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“Hey, Silas!”
“Yessir?” Shepherd poked his head out from the stable, brush in hand. He could see the doctor riding back in on his pony, and as he watched, he slowed him with a gentle command and a tug at the reins. “Everythin’ alright in town, Doc?”
“It was fine,” Thomas responded as he slipped off Marshall’s back and led him towards the stable. There was something in his other hand that interested Shepherd, and just as he opened his mouth to ask him about it, the gnome held it up to him and said, “Barney in the sheriff’s office gave me this letter. It’s for you.”
“For me?” Shepherd repeated with interest, taking it and gazing at it curiously. It was wrapped in twine, with a deep red wax seal. The seal bore the design of a ridiculous frilled top hat with a cursive A over it. “What in the nine hells…”
“That’s what I said,” the doctor laughed, guiding Marshall into his stall and beginning to take the saddle off him. “Looks like you’re makin’ a name for yerself among the fancy type, now, son!”
“‘To a Mr. Shepherd,’” he read aloud, incredulous and half laughing, “‘in Rattlesnake, Yona. Return to Professor Clayton Azran, Misthallery University, Breeg, Barghest.’”
“Breeg?” Thomas barked out a laugh. “What in nine hells are they wantin’ with you in Breeg? C’mon, let’s get inside and you can go on and open it. I wanna hear this.” He tossed his brush and rag back up to their shelf, and Shepherd did the same, staring down at the letter almost in disbelief.
“What do they want with me in Breeg? That’s a thousand miles away,” he muttered, following slowly as Thomas made for the house.
The two made their way inside, and Shepherd pulled out a chair for the doc out of instinct before he sat down in his own seat and slipped a thumb under the twine. He was able to get it off easy enough, and after breaking the wax seal, he flipped open the envelope, finding a folded-up piece of parchment inside.
He glanced at the doctor, who nodded encouragingly, looking interested and a little amused. He took the parchment out and gently opened it, smoothing it out so it would lie flat on the table.
“‘Dear Mr. Shepherd,’” he read aloud, “‘My name is Professor Clayton Azran.’ Yeah, I know that already,” he muttered as a little aside, to which Thomas gave him a sharp kick under the table.
“Just read it, boy!” he exclaimed impatiently.
Rolling his eyes, Shepherd continued. “‘I am a professor of archaeology at Misthallery University, the largest university in the city of Breeg. A significant part of my job is going on expeditions that involve excavating historic areas in order to find and examine artifacts from the time period’… blah, blah, blah… ‘I’ve been searching for someone I can hire to protect myself on my upcoming expedition to Stryga. I saw your name in a newspaper article and became interested in what you could offer when I heard of your monster hunting ability.’”
“Well, ain’t he a flatterer,” Thomas chuckled. “Go on, Shep.”
“‘This expedition, as I mentioned, will be a several-month-long travel to the continent of Stryga. Deep in the forest, there is a place of myth known as Barovia, and it has been my life’s work to find it, though none have before’… what in the hells,” Shepherd muttered. “Doc, have you heard of Barovia?”
“Can’t say I have,” Thomas said, eyes narrowed with wariness as he stroked his beard. “I don’t know if it’d be mighty wise of you to take this job, Shep. Seems like a bunch’a horseshit to me.”
“Well, lemme finish the letter,” Shepherd protested, looking back down to find his place. “‘I am confident that, with my latest discoveries, I can find the entrance to Barovia, but Stryga is a very dangerous place, and I imagine Barovia will be as well. I’ll need someone to keep me safe, and that’s where you come in. I am willing to pay a generous sum of gold for your services in protecting me, if you’re willing to provide them.’ I dunno, Doc,” Shepherd muttered, stroking his chin as he thought about it. “This guy sounds like one of them bookish types. He really wouldn’t last five minutes in Stryga, if the stories are true. What do you think?”
The doctor’s brow was furrowed, and he had his fingers laced together on the table, seeming deep in thought. After a few moments’ contemplation, he replied, “It’s up to you, son, but I wouldn’t. It sounds like he’s chasin’ after some fairytale. It seems very likely that he’ll get ya killed foolin’ around in a place like that.”
“Maybe I’ll just write back an’ ask him some questions,” Shepherd suggested, setting the parchment back down. “How long we’ll be gone, what sorta thing I can expect, how does he know Barovia is real… I mean, it don’t sound real to me, but he seemed confident.”
“That’s what worries me,” Thomas murmured, almost as if it was more to himself. He gazed down at the table for a long moment before looking back up at Shepherd. “Like I said, it’s your choice. You’re grown now, and it ain’t up to me to tell you what jobs to take. Why don’t you just write back to this man, ask him your questions, an’ go from there?”
“Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Doc.”
“No problem, son.”
A single letter soon turned to two weeks’ correspondence, and before Shepherd knew it, months had passed; in the blink of an eye, he had his bag packed, his boots on, and his guns holstered at his sides, and he was getting ready to depart from Yona for the first time, on a mission he wasn’t sure of the caliber of.
The Doc had been, uncharacteristically, fussing over Shepherd every step of the way, checking with him that he’d packed everything he would need; his exasperated son had, admittedly with some groaning, reminded him that he’d abided by the pre-written checklist that had been set out for him down to the letter. Eventually, the time came for him to set out for the saloon where he would be meeting the professor, but before he could step out the door, the wizened gnome grabbed Shepherd’s hand and pulled him down to his height with surprising strength for a man his age. The tiefling instinctively took a knee, looking his father in the eyes as small, wrinkled hands grasped his broad shoulders and squeezed tight.
“Silas,” he said, in that stern, serious voice he hadn’t used with him since the last time he’d gotten into mischief as a teenager, “you had better come back home to me, you understand? If you die out there, I’ll come find ya an’ drag ya home by the ear so I can kill ya myself.”
Shepherd just laughed, wrapping a strong arm around the gnome’s shoulders and pulling him in for a tight, warm hug. “You don’t gotta worry, Doc. You know I can handle myself. Watchin’ after some university man with a big hat won’t kill me. I’ll be back in a couple months.”
“You’d better,” the doc muttered into his poncho, squeezing him back just as hard and not letting go. “Take care of yourself, son.”
“I always do.”
For just another moment, Shepherd held onto his adoptive father, the only family he had left, before pulling back with a small smile.
“I gotta go now,” he said, but then laughed as the doc, grinning, tousled his slicked-back hair and then rested his head against his son’s one final time, eyes closed in a rare moment of tenderness and genuine love and worry.
“You had better be back by first snowfall, Silas.”
“Yessir, you know I will. Who’d get stuff from the top shelf when your bones start achin’?” Shepherd teased.
“Exactly. Now, go on. And don’t forget your hat!”
Laughing, Shepherd got to his feet, smoothing a hand over his hair before grabbing his hat from the rack by the door and grabbing for the handle. “‘Bye, Doc. I’ll see ya in a month or two.”
“Goodbye, Shep. Take care, now— and be careful. ”
Shepherd grinned and gave a playful two-fingered salute. “When have I ever?” he chuckled, hopping down from the porch and waving goodbye. He really wasn’t too worried— he’d handled worse than accompanying a pompous professor to a fairytale land. Besides, he’d be home by the first snowfall.