"Kren" Part Twelve: Cautiously Pessimistic

For a moment there was an incredulous silence. Kren could hear the creaking of the floorboards under their feet and even the slight hiss of the candles burning at each table. Then all pandemonium broke loose.

Beyond a pious wish and a sigh, no one had ever really thought of a world without Bharek, any more than they thought that the moon would fall out of the sky. Kings came and went, but not the Black King, who had reigned … well, Kren thought, for well over a thousand years. They attributed every misfortune from a stubbed toe to a spring flood to the Dark Lord’s malice, and that certainly included every disaster in the last five years.

Oddly enough, Koppa’s good news had filled the crowd with anger, and even scornful laughter, as if the youth had finally taken his tales a step too far. It was even worse than when they thought he was a spy; somehow, he had insulted their intelligence.

“What a load!”

“Boy, you got us all worked up for nothing!”

“You expect us to fall for that one?”

“Yes,” the Hetman hissed. The men settled down a bit to hear his words. “You want us to believe that this Taryn of yours, a mere man, killed the Black King?”

Koppa looked embarrassed, flushing a little red.

“Uh … well, no. It was actually … someone else.”

The Hetman pounced.

“Then why isn’t that one King?” he asked triumphantly. “What a farrago of nonsense!”

There were mutters of agreement.

“Look!” he barked, and at the sound of his voice all were quiet. They could tell a judgement was coming.

“I don’t know what you are, evil agent or trickster or just a wandering madman, as seems most likely, but I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. You can’t deceive anyone with your tales now anyway. But if you’re not out of town by sunrise, you will be run out, and that none too gently. Is that clear?”

Koppa humbly bowed his head in acquiescence, but his eyes were bright. Kren, who was closest to the man, thought he saw a glint of amusement there.

“Yes, Hetman Belanus Thane.”

“Very well.” The old man straightened up and cast a commanding eye around the inn. “Now I suggest everyone go home. It’s a busy day tomorrow. The harvest continues.”

He turned on his heel and strode out, the burly Mazzak at his side. Koppa sat down slowly at Kren’s table, glancing sideways at the Morg as he did so. Kren smoothed his beard, took a sip of ale, and said nothing. The villagers shuffled out, muttering and casting darkly suspicious looks back at Koppa. Mr. Ventil went last, glaring around to see that everyone had left. He ignored the stubborn Kren, shutting the door behind him with a threatening bang.