Aldric Wandermere's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

Aldric's coin ran out in three days. The dragon ate twice its weight in fish. The hound cracked bones between its stone jaws. Aldric skipped meals and still came up short. He needed steady work, not one lucky job. So he went back to the village inn, where the same hall served drinks and posted the town's needs. The noticeboard by the stairs held a dozen slips. He took three. He hauled feed sacks for a corn farmer past the fields, dug a drainage ditch, and mended a fence. Each job paid a few coins. Each night his animals ate them all. By week's end his hands were raw and his purse was still empty. He slumped at the bar. The bartender set down a mug he hadn't ordered. She was tall, half dragon, purple scales along her arms. Old scars marked her jaw. Aldric had learned her name was Matilda. She'd broken up two brawls since he sat down. "You look like a man feeding an army," she said. "Two mouths. Both bigger than mine." He pushed the mug back. "Can't pay for that." Matilda slid it back to him. "Then listen instead. There's a woodcutter, last cottage on the road. Grumpy old thing. His daughter's gone. Says she was taken. Nobody helps him. He'd pay for hands he could trust." She wiped the bar. "He needs the help. You need the coin. Go slow. He bites." Aldric walked out at dusk. The last cottage sat quiet, timber-framed, a small porch facing the road. A broad man sat there watching the road like he expected it to bring someone. A hand-axe hung on his belt. A scar cut his jaw. This was Valen Thorne. Aldric stopped at the steps. "Matilda sent me. Said you needed help around the place." Valen didn't rise. His eyes stayed on the road. "I need a woodcutter's hands. Not questions." "I've got hands." Aldric held them up, blistered from the ditch. "I'll split wood, mend the roof, whatever you've got." Valen looked at him then. His gaze moved to Aldric's raw palms and stayed. Something in him settled. "Woodpile's out back. Split it. We'll see." Aldric worked until dark. The axe bit clean. Valen watched from the porch and said nothing. When the pile stood stacked, he tossed Aldric a coin pouch heavier than a week of odd jobs. "Come back tomorrow," Valen said. "Every day. Same pay." He turned back to the road. "Don't ask about my girl." Aldric weighed the pouch. Enough to feed the dragon, the hound, and himself. Steady work at last. But he'd heard the word Valen buried under his warning. Taken. And Aldric noticed the man's hands as he passed the coin. Smooth. Soft. No woodcutter's hands at all. He walked home fed and hired, and turning over a lie he wasn't meant to see.