Garrett Ironwood's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Every full moon, the ginger noble sat at Garrett Ironwood's back table and drank alone. Garrett owned the tavern. He knew every regular's name, their trade, their favorite drink. He knew nothing about this man. That gap had gnawed at him for six months. Tonight he meant to close it, though one wrong word could scare off the only guest he wanted to keep. The man arrived at moonrise, as always. He wore a fine green coat and pushed back his red hair with one gloved hand. He took the back table without asking. Conversation dipped as he passed, then returned. Garrett poured the man's usual dark ale and carried it over himself. "You come every full moon," Garrett said. "Never the nights between. A man could build a story out of that." The noble looked up. His eyes were pale and sharp. "Some men need the quiet. Your tavern gives it." "I could give more, if I knew your name." The man's mouth tightened. Garrett saw the mistake at once. He had pushed too far, too fast. The noble set down the ale and reached for his coat. Garrett changed course. He pulled a chair and sat, uninvited, the way he never did with paying guests. "Forget the name," he said. "You came for quiet. I'll leave you to it. But that ale's on me tonight." The man paused, coat half on. He studied Garrett's face, then his hands, rough from years of hauling barrels. Something in him eased. He let the coat fall back. "Sit, then," the noble said. "Since you've already done it." Garrett grinned. They talked. Not about names or titles. About the ale, the weather, the long road the man rode to get here. The noble spoke in careful pieces, giving little, but he stayed. Every time the tavern door opened, though, his shoulders drew tight. He watched the entrance more than he watched Garrett. Near closing, the man stood. He left a gold coin on the table, far too much for one ale. "You didn't ask what you wanted to ask," he said. "That is why I'll answer part of it." Garrett waited. "My name is not safe to give," the noble said. "Not here. Not with what follows me." He glanced once more at the door. "But I'll come back before the next full moon. That has never happened. Take it as your answer." Then he was gone into the dark. Garrett held the gold coin and stared after him. He had won something. The man would return early, unbidden, for the first time. But the words stuck in him like a splinter. Not safe. What follows me. Garrett had wanted a name and gotten a warning instead. Whoever this man was, someone hunted him. And now Garrett's tavern sat in the path.