Opportunities

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 23rd August 2020

Characters: R'fal, Terren
Description: R'fal takes his father to visit a tavern, where he meets an old associate
Location: Emerald Falls Hold
Date: month 5, day 22 of Turn 10

It had taken R'fal and Marlath some time to find the tavern, tucked away
as it was in the depths of the woods east of Emerald Falls, where a
foresters' track met the trader road. His father had done his best to
navigate, but he wasn't used to seeing the land from the air and it was
only as evening started to draw in that Marlath spotted the lights
below. The young brown landed carefully in the narrow cleared space
outside, earning some curious and not entirely welcoming looks from
the men who were gathered around the tables outside, hunched over mugs
of ale.

"Is this the place, Da?"

"This is it." Terren shrugged off the riding jacket he'd borrowed from
his son, too heavy for the humid heat, and handed it to R'fal. "Haven't
been back here in Turns, but it's not changed."

R'fal glanced, doubtful, at the ramshackle building. "Sure you don't
want me to join you? I could study tomorrow, after my drill."

"Nah, you go on. You deserve to have that weyr to yourself for an
evening. Maybe invite that pretty greenrider from your class round to
study with you," Terren suggested, with a sly grin.

The young man shook his head, embarrassed. "I don't think she'd want
to, not really." He frowned. "This place, it is safe for weyrfolk,
isn't it? I could always take you to the tavern at Amber Hills.
Dragonriders are welcome there."

"It's safe for anyone who's got the marks. And I'm no dragonrider." He
smiled. "You worry too much, son."

"All right. I'll be back in a few hours. Now we've got the coordinates,
it'll be easy." R'fal waited for his father to descend and back off to
give Marlath space, then silently spoke to his dragon. **Let's go.**

Terren watched the brown dragon winging his way into the skies, then
turned and approached the door. A burly man stood beside it with his
arms folded and a club at his belt that looked as though it had seen
use. He gave the new arrival a long look, then nodded and pushed the
door open to let him in.

Inside it was dim and the air was close, heavy with the reek of old ale
and unwashed bodies. The men wore the nondescript garb of small
peddlars, foresters and herdsmen, some staring down into their drinks,
others murmuring to each other in low voices. Terren's gaze fell on a
small group gathered at a round table, small marks heaped in the centre
while a narrow-faced man dealt a hand of cards to each.

He headed for the bar first, where the tavern-keeper eyed his knots.
"You from the Weyr?"

"My son is. He's the dragonrider," Terren replied easily, reaching into
his pouch for the marks R'fal had lent him. "I used to come here a while
back. I'm after a few drinks and perhaps a friendly game of cards."

"Aye, I think I remember you." The man didn't crack a smile, but he
reached down a mug from a shelf and turned to the barrel of ale
behind him to fill it. He set it on the bar between them with a thump,
the dark liquid trickling down to the stained wood. "We don't want
trouble here. Understood?"

"Perfectly, and you'll get none from me." Terren handed over the mark
and waited for his change, then carried his drink over to an empty table
near the game. He watched for a while as if half-interested, sizing up
the players as he did so. The thin, grey-haired dealer was steadily
amassing a heap of winnings, while the guardsman to his right was
sweating and cursing under his breath as he saw his own pile drain away.
Next to him, a trader swayed in his seat, too drunk - or distracted by
the red-headed woman at his side - to reckon up his losses.

After the next round, the guard threw down his cards in disgust and
departed, leaving an empty chair for Terren to slide into. "Mind if I
join you for a hand?" He set down his marks on the table before him. The
woman looked up, interested, but it was the trader who gestured
extravagantly in welcome. The dealer only nodded and deftly shuffled the
tattered pack of cards.

Terren played cautiously for now, and refrained from making use of his
repertoire of tricks. He was out of practice, and besides he'd noticed
another big man keeping a close eye on the game from a nearby table.
Likely the first man's partner; he'd made that mistake before, at the
tavern at Emerald Falls, and barely escaped with his skin. In return,
the other man seemed to be content with fleecing the trader, leaving
Terren to win himself a handful of marks.

When the boozy trader's marks finally ran out and he beat a desolate and
wobbly retreat to his bunk, the dealer politely excused himself and
departed with his winnings. Terren thought, with some satisfaction, that
he wasn't an easy enough mark to bother with, ordered another mug of ale
and began to lay out the cards in a game of patience. The woman hung
around, offering suggestions here and there in a low, inviting voice. He
was tempted, but R'fal would be back before long, and he knew that to be
another good way to have your pockets emptied.

He wondered idly if he should bring the boy with him, next time. R'fal
had been clever with cards, and dice, too, and no-one would suspect a
dragonrider - if it wasn't beneath him now...

Then he realised that something had changed, and looked up. The woman
was gone, and a new man was sitting opposite him. He was about Terren's
age, but taller, with the knots of some unknown minor hold, and the kind
of sharp gaze that missed nothing. A prickle of recognition nagged at
Terren, like a phrase from a half-remembered song, but he couldn't bring
to mind where he'd seen this man before.

"Not often we get weyrfolk in here," the man said. He leaned back in his
chair and gestured to the barmaid for a drink. "I'm Corfil. Here on
business."

"Terren. And I'm not really weyrfolk. Just staying there for a time,
with my son, until I get back on my feet."

"Ah. Yes. I'd heard about your difficulties." He turned in his chair and
reached for the brimming mug of ale, dropping a small mark on the girl's
tray.

Terren tensed, glanced around the room, but no-one seemed to be paying
much attention. From what he remembered of the place, he'd not be the
only one in this room who'd done time in the Lord Holder's mines. It was
part of the reason why he'd wanted to come, to have a few hours away
from the dubious looks of the other herdsmen at the Weyr.

"Don't know who you heard that from, but you can tell them it wasn't
justice." His lips tightened in a scowl. "I was letting out my own
property. Nothing wrong with that."

"Aye, you're right. If a man sees his way to make a few marks on the
side, why, that's his business." Corfil raised his head, met Terren's
gaze, and the nagging feeling that Terren had seen him before
intensified, though he still didn't recognise the name. A thought
occurred to him, that the large man who'd been watching him play cards
wasn't with the dealer; he was with this fellow. Maybe the woman, too.
"And I seem to remember, you always had a good eye for an opportunity."

"The way I started out, I had to," Terren said, cautious. "Have we met?"

"Only briefly. Back at Emerald Falls, before the Pass began. You used to
be there a good deal, around the tavern...and I've a knack for names.
That still the case? About opportunities?"

He ought to have had enough of "opportunities" to last him a lifetime,
and besides, he'd every reason to suspect the Weyrleader was keeping an
eye on him. Shells, he'd seen first hand what happened when you defied
the dragonriders; he still had nightmares about those two who'd died in
the dark. But it wasn't as though he was going to hurt anyone, and what
else was there, Terren wondered. Spending the rest of his days mucking
out stables at the Weyr? Or grovelling to his brother-in-law for a place
back at the cothold, and more drudgery?

"What did you have in mind?"

"Making use of your advantageous position." The man flipped over a card
idly. "There's ways to make a mark or two, out of information from the
Weyr."

"Information?"

"Nothing too difficult to find out, if you were living there. The
schedule of sweeprides would be valuable, for instance. There's some
who'd like to know when dragons can be expected overhead, and when the
skies will be clear."

"I might be able to get hold of that kind of thing." He'd be able to get
the assignments from R'fal's Wing easily enough, the boy left them lying
around his weyr, and the others shouldn't be too hard to find.

"Good to know. There's other things worth knowing, too, and if you can
manage it, there are those who'd pay well for dragonrider transport.
Those who couldn't get it by the usual methods. Not at first, though.
There'd need to be...trust."

"I can imagine." The travellers he had in mind wouldn't want to emerge
from /between/ in the Hold's courtyard, surrounded by guards. "Perhaps
my son might help. If I told him it was a favour for a friend."

Corfil nodded. "I'll keep it in mind. For now, the sweep ride lists
would be a good start."

"I'll see what I can do." Terren wiped damp palms on his knees, under
the table. It wasn't anything, really, he told himself. The schedules
weren't a secret, and who would ever know?

"Kriv', that brown dragon's back." The man at the door poked his head
inside and warned the barman, while searching the room for Terren.

"It's all right. That's my ride." He scooped up his marks and stood.
"I'll think about it. And next time I come here, maybe I'll have
something for you."

Outside, it was full dark, and Marlath was hardly visible but for his
glowing eyes, whirling greenish-yellow. He turned his big wedge-shaped
head to watch as Terren approached, and crouched low so he could reach
the straps to climb up.

"Did you have a good time, Da?" R'fal reached down to grasp his father's
hand and pull him up.

"I did. Played some cards, got my hand back in." He tightened the
straps, and watched as his son turned to check them over. "Wouldn't mind
going back again, some time. Perhaps in a few sevendays."

"I'll take you wherever you like. If you're sure you wouldn't prefer the
tavern at the Vintner Hall?"

"Well, maybe, but this place suits me. I got a good game or two in
there, and the ale's cheap." Terren met his eyes. "Thanks, son. This
means a lot."

"Any time." R'fal's smile was swift and warm, before he turned back and
laid a hand on Marlath's neck ridge before him. "Let's go."

The dragon leapt into the air, as if eager to be away, and Terren
watched as the tavern fell away below them until it was only a dimly lit
glowing dot amid the dense forest. He wondered if the man from the
tavern was looking up, watching them go...and where they'd met, before.

Last updated on the September 19th 2020

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