Thorn tapped her staff on the ground thrice, and the crowd slowly settled into order. No one made a noise. All eyes were drawn on her. The ones further from her table strained their ears to listen, edging their seats as close as possible until it threatened to teeter and fall over.
Thorn felt like she was a bard preparing to deliver a song, complete with the stage fright. She suddenly felt self-conscious. She fixed her posture and tried to swallow the nervous lump on her throat.
"Eyewitness, please."
The eyewitnesses gather their account. Soon came the turn of Gaskin, a well known customer to Jobb. He had a hard leathery face wrought with numerous lines. His skin was deeply tanned from years of working on the farm. His hair was long and wavy, white save for a few strands of black at the roots. Clumps of hair clung to his greasy temple. His full beard shared a similar colour. He sat hunched, which made him look even shorter than he already is. His hands were thin but quite muscular, tried by the rigours of working in the field. He had a pipe nestling between yellowed teeth. The stench of pipe weed clung to his clothes, and Thorn felt it itch at her nose terribly.
Pipe smoke fumed out his mouth as he told his story. "When I first saw him, I thought I had one too many drinks, for he came into the room like he was a walking corpse. Beneath all that mud and dried blood, I discerned that he was a young man, about older than my eldest son, but much taller and more muscular. He had fair skin and these striking, fierce amber eyes that didn't waver at the sight of dead men. Perhaps the most striking however is his red mane. It was long and wild. He wore it in a braid that fell to his back."
Others added their thoughts. "I thought he was going to enter and just topple onto the floor unconscious. But that man was like the devil. Not only was he able to cross God-knows how far on his own two feet, he could still fight a dozen men!"
Another rushed to add. "And unarmed, I might add! He took down a dozen armed men without a weapon for himself, and Corvus' men are no pushovers I tell you. They knew how to fight."
Gaskin grinned. "That Drifter bastard was as wild as a wounded lion. He turned their weapons against him, I tell you. I saw him catching their swords and turning them against their own owners."
Thorn held her hand. "So, he came into the tavern and engaged Corvus' men. Why? It seemed so sudden."
Gaskin scratched his beard. "I think it was a dispute of some sorts, but I can't tell you what kind."
"It was the spear."
It was Jobb's voice. Thorn turned to him.
"The wyrmmetal spear, you mean?" Thorn asked. She saw the surprised look on her father's face and added, "that part of the news travelled the fastest."
Jobb looked over his shoulder and saw about a dozen eyes that looked away, seeming mighty guilty.
A diet of gossip indeed.
Thorn propped her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together. "A man wielding a wyrmmetal spear caused mayhem, that was what the rumours said once it arrived in the city. But rumours tend to be embellished or twisted, and the further it travels the worse it gets. That's why I came all the way here to verify it. Now it's very important for me to know if the spear really was wyrmmetal or not. So can anyone tell me beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was?"
Gaskin blew out a puff of smoke. "Well, there are about a dozen people who got a very intimate look of the spear that could confirm it to you."
Thorn looked at him expectantly.
He said, "If you can talk to the dead, that is."
Thorn flatly stared at him.
"I'll take it as a no. Then that means there's one left," he said, gesturing to Jobb.
Thorn turned to him. "You did?"
"Aye." Jobb pulled at his collar, as if the memory was a pain to retread. "Corvus wanted me to appraise his, well, loot. So I did, and I studied the spear from its butt all the way to its head, and I can assure you it had the wyrmmetal mark. It was right there etched on the shaft right below the spearhead. I saw it as clear as I'm seeing your face now."
Thorn nodded. "I see. Then it is a wyrmmetal spear indeed."
She trusted her father. She knew he was not a fool in the art of weapons. Unlike Rose, Thorn was old enough to vividly remember what Jobb was like during the war.
Thorn's brows drawn together tightly. "Then he truly is the one I've been looking for."
"You know him?"
Thorn nodded slowly. "Everyone in the Consortium knows him, for he is a threat to the entire Consortium, from the lowest acolyte to the noblest archmage. This man you all wrote off as a simple drifter is known by a different name to us mages."
Thorn paused, her lips forming the words but no sound came out. And when she uttered his name she did it softly, carefully, as if she feared it would bring a fearsome curse upon herself.
"Magebane, for he has made it his personal mission to kill all who practice magic."
A wave of fear spread among the crowd like oil over water. The room grew loud as the crowd exchanged words in hushed tones.
"Did she say Magebane?"
"The mage-killer!"
"He's the one that killed that entire band of mages a season ago, didn't he?"
Gaskin's eyes were wide like saucers. "I've heard stories, aye, miss. But they sound impossible. You mean to tell me there's someone out there roaming around killing mages? Is that even possible?"
"With a wyrmmetal spear? It's possible. It was wyrmmetal that felled the Sorcerer King Trigan. That weapon is as deadly to him as it is to me."
Thorn's fingers unconsciously brushed the side of her stomach. A phantom pain stung as she touched it. It hurted even now, long after the wound had closed.
She said, "It's not wrong to think he's not real. From how little we know of him, he seemed more like a boogeyman cooked up by the Consortium to scare unruly acolytes into order. We do not know his origin. We do not know where he came from. No city, town, or village claimed him as their own. We don't even know when he was born. But I promise you that he's very real.
"The Consortium believes that, judging from his age, skill, and equipment, he's likely a remnant of Trigan's legions, hellbent on exacting vengeance on those who denied his dark lord's claim to the throne. And who is more responsible than the Consortium?"
Jobb's thick brows drew tight. He stroked his beard and said, "to think a man so dangerous passed through this town right under our noses. It sends shivers down my spine."
Gaskin cocked a brow. "Passed through? He was wounded, Jobb. Chances are he's hiding here, in this town, waiting for his wounds to heal."
A wave of fear and panic surged through the crowd like wildfire. The room was loud with the noise of multiple chatter and murmurs.
Jobb fixed a stern stare at Gaskin, who only replied with a shrug.
Diet of gossip indeed.
"That's perfect," said Thorn. "Because I intend to end it all, here and now."
The entire crowd paused and snapped their heads towards her. But there was no sign of jest from Thorn's face. It was set hard with determination.
She said, "You said it yourself, Gaskin. He's wounded. Chances are he's hiding here, in this town, nursing his wound, terribly weakened. Now is the time for bravery. Now is the time to engage."
Gaskin blinked at Thorn as if she just sprouted a second head. "He's wounded, yes, but he could still kill a dozen men still, Thorn! Ask Corvus and his men for that proof. You can't just throw yourself into danger like that."
"And he could kill a hundred men in perfect health. Believe me, I've seen it. He needs to be stopped, and he needs to be stopped now."
Thorn trailed off, the energy dissipating from her voice. She clutched the shaft of her staff tightly, and said her next words far more quietly.
"But even with my skills, I can't do it alone. The Consortium needs your help. I need your help."
Cold silence met her request. She looked around the room. Scared, tired, and old eyes looked back. The reaction was the opposite of what she had hoped for, but exactly as she had expected.
"What can we do? We're just common folk," said Gaskin, and plenty of other Shepestians joined in the same tune.
"Against a wyrmmonger?"
"What chance do we get?"
"But we've got the sorceress on our side. That must count something, right?"
A discussion erupted among the Shepestians. For a moment, the tides of the discussion seemed divisive, but it was cut off at the sound of a stern voice.
"Why care for him?"
Eyes turned towards captain Horndall sitting at the far end of the tavern, surrounded by his entourage of guards.
Horndall worked his jaw, and his well-trimmed moustache bristled along. "By my reckoning, the Consortium's pursuit of this Magebane is not our business."
Thorn's mouth hung open. "You're the captain of the guards!"
She glared at all the tall, well-equipped guards gathered on his table. "You are all guards. Your duty is to protect the people!"
She saw flickers of agreement in their eyes, but it was extinguished when Horndall slammed his hands on the table. "And we shall protect the people, but we will not allow them to mindlessly pursue trouble! You have eloquently put it yourself, sorceress, that the Magebane is a most dangerous fighter. If we agitate him, it will be as foolish as cornering a wounded lion. To engage him is to court death. I believe it is in our best interest to leave him be. Let him lick his wounds for all I care, if that means he will leave Shepeste without giving us trouble. I won't risk letting the people of Shepeste die for your crusade."
Horndall was on his feet before he even realised it. His face was flushed red from ear to ear, and he had to consciously loosen his clenched fingers.
He sighed, shook his head, and slumped back on his seat. When he spoke again, there was a new, tired tone to his voice. "The truth is, Thorn, we all just survived a terrible war, and we're not keen on dying now. Perhaps that's harder to understand for someone as young as you who couldn't remember that war as well as we did."
The room fell quiet and cold. Many heads hung low, and murmurs of agreement rippled quietly through the crowd.
Thorn turned her staff on her hand, mulling over the captain's words. She hated the situation. She could feel the eyes boring at her, once supportive, now turning hesitant and doubtful. She could hear them chattering, conspiring against her plans. But what she hated most is that the captain's right.
"You're right," she said, as quiet as a whisper.
Horndall blinked, surprised at the concession.
"I am just a young girl. I may be dressed in Consortium clothes and spend countless nights studying their books, but that doesn't change the fact that I was too young to truly understand the horror of the war.
"All of you knew the horror of Trigan far better than I do. You've lost friends, brothers, fathers." A pause. She met Rose's eyes, wedged among the crowd. "Mothers."
Rose threw her gaze to the floor. Her brown eyes were turning thick with mist. But she wasn't alone. Everywhere Thorn looked, she saw heads hanging low and eyes thick with mist. She could hear a few muffled sobs far and near.
"Some of you even tasted the wrath of Trigan first hand, as you took up arms and left the comfort of your home to far away lands to fight the enemy."
Thorn's eyes found hard-looking men with scars and injuries staring back at her, grasping at every word she spoke. She found Captain Horndall's eyes among them, and she could swear she saw his eyes softening at a memory from a distant past. And finally her eyes found her father, who had that indescribable look of longing in his eyes everytime stories of his part in the war came.
"All of you knew the terror of Trigan's rule better than I do. But that also means you knew what came next better than anyone else. You knew what a blessing on earth the Heroes were. You know how mighty they were as they protected you and smited the darkness. You knew how selfless they were as they risked their lives to save ours."
Change. She began to see the crowd changing. They were listening to every word she spoke, clinging onto it with all their attention. Some had even started nodding, and muttering words of agreement.
"But now the Heroes are all dead, deep in the earth as meals for the worms and home for the insects. Meanwhile here we are, healthy, alive. Free to travel under the blue sky and till the earth without fear for our lives.
"But then here comes this transgressor, this Magebane, who dares to defile the Heroes' legacy. He dared to slaughter the very people the Heroes fought to protect. He dared to taint this world the Heroes sacrificed their lives to preserve!
"Are you going to let their sacrifice go to nothing? Are you going to let the Magebane burn everything they fought for to the ground? Are you going to let them die in vain? They stood up against the dark lord, and yet here we are, cowering at this criminal!"
"Gentlemen, the Heroes' time has passed. Now this Magebane thinks that because they're gone, the world no longer has protectors, that he's free to do with it as he pleases. To that I say no! As long as I breathe, I will honour the Heroes. I will protect this world they died to protect. Now will you be ungrateful cowards or will you join me?!"
The crowd erupted into motion. Thousands of chairs and tables squealed as their occupants jumped to their feet, hooting, cheering, pumping their fists into the air.
"Aye!"
"We'll do it!"
"Let's get him!"
Thorn watched the crowd cheer and come alive, not believing she was responsible for it. She didn't think she had it in her to move an entire people. Her mouth felt dry like a desert and she was sweating nervously. That was more blood-pumping than a battle, but everything miraculously clicked, and she has won the hearts of the people.
All her anxiety disappeared when she watched the faces before her. They were brave, radiant, and hopeful faces. In this cold, merciless world where the line between the good and the bad blurred and changed everyday, the Heroes gave them something to believe in. They united them, inspired them to do good, long after they're dead. They probably had no idea the good they would bring these people by their actions.
Thorn couldn't suppress a smile forming on her pink lips. "Then let's go catch ourselves a mage-killer."