A Loser Wins

Three days later found Boro, with his travel pack, saying farewell to his few friends at the Academy. With his letter of apprenticeship and gold emblem, he had no more need to stay at the Academy. His goal, to be the greatest swordsman of all time, would not be accomplished by staying any longer. So he found himself waving farewell to Nila at the end of the town surrounding the Academy.

  In his heart he yearned to stay and build a life with her. She wanted to take more time to study and hone her own sword skills, but Boro suspected that she was also looking to receive a letter of apprenticeship as well. This sheet of vellum was worth more to an aspiring sword master than an entire sack of gold royals.

  Most master swordsmen were employed by a Lord and as such made plenty of money. With the title of Sword Master, one could be a personal bodyguard, a leader, or some form of commander, of a force of soldiers, they could train men-at-arms or, in the case of Boro's teachers, future master swordsmen.

  As a young boy Boro had always wanted to be apprenticed by his father, who was considered the greatest swordsman in the last hundred years. But his fabled defeat at Haliax, where the False King Rohku had made his last stand, had robbed his father of his life and his legend. His father was all but certain to crush the last of the False King's army and bring the man's head to the capital. However, something went astray and Boro's father and all the men he had led were killed. Stories said that the False King had summoned a powerful demon that tore open the ground and spewed fire at Bora The Bold and his men. Others said that the False King himself had been the demon, only disguised to look like a man.

  Whatever the truth was, it died that day, the whole city had been swallowed up by the ground or lay in a burnt ruin. The true king, King Galave, had been in such a froth at losing his best general and more than half his army, he placed the sole blame on Bora, and took back Bora's title and lands.

  Losing her husband and home had not been easy on Raina, Boro's mother, and they had been forced to take refuge with her remaining family on their farm on the outskirts of the kingdom. There it was that Boro devoted his life to becoming a master of the sword. He trained every day, after he completed his chores of course, using a thick branch he stripped the bark from. His arms grew strong from plowing the fields and swinging his branch. His mother taught him his letters and how to read, a skill one of his uncles called useless for a plow boy, but she saw that Boro aspired for more and so taught him anyways. Boro had used all this to to help further his goals. All of that struggle, pain, and sacrifice finally had gotten him this treasure of a paper in his pack.

Boro found himself turning from a crying Nila. He walked away from the academy town and made his way westward. He had heard that the hermit sword master, Tutija Hutton, was living in the mountainous region of Galaos, Gladous. Rumors said that a man carrying a pale white blade had been spotted some years ago traveling that way. It wasn't much to go on but if it had even the smallest grain of truth in it he would go. Tutija is currently the greatest of the living sword masters in Galaos, at least according to all those who know anything about sword skills. He could be the only person to train Boro, and with his Letter of Apprenticeship, Tutija would have no choice but to train Boro.

  It would be a long walk to Gladous, if Boro only stopped to sleep, eat and relieve himself, it would take a full eight turns of the moons on foot. A full five hundred leagues separated Boro and Gladous, five hundred leagues separated him and Tutija.

  After walking for nearly a full day, Boro's feet were sore and blistered. Ahead Boro had finally spotted the mill a small town he planned on stopping at, he hoped to find a small inn, or barn, to rest his weary feet and head. He also had made up his mind to buy a horse to shorten his journey and this region was particularly noted for its horse-backed blade users. He had spent only two gold royals and fifty silvers, there were one hundred silver to a single gold royal, of the prize money he was given, and that gold had been spent on the necessary items and information for his journey. For the cost of even a bad horse, that two royals he spent on supplies paled in comparison, let alone comparing it to a good one that could cost him more than half his gold.

  When he entered the small town, he asked some locals to direct him to the inn. He was eyed suspiciously, folk in small towns like these were always weary of strangers, more so of those they saw carrying a blade.

  "Willum has an inn just 'round that corner there, might not look like much but the food is good and the ales cool" The townsman said in a thick accent.

  "Thank you good sir" Boro said in reply as he turned and walked in the direction given.

  The inn was small and nondescript, with only two floors it was still rather big for a small town like this. A sign hung outside the inn, a picture of a pumpkin with hands, legs and a drooling face on its partially smashed head. The pumpkin held a half full pitcher in its hands. The Smashed Pumpkin it was called. Boro smiled at the name and opened the door to the inn.

  It smelled of spices and burning wood inside the inn. For a wonder it was nearly empty at this time of day, but a few drunkards could be seen sitting alone in their cups even now. Behind the bar a thick man looked up from the dough he was kneading.

  "'Ello traveler, 'ow can I 'elp you" he said in an accent even thicker than the last man. His smile showed good teeth, not normally the type you saw in the regular country folks mouths.

  "I'm looking for a room to rent, just for the night and preferably one without fleas" Boro said back showing the man his own smile. The innkeeper frowned slightly. "No room of mine 'as fleas good sir, me wife takes great care to keep a clean 'ouse"

  "Very well, your best room if you please and food and ale for the night and morning as well" Boro began fishing in his pouch for some coins. The innkeep eyed him greedily when his spotted the glint of gold.

  "Would the good sir need food for the road too? I 'ave some 'ard bread and cheese. I can also bring out some dried meats." The innkeep said eagerly.

  Boro thought for a moment, "Yes that sounds like an excellent idea." Boro dropped three silver royal on the bar and slid it towards the innkeep. It was much more than the normal cost of a room and food, but Boro suspected that any less and he'd wake up in the dead of night with a blade to his throat.

  "I'm also looking for any news out of the west if you have" Boro said while the barkeep snatched up the coins.

  "Oh 'eaded westward are ye? Well I did 'ear news out Deven way. Rumor 'as it the town was razed to the ground by bandits” The innkeeper frowned slightly and eyed Boro and his sword when he said this. " The "ole town is not but burnt 'ouses, widows and orphans"

  "I 'ear that lot o' towns and villages 'ave seen bandit trouble as of late" said the portly man not so quietly.

  "Hardly a surprise with the Kings taxman coming by so oft" Chimed in a mildly intoxicated man sitting close by. He got from his seat, swaying slightly, and sat at the bar next to Boro. "Tis a wonder more folk don't turn to banditry. Whole country is, hic, headed straight for the shitter.'' He let out a huge burp as he said this.

  Boro said nothing but instead listened intently.

  "I 'ere it's so bad that the damned fat Lord of Helfa 'as set a bounty to any that can bring justice to these damned villains" Said the innkeeper, venom dripping from his voice.

  "Aye, I hear that he's offering thirty gold royals for the heads of any bandits" Said the drunk in response. He looked around conspiratorially and said, "Be warned though the Lord has sent two men to the gallows for murder, seems that the two men murdered an innocent man and tried to pass him off as a bandit" He shook his head angrily, "Idiots had no proof of the slain man's crimes"

  The two men talked in length while Boro sat and listened, waiting to hear any news of Tutija. As the day grew later and more people came in Boro finally got his wish.

  As the innkeeper's wife brought out a steaming plate of roast pork and rice for Boro to feast on, he heard some men playing dice talk loudly about a man to the far west that wielded a white blade. Boro's head lifted from his hot meal and looked over to the men. There were about six of them sitting at a table dropping copper coins into a pile and taking turns throwing a pair of dice. They had the look of farmers, their nails were dirty; dust and dirt stained their rough spun clothes. Boro picked up his plate and ale and set it down on a table closer to them. The men paid Boro no mind, thinking that he was just trying to get a seat closer to the fire.

  "Yup, I hear that the man is a deserter from the False Kings army taking refuge here in Galaos. I hear he slew an entire company of men before he left" Said a man a whole head taller than the rest.

  "Oh come off it Rel', no man, no matter how skilled with a blade can kill that many men, think about it, how many men are usually in a company of soldiers eh?" Asked another man, to the taller one.

  "Fuck if I know, best guess, maybe ninety?" said Rel, saying it as a question.

  "So you mean to tell me, a single man killed ninety of the false Kings soldiers? Bullshit I say" A third man had said, his voice thick with mirth.

  "I hear that the man is none other than Tutija Hutton, The Hermit, himself. The white blade should be clear enough to all who know his legend." A short, thick mustachioed man.

  At this Boro got up from his table and walked over to the dicing men, "Hello friends, mind if I join in the game too, I warn though I have poor luck" As Boro asked he had already begun pulling a thick silver coin from his purse. He showed it to the men, who's eyes all shined with joy.

  "Of course friend, join us" they all chanted immediately.

  Boro asked how the game was played to which the men all explained quickly, you place a bet and take turns rolling, if you're the only to roll a seven or an eleven, you win the pot, if two or more people roll a seven or eleven you all roll again until only one has rolled it, but if you roll two ones, you lose instantly and forfeit your bet until the start of the next pot.

  Boro knew the rules already but played dumb to get the men to trust in his bad luck, men were surprisingly friendly to a man with poor luck.

  Boro's first roll showed two ones, snake eyes it was called. All the men laughed and lamented at Boro's bad luck.

  "Seems you were speaking true lad, your luck is shite" Said Rel, between bouts of laughter. 

   Boro played poorly, losing nearly a whole gold royal, but he gained something much more important. He had an actual solid lead that Tutija was staying somewhere to the west. In this he was the true winner. Boro had successfully gathered information he needed without having to ask a single question. Questions, Boro knew, were dangerous things and should any of these men be part of the bandits robbing folk and pillaging villages, they would be unlikely to know which way Boro was heading. Although he was careful to not show how much of a fortune he had on him, a smart person would have seen his spending, not to mention that the innkeeper himself probably had an inkling of the wealth in Boro's wallet. It wasn't uncommon, as the drunkard had jested, that whole villages would  turn to banditry during times such as these. Poverty often made men cruel and desperate. So it was better to be careful with the questions you asked.

  After another hour of losing, Boro deemed it okay to walk away from the game. He went to his room and turned in for the night. As promised the room was clean and smelled of fresh linens. Boro found himself drifting off to sleep easily.

  When he woke he could already smell the faint smells of bacon and eggs creeping up the stairs from the kitchen. He dressed himself grabbed his pack up from the foot of his bed, rebelted his sword and then walked down the stairs and to the bar. A pretty girl was standing behind the bar this morning. Boro smiled at her as he sat down.

  "Hello miss, if those bacon and eggs are done cooking I'd love a plate" He flashed her his best smile. She smiled warmly back at him before responding, "Of course, I think my pa has some food set aside for you to eat. Would you like me to bring it to you now?"

  "I'd very much appreciate that, thank you" Boro said again flashing his most charming smile at her. She really was a pretty one.

  She disappeared into the kitchen, and while he waited Boro looked around the little inn. It was completely void of life from what Boro could see. The girl came back out after a short time, and handed Boro his food stuff. Boro cautiously asked her, "Where are your patrons my good lady?"

  She let out a laugh like soft chimes blowing in the wind, "Why, they're all out plowing their fields I suppose, and I'm no lady Sir, just a bar wench" she winked at him as she said this and let out another soft laugh. Boro blushed at her and placed a copper coin on the bar for her and walked out of the inn.