Adventure's of Tom #1

Tom Greenhands could feel the crowd tense.
The stranger had entered the door, his cloak sodden and dripping, and with him came a cold. The air from outside spread through those nearby, just as it had for all the others, but this cold reached through the entire room, its finger’s even reaching Tom at the hearth. His playing stopped and all those sober enough to see straight turned to gaze at the newcomer.
He was a tall man, clad in a worn traveling cloaked that dripped with every step he took. When he pulled back his cowl, his gray eyes pierced the crowd like the cold accompanying him, glancing from face to face. He was a comely man, though aged considerably, and his face was rough with hair and scars. His eyes moved to Tom and he felt his heart skip a beat, his fingers twitching on the strings of his lute so as to produce some kind of sound. The man moved on quickly, making a full sweep of the room as he moved, until at last he came to the innkeep.
Slowly the room returned to normal, and shouting for another song began in the corner farthest from the stranger. Enraptured so, Tom only began to play when a penny was flicked at his head. He shot a look at the man who threw it, but quickly followed with a smile and the beginnings of Moonlit Night.
The song was a slow and melancholy one, the first that Tom had learned on his lute, and one he could play with ease. He allowed his fingers to dance to their memories, choosing to spend his attention on the stranger. The man was bent low to talk to the portly innkeep and their whispers would not have reached Tom had the room been silent. It was only when the man turned towards the bard that Tom could read his lips, a trick he had learned back in Cainhold. He quickly returned his eyes to crowd when the man began his inspection anew. Softly, Tom began to sing. “Oh here, come roving you endless wanderer. Oh here coming roving to be, a wanderer no more with a hardship felt no less. Oh here, come rover to me.”
As Tom played, the man leaned back to the innkeeper before moving to a darkened table in the corner. Tom watched him take his meal, some potato, gruel and a mug of ale. He ate slowly, with deliberation, his eyes never straying to his food, save when it was needed. All through the night, the man sat there as Tom played song after song. Slowly, the regulars of the inn trickled out to return to homes that promised a coming day of work in the morning. Those that remained were in no condition to make the journey.
When at last the final patron departed, Tom checked his pack and found that the night had been more prosperous than he had expected. Coins of many sizes covered the bottom of the sack, and were set to clinking as Tom pulled the bag shut and moved off. The innkeep was still scrubbing some dishes, his sullen gaze wandering listlessly at those who remained. He raised an eyebrow as Tom approached the man.
“A dark corner is no fit place to enjoy music,” Tom said, pulling his flute out and smiling amicably at the man. “No fit place at all. What shall I play?” Silence was his answer. “Perhaps Of Flowers and Maidens?” The man sat impassive, emotion never touching his face. “No that’s not right. Something mournful for you. Perhaps from Mantia?” The barest hint of reaction touched the man’s face, the slight curl of a lip and raise of an eyebrow. “May I at least ask your name?” Tom said glibly, putting down the flute and leaning towards the man.
“You may, though you shall find no greater answer than the one’s you’ve already received.” He said, leaning forward into the table and never shifting his gaze from that of Tom’s. Tom nodded.
“Considering you’ve just given me one, I do believe I shall.” Tom said, and bringing the knuckle of his finger to his lips, adopted a puzzled face. “Now,” He began, “What is your name?” He was met with silence, tinged with an air of impatience. “Would you prefer a game? Here, I’ll tell you the rules.” He smiled, pulling his sleeves back. “I will guess where you are from, then your home city, followed by your profession and then your name. For every correct answer, you pay me a...”
“I have no coin for you.” Cut in the man, returning to his food. Tom frowned.
“Then pay me in favors, answers, questions of your own.” He let his voice betray his eagerness, and he knew it. Silently, he cursed himself for his want. The man raised his eyebrow, glancing at Tom before his gaze fell on something farther away. Tom began to turn.
“Don’t.” The man said, his words, like rope caught Tom and held him to his seat. Tom heard boots behind him, and angry voices demanding a room from the innkeeper. He looked at the man, and felt the icy stare back. Never had his eyes left Tom’s face, save now they held a look tinted in fear. Tom shuddered to think of what could scare him so.
“Play.” The man said. Tom could feel the command, like a loud sound or a wave cresting on his face. He smiled, beginning to pluck the low notes of an ancient song that his ears had never heard. His fingers played slowly, softly, and without haste or fear, despite the strangeness of the song. Inwardly he could feel the tug of something in his mind, but his fingers and face showed none of this. The man smiled. Fear and strength still hung in his posture as the newcomers approached.
They were big, clothed in dark leather and metal, save for heads. Here, their hair was pulled back in a tail with a leather strip, and greased so that their appearance was one of having just emerged from water. Their blades were plain to see, though sheathed in various ways on their armor. Their lips were twisted in a cruel smile at Tom. All this he saw in a casual glance while playing. The man shifted his weight as if to welcome them.
Before it all began, Tom felt the wave again and his mind was immersed. His vision clouded and his ears became filled with beeswax. He didn’t know how long he was like that, but came to with a soreness in his fingers as they played their dirge.
Across from him sat the two men, bound and gagged. Each was out cold and had several bruises upon his face, with a trail of blood leading from one’s mouth. Each was arrayed in a comical fashion almost, pressed together like two lovers on a moonlit night. Tom laughed at them and his foreboding. The stranger had gone. His food was finished, his plate cleaned and a healthy coin pouch left for the innkeeper.
Tom stood, feeling the stiffness in his legs and wondered what he had been witness to. He walked to the door where the rising sun painted a dark silhouette on the horizon. He stared after him and not for the last time, thought that great ballads had been written about less.
“We shall just have to see what exciting things come next.” He said to himself, smiling and heading to his room to gather his things in haste.