The River Wife: A Tale of Bard the Bowman

Emund's Trade Post

The ferry trip would be relatively quick. Bard had calculated by the position of the sun and the swift current that he would be home before the snow clouds overtook him to the east. They loomed black with the threat of frost. His knuckles cracked, lines of red where blood dried down the back of his hands.  

"We'll make the river by nightfall to be sure," Gromok, the dwarf merchant paying passage, advised optimistically. He ran a gnarled glove over his beard and peered back at the bargeman's worn hands. "Would you like to wear my extra pair of gloves? They are not new, but will give you some comfort."

Bard gave the dwarf a quick smile, his dark eyes tight on the looming shadows of the ancient monoliths rising from the calm water. "I prefer to work barehanded. Especially on days like today, when the current is unpredictable. I can sense a change in the water through the rudder with bare flesh better. But my thanks."

"How long have you worked these waters?"

"Since I was a boy."

The merchant from the Grey Mountains gave a sage nod where he sat on the squat box by the railing. "I suppose this was your father's barge before you?"

Bard sniffed the wind coming from the far side of the lake. "His was much older. Business was better in my youth, before my children were born. I bought this boat as a young man, just starting out in life. I was twenty years then. And it's been twenty years since that time."

"Is business bad these days?"

He gave the rudder a sharp turn. The dwarf gripped the railing. A massive boulder scraped by them. "Times are hard for everyone in Lake-town these days."

"Ah yes," Gromok gave a nervous laugh. "The Master of the town."

With a grim nod, Bard pointed forward as the mist gave way to clear river air. "We are almost to your first trade house. Your destination."

Gromok had paid twenty five coins to be ferried from Lake-town to the first trade post outside the Mirkwood. It was owned by a family that Bard had known for years. The Smithy family were known for their generosity as well as their keen business sense.

Bard cut the barge towards the embankment. The sun broke free of the eastern horizon and gilded the rippling waters. 

"Well, what have we here!?" 

A hoot rose up from a dock jutting out from the eastern edge of the lake. Emund Smithy, a man the same age as Bard, strode to the end of the ramshackle pier and caught the line that Gromok tossed him. 

"Good day to you, Sir Dwarf. And you, Bard. Fancy seeing you here again this season. Haven't you better things to do than wander the wilds like a vagabond?"

Gromok leaped onto the dock without help. Bard let Emund haul him up onto the dock. "Better the life of a vagabond than a prince."

"Don't let your son hear you say that. He'll start to get notions."

"He knows it without me saying it. And he would agree, though he wouldn't dare strike out on his own. He's a good boy, my Bain," Bard remarked, trying to temper the ache in his heart to be home with his children. "Ah, but he is healthy and happy. So are the girls. That is all that matters."

"And you. You're only old, like me. But..." Edmund patted his rotund center. "Do you have the belly to prove it? Does your Sigrid cook like my daughter?"

"Sigrid takes good care of her father. It will be a sad day when she is married and moves away."

"And you! My good dwarf," Emund turned towards the merchant. "You must be hungry! Come and please enjoy the hospitality of my table."

Emund led them towards the small village that grew up around the trade post. Whenever he passed through the area, Bard paid a call to Emund and his family. His home was much like Bard's. Emund's wife had died giving birth to his youngest, leaving three children, two girls and a boy. Emund's eldest daughter, flame haired Hilde, had fancied Bard since she had come into womanhood.