It had meant that his farm would be unaffected by most of what happened in the area. Armies marched around it and bandits wanted nothing more than to get as far from it as possible. It seemed that even most natural disasters gave it a wide berth.
Of course, it was no longer his farm. Skharr had almost come to terms with the fact that he would have to farm for a few years to make enough money for his return journey to The Clan. Now that he had been offered something that would potentially get him home in less time, it made no sense to turn it down.
Still, it meant less time tilling a field and more time walking with Horse behind him. He was stubborn from time to time, but so were most horses worth having.
Those without spirit tended to be nothing but trouble down the line. Then again, the locals liked their mounts so broken that they would march instead of trot. It made no sense to him.
Three days traveling on the roads would have felt utterly mind-numbing if he had been stuck with a horse that had all his personality tamed out of him by the crack of a whip.
The towns were farther from the woodlands, but a handful of villages had begun to crop up in the area. This was a fairly recent phenomenon, although the last one's foundation had been a little over twenty years earlier after the land had been cleared by some war or another.
He recalled passing through it on his way to his farm the previous fall, leading a wagon full of all the materials required to build his home, enough food to last him through the winter, and the seeds he would need to plant his crops. He doubted that anyone would remember him, though. Many mercenaries had passed through, returning to their homes for the winter.
Sure enough, when spring came around, the village was a small hub of commercial activity again. It made the going difficult as the narrow streets were clogged with merchants hawking their wares, travelers trying to navigate their wagons through, and regular folk who had begun to head home after a long day's work.
Or maybe to the local inn. There were enough patrons that the owner didn't need to depend on the locals, but they were a fairly steady source of income.
May Theros grant me fucking patience. Skharr scowled as he entered the inn’s courtyard and looked around for some kind of indication of what he was supposed to do next. As he recalled, a couple of local children were usually on hand, anxious to make extra coin by taking care of the horses of the new arrivals.
And they weren't pleased when he tried to get the horse situated in the stables himself.
One of them was seated on a barrel, but he was distracted as he tried to listen to the music coming from inside the inn. It was a catchy tune, but the minstrel needed a little help to reach the higher notes. Still, the group inside worked with him and roared the lines of a song that was a thinly veiled commentary on a nearby count's preference for any woman—and even a few men—except his wife.
"Oi, lad!" Skharr snapped and brought the youth to his feet immediately. "Find him a stall. Make sure the hay's fresh."
The boy nodded, understood his meaning, and held a hand out for the payment for his services.
He took a couple of coppers from his pouch and extended it to the youth, who snatched them out of his hand with the practiced efficiency of a pickpocket.
If he remembered correctly, the price for a stable would be a single silver. A meal would be a few more coppers, which meant that all he could afford was one night. The rest of his journey would require him to camp under the stars and catch his food. He remembered a few thickets that provided good hunting and a few streams with a good supply of fish to keep him fed.
But as long as he was among the rest of civilization, it was likely advisable for him to make sure nothing made him stand out, especially in an area where he would risk camping in a place that was previously owned by someone else. That was a mistake he wouldn't make again.
The youth jogged to where the horse waited and clicked his fingers lightly before he approached. The stallion did not look impressed and turned to nudge Skharr in the shoulder.
"Go on, Horse," the barbarian muttered and patted him on the neck. "You'll be fed and watered properly. I'll do the same and I'll join you before you drop off. Assuming, of course, that you are willing to wait. Feel no necessity to stay awake in my absence."
The boy gaped with bemusement to hear the barbarian speak to the animal, and he scowled at him.
"Go now. Horse follow."
The difference in his speech abilities was noted, but the boy cared more for the coins than asking questions. People got into trouble by asking travelers unwanted questions, after all. The warrior patted the stallion on his neck again, and the horse began to follow the boy to the stables. The lad tried a couple of times to take the reins but Horse pulled away and kept them out of his reach until he realized that the animal had no intention of being dragged by an untrained hand.
Skharr couldn't stop a small smile from touching his face. His possessions would be in good hands, as no innkeeper would allow the reputation of his establishment to become one where thieves had free rein.
He shook his head and strode toward the entrance. The air began to cool as the sun slid behind the hay roofs of the houses constructed around the inn. The slight chill made the fire-lit common room look quite inviting as he pushed the door open.
The sound of singing grew louder as he stepped inside, and he was almost slapped in the face by the stench of stale sweat and spilled wine. Although, he realized a moment later, it mingled with the much more pleasant aroma of what looked like a boar roasting on a spit, turned slowly by the cook who sat and sang along with the music and occasionally checked on a kettle of soup that simmered near the flames as well. A stack of dark loaves of barley bread was set out to warm by the fire.
It wouldn't be the most elegant of meals and likely quite bland, but as long as it wasn't poisoned or spoiled, it would do for the evening.
"Won't try to spice the food again," he muttered under the din as the song reached its crescendo. The words were well-known to the patrons, but he had never heard it. When he approached the innkeeper, the man motioned for him to wait until the song finished if he wanted to be heard properly. The rotund, balding, and graying man with what remained of his brown hair swept over his scalp did have a point. There was too much noise for a coherent conversation to be conducted.
Skharr was in no hurry and turned to listen to the minstrel's rich tones as he strummed the lute in time.
"His dark desires lay bare to the light,
Fingers withdrawn from his pies in fright!
For no man knew that his wife was untouched,
All the curious who wondered why were hushed,
Caught between those he wanted and those he despised,
He vowed to all the gods and the spirits in all skies,
'Nay, 'tis not my wife I'm unwilling to fuck,
But rather, contrary to logic, in fact I'm a eunuch!'"
The rest of the inn joined in for the last line, which made them all laugh and raise their mugs together in toasts. Skharr couldn't help a small smile, although he did wonder how the count would feel about the song making the rounds. He'd learned of men being forcibly parted from their balls for singing ditties that were less insulting, but as long as the singer was not in the count's presence while he sang it, all would hopefully be well.
"A beautiful voice," he noted as the innkeeper turned his attention to his work. "Somewhat off-pitch in places but quite beautiful."