Tales of Hakiem: The Riddle of Peven the White
It was a lively evening in The Vulgar Unicorn. Beregnor the Sneak had won for himself a rich score, and seemed intent on spending as much of it as he possibly could in one night on wine, women, and song. Well, wine and women anyway. That was enough, here, to make even an evening in the Unicorn a pleasant place to unwind. Provided you kept alert to your surroundings, of course. But anyone who drinks in the Unicorn does that anyway, or is unlikely to be able to return.
Seeing Hakiem sitting in his accustomed corner now Beregnor's drinking arm flailed out in that general direction. "C'mon, tale-spinner, give us a story! Somethin' to give us a -- give us somethin' what we can listen at." He lurched, and his comely "date" in his other arm was barely able to help him keep his feet.
"You sure?" Hakiem asked with a grin. "That's good drinking coin. I'd hate for you to waste it on a tale you won't remember come morning."
"Bah! I'm as sober as--- as--- Dammit who cares!? I need a story, on my life, so tell me one!"
Hakiem's eyebrows went up. "You need one, then? And on your life! Well, well, then I'm bound to provide. Of course..." and Hakiem looked pointedly at the bar while a few other patrons chuckled. Beregnor waved impatiently at One-Thumb to pour a drink for Hakiem.
Hakiem sipped the ale briefly, then stood up. "Very well, my lord," he said extravagantly. "For the payment of this drink, a story. A quick one, but lively, so you'll still have time this eve for other... amusements," while nodding to the woman at Beregnor's side. Such is the subtly and wit commonly found in the Unicorn, this weak sally earned a few brief laughs.
Hakiem now paused, gathering himself. Then launched into his tale. "As you have demanded something on your life, I am reminded of the Tale, indeed the Riddle of Peven the White."
"Now, Peven the White was an innkeeper, who dwelt in the Forest of Aragnor, named 'the White' for his hair, which was pale beyond ordinary blonde. When most think of small roadside inns and their keepers, we think of fat men, and jolly, generous and welcoming all to their humble establishment." At this several faces turned to the perpetually scowling One-Thumb. "Well, 2 out of 4 ain't bad, is it?" Hakiem asked as they turned back to him. Then with a snort, "But indeed Peven was far from good men's expectations. Gaunt, bitter, and miserly to a fault. I doubt any would frequent his small inn were it not the only place within a day's ride for Avernost on the border of the great forest. Now one day as Peven labored in his small vegetable garden an old woman came up the fencepost. Her shawl was ragged, her feet bare of shoe, and she leaned on a staff. She asked Peven if there was ought he could spare, of his charity, for her to eat. For she was tired, sore, and hungry, and still had a long ways to go before she could rest in Avernost." "But rising to his feet now Peven scowled at her, and turning his back on her just said harshly, 'begone old crone! My food is my business, as is my roof. If you cannot pay, you do not stay. Begone!' And Peven strode back to his cottage door." "On the doorstep, he halted, for the 'old crone's' voice now sounded most commandingly. 'Peven the White!' the old woman declaimed, 'I am one of the Oracles of Orlean, and I foresee your doom! You who wilt share naught of value with others, shall yourself perish of want! By tomorrow's setting sun, a traveller will come to stay with you. An' you get not his name by the this travellor goes to his rest, then surely shall you die!' And with this the old woman hobbled off." "'Bah!' though Peven the White to himself, caring nothing for old women, oracles, or prophesy. Yet the next day he found himself anxiously watching the road for travellers. It was early spring, and a quiet time for travelling in that region as the roads were slow to dry from deep mud. And so normally Peven would make himself busy in the garden, or tend to repairing winter's damage to thatch or barn. But today though he tried to keep himself on task, he could not. Any small noise and he could not help but check again at the door, or peer out windows down the long forest road. Yet none came all day, and as the sun set Peven started to relax. Too soon! For as the last rays of Blessed Labelas touched his doorstep came a pounding knock like to free the old door of its rusted hinges. WIth rising dread Peven went to the door, and opened it." "Upon the stoop stood a tall man, pale, with hair and eyes of jet. Tall the pale man was, dressed all in black with a great black cape casually tossed back from his shoulders. And rich and fine as the man's clothes were, they were overmatched by the commanding presence of the strange man, who imperiously demanded lodging and dinner for the night. And Peven, cowed by the strange man's demeanor and obvious wealth, welcomed the man to enter, and brought him to the hearth, and bade him rest by the fire. But when he asked the strange man's name, all he got was a terse reply." "I am Death." "Now Peven was unsettled, and went quickly into his kitchen, and as quickly as he could assembled bread and drink, and brought them to the fire. He offered them to the stranger, and asked again his name. And the pale man's head turned to regard Peven, and he spoke quietly." "I am Death." Now in real fear did Peven return to his kitchen, and prepared an evening meal fit for a very Scion of Kael himself. And when all was ready, he bade the stranger join him for dinner, and asked once more his name. And now amused, the pale man still simply answered." "I am Death." And now the strange man demanded his cot for the evening, and trembling hand Peven directed him to Peven's own room. And one final time as the man entered into the room he plead for a name. And once more was answered." "I am Death." It is said as the strange man closed the door to his room, Peven died then and there, of fright itself!" Hakiem looked around the common room of the Unicorn, as all these brave cut-purses, burglars, highwaymen and muggers stared at him, drinks forgotten. Hakiem smiled, and finished his tale. "And so it was, that Dethanbruil the Black, Harper of the Summer Court had to find himself his own damn breakfast in the morning, having no host to ask it of. And that is the Riddle of the Peven the White, and how he died. The Stricture of the Riddle is simply this: 'Always give to those who demand of you, to save their life." And as the pun sank in and his audience laughed, Hakiem smiled, bowed, and took up his tankard again. And though the rest of night indeed passed pleasantly enough, none asked Hakiem for another story that evening.
"Now, Peven the White was an innkeeper, who dwelt in the Forest of Aragnor, named 'the White' for his hair, which was pale beyond ordinary blonde. When most think of small roadside inns and their keepers, we think of fat men, and jolly, generous and welcoming all to their humble establishment." At this several faces turned to the perpetually scowling One-Thumb. "Well, 2 out of 4 ain't bad, is it?" Hakiem asked as they turned back to him. Then with a snort, "But indeed Peven was far from good men's expectations. Gaunt, bitter, and miserly to a fault. I doubt any would frequent his small inn were it not the only place within a day's ride for Avernost on the border of the great forest. Now one day as Peven labored in his small vegetable garden an old woman came up the fencepost. Her shawl was ragged, her feet bare of shoe, and she leaned on a staff. She asked Peven if there was ought he could spare, of his charity, for her to eat. For she was tired, sore, and hungry, and still had a long ways to go before she could rest in Avernost." "But rising to his feet now Peven scowled at her, and turning his back on her just said harshly, 'begone old crone! My food is my business, as is my roof. If you cannot pay, you do not stay. Begone!' And Peven strode back to his cottage door." "On the doorstep, he halted, for the 'old crone's' voice now sounded most commandingly. 'Peven the White!' the old woman declaimed, 'I am one of the Oracles of Orlean, and I foresee your doom! You who wilt share naught of value with others, shall yourself perish of want! By tomorrow's setting sun, a traveller will come to stay with you. An' you get not his name by the this travellor goes to his rest, then surely shall you die!' And with this the old woman hobbled off." "'Bah!' though Peven the White to himself, caring nothing for old women, oracles, or prophesy. Yet the next day he found himself anxiously watching the road for travellers. It was early spring, and a quiet time for travelling in that region as the roads were slow to dry from deep mud. And so normally Peven would make himself busy in the garden, or tend to repairing winter's damage to thatch or barn. But today though he tried to keep himself on task, he could not. Any small noise and he could not help but check again at the door, or peer out windows down the long forest road. Yet none came all day, and as the sun set Peven started to relax. Too soon! For as the last rays of Blessed Labelas touched his doorstep came a pounding knock like to free the old door of its rusted hinges. WIth rising dread Peven went to the door, and opened it." "Upon the stoop stood a tall man, pale, with hair and eyes of jet. Tall the pale man was, dressed all in black with a great black cape casually tossed back from his shoulders. And rich and fine as the man's clothes were, they were overmatched by the commanding presence of the strange man, who imperiously demanded lodging and dinner for the night. And Peven, cowed by the strange man's demeanor and obvious wealth, welcomed the man to enter, and brought him to the hearth, and bade him rest by the fire. But when he asked the strange man's name, all he got was a terse reply." "I am Death." "Now Peven was unsettled, and went quickly into his kitchen, and as quickly as he could assembled bread and drink, and brought them to the fire. He offered them to the stranger, and asked again his name. And the pale man's head turned to regard Peven, and he spoke quietly." "I am Death." Now in real fear did Peven return to his kitchen, and prepared an evening meal fit for a very Scion of Kael himself. And when all was ready, he bade the stranger join him for dinner, and asked once more his name. And now amused, the pale man still simply answered." "I am Death." And now the strange man demanded his cot for the evening, and trembling hand Peven directed him to Peven's own room. And one final time as the man entered into the room he plead for a name. And once more was answered." "I am Death." It is said as the strange man closed the door to his room, Peven died then and there, of fright itself!" Hakiem looked around the common room of the Unicorn, as all these brave cut-purses, burglars, highwaymen and muggers stared at him, drinks forgotten. Hakiem smiled, and finished his tale. "And so it was, that Dethanbruil the Black, Harper of the Summer Court had to find himself his own damn breakfast in the morning, having no host to ask it of. And that is the Riddle of the Peven the White, and how he died. The Stricture of the Riddle is simply this: 'Always give to those who demand of you, to save their life." And as the pun sank in and his audience laughed, Hakiem smiled, bowed, and took up his tankard again. And though the rest of night indeed passed pleasantly enough, none asked Hakiem for another story that evening.
This tale (along with the premise of Riddle Masters, Riddles and their Strictures) borrows heavily from the trilogy "The Riddlemaster of Hed," sometimes also called "Riddle of the Stars", by Patricia McKillip.