Garren's Quest, Chapter 1

I previously posted an excerpt from a fantasy story that I've got a lot of ideas about in terms of the storyline (working title: Garren's Quest). It's one that I think will be a fun read, so I've decided to start posting the chapters here for my patrons. So without further ado, Chapter 1 is below, and the usual caveats apply. (And in other news, I'm still working on Kid Sensation #10.)

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Garren was still asleep, with the tavern maid snuggled up next to him, when the soldiers burst in. Waking immediately, the maid – a young woman of about twenty summers – yelped in fright. Scrambling from the bed, she snatched her clothes from where she had dropped them to the floor the night before, pulling them up to her bosom in attempt to cover herself. She then backed into a corner of the room, cowering with dread and apprehension.

Unlike his night-companion, Garren merely sat up in bed and gave his visitors a once-over. The soldiers numbered six and all were armed; each had a broadsword, and at least two carried daggers, while another sported a short-axe. He assumed that the remainder also had secondary weapons, but – as his inn-room was not particularly large – they were crowded in too closely for him to make a full assessment.

“You are Garren?” asked one of the soldiers – presumably the leader (and probably a captain, based on the insignia he wore).

“I am,” Garren confirmed. “And if your business is with me I assume the lady is free to leave?”

The lead soldier glanced at the tavern maid. He looked her up and down for a moment, then – seeming to satisfy himself in some way – tilted his head to the door.

Letting out an audible sigh of relief, the tavern maid began sidling towards the door as the soldiers opened a path for her. However, she stopped as she passed a trestle table, looking down to where Garren had laid out a small stack of coins on the tabletop the night before. Then, looking unsure of herself, she glanced at the soldiers, the coins again, then at Garren.

Garren understood her dilemma. She didn’t know what the soldiers wanted, but she had felt fortunate a moment ago to be allowed to leave with her life. That being the case, she was obviously wary of pushing her luck by trying to take coin with her as well. Her eyes pleaded with Garren for help.

“Before you leave, milady, might I impose on you for a favor?” he asked. “I’d like an early breakfast, so I’d be grateful if you’d rouse the innkeep and ask him to prepare a meal for me. Please take whatever payment is necessary” – he gestured towards the money – “to compensate him for the inconvenience, and a tip for yourself for conveying the message.”

“Of course, milord,” she replied before swiftly scooping up the coins. She then hastened to the door and a moment later she was gone, with one of the soldiers shutting the door behind her.

Garren stared at the soldiers for a moment, then asked, “Mind if I put some clothes on?”

“Not at all,” replied the captain.

“Many thanks,” said Garren as he rolled out of bed. Grabbing his trousers from the back of a nearby chair, he inquired, “May I ask what this is about?”

“King Syrod wants a word with you,” the captain replied.

“King Syrod?” Garren repeated with a frown. Syrod was sovereign of a nearby realm – not the land in which Garren currently found himself, which was ruled by a monarch named Jessou. “Aren’t you a little beyond your jurisdiction?

“Our liege has a treaty with King Jessou that covers various matters – particularly commerce and trade, but also extradition. Ergo, the lawful representatives of his Highness King Syrod have authority in this instance.”

“So I’m to be extradited,” Garren noted as he continued dressing. “Under what charge?”

“There is no formal charge. His Highness merely wishes to discuss with you a fake magic sword that you sold the Prince of the Realm.”

“Well, let me save you some trouble: that’s not true.”

The captain gave Garren a skeptical look. “Prince Nebal says that he bought a purportedly magic sword from Garren the Great. Is that not you?”

“No, I’m Garren the Not-So-Great. Or Garren the Lesser. Or Garren the Younger. Or Garren the Whatever-You-Please.”

The soldiers appeared to ponder this for a second. Noting their confusion, Garren sighed.

“Garren the Great is my grandfather,” he declared. “But he hasn’t been in this part of the world in ages.”

“Then it was you who sold Prince Nebal the sword.”

“Again, that’s not true. I’ve never sold anyone a magic sword.”

“So you admit to being a fraud,” the captain declared harshly, “and that you don’t have a magic sword.”

“Well, I never said that…” Garren countered, smiling. At the same time, he held out his hand, and his sword and scabbard flew into his waiting palm from across the room.