The Sign of the Prancing Pony by Uvatha the Horseman

Rangers Enter the Inn

Rain beat against the windows. From the serving hatch, Nob watched the common room filling up. There’s nothing like bad weather to drive folks indoors, as they say in Bree.

Two dangerous-looking men entered the common room. They appeared to be woodsmen, or possibly outlaws. Water dripped from their clothing, dark-colored from the wet, and hoods concealed their faces. Nob was surprised to see them indoors. Men like that usually slept rough rather than seeking a bed beneath a roof. It was rare for a storm to drive them indoors.

The men were unusually tall, and they crossed the room with long, confident strides. They chose a small table almost hidden in the shadows beside the chimney, where they were difficult to see but had a good view of the door.

Nob approached their table and set a tankard in front of each of them. Seen up close, one was an older man with a grey stubble of beard. The other was a youth as slim as a girl.

“What can I get you to eat?” asked Nob.

“Whatever you’re serving tonight, and lots of it,” said the older one. He put a silver penny on the table. That was a lot of money for one coin. “Can I run a tab?” Nob nodded and hurried to bring them their food.

Back at the serving hatch, Mr. Barliman leaned over and lowered his voice. “Those aren’t ordinary woodsmen. They’re wearing swords. I think they’re Rangers.”

“I’ve never seen a Ranger before!” Nob stared at them, his mouth open.

“Not ten days ago, a pair of them was in here, although whether it was this lot or different, I couldn’t say. They all dress alike, and they keeps to themselves. Something about them is just not right. But try to treat them like any other customers.”

Nob felt uneasy. He wouldn’t have chosen to get this close to Rangers. No one quite knew what they were, hunters or brigands.

The fire had burned down to almost nothing. Nob went over to add a few logs. The woodbin was empty except for a few broken-off twigs and some pieces of bark. He darted into the rain and came back with an armload from the woodpile. Water on the bark soaked into his shirt.

He knelt in front of the hearth. Rain dripped down the chimney, spitting when it hit the logs. The last of the flames sputtered and went out. He laid a few twigs on the embers and blew on them. Steam hissed from them, but they didn’t catch.

Adding to his discomfort, he realized he had an audience. The Rangers were sitting at the table beside the chimney, right next to him. Nob felt their eyes on him and tried not to look.

The older Ranger got up and stood over him. “Allow me.” He knelt before the grate, his scabbard resting on the floor beside him. Nob backed away to give him space. The Ranger arranged the smallest of twigs in a little tent-like structure. He sang in a deep, low voice, in a language Nob didn’t understand. It might have been a ballad, or it might have been the words to an enchantment.

A tongue of flame appeared on the smallest twig. It spread to the whole structure of twigs. The Ranger fed sticks into the little fire. The embers under a log awoke into a blue flame, hissing in the wet. Flames sprang up almost to the mantle, and yellow firelight filled the room.

“There. Will that do?” The Ranger got to his feet and returned to his table.

Nob found Mr. Barliman at the serving hatch. “Did you see how the Ranger lit the fire? I think he used a spell.”

“Or he has very good woodcraft. That’s what you’d expect from a Ranger,” said Mr. Barliman.

“You don’t understand. The wood was soaking wet. He used a fire-lighting spell, I’m sure of it. I watched him sing the enchantment.”

Mr. Barliman sighed. “What did I tell you about treating him like any other customer? This is Bree. We see a lot of strange things here. Now bring them this tray. It’s late, and I’m sure they’ll be wanting their supper.”

Nob brought the tray laden with bread, cheese, and a meat pie to their table, and topped off their tankards from a pitcher. He felt uneasy the whole time he was near them, and left them for his other customers the first chance he got.