The Enemy of the World Chapter 4 The Old Woman in the Tavern

They found themselves in the Tavern of the Eye of the Gryphon, in Horeen, seated at a table in the corner.

"We always die, but we always come back," Gregor Vahn said to Masato. "Such are the paladins of Thyatis. It's the blessing that the God of Resurrection grants us." He chuckled.

Masato Kodai observed the group with interest and care. Even after a mere day of coexistence, they seemed to have accepted him; they spoke with him as if he were one of their own. It was strange—warriors, wizards, and priests interacting so freely. In Tamura, people adhered to formal protocols, especially among the upper castes.

Even though he shared the same goals as the group, they were very different. Masato had traversed the barbaric lands of the mainland for months now—though Collen was an island, its people shared the same manners as those of the mainland—but he had never quite grown accustomed to it. The fixed stares from the patrons of the tavern weighed heavily on him. Perhaps, as an Imperial Executioner, he was more accustomed to the gaze of the dead.

The others seemed to disregard the scrutiny of the tavern's patrons. The Gryphon's Eye was a spacious establishment with walls crafted from large stones, and a second floor made of solid wood that housed the sleeping quarters. A dozen people occupied the common room, along with the group, and still, there were empty tables. A warm aroma of spices filled the air, saturating the senses until customers barely noticed it anymore. Even more heat emanated from the kitchen, where three girls—one no longer a child, another at an uncertain age, and the last just beginning to reach adulthood—brought endless trays of rich, steaming food. The beer was dark, strong, and thick, but the mugs at the corner table were already empty, prompting Andilla Irontooth to rise and fetch more.

"We were ambushed by orcs," Gregor continued, addressing the samurai. "Stupid creatures, generally, but they managed to gain the upper hand. There were more than twenty of them. We fell to most of their onslaught, but I ended up taking more hits than I planned."

"Gregor is our shield," Ashlen laughed. For such a small boy, he certainly drank a lot, Masato mused, and talked even more. In Tamura, Ashlen wouldn't have been old enough to venture out alone.

While Gregor and Ashlen engaged Masato in conversation, Nichaela observed quietly, participating without speaking. Vallen, Ellisa, and Artorius discussed battle plans over a sketched map. Andilla joined the discussion, although she was busy drinking beer. Rufus Domat read in silence, his eyes darting between the page and Ellisa Thorn.

Andilla returned with three mugs brimming with beer, acutely aware of the patrons' scrutiny of her foreign appearance, her large axe, and her scant clothing. It was even stranger to know that the eyes weighing down on her were yellow, green, phosphorescent, or entirely blue—so many bizarre characteristics. She dropped the drinks on the table with a clatter and turned to confront the gazes upon her.

One of the waitresses, with a lilac eye flecked with gold, paused her scrubbing of the counter to focus on Andilla's face. Her expression betrayed a mix of admiration, scandal, and an irresistible desire to gossip with her friends. Andilla ignored her, choosing instead to focus on the men who had been staring at her—men who looked as if they possessed little in the way of wealth, education, or even teeth.

She approached one of them, a middle-aged man with few possessions, and even fewer teeth. He had one eye almost entirely white, with a tiny blue iris the size of a pinhead. At his table sat two others, all similar in appearance, and they fell silent as Andilla loomed over them.

"Get up," she commanded.

He obeyed, still a head shorter than her. Feeling his breath mix with hers, he stammered, "Would you like to speak to me?" His voice was high and clear.

"Is there any topic? Something to say?"

The few patrons not yet captivated by the spectacle now turned their attention to Andilla. At the corner table, Ellisa mumbled something and let her head hang, but Vallen watched with amusement, and no one dared intervene.

"No," the small man replied, eyes still glued to the floor.

"Then why were you looking at me?"

Silence ensued.

"Answer me! Why were you looking at me?"

Laughter erupted from the crowd, but it ceased with a single look from Andilla Irontooth. With no answer forthcoming, she continued, "Are you married?"

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, still avoiding her gaze. The man thought it wise to call her "ma'am." "What does your wife think of you staring at strangers in the tavern?"

Again, nothing. His shoes seemed to hold his entire focus, while the beers and plates of food around the tavern became increasingly interesting to all present. Only at the corner table did the eyes remain on Andilla.

"Go home, little man," was her verdict. The man hurriedly placed some coins on the table and left.

"I told you she would sort it out," Vallen Allond remarked.

"Still, it was a risk," Ellisa replied as Andilla returned to her seat.

"As I said, you're getting cautious with your age, Ellisa," Andilla laughed, taking a swig from the mug she had brought.

More laughter followed, and the Gryphon's Eye Tavern resumed its lively atmosphere as the patrons realized the foreigners at the corner table were preoccupied with their own affairs. The man who had been chased away by Andilla returned, but no one paid him any mind aside from a few sarcastic remarks.

"Very well," Vallen said seriously, and the table fell silent. Rufus Domat set down the book he had been unable to focus on. "Kodai, you mean you're here for the same reason as us?"

"Yes," Masato replied, "to hunt the fugitive. This is my duty as an Imperial Executor."

"If I may interrupt, Imperial Executor," Ellisa interjected, "what exactly did our friend do in your land, and how did he end up in Petrynia? Don't you think it's unlikely that it's the same man?"

"Why," Ashlen chimed in, "an albino human, tall as an ogre, capable of surviving showers of arrows and walls of blades? If there's more than one of these around, I'm moving to Lamnor!"

Ashlen referred to the southern continent, home to the elven kingdom of Lenórienn. Everyone shot him disapproving looks, except for the samurai and Nichaela.

"Very polite of you to bring this up when we have Nichaela around, Ashlen Ironsmith," Artorius, the minotaur, remarked. On the rare occasions when his voice was heard, he spoke with the authority of a sergeant. He abstained from drinking due to his frugal nature, and he ate little, always disciplined.

Mentioning the land of Lenórienn, or even the southern continent, in the presence of an elf was akin to discussing deceased parents with an orphan. The elves had been engaged in the Infinite War against the monstrous hobgoblins for centuries, and many had perished in battle.

Those who lived far from their homeland felt guilt for not helping defend it, while simultaneously harboring resentment for the lives lost.

Ashlen began to mumble apologies, but Nichaela interrupted. "Please, I've already told you. I'm not an elf, you know. I've never seen the kingdom of Lenórienn. As far as I know, I was raised in the temple of Lena for as long as I can remember."

"We know," Andilla stated, "but that doesn't mean it's a pleasant thing to discuss." She playfully slapped Ashlen behind the head.

"Returning to Ellisa's question," Vallen interjected, "what did our quarry do in Tamura?"

Masato straightened, preparing to speak. It wasn't an easy subject, and he knew he would have to omit certain details.

"Livestock were being attacked," he began. "Animals were being killed and devoured by some kind of beast. It wasn't an official matter, and it certainly wasn't something the Emperor should worry about. As was customary, the peasants organized themselves to hunt the animal. The problems began when none of them returned. There was still resistance from landowners to send soldiers, but when a house was invaded and a couple of elderly villagers were slaughtered, it became clear that this was a real threat. The soldiers who ventured deep into the woods did not return, and several weeks passed without any trace of the beast—now considered some type of monster. But it decided to reveal itself when it attacked the palace of a daimyo—a feudal lord—and decimated most of the guard."

"And it was your monster?" Vallen asked.

"And he was your man," Masato replied. "With cloud-white skin, pale hair, and red eyes. Tall as a tower."

"Do you know why he attacked the palace?" Ellisa took a sip of her drink. "Was he after something, some relic or artifact?"

"He didn't take anything from there," Masato said, pausing to collect his thoughts. "When he was found, he was naked and had already devoured the daimyo and most of his family."

Nichaela grimaced and looked away. Artorius drained the last of his water. Ashlen found himself at a loss for words.

"As the villagers said," Vallen remarked, "more animal than man. But still, we do not know how he made the journey from Tamura to Petrynia, or what his purpose was."

"If there is one," Ellisa added.

It was strange, everyone agreed. It wouldn't be so surprising to encounter an animal-man with such an exotic appearance in a world filled with monsters, gods, and wizards. The oddity lay in his behavior—attacking two places so far apart without any apparent pattern, demonstrating both intelligence and an apparent disregard for material possessions.

"One thing is certain," said Gregor. "From Tamu-ra to Petrynia, he learned to wear clothes."

"Or they put them on him," Rufus replied, speaking for the first time since they had entered the tavern. "He might have been captured by a circus or a collector, or something. And then he ran away, right?"

It was a possibility, except that the unknown man had wiped out the entire guard of a palace, which included wizards and clerics. It certainly took significant force to cage the creature, and whoever had spent enough gold to do so wouldn't give up so easily. There was no reward, no news of the thing anywhere except in Petrynia and now Tamu-ra.

"Lucky for us, a man like him doesn't go unnoticed easily," Vallen continued, his tone professional. "We've got a trace of him, albeit faint. We know he's heading in the direction of Kriegerr, a port city to the north. We need a map to get there since what we have is only capable of getting us this far."

"And a night's rest," Rufus added. "For the last few days, we've been walking from before dawn until after dark. We need a bed. And a bath." His attempt at humor fell flat. Ashlen would have appreciated that comment, he thought, but Rufus Domat could only shake his head.

"Just one more question," Ashlen said to Masato. "I understand that an emperor mobilizes his forces to hunt down the murderer of a feudal lord, but why send his executioner? Wouldn't it be smarter to send some kind of investigator or a force of warriors? Shouldn't you be cutting off the heads of disgraced men?"

Masato Kodai observed a moment of silence before he replied, "It's our custom. You don't understand."

But Ashlen wasn't convinced. Not at all.

A few months earlier, they had been amidst death, with vultures circling overhead. The small town of Adolan in Petrynia had been attacked by a strange human. The earth was fat with corpses.

They found themselves in the temple of Life.

"I'm glad you came," said Athela, Lena's young cleric, as she hugged Nichaela. Both were divided between the sadness that spilled from the bloodshed and the joy of seeing each other again. All the adventurers reverently entered the Lena Temple. It was a place that invited respect and restraint. Most of them carried many weapons, making them feel heavy and uncomfortable. Some novices from the temple offered to take their weapons, backpacks, and cloaks, disappearing among the heavy equipment.

"They were ordained together, weren't they?" Vallen said, gesturing toward Nichaela and Athela. "Strange for two clerics of Life to meet like this."

"Funerals bring the family together," Gregor Vahn remarked.

The temple was simple and very white—spacious and modest. Fresh and cozy, it wasn't large or opulent; it felt like a place in parentheses. Yet it gave the impression that those who lived there had learned not to care about luxuries. There was a large hall where prayers were conducted, a long area full of beds where patients of different origins were treated, and several rooms for the clerics and novices. Apart from that, there was a kitchen, storage rooms, a latrine, and charity rooms that housed wanderers, beggars, and others whose luck had failed. Recently, no one less fortunate had come to Lena's Temple than Irynna, a merchant's daughter.

Athela guided the group to the room where the girl had been lying for two weeks. "She didn't eat for the first four days," Athela said, her voice gentle but hardened by years of describing symptoms, groans of pain, and abundant illness. "After I called you, she agreed to eat a bit. But she says she hasn't slept since what happened. I don't know if it's true."

Relief was clearly visible on Athela's face. It felt good to share the burden. It felt good to be with people who didn't look to her, the cleric, for answers. In those days, the questions had been very difficult.

Nichaela entered the young woman's room, followed by Vallen. The rest of the group remained outside.

"I brought the person I told you about," Athela said. "My friend—the heroine."

Irynna smiled weakly. It was a deplorable sight: days without food and courage had eroded her flesh and glued her skin to her bones. Where it wasn't stuck together, her skin hung loosely, pasty and dirty. Her hair was thick and compact, held together in a uniform mass. She wore a light, short, soft nightgown, but she didn't care who could see her. The only thing that remained strong about Irynna were her eyes—those brought certainty and even a certain joy. Vallen recognized the feeling; it was the joy of a warrior in the first moments of combat, when the prospect of killing the enemy ignited.

Nichaela sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair behind her long ears. "Athela said you wanted to see me," she said sweetly.

The young woman struggled to sit up in bed. Her voice emerged with unexpected vigor. "Yes, she told me about you. She said you were an adventurer, a hero who fought against evil. Evil has come here, my lady; we must fight against it." Nichaela wasn't much older than Irynna, and the address "my lady" didn't fit well. But anyone who looked at the fire in Irynna's face, her wide eyes, and her weakly smiling mouth would think she was speaking to a goddess.

"Actually, I think evil is still here, Irynna," Nichaela said seriously, gently touching the girl's chest. "The criminal has already left, but you are still in bed. It is necessary to fight against evil, but I think you are the one who should fight, with the help of your friend Athela." Irynna grimaced.

"My lady, my lady, my blessed lady, don't ask me for this!" Irynna weakly grasped Nichaela's hand and leaned closer to her face. The two clerics exchanged glances. "My mother died, madam; my father died, and my brothers died. Is no punishment necessary for this, my lady, my holy lady? Tell me, won't you?"

"Punishment is different," Nichaela replied, withdrawing her hand from the girl's grip. "Revenge." Vallen remained standing, silent. He was there as a leader, to assess whether fulfilling Irynna's request was a viable mission for the group. He wasn't good with these types of dilemmas and felt out of place among the three women.

Irynna hesitated, disappointment crossing her face. She had imagined that once she found the group of adventurers Athela had spoken of, the hunt would begin immediately. She had thought about the gold she could offer and how long it might take, but she hadn't considered that one of her heroes might try to dissuade her.

"I know I may have the wrong feeling in my heart," Irynna said, though she was a smart girl. "But Athela can take care of that. Can you help me purge this bitterness? You can prevent this from happening again, to another family, to another daughter like me."

Nichaela bit her lip. That was undeniable.

"I agree to fight the evil inside me," Irynna said, "if there are those who fight the evil outside."

There was silence. The half-elf cleric looked at Vallen, her leader.

"What she says is true," he said. "If you think we should, Nichaela, then I say we will."

More silence.

"We must."

And Irynna cried with happiness.

The young merchant's daughter had been eloquent beyond her strength that afternoon, continuing to talk and reason coherently as she asked Vallen Allond how much gold they would need. She had plenty, and that was an incentive, but few people became adventurers out of pure greed—for that, mercenary work was easier, more profitable, and more stable. Vallen's desire to punish the intruder, the unknown, the murderer of so many men, compelled him to make the decision.

They left Adolan, a small, quiet village in the Realm of Stories, a place about which almost no stories existed, a village that had no militia because the militia men had been killed. They departed with their pockets heavy with gold and their souls heavy with duty.

That had been a few months ago, but now they were on the road, ever in pursuit of the intruder, hoping to find him in the town of Kriegerr.

"The beer here is good," Gregor said, draining another mug of dark drink from the Eye of the Griffin. "But we must rest. Let's pay for one night in the rooms, and tomorrow we'll wake up very early."

Everyone nodded. The night was still young, but their bodies complained of fatigue. Ashlen, who managed the group's finances, began separating the Tibares to cover the meal and the night. Vallen continued discussing details with Ellisa, Andilla, and Artorius. Gregor was getting up to speak with one of the locals about a map when the door opened and the tavern fell silent.

The door remained open for a long time as whoever was on the other side entered, moving slowly. One of the patrons finally got up to hold the door, revealing an old lady dressed in a mouse-colored garment that resembled a large sack over her plump, hesitant body.

The eyes of all the patrons were drawn to the lady, and thus the group's attention was captured as well. She was very short, barely taller than a child, and had reached the age when the body bends and shrinks. She trembled with weak bones, sagging muscles almost giving way as she leaned heavily on a tree branch cane. Her hair was white and frayed, and in many places, the pinkish tone of the skin on her skull was visible. Her face was thick with long hair, white like her own, sprouting in various places (including from her nose), but what caught the most attention were her eyes. One was small, almost closed, buried beneath a fat eyelid. The other was large and wide-eyed, seemingly ready to jump out of her crooked head, and had a purple hue that both attracted and repelled. Restless, the eye darted around the common room, drawing various reactions.

As slowly as she had entered, the old woman sat down at a table that had been vacated and hurriedly cleaned as she approached. She fell into a chair, raised her thin legs, and began looking around the room. Then, without asking, a steaming mug of dark tea was placed in front of her, which she slurped noisily.

No one spoke in the Eye of the Griffin tavern. The adventurers exchanged glances, a mix of amusement and alarm. Small whispers of greeting for the lady floated through the air, but that was the only sound apart from the slurping of hot tea.

After a few minutes, a man, better dressed and cleaner than average, got up and stood humbly beside the old woman's table.

"Lady Raaltha," he said, not looking directly at her, "you honor us with your visit."

She mumbled something unintelligible, and after a while, the man returned to his seat. Some patrons resumed eating, but most simply continued to watch the lady.

"Farmer Rudolph," she said suddenly, her voice resembling a saw. "Your harvest will be good, and your son's fever will pass in three days."

"Thank you, Mrs. Raaltha," a man in the background replied.

Vallen signaled to the group, smiling slightly, as they all sat down to observe what was unfolding.

"Fromaahn," the old woman said again, looking into her tea. Another man stood up, filled with anticipation. "Your wife will leave you within two months. Nothing you do can stop her."

The man appeared disconcerted but still thanked her. There were no jokes or comments.

"Lenisa," the old woman's voice rang out again, causing one of the waitresses to drop a tray, her breath held. "You are pregnant, and you will end up marrying Warras." The young woman squealed and blushed. "Don't worry," the lady added. "You'll be as happy as most people can be."

For several minutes, all eyes remained on the old woman as she revealed the fates of the tavern's patrons, and everyone believed her. A shoemaker would succeed in his business, a merchant's barn would burn, a blacksmith's brother would die after falling from a horse. Good omens came in equal measure to bad ones, and no one questioned them; they simply lamented or thanked their luck.

Suddenly, the wandering eye fixed on the table in the corner, drawing the attention of the nine pairs of eyes.

"A black cloud," the old woman said. "I see a dark cloud over these people." Gasps filled the air. The adventurers felt the weight of fear settle around them.

"There is a black cloud, and the eyes of the gods and the demons," the old woman continued. "I see one death in a short time and many for a long time. I see the blind eyes of the future, and those who were blinded by their own will. In the future, no one will be able to see what happens, nor look into the past. And, looking up, their hands will be tied because of those who chose not to see."

No one seemed certain what that meant, but it wasn't good. "You must go back," the old woman ordered. "Give up what you're doing, forget everything you've seen, and don't try to see more. Go! Go away! You bring death!"

Eyes turned heavy and hostile toward the table in the corner. Instinctively, Artorius and Andilla tightened their grips on the handles of their axes. Ashlen began considering escape routes. Vallen stood, hands raised in a gesture of peace.

"There is no need to fear us," he said, conciliatory. "We don't wish harm on anyone; we just want a map and a night's rest."

"Go away!" the old woman spat on the ground. "I see death and blindness in you. You are black crows, ready to tear out our eyes!"

One by one, the tavern patrons began to rise. They may have been small, simple men, but there were many of them, and they had the seriousness of those willing to go to extreme lengths.

Vallen attempted to reason with them again but was interrupted by another accusatory prophecy. "Murderers! Assassins of the world! Leave! Give up!"

Masato Kodai, who had remained quiet until now, suddenly stood, his hands ready to draw his long, curved sword.

"Take it back, woman!" Masato declared, stepping forward. "A commoner doesn't speak like that to a samurai, nor to anyone who hasn't done her any harm."

Nichaela protested, but her voice was drowned out by the clamor of weapons. Throughout the tavern, kitchen knives, forks, mugs, and other objects were gathered as makeshift weapons. At the table in the corner, Andilla and Artorius were already grabbing their axes, and Ellisa had an arrow nocked on her taut bowstring.

"Murderers!" the woman shouted again. "Vultures!"

The adventurers moved slowly, aware of the hostile atmosphere surrounding them. None of them wanted to harm simple villagers, and starting a fight there would likely result in a massacre. A young man rushed out of the tavern door.

"We don't want any problems," Vallen reiterated. He had not yet taken up arms. "Just give us some directions, show us our way, and let us out."

Whoever the old woman known as Raaltha was, she commanded enough respect to dispel the commoners' fear. Even with their improvised weapons, the villagers threatened and growled like a besieging horde. The adventurers slowly made their way to the center of the common room, where they were surrounded.

Vallen opened the door, his back to Ellisa, who pointed her arrow in various directions to keep the villagers at bay. When night fell outside, dozens of people surrounded the Eye of the Griffin Tavern. They carried rakes, torches, and sticks. The man who had rushed out had summoned others, and the news spread like wildfire. The endless rounds of hostile villagers posed a silent threat to the group. Not just men; women, old folks, and children too. Everyone looked at the door, recognizing the strangers with their identical eyes and manners from afar. More people arrived by the moment. A good number bore real weapons—swords that hung on the walls, mementos of warrior ancestors, and relics long unused.

Vallen Allond swallowed. Previously, he had feared causing a massacre. Now, if things went awry, they would be the victims.

The crowd parted, and soldiers emerged, brandishing new, real weapons. The apparent captain shouted, "Lady Raaltha said you are not welcome. Leave our city before your blood stains the ground."

"We don't want any problems," Vallen pleaded once more.

"She saw the future, and you bring a dark future. As if that weren't enough, you dared to threaten her. Leave Horeen!"

"We can deal with them," Andilla whispered.

"We just want a map," Vallen continued to beg.

"Outside!"

And so the group was escorted out of the city. From a distance, the crowd followed them, more frightening than a band of bandits, for they were ready to fight for something they believed in. Countless torches flickered in the distance as they moved away from Horeen, their silhouettes marked against the orange glow of the flames. A saw-like voice echoed in the air: "Murderers! Black crows!"

Finally, the group exited Horeen, moving away as fast as they could from a land that was no longer peaceful. Only later would Ashlen realize that they had left the rough map on the table. They were lost.