BACK TO Works of Gary Welsh
"He's odd, I tell ye," one of the village goodwives would say, while out doing her laundry near the stream.
"Aye," one of the others would agree. "Probably a brigand or outlaw, always on the fly and never talking to nobody."
"Always seems to show up when people see strange things in the woods," a third would say. "Evil things. goblins and those sorts."
"Maybe he's in league with them," the first goodwife would say, and the others would nod sagely.
Farlun was intrigued. He worked at the blacksmith's shop as an apprentice -- honest work -- but he was always curious about the stranger, and things beyond the village, all sorts of tales from the wide world. He usually didn't admit this -- his master was gruff and practical, and dismissed most tales of the world beyond the village as flights of fancy.
Once, the stranger had stopped by in the misty dawn of morning, just as Farlun was starting up the forge, before the master had even arrived. And the night before, Farlun reflected, a patrol from the village had gone out on a rumor of bandits in the woods -- they hadn't yet come back. It made Farlun wonder about all the tongue-wagging of the goodwives.
The stranger asked if they had any axes at the smithy. Farlun told him they did, and let him inside to look them over. The stranger grunted as he hefted each one, testing its weight.
"This'll do," the stranger said in a low voice. "How much is it?"
"One gold piece," Farlun said.
"Here's a gold piece for the axe -- and a silver for you." The stranger paid over the coins. But as he'd reached into his pouch, Farlun noticed that under the stranger's cloak, one of the his arms was bandaged with a bloody cloth. He was wounded. He seemed to notice Farlun noticing, and stiffly turned and began walking away.
"What happened to yours?" Farlun asked.
"Eh -- ?" the stranger stopped, and turned his head slightly. "What's that?"
"What happened to yours? Your old old axe?"
"Broken." The stranger said.
"Oh, yes, of course," Farlun said, a little embarrassed at asking, and keeping the stranger back. But his curiosity was roused. "How'd you break it?"
The stranger turned a bit more, and looked at Farlun with hard eyes that glinted like an eagle's.
"Fighting." The stranger stared at Farlun's face for a few moments, then seemed to make up his mind about something. Perhaps to divulge a few details to a curious youth. "It can get kind of dangerous out there... sometimes if you let your guard down, you get surprised, and you grab whatever weapon's at hand, and you're lucky if you get out of a scrape."
Farlun nodded, gravely. He wondered, but did not ask anything more.
The stranger seemed uncomfortable and impatient. "I have to go, lad. Thanks for the axe." He turned again and went off in long strides, as it began to drizzle lightly.
Later that morning, the village patrol finally came back to the village. They said they'd been out all night, trailing some bandits, but lost them in the rain. But on their way back, they found something. Near the family cottage of one of the woodcutters, the patrol came across a dozen corpses lying in the woods. The corpses were goblins or orcs, or some of both. They were all hacked up, and a heavily notched, bloodied axe with a broken shaft was lying on the ground nearby.