In Herne, as he did in the Shires, Cutch would first seek clues of his wife’s passage in the local tavern. Herne’s only such place was the Crossway House inn, situated at the intersection of several roads including the Greenway from Bree. It was well into the gloaming when Cutch reined up at the town stables. After paying the stable master to care for his horse, Cutch unloaded his lute and satchel and entered the inn.
Mannish taverns and inns had much in common; they were never empty, their ovens were never cold, and the ale was rarely stale. Cutch had not been in this one for several years, and didn’t stay long then, so he doubted he’d be recognized. The tavern-keep looked up from wiping her counter and offered him a wordless but welcoming lift of her chin. With a polite smile and a slight nod, he approached.
“I was hoping you might have room for the night, maybe tomorrow night too, and meals?”
“Aye, we have what you need at a fair price, sir”, she answered with no sign she recognized him. “What brings you this way?”
Cutch set his belongings on the floor and leaned towards her, elbows on the counter. “Trying to catch up with someone to deliver a message”, he said quietly. “Young dark-haired lady, favors red garments, travelling alone. Might have come through here a few months ago?”
The woman blinked at that and leaned in as well. “Must be a real important message to track her that long”, she muttered. “Aye, I remember her. Sara Green, as I recall. Odd name for a lass that likes to wear red. And, not much more than a girl, by her looks. She’s a-running?”
Cutch chuckled softly and shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She’s just got an urge to wander.” Apparently, Seregrian had successfully concealed her Elven features enough to pass as a Mortal, and it was perhaps curious that she had done so, not being shy. He found her mis-remembered name quite amusing.
“Aye she stayed here for only a couple nights then pressed on towards Bree. She spent some time in the craft hall, as I hear. You might want to ask Alwena. They’re across the Way, on the west side of town.”
The part of Herne ‘across the Way’ was built on ground that was raised up and leveled behind an eight-foot-high stone retaining wall that connected natural sandstone outcroppings. The effect was that of a plaza covered with paving stones that gathered a somewhat symmetrical arrangement of homes and businesses. Herne would probably never achieve the prominence of Bree but it still had the facilities that could support village life. It took little exploration for Cutch to find the Hall of Crafts.
Inside, the sounds of hammer on anvil and saw against wood competed with the conversations between village craftsmen. At the far and, a woman took inventory of the raw materials waiting for necessity to transform into goods. Nearby, a shady-looking fellow counting hides for her watched him with sideways eyes.
“Are you Alwena?”, Cutch asked. She gave him an appraising look, and with no sign of recognition answered, “Aye, and you are?”
“A messenger looking for Sara Green. She passed through here several month ago, and I have an urgent message for her.”
Alwena nodded after a moment’s thought. “Oh, aye, she was here to look through some of our crafting scrolls, but what she really needed was local lore. I sent her over to the Auction House. That’s where we keep those kinds of things. One of the vault keepers or auctioneers can help you.” She gave him directions, he thanked her, and she warily watched him leave. She poked a finger at the shady-looking fellow and motioned him to follow the ‘messenger’. He rolled his eyes at her and did as he was bid.
On his way to the Auction House, Cutch pondered the new clue; She was looking for ‘local lore’? “Perhaps something about the Gaervarad Ruins and the Oathstone?”, he thought. As he turned a corner towards the Auction House, he noticed he was being followed, perhaps, he wondered, by another source of clues.
The Herne Auction House was like its counterpart in Bree. There were auctioneers encouraging bidders for a variety of goods, and vault keepers were ready to help customers deposit or withdraw coin or other valuables. Unlike Bree, this Auction House also stored a surprisingly large collection of documents and scrolls, much like a library.
“May I help you, stranger?”, a vault keeper asked kindly as Cutch approached.
“Aye, thank you”, Cutch quietly replied with a friendly smile. “I am trying to catch up with a young woman who passed through Herne a few months ago. Her family has sent me to deliver an important message. I understand she was perusing your library, perhaps for information about Gaervarad. She is a young female, usually clad in red, and is known as Sara Green…?”
The fellow gave Cutch a curious look, then shook his head. “Well, I remember her, but I think you might want to talk to Delbreth. He helped her search the wordhoard. That’s him.” He pointed out a well-dressed man who’d approached Cutch’s stalker and with whom he was sharing hushed words.
Cutch stepped quickly to the duo, nodded politely to Delbreth, and examined the other man closely, peering particularly at his roughly woven garments that were very similar the scraps he’d found amongst the thieves rusted weapons at Gaervarad. “You travelled north quite a way to find honest work, friend.”
The shady-looking fellow reddened as his mouth wordlessly worked. Delbreth put a friendly hand on his shoulder and said, “I imagine Alwena would be needing you now.” With a slight and grateful bow, the flustered fellow left.
“You are Delbreth?”, Cutch asked pleasantly.
Delbreth offer a polite bow. “Yes, and you must be the messenger tracking down the Elf scholar, Seregrian?”
Cutch’s mind shifted gears…
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