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Vagrant


CHAPTER 1
         The Vagrant         

         The tavern was mostly empty.  Not unusual for the early afternoon.  Most men were working the fields, dreaming of a few short hours from now, when they would be able to end their day with a mug of the finest ale in all the town of Rookwood.  But Van was making his dream come true.  Sitting at the bar, he finished off his third mug.  There was no work for him today.  Truth be told, there had been no work for him for quite a few days.  
“Another?” he heard Cecily ask.  
Van looked up from his mug then.  He had been daydreaming; but no dream could be lovelier than Cecily.  He had known the young barmaid all his life, and she had never ceased to impress him with her beauty.  Her red hair always unkempt and loose, while her green eyes probed into him searching; always searching.  
“Indeed, my lady,” Van replied with a smile.
“Will you be able to pay for this one?” Cecily teased.
“Have I not paid for the last three?” Van asked genuinely.
“You have.  But I’ve seen you in here everyday for a week now.  I assume the well of gold must run dry at some point,” Cecily said.
“Yes,” Van said wryly.  “Being a hunter is much harder than it seems.  In case you ever think of changing jobs, it is not something you can pick up in a few days.  Perhaps I should have learned a trade, eh?”
“You mean something other than fancy swordplay and drinking yourself into oblivion?” Cecily asked sardonically.
“You must admit,” Van smiled.  “I am very good at both.”
“You are,” Cecily smiled coyly.
“Tell me Cecily,” Van leaned in.  “Why is it we never got married?”
Cecily stopped smiling then.  She picked herself up off the bar, backing away from Van.  “You’re drunk.”
“Not yet,” Van reassured.  “However, I am getting there.  Which is perfect.  I’m honest when I’m drunk.”
“Meaning you are not honest at any other time?” Cecily asked genuinely.
Now it was Van’s turn to sober.  He backed away from the bar and absently picked up his mug, bringing it to his lips.   It was empty.  Cecily had not brought him another ale.
“What was so hard about being a hunter?” Cecily asked.
“Shooting, mostly.  Tracking actually wasn’t so bad, although stalking a beast was remarkably difficult.  Especially if you’re not light on your feet.  But it was the shooting I found the hardest.  I’m not made for a bow and arrows,” Van said.
“I remember the day you were told they had accepted you into the hunter’s fold.  You were very excited.  Came in here to celebrate, as I recall,” Cecily said.
“Yes, well that’s when I thought the job would be easy.  Hunt deer, kill them, bring them back and sell the meat to the butchers,” Van said as he absently took another swig from his mug, only to be disappointed a second time.  “But not only is the actual hunting difficult, but the butchers are a tight knit group.  They buy from who they buy from and can’t be bothered doing business with a new hunter looking to make his mark.”
“You have to prove yourself,” Cecily said flatly.  “Like in any job.”
“Who’s got time for that?” Van asked, unable to look her in the face.
A hand slammed hard onto the surface of the bar, echoing loudly in the empty tavern.  Van and Cecily were shaken out of reverie and looked up.
“Two ales please,” said a bright, smiling face.
Van smiled right back at the pale young man who was looking down on him.  Not to be outshone, Van stood up himself.  He was taller than the young pale man, which gave him no end of satisfaction.  Now the tables had turned.  The young, pale man was looking up at the boyish, sun kissed features of Van Orel.

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