Of Crows and Jackdaws

Part 2 - The Case of the Affrighted Cowherd

It was a warm summer afternoon. More than a month had passed since Barcias had come to Ostwood. He and Elias had just arrived at Old Hobson's farm, in the locality of Ebbswick, about three miles from the city. The knight was wearing a long chainmail, splint greaves and bracers, and a sable surcoat.

The Archmage's uncle had been asked for help by the old cob and in turn had sought the aid of his nephew. That uncle's name was Veravin. He was a brewer who had settled in the region a little more than a year prior. Most people knew that Veravin brewed more than beer. He had no interest in the metaphysical concepts of alchemy, but he was quite adept at concocting all sorts of potions, remedies, oils, ointments, and elixirs. He was the polar opposite of Elias, who would have had trouble infusing tea but could already utter words of power at barely thirty years of age.

"Ah, Nephew! How happy I am to see you again," Veravin exclaimed when Elias and Barcias found him and Old Hobson in his fields. "'Tis such a pain that you never visit your old uncle."

Elias rolled his eyes. "I've not come to see you, Uncle. I've come to see what's wrong with Old Hobson's livestock and crops."

Elias' exasperation came from the fact that his old uncle was, in fact, three years younger than him. The wizard's grandfather, an innkeeper who had done well for himself, had remarried late in his life to a greedy young woman who had borne him a son to whom he had bequeathed all of his possessions. Veravin merely looked a bit older than his nephew: he had a bushy beard, strong arms, and a barrel chest. He always wore practical clothes and was rarely seen without his dirty leather apron that had large pockets in which he kept a variety of tools, flasks, and phials. Barcias had heard much about jovial Veravin.

"Uncle Veravin, Hobson, meet Barcias of Agrioch, knight errant of the Malliverian chapter of the Poor Fellows of the Order of the Sacred Halo," Elias said with a grandiloquent gesture. "Now, why did you insist for me to come here, uncle?"

"Well, as you know, Old Hobson here is one of my suppliers of barley and wheat, and he recently came to me to have a chat about strange things happening on his land. When he told me everything, I had to call upon you. Tell him Hobbie."

Old Hobson was indeed a very old man, but still vigorous. He was small with a gangly physique and legs arched by the passing years. He owned a good parcel of land and therefore, even though he was not a rich man, had some coin to his name. He was wearing clean clothes: green breeches, a short yellow tunic, a loose brown jerkin and an old coif from under which his white hair peeked out. He looked calm, but his shifty blue eyes showed a measure of distrust.

"Hail, M'lord Archmage Elias. Your wizardriness."

The mage raised his hand. "Elias shall suffice."

"Master Elias, 'tis a great misery what's happenin'. For three months now, me land's been haunted by some manner o' evil spirit. At first, 'twas jus' strange noises, screams or howlin' more like. Then, four weeks ago, the nights started gettin' colder and colder, so much that our windows cracked. One day I found one of me cows just torn apart an' all frozen like. It's become more frequent now, an' the morn 'fore yesterday, I found one of me daughter's young'uns in the barn. He was deathly cold an' pale, an' we was mighty afeared for the lad's life. I turned to Master Veravin for counsel an' he said we should send for you."

"Didn't your letter say that you had taken care of the child, Uncle?"

"That he did, Master Elias. Gave him a broth o' some sort that has him sleepin' still."

The Archmage turned to his uncle again. "What did you give him?"

"An infusion of pepperbark, prickroots, savory, aldemyrh, and a bit of salamander saliva thrown in for good measure."