Chapter Text
The night was cold and wet, a tempest thundering outside the rickety wooden walls of the inn. Wilbur Soot was much too nervous to nod off tonight, manning the front desk in case there were any arrivals during the night. There were never any overnight arrivals in Eagle’s Burrow, however, and Wilbur knew that the only reason his parents had assigned him the job was because everybody thought that he was useless at pretty much everything else. And Wilbur supposed they were right - every job he’d ever had the opportunity to do had been taken by one of his many, many siblings, and Wilbur, smack-dab in the middle of their family, had been stuck with the longest and most boring of them all. Surely if he was good at something he wouldn’t be up all night every night waiting for customers that didn’t come.
Wilbur sighed and ran his fingers through his cropped brown hair, his eyes flitting to the lute stashed by the fireplace. It had belonged to his eldest brother David before he’d gone off to become a squire, and the Soot siblings had quarrelled over who got custody of it. George had finally won the debate a week prior, as the second eldest in the family. But Wilbur knew George couldn’t play it, and David had only managed a few simple tunes as well. Wilbur wished he could take it from his older brother but he knew he’d get it back - he just had to settle for playing it at night when nobody was around to hear.
Before long, Wilbur was playing the old folk tune The Maid and the Mockingbird, singing along softly with the plucked notes. He still flinched every time there was a crack of thunder outside, but it was more out of reflex than in fear. However, when there was a booming knock on the front door, Wilbur nearly leapt out of his skin, striking a wrong note and letting the instrument tumble to the floor.
Biting his lip, Wilbur made sure the lute was okay before hurrying to the door. Tentatively, he reached out and grasped the cold latch, heaving it open with a grunt. He had no idea how anybody else in his family managed to use those doors all day without hurting themselves.
There were two figures at the door - one much the same height as Wilbur, the other towering a full head above them both. They were both cloaked with the hoods pulled up, obscuring their features. Wilbur shivered as the cold night air bit the bare skin on his forearms, and he crossed them in an attempt to conserve heat.
“Good night, sirs,” Wilbur tried to keep his teeth from chattering. “Are you looking for a place to stay the night?” he noticed two horses tied to the post behind the cloaked gentlemen, one midnight black with chestnut eyes and the other tawny with eyes of the same tone. They both looked hardy and powerful, but there was a certain meanness about the black one that told Wilbur that it wasn’t a kind of horse he was familiar with.
“How much is a room?” the shorter gentleman removed his hood, as the overhang blocked most of the rain, revealing a pale complexion and dirty blond hair that neatly framed his face. In the dim lamplight, it was hard to glean much about the man, and the cloak covered most of his apparel except for his greaves and sollerets, made of tarnished silver.
“Ten silver a night,” Wilbur answered honestly. “You’ll be wanting two, I presume?” he looked to the taller figure, who simply snorted in amusement. He still couldn’t quite see his features and it made him uneasy. They got folks of all races, from vampire to werewolf, Windwing to Firehearted, but something made him think that this man, if he was any sort of man, was different from the rest.
“No, just one,” Wilbur waited to see if he would elaborate, but no explanation was offered. “Sorry for turning up so late, I don’t suppose there’s anybody else awake that could tend to our horses?”
“I’ll wake Charlie, I’m sure he won’t mind,” Wilbur smiled and pulled the door all the way open. “Come on in, sirs, make yourself at home, I’ll get my brother and then show you to your rooms- er, room.” he stepped aside, letting the two walk inside, before closing the door behind them. He shivered, wishing that the fireplace wasn’t so still, and hurried towards the stairs behind the desk that lead into the private areas of the inn.
Wilbur was careful when entering the room shared by four of his younger brothers so as not to wake the other three. Wilbur had fourteen siblings in all, seven older and seven younger, after one too many sets of twins made his family comically large. “Charlie…” Wilbur whispered, stepping over a makeshift practice sword that was laying on the ground. “Charlie, wake up,” he reached his brother’s bed and gently shook his shoulder. “Charlie Soot!” he hissed directly into Charlie’s ear, eliciting a sleepy grumble from the young… man? Wilbur, sadly, couldn’t remember how old Charlie was, and though he still looked very child-like Wilbur had a suspicion that he was actually but a few years younger than Wilbur and not a child at all.
Wilbur was stirred from his thoughts by Charlie’s drowsy, flailing hand whacking him on the side of the face. “W-Wilbur?” he seemed surprised and still very much half-asleep when he realized who he’d just hit.
“There are guests who need their horses tended to,” Wilbur told Charlie, and Charlie grumbled something Wilbur couldn’t make out. “Come on, the sooner you get up, the sooner you can go back to sleep.”
Charlie humphed and started to crawl out of bed, which prompted Wilbur to ask, “Can I just go and trust that you’ll take care of the horses?”
“Yeah, Wil, I’ll get on it,” Charlie bumped his head on the nearby dresser and nearly knocked himself back onto his cot, but gave him a thumbs-up anyway. He then yawned and waved for Wilbur to leave, and he promptly did just that.
Wilbur returned to the small main area of the inn to see that the other guest had finally removed his hood. He halted in the doorway, squinting to try to make sure his eyes were working properly. Instead of a human head on the man’s shoulders, it was a goat… or a sheep, but it seemed much too long and pointed to be a sheep. Jagged horns curled around the sides of his head into loose spirals, and his side-slit eyes were a vivid amber. He hadn’t recognized the first guest by himself, but alongside a goat creature such as this one…
“Gods above,” Wilbur cursed, catching the attention of both guests. “You’re- you’re Sir Carson and er-, Schlatt, aren’t you?” Once a legendary heroic duo, they had dropped out of the public eye in the last year, going back to being roadside saviours instead of bigshot questing folk. They’d only been around for half a decade, maybe a year or two more, so Wilbur could clearly remember when they were constantly the talk of the town back when Sir Carson had been made a knight by King Jordan himself. The rumours about his companion, Schlatt, had confused Wilbur for the last few years - but now he realized. The people didn’t call Schlatt a goat as if it were some fancy title or degrading nickname, he really was a goat. Maybe even some demon creature from the depths of Hell - that was the only place Wilbur could think of where a creature like that could originate, other than perhaps some faraway land he hadn’t yet heard of.
“I told you the kid would recognize me,” Schlatt said to Sir Carson with a scoff. “But no, you insisted that Eagle’s Burrow was so far removed that nobody would recognize the only gods-damned goat-man in the entire kingdom.” Wilbur watched as Sir Carson visibly deflated in his seat, the cloak around his shoulders falling askew to reveal more pieces of silver armour. The knight looked as if he were going to say something, but he never did, leaving him looking rather like he was holding a bee in his mouth. “So what if we’re Schlatt and Carson?” Schlatt turned his gaze on Wilbur and the young man could’ve sworn flames were flickering in his irides. “We’re paying customers, huh? What was it, ten gold?”
“Y-yeah,” Wilbur stammered, making his way back over to the desk. His hand brushed by the knife strapped underneath the table as he went for the drawer, retrieving the leather-bound ledger and laying it out to the current page. “Would you please sign your names here, sirs?”
Schlatt signed first, his handwriting barely legible on the parchment. Sir Carson followed after, a quick flourish that was only a touch more readable than his partner’s. Wilbur watched cautiously as Schlatt fished a satchel that jangled with the sound of coins inside from his belt, the long black cloak falling back into place quickly. Wilbur was curious as to Schlatt’s attire, but his view was masked by the cloak, and he suspected that was its intent. He did, however, notice that Schlatt’s hands were three-fingered and reminiscent of both hooves and paws, with silky white fur covering the main portion and dull claws on the tips of his fingers.
Sir Carson cleared his throat to draw Wilbur’s attention, taking the pouch from Schlatt and sorting out ten moderately-sized gold coins onto the desk. “We’ll only be staying one night,” Sir Carson’s ocean-blue eyes flicked to Schlatt momentarily, and the goat-man did not object.
Wilbur took the coins, feeling firelight burning into the back of his skull when he looked down. A quick check in the ledger noted that they had paid, and then it was stowed away again into the drawer. “I’ll show you to your rooms- er, room,” Wilbur stammered, grabbing the lit candle from the desk and pacing towards the steep wooden staircase that led to the guest rooms - different from the one directly behind the desk. He could hear two sets of footsteps following him as he ascended, the candlelight casting an eerie glow and sending shadows dancing across the walls.
Wilbur reached the room now assigned to Sir Carson and Schlatt and pulled the small brass key from his pocket. He unlocked it for them and pushed the door open, wincing at the loud creak. Wilbur passed off the key to Sir Carson and stepped back, trying to disappear into the wall. Sir Carson gave him a dismissive nod, which Wilbur returned before dashing rather hurriedly back down the stairs.
Wilbur pulled on his jacket and escaped through the front door into the rain, his brother’s lute clutched in his hand so tightly that it turned his knuckles ghostly white. He let the raindrops splash against his face, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. He had never expected it to be stressful, meeting his heroes. Wilbur started to stumble towards the stables, wanting to keep the fresh air but get out of the direct line of the rain. He stopped underneath the overhang, shoulders heaving with each breath.
“Gods, kid looks like he’s been through the wringer,” a voice commented as Wilbur steadied himself against one of the beams, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was nobody else around, he was sure of it.
“Who’s there?” Wilbur called out, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He shivered, the cold wind biting against his neck and face.
“...Well, that was unexpected. You looking for me, champ?” the voice said again, and Wilbur whirled around to spot… a horse. Well, four horses. Two that belonged to Wilbur’s family and two that belonged to Sir Carson and Schlatt. The gorgeous white stallion that must belong to Sir Carson was staring directly at Wilbur, a thoughtful expression gracing its snout.
“Name’s Ted,” the stallion said, flicking his ears, “and correct me if I’m wrong, but you can hear me speaking, can’t you, kid?” The white horse’s nostrils flared as Wilbur took a step towards him.
“I… I wish everyone would stop calling me ‘kid’,” Wilbur grumbled, stopping in front of the gate keeping Ted in his pen. “I’m nearly as old as Sir Carson, I’m sure.”
“Eh, you might be right,” Ted flicked his snout up in a sort of horse-shrug. “Whatever,” Ted snorted. “I can’t believe you. You find out you can talk to horses and the first thing you do is complain about being called a kid.”
“I’ve had a weird night,” Wilbur sighed, leaning back against another wooden beam. “Does Sir Carson know you can talk?”
The horse brayed a laugh. “I’m not talking, kid, you’re understanding me - there’s a difference. I talk all the time, but neither Schlatt nor Carson have any clue what I’m saying. You’re the magic one in this relationship, er… what’s your name again?”
“Wilbur, Wilbur Soot,” Wilbur replied, drawing his hands up into his sleeves, “and I’m not magic, Ted. I can’t be. I’d never spoken to an animal in my entire life before you came along.”
“Honestly, kid, how much time do you spend outside?” Ted sighed, frowning.
“Between working nights and sleeping during the day… not much,” Wilbur scratched the back of his head. Had he really been able to talk to animals this whole time and just not realized it? “I guess… I guess with all my siblings talking my ears off constantly throughout my entire life I never noticed if there were any voices around that didn’t match a- a human’s.”
Ted let out a braying laugh. “In all my years, I’d never met a wizard that didn’t know they were a wizard before meeting you, kid. You’re a special case, that’s for sure,” the horse just about doubled over in laughter, letting out a loud whinny that caused one of the other horses - the deep black one that must belong to Schlatt - to look over with indignation.
“Stuff a carrot in it, Ted,” the black horse grumbled. “Some of us are trying to sleep while you and that kid yammer about magic.” He then called Ted a name that Wilbur didn’t dare repeat.
“Shut up, Stal, nobody cares about you,” Ted shot back. “Did you hear this kid, though? He can talk to animals and he didn’t even know!”
“Just tell him he’s part of some voodoo prophecy or other fly-food and get on with your life,” Stal snorted and turned away, disinterested.
“It’s not fly-food,” Ted grumbled. “It’s important. Kid, you’re exactly what our team needs.”
Wilbur, overwhelmed and flabbergasted, squinted at the white stallion. “Pardon me?”
“You can talk to animals, kid. Do you know what that means?” Ted stared at him with wide eyes, as if expecting some massive revelation to hit Wilbur.
“Uh… that I’m going to be sent off to the capital and be stuck learning magic in a stuffy tower for the rest of my young life?” Wilbur guessed, cocking an eyebrow.
“No!” Ted stuck his long snout out until it was barely an inch from Wilbur’s face. “It means you’ve got a potential for nature magic, Wil. And nature magic is all about healing. And we desperately need a healer on our team. That’s why we stopped questing, you know.”
“Your team?” Wilbur’s hopes started to rise. He was pretty sure he knew what Ted was suggesting, and if he was right… it would be a dream come true.
“Carson, Schlatt, Stal, and me. Our team,” Ted drew back, smiling encouragingly at Wilbur. “All you have to do is convince Schlatt and Carson that you’re a- a healer of some kind… maybe a cleric, or a-” Ted’s eyes dropped to the lute clutched in one of Wilbur’s hands. “Do you play that?”
“Wh- the lute? Yeah, I do,” Wilbur answered, wondering where Ted was going with this.
“A bard, then. Convince Schlatt and Carson that you’re a bard, and you’ll be able to come with us. Unless you’d rather stay here, in this boring dump of a town,” Ted raised an eyebrow.
Wilbur thought about his fourteen siblings. Any of the ones who were still at home could take his place. He’d miss some of them, that’d be for sure, but to pursue his dream of becoming a hero? And alongside Carson and Schlatt, no less?
“Well?” Ted asked, waving a hoof in front of Wilbur’s vacant face.
“I’ll do it,” Wilbur decided. “Um… how do I do it?” He looked hopefully at the white stallion.
“Don’t worry,” Ted smiled reassuringly. “Stal and I will help you out. We horses have some magic of our own, don’t you know? And I’m sure the other creatures in those woods around here will be willing to help out a nice young kid like you.”
Wilbur nodded enthusiastically. He was nervous, but he was sure it would be alright.
“Don’t drag me into this!” Stal snorted from the next pen.
“He’ll come around, I promise,” Ted whispered to Wilbur with a wink. “Now, you go get some sleep, kid. I want you back here bright and early, so we can get you prepared before Schlatt and Carson start getting ready to leave,” Ted drew back, excitement shining in the horse’s eyes. “We’ll make a man out of you yet, Wilbur.”