Chapter 5

The middle of the day was always the slowest at Midfield Pub. Typically the only occupants were Bridge, a tall, muscular, bald man with a beard that could easily belong to a viking, who was the owner of the place, and Tina, his 16 year old daughter, a petite girl with medium length red hair that barely reached her shoulders. Occasionally a random traveler stopped for a bite to eat in the little tavern before continuing on their way, but with a town as small and remote as Midfield, it was a true wonder that Bridge managed to keep the place open at all.

"I'm sick of this," said Tina. "Why do you insist on us staying here and keeping this stupid shack open? We never get any customers, and more and more people are leaving Midfield for Oakdale every day. Why can't we just pack up and go?"

Unperturbed, Tina's father continued to polish the counter. He'd heard this very same complaint nearly every day at very near this same hour, only getting a rest from it on the rare occasion a guest was in for a meal. In fact he'd probably be worried if Tina didn't start into her normal dialogue.

"Our ancestors settled this place to watch over the Holy Gate, the gate, might I remind you, that will someday save all of humanity. I don't intend to be the one to break that age old contract."

Bridge spoke the words by rote. His side of the dialogue basically never changed either.

"Besides," he added, "it's not like we have the money or means to just 'pack up' and move."

"How is some stupid gate supposed to save anybody? It's so dumb!" Tina's face formed a pout. "You always say the same thing — nothing ever changes with you!"

"Apparently, it's like-father-like-daughter in that department," Bridge retorted.

Tina just made a huffing sound and looked away. Even that observation wasn't something she hadn't heard before. Why couldn't things ever just change? All she wanted was something new in her life. Something different from this musty tavern where she had lived her entire life.

It wasn't that Bridge didn't know what his daughter wanted. But he really didn't have the means to make it a reality. Ever since she had been a little girl, all Tina had ever talked about was becoming an adventurer, and joining one of the guilds so she could see the world.

Bridge sighed.

"All right. Fine, you win."

Tina spun around to look at her father. This wasn't part of the script they had followed for as long as she could remember.

"I've got a quest for you. We're out of vegetables for the chicken stew. Run to the market and buy some."

Bridge tossed a small leather bag onto the counter that made a clinking sound when it hit the hard surface.

Tina shouldn't have felt the disappointment that surged in her chest at hearing those words. Did she really think things would change so easily? But she felt it anyway.

Tina snatched up the bag, cursing under her breath, and stomped out the front door, slamming it behind her.

Bridge sighed again. What was he going to do with her? He got so frustrated when she acted like this, but he didn't have the heart to punish her. Ever since her mother had passed away two years before, the girl had become so surly.

Not that he didn't understand. It was hard for Bridge too. But he had made a promise to his father to watch over the Gate. And as near as he could tell, though the signs weren't entirely unambiguous, the time was nearing when the prophecy said it would open.

Bridge picked up a mug and began polishing it absentmindedly.

Slam!

Startled, Bridge looked up to see who had opened the door so forcefully.

A group of four rugged-looking men, dressed in broad brimmed hats and long coats, stepped into the common room. They looked rather ordinary, of sturdy midland stock, but as they glanced around the room Bridge caught a dangerous air about them.

It wasn't so much their facial features as it was their grim expressions and steely eyes that gave Bridge the sense that these were the sort of men who did their dealings in the dead of night. Over the long coats they wore dark gray cloaks. Beneath the coats Bridge caught a glimpse of plain but warm clothing with Leather harnesses crisscrossed around their chests, obviously meant to carry some manner of hidden weaponry.

The four men walked to the back corner of the room, deepest in shadows, and sat at the round table there.

"Barkeep, let's have some ale here!"

Over the course of his life, Bridge had seen this type of man more times than he could count, and knew it was best to serve them quickly, then keep his distance. Turning a tap, he poured four frothy mugs. Sliding them all onto a large tray, the tavern keeper made his way over to the men.

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

One of the men spoke the words, his voice almost unnaturally deep. His tone was hushed, obviously not wanting to include Bridge in the conversation.

Bridge set their drinks down on their table. No one said another word until Bridge had finished placing the drinks, and was making his way back to the counter. What they could not know was that Bridge had uncanny hearing. Always had.

"Didn't you see the emblem on the flag? This is obviously the place. How many other places do you know that worship monsters as heroes?"

The second man's tone was mocking, his voice light and raspy.

"Then do we report back now?" the deep voiced man asked.

"No," a third man said.

He was the man sitting farthest in the corner.

"We confirm with our own eyes that this is indeed the right place. We need something of substance or they won't act. War is no fickle matter. They will not move before we have confirmed our findings."

The man spoke with a firm tone, obviously someone experienced in commanding men, and seemed likely the leader of this bunch.

Bridge, back behind the counter, mulled over the things he had heard. He assumed they were talking about the flag of Midfield, a rather plain design with a dragon claw in the center on a field of white. They also mentioned worshiping a monster. Bridge grew tense at this thought. It was not a common piece of information, but maybe the recent spike in residents of Midfield leaving for Oakdale had had an effect.

The last thing they spoke of was war. Which sounded ominous. Skirmishes on the border had seen an uptake in recent months.

These were definitely serious matters. What should he do?

It seemed unlikely that these men weren't here to cause trouble.

And with all of this happening in conjunction with the signs of the prophecy, it couldn't be a coincidence.

Bridge's thoughts were interrupted by the familiar clatter of coins being tossed on the counter. It was the man who had sat in the far corner of the room.

"For the ale."

The man turned and headed for his companions waiting by the door.

Bridge scooped up the coins and watched the backs of the men retreat through the door.

He came to a decision. Reaching under the counter, Bridge slid out the dagger hidden there. He was going to do something he hoped he wouldn't regret. Sliding the dagger into his belt, he headed for the same doorway through which the men had disappeared.