6: Assassins From Shanaar - Part Nine
“Whereabouts you traveling from?” asked another local man across the room.
Tall Man replied, “We’re down from Riverton. Ever been there?”
“No, never left Brookhollow,” was the response. “Never saw much point in it, if you know what I mean. Got everything you need right here, and nothing better in Upton or Middleton or even Brindledown.”
“What do you mean ‘even’ Brindledown?” asked a young man sitting by the fire with a mug in his hand. “’Even’ Brookhollow, is more like it, I say.” As he downed some more beer, cries of “Hear! Hear!” went up around the room.
“What brings you so far south?” The old farmer next to the assassins looked at them inquisitively. No one would travel such a distance unless they had a compelling reason.
“My brother and I,” began the tall man waving his hand toward the short man, “we’re looking up a distant branch of our family. It was the dying wish of our mother that we look up this family, and we’ve always been told they live around Lake Brindle.”
“From Riverton, you say?” said the old farmer, as the others looked on in interest. “I know of no families that came down from Riverton.”
The short man spoke up. “It was several generations ago, mind you. Before our lifetimes, you understand.”
“Aye, I suppose it’s possible,” said the farmer thoughtfully, “though it’s nothing I’ve heard of, I’ll say that much.”
“It’s worth investigating, or so our mother thought.” The tall man looked around the room as he continued spinning his tale. “We’ve been asking around this region for clues to their existence. No one knew the name of our old relative, until we met up with an elderly gentleman near Upton. He claimed to know the name from his childhood. Said there was an old man by that name who lived around Lake Brindle. Said he had a daughter, and the daughter had a son. We thought this son might be a relation, though the old man couldn’t remember his name. Just that he was married with three children of his own. A fisherman in these parts.”