MT Part 1 (VG)
Morgan's letter
M
organ Derek folded the letter and set it on the table in front of him. Frowning, he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Typical," he thought, "Just typical."
"Were the instructions clear?"
Morgan looked up. The rider who had delivered the message was standing next to him, peering down quizzically.
"He didn't even write this himself, you know." Morgan answered, "He probably has a room full of them." Morgan leaned forward and snatched the letter from the table, glowering. "Once a year, I get a few days to come home and rest and without fail - one of these, every time." He shook the letter in his hand half-heartedly and sighed with resignation.
He sat in his favorite tavern, in the village of Tursh. It was spring in Thestra, the winter snows had melted and the pleasant feel of a new summer had begun to gently settle over the small farming community. The tavern was bustling with activity as farmhands, weary from long days in the fields, arrived to eat, drink and share a laugh. The smells of an oaken fire filled the room, its snapping and popping just barely audible over the jovial voices of the patrons. For Morgan, this was a rare luxury.
As a young ranger pledged into the service of the great city of New Targonor, Morgan's assignments kept him from home much of the time. He liked traveling the lands though, it was one of the reasons he had sworn his service six years ago. But since then, Minister Adlus had assigned a steady stream of road patrol duties and scant else. It was a bland job and Morgan cared little for it. Long periods of little to no human contact gave him time to wander in his thoughts though, and for that he was thankful.
Yet somehow, every year when Morgan was granted a small amount of leave, a crisis had managed to arise on the small stretch of road he guarded. And every year, Morgan was pulled from his home by Minister Adlus and sent to deal with whatever minor disturbance was threatening the freedom of Thestra that particular day.
He should have learned to expect it by now, but Morgan had remained purposefully optimistic that this year he would be able to enjoy his leave and spend some much needed time getting re-acquainted with his boyhood home. But once again, it seemed as if he would have to wait another year. Duty had called, and he would answer.
"The instructions," the rider repeated, "Do you understand them?"
Morgan stared at the man standing before him; he was certainly unlike any rider Adlus had sent before. The man looked more like a hardened soldier than a message courier. He wore a simple, yet elegant suit of green tinted ring mail that fit snugly across his broad shoulders. Across his back was strapped a large, powerful looking sword. The blade was covered, but Morgan was sure that it was no toy. The man shifted his weight, gazing back at Morgan coolly, waiting for an answer.
"Yes," he replied, "they're quite clear." Morgan pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. He reached into a dingy pouch secured to his belt and emerged with a few small coins. "Thank you," he said and offered them to the messenger.
The man grinned for the first time, amused. He bowed his head slightly, turned and exited the tavern.
"Ah, in it for the love of the job," Morgan said to himself, "...that'll change." He looked down at the unfinished meal on his table, it seemed somehow appropriate.
"I knew what that man was here for the second he walked in." a friendly voice said, coming up behind him. Morgan returned the coins to his pouch and turned, smiling.
"Oh did you now, Gillian?" he said.
"Sure did!" the young barmaid chirped with a grin, "I'll just put the rest of this away for next year. That way you can pick up right where you left off. Maybe you'll even get to finish!" Morgan grinned as Gillian began to remove the remnants of his dinner from the table. "We don't get too many like him in here," she paused, "you're not in trouble are you?"
"Too many like who?" Morgan asked.
"Your friend in green! You are in trouble, aren't you! What did you do this time Morgan Derek?" Gillian demanded.
Morgan laughed, "You're awful quick to the stern tone! I didn't do anything. There's nothing for me to do. A mouse probably got ran over by a wagon on my road and Adlus wants me to go pick it up. You know, the usual," he made a face; "…you're right though, something about that rider made me a little uneasy. He was…," Morgan searched for the word.
"...Green!" offered Gillian.
Morgan rolled his eyes, "I was thinking more like… intense."
"That too," she agreed with a nod.
Morgan sighed inwardly. "Well, it'll be dark soon," the young ranger said, peering out the front of the tavern, "If I leave now I can make it to New Targonor by morning." He did not want to leave.
"Well you're not going anywhere until I get a hug," Gillian said reaching out, "last time you just took off without a word to anyone."
He chuckled, "Very well then." Gillian wasted no time in wrapping him up in her arms, and gave Morgan a tight squeeze.
"Now you listen here mister," she said, stepping back, "When you find that big bad mouse squashed in the middle of the road, I want you to be careful. It probably had friends, lots of them, and they're probably quite angry about the whole thing. So… just be careful, all right?"
Morgan nodded and picked up his traveling pack behind the chair. "Don't worry; I'm sure it's nothing big. Besides," he added with a grin, slinging the pack over his shoulder, "it would take at least thirty mice to do me in. And I can run much faster than they can."
"At least thirty, and much faster," Gillian echoed.
Morgan smiled and turned towards the door. "I'll try to get back as quickly as I can," he said and with a small wave the young ranger stepped out of the tavern into the night.
The sun was already setting as Morgan stepped into the street. Its pale orange glow slowly sank below the horizon and the pleasant breeze of the day steadily turned frigid as night descended upon northern Thestra. Morgan pushed his sandy hair from his eyes and wrapped his heavy woodsman's cloak tightly around his body. Not summer yet, he thought to himself.
The streets were quiet. Only a few people still milled about. Vendors, mostly, still cleaning up after a tiring day of selling their wares. Morgan kicked at a loose rock in the muddy dirt road that led through the center of the village. He was not looking forward to walking through the night; at least he'd be able to get a horse from the stables once he got to New Targonor. Still, he thought, that doesn't help me much tonight.
Morgan lingered in the center of the village briefly - savoring what he knew he'd not see again for some time. After a few moments he muttered to himself and began to walk, determined to put as much distance as he could between himself and Tursh, the quicker the better.
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