damn."

The farmer turned at that. "What've you got to be sorry about, eh? Good coin will flow through here tonight, thanks to that storm."

"Aye," Aabrum said, "and in the morning I'll be cleaning spilt ale and things far fouler off the floor. Then it's outside to shovel. Sometimes I wonder how my back can take it."

"Least you got work," the farmer laughed sourly. "Can't work the fields when they're hard as rock and covered in snow.

The merchant turned to the conversation. "Fear not, my good friends, the storm will lift before morning. I have it on good authority."

"Oh, sod off." The farmer's tankard sloshed as he grabbed it from the counter and left them.

Aabrum served Rena's warm mead and took the order of an older woman who filled the farmer's spot. "On whose authority?" he asked the merchant after.

"Our good lord's third son, who got it from his father, who got it from his grand advisor."

"And where'd he get it from?" Rena smiled.

The merchant pinched his lips and gave her a measuring look, then shrugged dismissively. "Matters not."

The farmer was right, Rena thought, but she didn't bother repeating it to the merchant. Instead, she thanked Aabrum, laid three coppers on the counter, and took up the search for a seat once more. Her tankard was warm against the palm of her hand, and some of its former contents were already warming her insides. The room was too stuffy by the hearth, so she worked her way to the back where it was quiet and cool.

A small round table, room enough for two, was the only one fully empty. She sat with her back to the wall and sipped her mead gingerly, peering out over the rim of the tankard. The bard had picked up with a lively tune, and many were chanting along with him in rhyme. Something about love and loss. Rena didn't much care for it.

"You just come in, miss?" A man nearby said. His gaze was on her boots, still soaked from melted snow.

"Yes."

The man's eyes rose and met her own. They were hard and blue, and thick black brows furrowed above then. He had clearly wanted a more detailed answer. "And?"

"And what?" She thought his anger might flare at that, but it didn't. He leaned back and sank in his seat, hunching his wide shoulders. Rena thought of moving, but curiosity stayed her. What bothers him so? Not wanting to be intrusive, she asked a different question. "What's your name?"

The man hesitated. Eyed her. "Denien. You?"

"Rena. And it's bad out. Snow is piling higher with each second. That merchant over there claims it'll end by the morning, but his sources are dubious, you ask me."

"How can any profess to know such things?" Denien had an even, captivating voice with the slightest hint of an accent. He was maybe a little older than Rena, herself twenty. Thick gray furs draped over the back of his seat. Two others had taken chairs at his table, but they were in their own world, lost in whispering conversation at the other end.

Rena didn't know, so she sipped her mead and told him as much. Then, she asked the question she had asked herself. "If it's not personal, what troubles you?"

Denien had bent over to ladle stew into his mouth, but he looked up and swallowed at that. "The storm is one everyone's mind." His voice was calm, but his eyes told a different story. One of nervous uncertainty.

"Ah, the storm indeed!" bellowed a barrel-chested man before Rena could press. He stumbled over and sat at Denien's table, reeking of sweat and ale. Rena hadn't seen him around town before.

"Aye," said Denien, leaning away.

The man shouted laughter. "I recently waded through snow up to me ears, boy. If not for my furs, I'd have froze right there in me breeches. This?" He motioned to the nearest window. "This is a dusting, ha!"

The man's comparison didn't put Denien at ease. That hard look in his eye returned. This time, his gaze was set on the drunkard. "Get gone," he said with forced calmness.

The man put a hand on his chest. "Excuse me? Why, I aught to—"

"Breng, leave the fellow alone." Yet another approached the table. This man walked with more control than the first. He picked his friend up and nudged him toward the counter. "Aabrum, buy Breng a drink. we all know he needs another."

There patrons answer in cheer and pulled Breng into the crowd up front. The new man took his seat.

"Sorry about that. My friend there drinks heavy early and heavy late. He's more ale than blood, tell true. But he didn't lie. Name's Jun." Jun looked a middle-aged man, tall and lean. Lengths of brown hair covered his forehead and rough beard his lower face. He pulled tight the black cloak that concealed most of his clothing, but the sepia of leather peeked out from his chest.

"What do you mean?" asked Rena. "There hasn't fallen that much snow here in, well, ever."

"It weren't here, miss. 'twas in the high mountain passes in the North. Have you ever set foot on them, let alone try to cross?"

Rena shook her head. Denien measured the man with unease clear upon his brow.

"Didn't think so. The winds blow so hard they threaten to rip you off the heights. If it wasn't for the snows packed all around, they probably would."

Rena crossed her arms. "Why take such roads?"

"No roads, miss. Barely paths. Strewn by rock and rubble. Why? It's the fastest way. Any other leads around the mountains. Hundreds of miles off course. Weeks with a good horse. Months on foot. South through the mountains is a five-day journey at most."

"So you force the mountain passes in the dead of winter, all in the interest of time. Doesn't seem smart to me."

"There are other interests, miss. We're hunters, you see."

"I do see now." Rena knew their type. They always migrated south in the hard winter months, where the game was plentiful. "Elk? Coyote? Don't tell me mountain goat."

"A far more destructive species, miss," said Jun, "human."

Denien was gathering his things to leave, but that made him freeze.

A smile grew on Jun's face. "Sit down, son. Some talking still needs doing."

Denien didn't move from his half stand. His eyes were wider than Rena thought possible, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"I said sit down."

With an audible sigh, Denien slowly sat.

"Now," Jun said, taking Denien's bowl of stew and spooning some into his mouth, "let me explain. I'm owed that much for my grief."

Rena was as frozen as Denien. She thought this was some sort of jest. But it's not. I can feel the tension between them. I should leave. But Rena was nothing if not curious. It held her to the seat like tar.

Jun fell into a casual tone, as if discussing the changing season with an old friend. None in the tavern took note of the harmless patrons at the back. "We first got wind of the whole ordeal about a month ago, ole Breng and I. Murder of three in cold blood, 'twas. Guard told me a description of the man. Said he'd fled south. We followed, naturally. A bounty was placed, and that's our trade.

"Thought we'd lost him when we reached the mountains. Many ways to go, and with a fresh blanket of snow the tracks were gone. Were ready to give it up when we found his stolen horse near the passes. Poor thing. But we knew where he'd gone then, so we doubled back, lodged our horses and took after."

Aabrum came over and asked if they needed anything. Jun ordered an ale and sent the man away. "Good stew. Makes me thirsty though."

"It wasn't murder," Denien said through his teeth. "They attacked us."

"Three burly men jump you, and you dispatch them all?"

"To protect my wife? My daughter?" Denien said, fierce. "You don't know the lengths one will go to protect their own."

Jun chuckled. "Nice story, son. I'm not buying it, even had I the coin. Now back to my recounting, and don't think about moving." He opened the left side of his cloak, where a sword was tucked away in its scabbard.

"Up in the passes, the winds gnawing at our bones like savage wolves. It was tough, I'll admit. Thought we were foolish for following you, but men do foolish things for gold. And the price on your head, well, it kept me going. Days and days up in the deep, pushing through mounds of snow. If it weren't for my good sense of direction, we'd probably still be up there...

"We finally emerged on the other side, frozen and furious. You should've seen Breng's whiskers, covered in frost. We'd made it, but we lost the trail again. I thought we lost it for good.

"Turns out the snows followed us down. We stopped at three towns for three nights. This is the fourth. I didn't think it would be any different. That is, until I saw a man at the back of the tavern. Black hair, strong features. Even in the dim light I can make out those blue eyes. And when I hear him getting all skittish about the worsening weather. Only one thing that can mean. He's worried he can't get away."

Denien eyed Jun. Eyed Rena. He was a deer ready to dart, but unsure where to go. Jun watched him carefully, ready to react. It was a glass of water on the edge of a knife. Then Lazy Aabrum came with the ale, it the glass went toppling over.

Jun turned to take the tankard, and Denien moved. He stood up in a flash and ripped the table off the ground. Jun fell over in his chair with the table coming down on top of him. He cursed and spat. Denien bolted for the door.

Somehow, Breng was sober enough to take in the situation. As the crowd erupted into chaos, he rushed to seize Denien. They collided and fell to the floor in a crash.

Aabrum backed away, Jun's ale still in hand. Rena just sat there, shocked. Jun recovered and stood. There was a flash and his sword was out. He rushed forward.

Rena hardly knew what was going on. She didn't know these men or their situation, not with any certainty. But, somehow, she believed Denien. The look on his face when he spoke about his family was painfully sincere, and Jun's talk of gold had put a lust in his eyes she did not like.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she was wrong, but she had no time for further thought. With a deep breath, she stuck her leg out.

Jun tripped on it and fell into a table, breaking its end off. Denien had managed to best the drunken Breng. With only a final glance at Rena, he sprinted for the door and was out.

Jun came up cursing. "You. You. You witch! Get up Breng. After him!"

But the crowd had blocked the door in its attempt to flee. The two bounty hunters got caught in its mass, screaming and stamping. By the time they set foot outside into the deep drifts of snow, where the wind whipped and howled, Denien was gone into the dark.

Rena later took a hail of insults from Jun, and she left shaken by the whole ordeal. A new memory had formed of Lazy Aabrum's Tavern, and not one she enjoyed. She thought of Denien as she laid in her bed that night, the storm beating at her little house and little town. She wondered how he would fare in the elements and found herself wishing him well as she drifted off to sleep. A part of her knew, alive or dead, she would never see him again.

The snows continued well into the morning.