Harugrim was kneeling close to the fire, poking at the flames with a stick and putting another fresh log down on the already half burnt others. He then lay down on his blanket that was close to the fire and pushed his pack underneath his armpit, so he could lie on his side in a half upright position without making his elbow hurt too much on the stiff and cold ground.
He was tired and his clothes were drying only slowly.
He didn’t like threatening that woman earlier, but what was he supposed to do? And how else was he to get back what was not rightfully hers. Also, he thought, it gave him a chance to put things right, for surely they thought him as the one who had laid the fire.
The cold water that he had to jump into afterwards at least got rid of the stench of coal from his clothes.
He hated fired. Ever since that day, years ago, when he came so close to his own end. The smell continued to irritate him, and even small campfires, such as the one he was lying at now made him uneasy.
He had come a long way from that night, when he had lost all hope and when the world came crushing down on him in a black and red wall of smoke and heat. As he was lying there, staring into the flames, he thought back and realised that once again it seemed fire would chose his destiny.
Entering the blazing building had cost him all of his last courage. When he came out of the underground cellar, where he was fixing some broken kegs, he could feel his heart beating in his throat. He stood there, in the roaring flames and could not move. The smell, the heat, the darkness, brought back his memories and made him freeze.
Finally, after what had seemed half a life time, he felt his strength return to his legs and was just to turn to run back down from where he came, but more by happenchance he saw Lyfrid’s body lying just a few meters away from him. Without thinking, he instinctively grabbed her and lifter her up, stumbling back the stairs down into the cellar. As he was picking her up though, he thought he had seen a shadow in the great hall. ‘Maybe her murderer?’, he thought.
After he had put Lyfrid on the ground of the cellar as gently as he could, he went back up, closing the trapdoor. He knew they would have both died there and then, if it wasn’t for the other exit. It was meant for an easier access if the cellar was to be used as a storage room, which, however, it wasn’t. It was more of a workshop, where Harugrim fixed chairs, and kegs, and other wooden things that needed repairing. Goods, like food or ale were mostly stored directly in the kitchen or the mead hall.
When he tried to open the door from the inside he felt like he was trying to lift a mountain. Nothing moved. His panic grew for more and more smoke came through the cracks of the trapdoor that led into the main building. He turned to look for something that he could open the other door with. In the corner he found a shovel, not sure what it was doing down here, but he took it anyway. He pushed the blade in between the two doors and used the handle as a lever. The doors rumbled and opened slightly. The swift breeze of fresh air felt like the greatest thing Harugrim had tasted in a long time, maybe ever.
With a snap, the two doors closed again, and the shovel sprang back at him, hitting him hard against the chest and making him stumble backwards. With a last effort, he pushed the blade back again and leaned against the shovel with all his weight. The door finally gave in and one side flapped open, giving way to the sunlight in the midst of clouds of smoke coming from the burning Inn.
He threw the shovel away, grabbed Lyfrid and pushed her through the door on the grass that was turning brown from the heat. After he pulled himself out of the cellar, he just sat there in front of the building until finally he had regained most of his strength and hurried away with Lyfrid’s lifeless body on his shoulders.
He had only returned to the Inn to find signs of the person who had done this to him and Lyfrid. She wasn’t really what he would call a friend – he didn’t even know what that was. But she was the one he had met years ago, when he was travelling through the lands of Dun, helpless, alone, and lost. Both an outcast their companionship had been more based on convenience than anything else. They both didn’t like to talk much, especially not of their past, which Harugrim liked about her. Also, she knew how to handle herself in fights and was rather clever. More than once she had saved him from starving to death or sleeping in the cold.
Together they had come to the Breelands, where she had found them the job at the inn. While Hargurim didn’t particularly liked working there it gave them both a roof above their heads, and some good food, which both hadn’t had in a long time – although Lyfrid was a fabulous cook.
All in all, Lyfrid was all he had left in the world. Maybe all he ever had. And now someone had tried to take that from him.
Harugrim knew what he had to do. He couldn’t do anything else for Lyfrid anymore, but to go out, and hunt down whoever did this, and make him pay, that was what he was scarily good at. Slow, and painfully, he would give that person what he deserved, and if it was the last thing he ever did.
With the handle of his axe in his right hand, and his spear lying close to his body, he finally lay down and put his head on the pack, slowly drifting into an uneasy sleep.
Tomorrow, the hunt would begin…
