“So much for that ‘hero’ Pitkins,” Bundor said, his side heaving with laughter as he chatted in a local tavern with a small group of nobles. The rumor was out and strong: Pitkins had abandoned Donive.
“I was suspicious of that young upstart from the get-go,” Bundor continued; “never trust a man that’s not of noble blood. That’s what I said. But no one listened to me. They were too impressed by one lucky performance at the right place at the right time with a sharp sword. Pitkins took advantage and attacked the snake while a group of nobles were distracting it, hahahaaaa. But yet . . . he gets all the credit! At most, Pitkins might make a good bodyguard, a strongman to guard your farm at night. Other than that, he’s as useful as a fiddle in a battle. Just a cheap thug who knows a few tricks with a sword. Fritzer has really made a fool out of himself this time—letting a sword smith marry his daughter! Hahahaha. And that bumpkin left her in the the middle of nowhere—Fritzer believing her wild story about an assassin and a strange disappearance. Hehehehehe. Let me tell you, I wasn’t going to go in that so-called SEARCH party!! Hahahahaaa. If I were Fritzer, I would send a search party after him all right: and I’d throw a party when I caught and hanged that rascal!”
The nobles at the table laughed hysterically, each chugging their glass of ale like it might be their last. But for some, perhaps most, of the nobles, this laughter was false. They had believed Pitkins to be an ambitious social climber. Why would he, after becoming knighted and marrying the most beautiful woman in all of Sodorf, then suddenly leave it all behind? Sure, it was enjoyable to pretend he left her because he was nothing but a low-down, rotten rascal and that is what rascals do, but did it make sense? But their rumor mill had rather successfully spread as fact the idea that Pitkins abandoned Donive. That way, the “hero” who had become knighted was a hero no more, and the peasantry would not get any ideas of their own in terms of social climbing. Pitkins’ abandonment of Donive had proven that his knighthood was a mistake, an act committed in the heat of the moment.
The nobles realized that if Pitkins didn’t abandon Donive intentionally, then whatever forced him to abandon her must be something powerful. Something sinister. Something they wouldn’t stand a chance against. If someone . . . or something had taken or killed Pitkins by force, they realized they had better hope it wanted Pitkins and only Pitkins. But they were too embarrassed by Pitkins’ having outdone them publicly to want to embarrass themselves further by admitting they were afraid that whatever was behind Pitkins’ disappearance might not be finished. Not quite yet.
Most of them were relieved Pitkins was gone. He had been a source of unending embarrassment to them. His sudden departure seemed almost too good to be true. They were nervous about allowing themselves to celebrate too soon but were doing so nonetheless. In addition to fearing whatever it was that might have taken him, they also feared he might come back. Then, his steely eyes and steel sword would seek vengeance for their slanderous words. As a knight, he would have the right to challenge any of them to a duel for the words they were saying. None of them wanted that to happen. They sought to quench this fear with ale and false laughter.
They all knew this, but few of them dared breathe a word of it. A sense of palpable but unspoken dread had permeated the ranks of the nobility.