Page 14 of Highland Lords of War & Thunder: The Prequel

“Stay out.”

Then he went back inside and shut the door.

A cheer erupted. Tankards thumped against tables and laughter filled the inn as Torden made his way back to his corner.

The innkeeper followed him. “The lass appeared in the village a couple of days ago. Been asking questions ever since. Too many, if you ask me.”

Torden sat and reached for what remained of his ale. “I didn't.”

The innkeeper chuckled. “I suppose you didn't.”

Torden had no interest in Ismera, where she'd come from, or why she was asking questions. He wanted a hot meal, another ale, and enough peace to enjoy both before he made his way home.

The serving lass appeared carrying another steaming bowl of stew.

She set it before Torden.

Torden reached for his coin pouch.

The innkeeper waved him off. “Your coin's no good for that meal. Nor the next ale.”

The serving lass added another thick piece of bread to his plate, then another. “For your trouble.”

Torden looked at the generous helping of stew, the extra bread, and the fresh tankard placed beside it. Perhaps the evening could still be salvaged.

He picked up his spoon.

By the time Torden left the inn, dusk had begun to settle over the village.

He had eaten two bowls of stew, finished the bread, and ignored the curious glances that occasionally came his way. The innkeeper had offered him a room for the night. Torden declined.

Home wasn't far.

He left the village behind and followed the road until it narrowed into a well-worn path that wound through the trees. The noise of the inn faded with every step until there was nothing but the crunch of his boots against the earth and the occasional rustle of some small creature moving through the undergrowth.

This was better.

Torden breathed deeply, glad to finally have the night to himself.

The last traces of daylight disappeared as he left the path and started up a gradual incline. He knew every stone and root beneath his feet and needed little light to find his way.

His home stood beyond the trees.

Torden had built much of it himself over the years, adding to it whenever the need arose. The stone house sprawled wider than most cottages, its heavy timbered roof pitched steeply against winter snow. The doors were taller and broader than usual, as was nearly everything inside. He had little patience for ducking beneath doorways or sleeping with his feet hanging off the end of a bed.

A separate stone building stood a short distance from the cottage which housed his forge. Even in the darkness he could smell the familiar remnants of coal and iron.

Torden paused beside it. The forge was where he found the peace that so often escaped him elsewhere.

Iron didn't argue and it didn't lie. It didn't demand that he choose sides. It yielded only when properly worked, and if it failed, the fault belonged to the man holding the hammer.

He made weapons when there was need for them, but preferred making other things. Axes that split wood. Hinges that kept doors secure. Hoes and spades that worked the earth. Horseshoes. Cooking hooks. Nails. Things meant to build rather than destroy.

His gaze drifted toward the small stable beside the house and he headed that way.

A soft whinny greeted him.

Torden smiled for the first time that day as he opened the door.