Author’s notes:Yet another short story from me, one I will post in several parts. Feedback more that welcome, of course!

Bloodsuckers’ Bridge – that’s how the locals called it.

Aron had vowed never to return to this region for as long as he lived. After all those years, however, survival had led him southwards. He could not find employment at the prosperous northern settlements – none would hire a cripple, regardless of his carpenter’s skill and experience. People had lost all respect for the veterans of the Pirate War. Cursing through clenched teeth, he grabbed his crutch with both hands and pulled himself up.

Hoping toward the builders’ settlement, Aron felt a shiver down his spine at the sight of the half-built bridge over the lazy waters of the river Didonai. During the war, the priests had invoked Hekla of Thunderstorms to bring it down, and rightly so. To cut off the supply routes to the enemy harbors, they had said. Aron knew better. He had been there.

A bored guard raised his hand as Aron reached the entrance. “No beggars,” he said and stifled a yawn under his thick moustache. “Go to town.”

“I am not a beggar.” Aron’s grip on his crutch tightened until his knuckles turned white. “I seek work.”

“Really?” The guard eyed him as a false coin in his payroll.

“I was a carpenter even before I grew hair on my face. I served as a Master-at-Arms in the king’s army during the war. I gave an eye and a leg so the likes of you wouldn’t end up at the oars of the pirate ships, boy.” Aron’s voice trembled. The image of his crutch meeting the guard’s face flashed through his mind. “Now, if you could just point me toward the Master Mason’s location?”

The guard shifted his weight from one leg to the other and chewed his lip. “Fine, have it your way. Over there.” He pointed at a large tent.

“Thanks,” Aron mumbled and made his way through crates, barrels and digging equipment to the far end of the camp. He stood outside the tent, scratching his beard, unsure of how to proceed. What if the Master Mason threw him out? What would he do then? Become a beggar?

A girl came out of the tent, pushing aside the gauge that kept the insects out. Almost a woman, she wore her hair in thick braids. She raised her face and met his gaze, her blue eyes warm, unmoved by his gruesome scar from brow to chin – as though she hadn’t noticed.

“Can I help you, sir?” She smiled, her soft voice as welcome as a cup of mead to his tired mind.

“I am looking for the Master Mason, lass.”

She glanced over her shoulder, through the opening behind her. “Pa? Someone wants to see you.”

“What does he want, Zenya?” A strong, steady voice – a good sign, thought Aron.

She gazed back at him, raising her eyebrows. “Well?”

“I seek work, sir,” said Aron, choosing his words with caution, hoping to sound less desperate than he actually was. “If you have need for a skilled carpenter and a pair of strong arms, that is.”

Aron thought he saw a twinkle of mischief in the girl’s eyes. Should he have mentioned his missing leg and eye?

“Come on in,” replied the Master Mason from inside the tent.

So be it. Aron nodded to Zenya, who held the gauge back for him and hopped into the tent. He blinked, his eye slow to adjust to the gloom inside. As soon as his vision cleared, he found himself amidst loads of charts, papers and crates. The Master Mason stood at his right, bent over a table covered by various scrolls and parchments, holding a pair of compasses.

“Ah.” A large man, broad-shouldered, he straightened and eyed Aron from head to toe, his brow furrowed. “Are you any good with your hands?”

“I worked at the construction of the Great Temple of Aquivo, sir.” Aron shifted his weight to his crutch. His good leg ached bad after his many hours on the road. “In my youth, I prenticed with Master Willowsong.”

“I knew old Dran Willowsong, may Kisherah rest his soul,” said the Master Mason. His grin filled Aron’s heart with hope. “Any of his apprentices is more than welcome to work for me. Especially now that I’m one carpenter short. And you are?”

“Aron Otterjest, sir. Thank you.” I will not dine on roots tonight.

“The name is Delvin Bearfriend.” He tilted his head sideways, the lines on his forehead deeper. “Have you eaten anything today?”

Locusts and wild onions, Aron almost said, but his pride restrained his tongue. He opened his mouth to mumble some reply, when Delvin cut him off.

“Go and see Master Tongo, Aron. You’ll find him close to the riverbank. He’ll give you something to eat and set you up for the night. Come and see me at first light – we have work to do.”

“Certainly, Master Devlin.”

The Master Mason bent over his chart again, as Aron left the tent.

I hope we’ll both live to see the dawn.

Aron found Tongo outside a large, colorful tent by the riverside. A bulky man, the cook and healer of the camp, Tongo served him a generous portion of fish soup and half a loaf of barley bread with a wide grin. While Aron gulped down his meal, Tongo sat by the tent’s door, puffing his pipe.

“This is good,” said Aron between bites, barely raising his eyes from his bowl. “I’ve eaten river fish before, but nothing as tasty.”

Tongo’s grin grew wider, revealing two missing teeth at the side. “It’s all in the herbs, my friend.” After a couple of puffs, he spoke again. “How fortunate for Master Devlin you should show up. The loss of his chief carpenter a week ago troubled him.”

Aron almost spilled his mouthful. “Why? What happened to him?”

The cook shrugged. “Namko just vanished. Talk among the workers speaks of some skirt business in town – married wench, jealous husband, and an unpleasant outcome.”

“Ah.” Aron put down his bowl and reached for a flask of water. “You do not sound convinced, Master Tongo.”

“The locals won’t talk much. Every time I go to town for supplies, however, I see haunted faces and terrified looks. Something scares those people,” Tongo said, frowning. He puffed his pipe, his eyes following the rings of smoke floating on the afternoon breeze. “Say, you wouldn’t mind sleeping in Namko’s tent? It’s in a good, dry spot, away from the river. I have a feeling that Namko won’t be returning any time soon.”

A shiver ran down Aron’s spine. He just nodded, lacking the words to voice his grim thoughts.

May the gods help us all.