After the long strange days in Cinclair the caravan assembled again. Rain still dripped from the dark low clouds. At least the people staring were unseen behind their dark windows. The creak of the wagons, clinking armor, and clop of hooves seemed to fill the streets of Cinclair with echoes. Two large barges were waiting to take them across the river. As they floated across in the light rain they looked back at the town. The peaceful scene they had observed from the other side of the valley not more than a week ago seemed foreign now. The dark buildings looming in the mist held secrets about their destination and their fates. As if to punctuate their apprehensions, a flash of lightning lit the sky, followed a few seconds later by a low rumbling thunder that seemed to last longer than it should have. It poured then and that was the last they saw of Cinclair.
Two units of soldiers awaited them on the other side: ten mounted and twenty footsoldiers. None of them looked pleased to be there, but they were well equipped; not a hastily hired mercenary party, but a professional unit of soldiers. As soon as the wagons and animals were unloaded three of the riders rode ahead. The caravan fell in behind a squad of ten pikemen. Three riders rode on each flank. Archers and swordsmen followed. Their captain lead the procession.
Of course the ordeal made Durrant's hired men feel redundant. The occasional sneers and snickers from the soldiers didn't help endear them either. Of all, Durrant looked the most bothered. His scowl persisted until the troop left them four days later. Meanwhile he had lost interest in talking and it was contagious. He made sure Cecilia used lots of spice for aromatic meals, and his kegs were flowing freely. It was his best he could do to get back at the soldiers with their dry rations and water.
The cold rain finally let up the first
night. The clear weather behind it was cooler. The road led east from Cinclair
into hilly acres of farmland waiting for the winter months. The farms were
left behind as the terrain became rocky. The road to Bilcoven was a rough
one. They proceeded east two days until they passed the northern ridge
that they had observed from the other side of the valley. The road then
led north until it forded a small river and headed northwest along its
banks. The rocky hills became wooded as the river led toward Bilcoven.
They had rounded the ridge and were now north of it. It stretched northwest
into the distance where hints of larger peaks could be seen.
Into the nights by candlelight Georan
studied his books of notes. They had grown quite prodigious in the years
spent with Licyn, and many of the pages were long forgotten. As he poured
through the notes, a history of his life unfolded before him. The letters
and diagrams triggered memories of things passed and events unthought of.
As the pages turned and the past swept by, Georan realized how much time
and discipline it took to master the Art; something he knew he was not
yet near.
He finally came upon seeds of what he was looking for after thumbing through page after page of notes about spell components and how to select them, how to find them, how to store them, how to handle them. To this day, Georan could whip out bits of this and pinches of that almost without thinking. It took months master the dexterity and mental concentration. To develop these skills, Licyn had Georan sew a myriad of pockets all over his clothing. They had started with memory training: little numbered pieces of paper stashed in each pocket. Day after day Licyn would call out numbers and Georan would fumble for the right pocket. Days became weeks, he was timed and punished with extra work for being slower than the last time. Weeks became months and scraps of paper became objects, vials, and packets. He progressed from how fast to get to it to how fast to get it out. He could probably give Talon a run for his money if he were inclined to waste his time with colored wooden balls.
Actually Licyn had never stopped that program although it had become an irregular game with the old mage calling for some component randomly when Georan least expected it. But from that was the last program Georan went through before beginning to learn about actual magic. Looking back on the progression of notes put it in perspective, Licyn built him piece by piece a step at a time. How many more steps would there have been if he had stayed? Georan turned his mind back to the task at hand: a bold heading atop the page: The Laws of Nature.
It had been a mentally tedious time whilst Licyn taught Georan mathematics and physics. What had been words and sketches became symbols and numbers. Georan continued to flip pages knowing that he would soon come to what he hoped would help him understand the strange old woman's warnings. The content shifted from calculating trajectories to measuring temperatures and pressures, determining boiling points and flash points, to the nature of materials, and then at last to the nature of Nature. It was probably the most theological Licyn ever got.
Georan flipped until he discovered his notes about magic. Once he had mastered the orderly Mundane Laws, and oh how tedious it was, Licyn began to teach him about the Arcane. Of course there was very little "law" to the arcane world. Licyn explained that magic was the glue that held nature together; understanding of magic was understanding of how to manipulate the natural world. Magic operates at the very fundamental core of reality. Unfortunately, it is not mortal's place to truly understand these things and the gods were surely not going to share their power. Thus, the study of magic is fundamentally an exercise of experimentation and research into the discoveries of others.
To that end Georan's notes explained quite a bit about the theories of magic Licyn had come across in his studies. The theories were all summarized into a set of disciplines, the Schools of Magic. Much like the gods tended to have specific powers or areas of influence, different types of magic could effect different aspects of reality. Licyn theorized that some gods controlled more of some kings of magic than others leading to their differentiation. Interesting.
Licyn espoused five schools of magic: Energy, Matter, Mental, Divine, and Life. Mental spells affect the perception of others. Energy spells produce or effect the raw forces of nature. Matter spells effect the material reality. Divine spells are used to communicate to the land of the gods. Spells of the Life school are used to help, harm, or otherwise influence living things. Licyn specialized in Matter spells, but was quite fond of Energy spells too. He thought the use of other types of magic was wrong: making bright light flash from sand was far different than fooling someone into thinking they are seeing something they are not or into doing something they would not choose to do.
He was even more against the use of Divine spells. Licyn felt mortals had best not disturb the gods and their mysteries, especially with magic. He firmly believed that the secrets of magic were stolen from the gods, specifically Mathonwy; and to use for evil or, worse, to influence the gods was to invite the wrath of the gods on one's soul and lose forever the chance at a peaceful afterlife or a better next-life. There is nothing in the gods' realms worth risking eternal damnation.
As much as he despised spells of Divine nature, Licyn detested even the thought of the practice of Life magic for this truly was power of the gods not meant for mortal minds. It was for the gods and their priests to administer the Magic of Life. The mere fact that a mortal would dare to attempt to act as a god was an abomination. Despite his hatred of anyone even thinking of using such magic, he explained of its unfortunate existence to Georan as an example of where magical experimentation should stop. He explained that in spite of whatever good intentions a mage has, tinkering with the miracle of life never produced what was desired. How much death would it take before a bumbling wizard finally figured out how to add one year to his life? How many mangled and disfigured bodies before the sod learned to re-grow the lost limb? If justified, ending the life of another is easy enough with sword or spell; what evil act could justify the destruction of an eternal soul by mortal hands?
As Georan read through these notes he recalled
that at that time he had not given much thought to these other types of
magic. Now, as he considered the paragraphs he had written on each school,
he thought about it in light of his current situation. He fingered the
hag's charm. Was she calling upon the gods to bless the trinket and its
bearer? Was it some sort of energy field? His spell detected magic but
his inexperience could tell him no more about it. Georan's mind was filled
as he closed the book for the night. Were such things as Licyn mentioned
possible? Would someone actually try to force a god to obey a mortal? Could
a mortal destroy a soul? He would continue his research another night.
Sleep took him, but brought with it strange dreams - forgotten when dawn
came.
Sleene was happier and more relaxed
than she had been in quite some time. Despite having this mystery mission
- which seemed to excite Dricka and Freia soo much - hanging over her head,
the time away from other humans had done wonders for her. As usual, Sleene
woke up about two hours before dawn and moved gently away from Nip and
Snap in a vain attempt not to wake the sleeping wolves. This time just
before dawn, when even the forest seems to finally be asleep, had always
been her favorite and Sleene moved to the edge of camp and began her morning
meditations. An hour later, she became aware of the two wolves watching
her as she came out of her trance. "Are you two watching over me?" she
asked and playfully ruffled the fur on Nip's head. The question was only
half a joke as the wolves did seem to watch over her when she meditates.
After a light breakfast of berries and grain, Sleene told Dricka that she was going to scout down the road a bit and happily moved off with Nip and Snap trotting by her side. Staying 100 to 200 yards off the road, Sleene worked with the wolves, trying to understand them and trying for them to understand her. From the beginning, she tried to communicate with her friends in growls, barks, and yaps, often earning her amused looks from both wolves, and today the three friends played games of hide and seek with each other as they explored.
About mid-day, on a small rise, Snap stopped and, looking down the road, gave a low growl. Nip and Sleene are quickly by her side and it doesn't take long for them to see a glint moving along the road perhaps a day's travel away. After watching for about twenty minutes, Sleene, in a dark mood, turned and headed back towards camp, the wolves following silently. "They will just take my friends away from me again", she snarled as she walked through the forest towards where Dricka and Freia waited for her. "Maybe they realize how much happier we are together now and will let me stay with you this time," she said wistfully glancing back at her friends. An hour later, Sleene, Nip, and Snap were back in camp telling Dricka about the group moving towards them and the two druids and two wolves settle themselves down for a wait.
Dricka visited the prepared camp when the
caravan and accompanying soldiers arrived. He returned and explained that
they were the ones. They were to wait until the soldiers left then join
the caravan and accompany them to town and follow the leader's direction.
Impatient, Sleene waited one more night. On their way down the road, Sleene
asked Dricka about the wolves. Dricka looked at her and said, "Fine, but
you know better than bringing them near the towns. They may be attached
to you, but they are still wild, and feared."
The end of the fourth day from Cinclair
brought the soldiers and their wards to a prepared camp. A wooden watchtower
had been erected and stone palisade built around the clearing. Bilcoven,
its capital city anyway, lay less than a days march away. Not surprisingly,
this was as far as Lord Cinclair escorted his merchants. In the morning,
the soldiers headed back they way they came. Their help had to cost Durrant
plenty. At least the caravan was on its own again. Durrant held the caravan
from leaving even after the soldiers were gone; he was waiting for someone.
Soon Karod signaled that two figures approached.
The two walked down the road from the northwest. Both carried six foot staves of oak and wore the garb of druids. On the left a man, a bit taller than his staff. The right, a young woman, a foot shorter than hers. Durrant waved Jack aside before he made his customary affront. Durrant greeted the man with a respectful bow and kissed their hands dutifully. He was not so awkward with these druids as he was with the priestesses when first approached.
The pair was Dricka and Sleene. The pretty young druid Sleene was to be their guide to Bilcoven. Durrant had not looked so happy in days as he introduced them around. Formalities completed, the caravan pulled out for the last stretch of road on the long journey to Bilcoven. Sleene walked along with Spencer, Talon, Stellan, and Georan while Dricka rode with Durrant. It seemed no time at all before they were upon the gates of Bilcoven.
The forest had thickened around the hilly road. Sirilyr had spotted wolves shadowing the group. Before much of an issue was made Sleene explained that they were hers. They came out of the woods and looked across a large meadow. A stout town rose from it; surrounded by a wooden stockade and corner towers. Inside the tops of clusters of buildings were seen. The orange glow of lantern and torchlight was already radiating from the streets into the evening sky. The formality of checking the caravan through the gates was a blur. Except for the unfortunate ones Jack assigned to guard the wagons, Durrant sponsored a celebration that lasted late into the night that drove out most of the locals from the inn. He bought as many rooms as he could to house the partiers.
Sleene and Dricka accompanied the caravan
into town and into the tavern. As the group celebrated their arrival, Dricka
felt out of place and excused himself leaving plenty of hints that Sleene
should do the same. One of the young men introduced himself as Georan.
He had a rather serious demeanor about him. He asked to speak privately
with them in the morning. Sleene looked at him and asked, "Why? Never mind,
meet us in front of the Tavern an hour after sunrise." She then left with
Dricka to spend the night at the edge of the forest with the wolves.
Sirilyr made great show of his drinking
at the festive gathering, in reality he swallowed much less than he spilled
in his frolicking. After the evening had worn on and the other revelers
from the caravan had gotten well and truly into their cups, Sirilyr made
his way over to the young mage with a greatly exaggerated stagger. Georan
sat sulkily alone in the corner. "Georan! I feel I owe ye a cup in thanks
for your grand valor on that damnable hilltop! Who'd o' thought we had
a wizard of such stature among us? It was very lucky for all o' us you
were there." Sitting himself with his back to the wall near Georan. "Forgive
my drunkenness. But, now that were here I think we've earned the right
to more than o' few." He said with a sly wink. "I've a question to ask
ye, if I may? And forgive me if it should seem simple, for the better part
o' my education was spent in the forest and not the more grand places of
learning as yours must o' been." Quickly looking around, Sirilyr stared
hard at Georan and continued his banter in a quieter tone, forcing the
young mage to listen close.
Georan stated in a more or less dry tone, "I must inform you friend Sirilyr that my 'grand place of learning' was a hut in such a forest as you refer to." Georan was not sure the comment sunk in.
"I heard tale told betwixt one o' them forty mile a day boys and one o' them pilgrims of what was the better weapon. A soljur's blade said the footman! But, no! Cried out the pilgrim, the weapons of Mathonwy, God of Sorcery are better says she." Pausing his tale for effect, "Now, not wanting to butt in, I left the pair to their business. Although, the thought nags at me strangely, and I figure if anyone here would have answer to their question it'd be you. So, can ye tell me my good man? Just what in the Devil are the weapons of Mathonwy? And when would they be better to have on hand than good stout weapons of wood and steel?"
Georan looked closely at the young ranger and ponders the question a while. He shakes his head slightly, and announces, "Mathonwy is always depicted wielding a staff. I have never heard of any such artifact falling into mortal hands, so the pilgrim probably meant the Art is a better weapon than the sword."
"Ah, now! There's a thought." Pondering a moment, "Or, mayhaps the mind is the sharpest weapon a body has?" Standing, somewhat unsteadily. Sirilyr said, "Thank you Georan. An if you'll pardon my saying it, it is not good to be too much alone. You've proven yourself to be a good fellow to have at one's back, and I'll share my fire with ye anytime. An' now, I believe I'll partake o' the fine accommodations set so kindly aside fer us. I bid you goodnight Sir." After a slight bow, Sirilyr set an unsteady course for a bed.
Once in the room Sirilyr set a copper piece
on end at the window ledge, set to roll off, should any attempt to enter
through its' shuttered portal. He tucks his sword in close, and kept a
dagger under his pillow as he feigned sleep on his side. He lay in the
darkness thinking of what has gone by since his acceptance of this mission
began, and wonder to himself, "What have I gotten myself into? I don't
know much more than when I began, and Durrant, Jack, and Stellan have sure
kept me in the dark as to what exactly they want me for." Grimacing, "Careful
now lad, mother Greymantle never raised no fools." After other party members
have entered the room and settled in for the night, Sirilyr called out
to the last in to "latch the door against unwanted visitors," and allowed
himself the luxury of sleep in a soft bed under a beamed roof.
Jack woke Sirilyr at dawn to go with
Karod and relieve Dolan and Kort at the warehouse. Sirilyr, head a bit
sore, but nothing he had not worked with before, prepared to leave. Jack
whispered to him, "At dusk, Durrant will meet with us is discuss the plan.
You'll have first watch after the meeting so get some rest this afternoon."
He left to rouse Karod.
Jack woke Karod at dawn to go with Sirilyr
and relieve Dolan and Kort at the warehouse. Karod, head a bit sore, but
nothing he had not worked with before, prepared to leave. Jack whispered
to him, "At dusk, Durrant will be having a meeting at the warehouse and
will need you to keep watch for walls with ears. You'll then watch with
Sirilyr after the meeting until midnight, so get some rest this afternoon."
Georan heard Jack rouse Karod and waited
for the warriors to leave the room to dress. He peaked out and down the
dark hall to the barroom. He watched Sirilyr and Karod get some food and
exit the inn. Georan looked out the window to the still dark sky. He had
some time to study before dawn. His supply of candles was getting low,
but he could get more later. He did not get much done before the lightening
sky beckoned him outside.
Sleene had risen early and, carefully considering what the day may hold, decided to memorize two healing spells. After her meditation, she played with the wolves briefly before leaving them to seek out Dricka and proceeded to the meeting with Georan in his company. Georan was alone leaning on the side of the building. He stood and greeted the pair formally, a bit awkwardly.
"I am a mage." He paused to gauge their reaction. Magic users were indeed a rarity, if there had ever been any in Bilcoven they had kept it to themselves. "I have become quite concerned our last few weeks on the road. It seems the lovely Bilcoven has earned quite a dark reputation. People say there's a curse upon it." Again he paused, unsure of their reaction.
Sleene had come to understand the plight Bilcoven faced, but had not heard her homeland called cursed. She was surprised when Dricka spoke up. "Indeed dark times have fallen on this land. Though heartily the sturdy people of Bilcoven will deny any such notion as curses. But outsiders are sure to take our situation as cursed, for who would want to be a Bilcov now?"
"I suspected as much myself," Georan responded to the rhetorical question. "What set me to thinking further was an old woman peddling charms to ward off the curse. Quite adamantly she claims some evil beast has been awakened and controls the bandits who to this day defy defeat and keep the noose about Bilcoven tight."
Again Dricka surprised Sleene as he took this nonsense seriously. "Have you one of her charms?" Georan thought for a moment then removed a small object dangling from string over his head. Dricka took the thing from him and studied it; Sleene straining over his shoulder to look as well. "A curious mix of the arcane with the natural wouldn't you say Georan?" He handed back, "I have seen them before. Many of the merchants bear them when they come; I am sure this woman makes a living. Your concerns are justified young mage. There is indeed something amiss in Bilcoven, but I am afraid we have not been able to determine its source - mundane or magical. There is probably more to your trip here than you know. Come, let us eat in the warmth of the inn."
The three entered the inn. They had heard the inn keep go out back to gather some chickens or eggs. He had obviously stoked the fire as it was roaring when they entered. No one else was in the room. They talked quietly about the things Georan had seen, but Dricka brushed off more talk of curses. The two men finished a meal of eggs, bread, and bacon while Sleene quietly ate some dried fruit and nuts she took from a pouch at her side.
During the meal Georan seemed to hesitate over something. He eventually turned to Dricka and said, "There is one other thing I would like to ask you. Unfortunately my master was not the religious type and in those matters my education was not as complete as I would have hoped for. What do you know of the god Mathonwy? Someone has recently brought to my attention the phrase 'the weapons of Mathonwy'. They said they overheard a pilgrim arguing with a soldier and claiming that they were better than a common blade. I gave the matter some thought and all I could come up with is that the pilgrim meant that the art is more powerful than the sword. I have never heard of any artifacts enchanted by Mathonwy and from what I know of the God of Sorcery it would seem out of character for Him to interfere so in the affairs of men. I was hoping you might shed some light on the matter."
Dricka looked thoughtful and finally said,
"Your assessment is probably correct. That is the first thing I thought,
and I have not heard the phrase before either. You are also right about
Mathonwy; as druids we also promote non-interference. The meddling of the
Powers in our world only serves to upset the harmony of nature - despite
the wonders their clerics may show you." Soon after Durrant and Stellan
entered the room. Durrant told them about his plans and asked Dricka his
opinion of where to go and how to sell his goods. Slowly everyone but the
guards showed themselves; Kort, Dolan, and Jack slept upstairs and Sirilyr
and Karod were at the warehouse.
Karod and Sirilyr obeyed Jack. They
wearily met and shared a loaf and cheese on their way through the early
morning streets of Bilcoven. There was no one about. Only shuttered windows
and dark alleys greeted the pair as they walked down the muddy streets
trying to keep to the few loose cobblestones. An occasional rooster call
pierced the deep blue sky. It seemed most of the buildings were vacant.
Dirt and debris lay scattered in entryways. Shutters were weather beaten
and broken some even off their hinges revealing tattered canvas curtains.
They left the business district and entered the warehouse district. The difference being the size of the buildings and lack of second stories. A patrol of watchmen huddled in the entryway of a large warehouse around a firepit of stones taken from the street. They watched silently as the pair of strangers strode passed. Although well armored with studded leather, caps, and equipped with short swords and daggers, the watchmen did not present professionally. They wore cheap fur cloaks. Only one had fur gloves; the rest kept their hands over the fire or tucked under their arms. Karod and Sirilyr felt a bit superior.
Gnawing the semi-stale end crust of a day old loaf of hard brown rye. Sirilyr eyed the poor bastards shivering in the warehouse doorway. "If'n I'm no careful, I'll spend my ol' age standing duty like that. That's all that comes from a life sent soljurin'." Quickly shifting his gaze from the watchmen to Karod and his boldly emblazoned shield. "EXHEREDARE," Sirilyr said aloud as he read the word painted upon it. "What does it mean? And what language is it Karod?" Smiling, he continued, "It has a fine feel to the tongue! And, it is in fine shape too." Hoisting up his own round northern targe and ruefully, if not downright warmly looking at it's worn and scarred leather wrapped surface, Sirilyr continued "Mine's a bit less pretty I fear. But I would no trade her for the world. She's never split, nor 'ave her bands ever snapped under a blow. How came ye to the trade Karod?"
"Friend Sirilyr it means that I have no family of my own anymore. My Mother used to tell me the story of Exheredare the Knight who being pledged to protect and serve his master Ghoram the wise many years ago. But Ghoram had many enemies and one night while the castle slept assassins crept into the great lord's bed chambers where slept the Lord his young wife and their infant son. All three were slain by the knife while Exheredare slept thinking that the castle was impregnable. The great lord had ordered Exheredare to rest and this is when the assassins struck. But the vile treachery was finished and the great family's lifeblood spilled upon the bed; Exheredare awoke hearing the crashing of his Lord to the floor. Armed with only his sword no armor no shield and outnumbered 10 to his one; Exheredare dispatched the assassins. Rushing to his Lord's chambers he openly wept at the carnage before him, slain were the Great Lord his young wife and their infant son. He had failed in his sworn duty to protect the family that had been his surrogate. He stood there covered in the assassin's blood weeping openly at his failure.
"At this he vows to redeem his honor." Karod paused, it was obvious that tale had not been told in a long time. "Well that is an old story my mother told me when I was young. She had learned it from the old texts, There came to my Father's castle the coughing disease and my Mother not being robust fell ill and died. My Grandfather being a very emotional man who had only one daughter accused my Father the Great Warder of letting my Mother die a horrible death to collect her inheritance. An argument started, words were exchanged, and swords were drawn. My Grandfather and most of his retainers were slain, but one managed to escape. And my Mother's brother took up the war banner and laid siege to my home. I watched atop a nearby hill as my family tore itself apart. I lost everything that day, so I wander the land a homeless, familyless, man." Neither had realized that they had stopped walking.
"I too lost my father and mother to the sickness. Our family stead has now returned to the wild from which it sprang. I live where I may, until I also return to the land. Before I go under though, I'll be seeing a bit more of it than I have." Then smiling not too sadly, "Cycle of life I suppose." Nothing more was said.
Durrant's warehouse was down and across
the street from the watchmen's post. Dolan opened the front door and let
the replacements in. Kort was in the back guarding the goods and watching
the large rear door. The four talked awhile. Laughing upon seeing the tired
eyed Kort and Dolan, Sirilyr pulled a leather wine flagon from his haversack,
tossing it to Kort, "It looks as if it were a long cold night fer ye lads.
I took the liberty o' bringing ye some of last night's cheer, so you'ns
can partake and chase the chill from your bones afore ye lay down your
heads." Sirilyr and Karod embellished their tales of the celebration last
night, but the Kort and Dolan were too tired to react to the taunting;
they were more interested in getting some sleep. They handed over the key
and left. Karod and Sirilyr looked around the small warehouse in more detail
than they had the night before.
Most everyone else slept late that
morning. The night of heavy drinking hung like weights from their heads.
A few at a time, the group assembled in the common room. The dank smell
of smoke and spilled beer still hung in the air, but bright sunlight lit
the rough wood walls of the Northland Inn. Sirilyr and Karod had relieved
Kort and Dolan at the warehouse at dawn. Durrant announced the plan to
everyone present. They were to haul the wagon's round the villages selling
what they could staying two days at each of the other four villages in
the circuit. Once round then they would then set up here to sell the rest.
Dricka, Talon, Stellan, and Kort would head out that afternoon to herald
their coming. The caravan would follow tomorrow.
Linda announced that she and her fellows
would go about their business. They would be travelling Bilcoven's villages
as well and were sure to be around and keep in touch. Despite that, it
felt a bit sad to have the pilgrims leave the group. Hands were clasped
and hugs exchanged. Then the four left the inn and were gone. After the
moment of silence elapsed, Durrant - with a "it's just a well" look - bid
everyone remaining to sit close a moment. Durrant explained he had business
to take care of with the Marchion, but he requested that Spencer, Georan,
and Sleene meet at the warehouse this day at dusk, "There is much to discuss."
Boards nailed into the unfinished warehouse
wall in the corner outside its front office led up to a trap door in the
ceiling barred with a sturdy board from the inside. It opened to the slightly
sloped roof. Obviously a long time had passed since anyone had come up
there. The walls extended a couple feet above the roof and the area was
choked with leaves and dirt. Weeds were even growing on the piles of decay.
A large tree grew in the wide alley behind the warehouse; the source of
the fallen leaves for probably many years. They tested the planking gingerly
before treading on them. The wood seemed solid, but without care the roof
would rot through. From atop the warehouse a good view of the town could
be seen.
The Marchion's keep dominated the scene despite the nearby tree partially blocking the view. A low stone wall topped with vertical logs strapped together surrounded the place. Inside the wall, the grounds met the stone foundation of the keep. The place was an eclectic mixture of stone and woodwork. Primarily the upper portions were solid wood, but a couple towers and tall walls were of stone blocks. The sun was higher now and the yellow light splashed across the landscape and warmed the air a bit. Karod and Sirilyr left the rooftop and settled in to the boring job of guarding the wagons.
Eyeing the tree growing next to their warehouse, Sirilyr turned to Karod, "I got me an idea." After they walked back down stairs, the smiling woodsman took up a small handsaw from a wagon toolbox and stepped outside. Staying in the shadows and watching to see if any are on the streets, before he moved around the corner of the warehouse into the ally where the tree is growing. Sirilyr placed the saw in his teeth and climbed the tall tree until he is where a man would need to be to traverse a limb to reach the warehouse roof. Quickly, he spotted the branches strong enough to hold a man's weight near to the roof, and sawed each stretching limb from underneath a bit more than three-quarters of the way through.
After carefully climbing down Sirilyr stayed close in the shadows and circled the outside of the building to seek out any weak spots in the wall or other points of entry or exit. When satisfied with his inspection he reentered the warehouse. Chuckling as he replaced the saw in its box, "That'll give any would-be thief pause to ponder! I'll start a small fire there in the doorway, so's we have a bit more than a lanterns' light in here. Not to mention some warmth as well."
"But wait Friend Sirilyr. What if an animal or bird rests heavily upon yonder beam? Then upon our heads will that roof will crash down. Would it have not been wiser to station ourselves or at least you and your bow on the roof looking into this warehouse?"
Looking up with just the hint of a gleam in his eye, "Nah, I did not cut deep enough to send the branches down under less than a small man's weight. No city dwelling tree animal or bird will drop yon bough. But, it WILL fall under the heel of a man or larger creature, and well so! Besides, the branches don't reach over the roof, just to it. The roof's stout or we would've fallen through. It'll hold a branch end or two. As far as someone being up high, that has its uses - if the place be right. In here you just make yourself a better target." Hefting his long sword, "This blade, axe, and dagger are best for indoor work."
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. Jack came to relieve them. Talon was tagging along too. Jack let them know the pilgrims had left. They had brought some food and the four shared a meal. Talon was excited about leaving town. Apparently Durrant was sending him along with Stellan, Kort, and the older druid Dricka to the next town to the west, Sola. Smiling at the young man, Sirilyr swallowed a piece of well-chewed venison and said to Talon in a serious tone, "Keep your eyes open out there. I'm not so sure we've seen the last of those bandits everybody has talked so much about. Watch yer back. You've still have'nt shown me everything ye know about trapping." Pausing a moment, Sirilyr looks down at the forefinger of his gauntleted hand with a quizzical expression. "Lad I must of gotten a splinter through me glove. The damn thing is stuck sure. Would ye mind lendin' a hand and pullin' this finger clear?"
Talon innocently pulled Sirilyr's finger releasing a loud thunderous expulsion of gas, lifting his backside off of his seat and laughing heartily, "That fixed it!"
Slapping his leg Karod laughs boisterously at Sirliyr's antics. "Talon I would be more careful around our jovial friend here, lest you become the smelly butt of all his jokes."
When they finished, Talon came with them
back to the inn where the others were preparing to leave. Clapping Karod
and Talon on the shoulders Sirilyr announced, "I'll spot a round as a going
away present." He turned to Talon, "Slip a spare dagger into your boot,
just in case you have need of a bit o' luck on your ride."
After breakfast with Durrant, Dricka
went to visit Bilcov's druids, Dainye and Hernry. Georan, having been staying
up late into the night, needed more candles. Sleene offered to take whoever
needed anything around to the best, if not the only, shops in town. Stellan,
Talon, Georan and Spencer take Sleene up on her offer of a tour and shopping
spree to buy various supplies.
The Town of Bilcoven was old and dirty. The cover of twilight served to make the place seem more inviting last night than it seemed now that the sunlight illuminated its muddy streets and weathered buildings. A huge, battered, wooden gate stood open at the center of the southern wall. Beyond the gate, the road ramped up to the town's slightly higher elevation. The main street from the gate led north between leaning wooden structures of two or more floors. The street, mainly packed dirt and mud, poorly cobbled at its best, opened into a large square dotted with trees surrounding a large fountain basin.
Around the square a variety of shops were clustered. Many of the buildings were vacant. People milled about the area during the day. Mostly people came to get buckets of water from the fountain, but small children played, and older folks sat on wood benches arrayed around the area. There was always a patrol of five or six watchmen somewhere in the square, often by the tavern that seemed to draw the most of the meager business. Beyond the storefronts to the east the side streets led to the warehouse quarter. The large detached wooden buildings, also mostly unused, stood aging amidst even older trees. An open area lay in the southeastern corner of the town. Animals grazed there, all the way up the artificial earthen slope that formed the inner structure of the town wall. A row of stables extended east of the town gate, south of the warehouses.
West of the town gate, alleys and muddy roads twisted between rows of wooden houses and apartments. There were numerous small squares around stagnant basins. Most of the places were vacant. Open windows and broken doors revealed the dusty ruins of what had once been much happier times in Bilcoven. There were people about. Most shabbily dressed in rough hides. Many hands were held out to the strangers passing by. The neighborhood became a bit cleaner north of the slum. It was still dirty and the smell from the alleys permeated everywhere. The fountains were operational if not clean. A few shops were intermingled with the apartment flats. No pushy salesmen called out or buxom women tried to entice the strangers within however.
There was a wooded park on the west side of town, overlooked by the town wall on the west and the castle's wall on the north. In this place, a pair of old druids kept a small home. They maintained the park and a small theater where they taught the children. East of the park was the Artisans Quarter. It was a hodgepodge of buildings in no particular order: a bakery, blacksmith, tanner, etc. Although there were people doing work, it seemed like there was no excitement. The hustle and bustle of Cinclair just was not happening in Bilcoven. The Northland Inn, the only operating inn in the town, was just east of the Artisan's Quarter and a block west of the main square.
From the square, a short avenue led north to the Marchion's walled castle. A stench filled ditch separated the town from the wall. Like the town's outer wall, the castle's wall was six feet of stone blocks topped with steeply sloped vertical logs supporting a mass of earth fifteen feet high. Soldiers patrolled atop the wall. A drawbridge over the fetid ditch lead under a stone gatehouse where another wooden sturdy gate, this one closed except for a small doorway, impeded progress. Guards were stationed at a sally port just outside the gate. It was hard to get a glimpse of the squat castle from the streets. A single stone tower rose well above the rest of the structure. What could be seen of the upper sections showed that they were predominately wooden and in need of fresh paint. Apparently the town spread only south of the castle and its walled bailey.
Filling Georan's need for candles was easy enough. Looking for paper and ink for Spencer was a bit harder. Sleene managed to recognize one of the Marchion's clerks on the street. He was reluctant, but he agreed to sell several sheets and a couple vials to the cartographer. Of course the price was high and haggling only brought the price down a bit. Spencer looked quite disappointed to hear that there was probably no books for sale; the clerk suggested that, "perhaps the new clerics brought some." He asked Spencer what he was looking for, perhaps, for a price, he could "find" something in the Marchion's library.
Georan noticed the characteristic red tinge building in the nape of the map-maker's neck and tensed in anticipation of the barbs that might be about to be thrown. About to berate this corrupt clerk, Spencer caught himself thinking, "Such an official could be useful; he is easily bought and has access to the Marchion's personal library. What other uses might he have?"
"I'll tell you what - let me think on it a while, hm? I have some books of my own back at by room. Perhaps we can make an exchange. Where can I get hold of you later?"
"Well lets go get that paper and ink now. My place is just down the way here. I'm there whenever I'm not elsewhere," he giggled at his statement. "Actually, evening's the best time. Before dark of course." The group took a short detour to the man's apartment where he bids them to wait outside. A gaunt woman with two children hiding behind her dress and a baby in her arms looked out at the five strangers. She looked at them suspiciously with her deep set and dark encircled eyes. The clerk pecked her on the cheek as he came out with the supplies. She did not seem to notice. Sleene tried to beacon the children to come out from the dusty folds of the dress, but they only hid deeper in it. They then scampered off into the dark apartment. The mother gave Sleene a week smile.
The paper was in good shape and the two made the exchange. Spencer thanked the man, Doad. Doad hurried off to whatever duties he was undoubtedly tardy from. The five returned to their tour of the town. Spencer muttered "Bloody parasite!" under his breath when they were out of earshot of the man and his family. "Can that man be well trusted?" he asks Sleene. "Do you know anyone else who might be as helpful to the likes of us?"
Sleene thought for a moment before replying. "No," she finally said. "I try to spend as little time in town as possible. I will talk with the local Druids later. I know a few of the guards and could ask them if there is something specific you are in need of."
Spencer later asked Sleene, "How do the people of Bilcoven treat the rumored curse?"
"The curse. I will admit that I know little about the curse although I have talked to Dricka about it." Sleene smiles at Spencer while generally ignoring her other companions. She looks around the town and with an expansive gesture at the filthy streets and miserable people she says, "I prefer to stay away from town and in the woods. Who would want to be associated with this? No, I don't know any more about the curse than you do."
"Hm...I suppose you don't know much about Cinclair, then? What sort of impact he's had on the people here? Or local opinion of the bandits?" Spencer continued.
A puzzled frown crossed Sleene's face for a moment before she said, "Valeford! Yes, it is Cinclair now, isn't it." She thought a moment before continuing. "A warlord rules there now. He has been somewhat successful in curbing the bandits in the area. Most consider them cowards preying on the weak in planned ambushes and then running away into the forest." She paused before continuing, "Although there was that attack on the town of Dir. Some blame that on the bandits but there was no proof."
The mention of Dir sparked Spencer's interest and he asked her about the place. She said it was not much of a place. "They got a mill there on the stream," was the most exciting thing she mentioned. Interest peaked, Spencer asked her about the other towns of Bilcoven.
"Well your seeing Bilcoven, seat of the March - by far the oldest. Then there's Sola where Dricka and others are going today. No walls there; just a cluster of buildings and a watchtower. They're all pretty much the same come to think about it. All but Dir are in a ring: Sola, Tir – I actually don't like that place as much as this one – Ziret, Beir, and here." Sleene turned and said to Spencer, "I have never been outside of this Marchy. The wonders you must have explored. Tell me of the forests and mountains you have seen."
Having been preoccupied by his thoughts, Spencer presently noticed Sleene's attentions. He gave her a puzzled glance, pondered for a moment. "Methinks there'll be plenty of opportunity for such discussion." He gave a slight, crooked smile. "It seems there is much we would learn from one another, and much we may have in common." Spencer founds it refreshing he need not strain his neck to speak with Sleene (as was often necessary with taller people). "For now, would you finish our tour of the city?"
Sleene smiled a dazzling smile and replied,
"Of course, although there isn't much more to see." Sleene finished the
tour and they all spent a couple coppers on lunch before returning to the
Northland Inn where the rest of the group had already gathered.
Everyone was back at the inn shortly
after noon. Sleene took Dricka aside for a few moments and carefully and
politely questioned him about Bilcoven's troubles. "Dricka, is there anything
about the troubles in Bilcoven that I should know when guiding the convoy
through the towns?"
"You are just learning the ways of the world my girl. I think you've learned that the troubles here are more than with the people. Bilcoven is a mysterious place and her secrets are ancient. Whatever these men seek, help them. Be honest. Other than that, beware. I do have a feeling that some malevolence is growing; may we discover what before it is too late." They rejoined the group.
Durrant went over his instructions with
Stellan; actually Stellan went over them with Durrant. Waving farewell,
Sirilyr calls to the departing quartet, "Be wary, and the gods watch o'er
you!"
Georan watched the others march down
the road toward the square. He was tired and distracted by thoughts of
dark magics at work. The visage of the hag and her strange eyes haunted
him; her cackling mad laughter echoing in his head. Something had driven
her to some precipice of sanity, and Georan feared he was along the same
path. He looked around the grim town he had come to and lost all interest
in seeing more. He made his way to his room. Dolan snored deeply from his
cot; it did not bother Georan who lit a candle and opened his book again.
Georan had been pouring through his notes from years of study, piecing together any scrap of information he could on the schools of magic his mentor opposed. The hag had mentioned that something that was not life had been awakened. If true, Georan had surmised that could refer to magic of one of two schools: Divine or Life. From what he could tell of the sketchy notes he took, Divine magic created a link to Avalon – the land of the gods.
Not having a religious upbringing, Georan had always supposed that Avalon was a paradise for the soul. Now looking back upon the notes and recalling the conversations he had with Licyn Georan began to fear this was not the case. The notes hinted at a world full of powerful beings that ruled much as the nobles did in Brendil; and not all of them were benevolent either. Had some magic brought something malign from the dark corners of Avalon? It chilled Georan to think of it. From what he could tell even the weakest of Avalon's powers were extremely powerful.
What did it all mean to Georan's soul? It was quite obvious from his notes that Licyn was very concerned for his afterlife. What happens when you die? Are you born again in Avalon, do you just find yourself there? Where do you go? Who do you serve? Licyn unwittingly painted a bleak picture of afterlife to young Georan.
The other school of magic that may explain the hag's explanations was that of Life magic. The gods in Avalon created the world and the laws of nature, matter and energy, in which all was immersed. Licyn has little to say about Life magic, other than some of the theories around which other magi had proposed. One theory was that there existed a "life energy" that could be tapped and directed. Another theory was the very structure of the world was linked to that of Avalon and that through proper technique the very power of Avalon could be tapped. It was clear why Licyn feared this magic.
However, that did not mean that some other wizard would not try to tap this source of power. Had one unwittingly brought some evil creature, long slain whose soul rotted in some foul corner of Avalon , back to this world to relive. Had some foul lump of dirt and garbage been given life by some mortal's hand? The abomination and heresy of these thoughts worried Georan. He went to the window and looked out through the canvas curtain to see the deep blue sky. What foulness lie under this same sky that had caused so much fear?
He heard on of the other guards enter the room next door and begin shedding arms and armor. Georan returned to his books. From what he could tell, there were certain signs and symbols that could ward off creatures not of this world, abjurations. Georan had no notes about them; Licyn mentioned that such magics were best banished by druids and priests tasked with such matters as defending the world from demons from beyond. Georan felt very vulnerable. Dolan stirred across the room.
"Ahhh, nothin' like a good days sleep." He stretched and breathed in deeply, "I smell a hearty meal on the stove; leave it to me nose to keep from o'er sleepin'." Dolan set about putting his gear on. Georan glanced at the window and was surprised to see the light greatly diminished. Dolan clasped Georan shoulders with a firm hand and looked at the open book. "Me lad, I don't know what I'm looking at, but sure'n it has you on edge. Come lets get some grub before seeing Durrant." He left and Georan heard him rouse the guard next door.
[2.1i] Karod and Sirilyr in Bilcoven
After seeing them off, Karod and Sirilyr wandered the town a bit before getting some rest in anticipation of the first watch tonight. Sirilyr wrinkled his nose in the pungent odor of raw sewage and rotting garbage wafting up from the ally streets, "I'll never know what people see in living all clumped together in what amounts to nothing more'n a stone walled sack." Shaking his head in disgust as he cast a glance to Karod.
"I was raised in a mighty fortress Friend Sirilyr, so I am accustomed to the unique odors that do prevail in civilized dwellings, but even this town's smells hath offended mine nose."
"There be something else though Karod. Where by the devils, have the people gone that lived in all o'these empty places? Keep your eye out for any hint as to why they left, or died."
The pair, guideless, wandered the streets east and south of the Northland Inn. The homes became dingier and the people shabbier. Most of the buildings were vacant, but unlike the buildings elsewhere, these lacked the boards. The dark openings revealed little but ruin within. It became clear the two had wandered into a substantial slum. They thought it best to return from whence they came.
A sudden shuffling and commotion erupted from a empty home nearby. Startled, the two guards spun to face the danger. Deep growls and a few sharp barks then a yelp and whimpers clued them into what was going on. It wasn't gnolls this time. A mongrel burst from the opening, tail between its legs. It was tan but dark with filth. Another bark, much lower, announced the presence of the victor. A much larger black beast. The tan spun, whimpering still, then fell on his back. The black lunged, and before Karod new what was going on, Sirilyr lunged too.
The black, its yellow enraged eyes on his kill jumped aside as the human figure charged. Bloodlust frightened out of it, it ran off into the alley next to the vacant building. The tan still lay whining on the road, not quite realizing what happened. It looked up at Sirilyr, unsure what to do. He produced a chunk of dried meat from his rations and held it out. The thing smelled the strongly spiced meal and cautiously got to its feet and sniffed, slowly coming nearer. It quickly snapped the food from Sirilyr, surprising the ranger with his speed. It ran off with the food. The two finally found their way out of the slum into a wooded park. Karod noticed the mutt was following them at a distance and pointed him out to Sirilyr. He laughed and said, "I think I've found a recruit! Well now laddie, you're welcome to come along if ye please."
When they looked back into the park, they
noticed Sleene speaking with a pair of older druids toward the center of
the park where a ring of benches was arrayed. "We should see what she's
found out. I would like to know what has happened here. It's not natural
for a place of this size to be so short on folks." They headed her way.
By the time Sleene brought them back
to the Northland Inn, Spencer had seen his fill of Bilcoven. There were
plenty of areas left to explore, but they would wait for the weeks, perhaps
months, ahead. There was definitely something different about Bilcoven.
The apprehension that so many of the commoners on the north side of the
Uryl displayed was still present. It was not the same though; the Bilcovs
seemed generally unsure of the strangers motives; everywhere else people
assumed their motives were unsavory. Spencer was beginning to understand
why. What would bring normal people to this filthy place?
The Bilcovs were also quite tight lipped. Despite grins and cordial greetings, few even returned the favor. Almost like they were ashamed of themselves; not worthy of the attention of outsiders. Spencer had to admit he did have a feeling of superiority. He didn't like it. There was a brief gathering as the four heralds set off. Spencer tagged along mainly because the main gate was on the way to the stables and Praedarus.
Spencer took the side road in the shadow of the town wall to the stables. Wendle was there grooming and tending the animals. Cecilia was there too, churning with an older woman. They all smiled at Spencer as he approached, Spencer briefly returned their greetings. Praedarus stood proudly in his pen. While Spencer groomed him, a young stablehand came up and asked him if he wanted his gear to ride. The boy pointed out the open field at the southeastern corner of town. Spencer turned to the stablehand, about to send for the riding gear, for some reason he changed his mind. "Perhaps I'll go without today," he told the boy. He then led Praedarus to the field and tried his luck at bareback riding.
The afternoon grew long with Spencer's anticipation about what Durrant has to say. Bored of the field, Spencer got the urge to go swimming before winter sets in. He returned to the stable and asked the stablehand for directions to the nearest swimming hole. The boy said its was easy ride due south of the gate. "There's a trail to follow." Spencer took Praedarus and headed out of town to distract his mind for a while.
The trail was there and fairly well worn. It obviously formed the boundary between plots of farmed land. It was very quiet and still this afternoon. Blue sky spread overhead only marred with the occasional wisps of high clouds. The air was cool, but the sun bright and warm. Near the stream, trees grew and the underbrush was thick. The trail Spencer followed wandered into the thicket to the top of a short, root filled drop off to a pond about fifty feet across.
The trail turned right and led to a grassy
bank, cleared of trees and bushes. Spencer took some time to look for usefull
herbs and plants. He was surprised to find the copse of trees quite picked
over. He was only able to find a some roots that were not commonly known
to be useful. He returned to the grassy shore where birdsong and wind rustled
leaves accompanied him as he disrobed. Reeds and lily pads choked the water
at the edge, but Spencer waded through these into the deeper water. It
was cold and Spencer could feel the current of the stream flowing to the
east. It seemed not long before the sun dipped below the treeline leaving
the pool in shadow. Spencer dressed and led Praedarus out of the grove.
Back in the open fields, there was enough sun to dry and keep man and horse
warm. They returned to the dirty town feeling clean and refreshed. Spencer
dropped Praedarus at the stable and went to the warehouse.
The rather boisterous caravan party
headed from the Northland Inn to the main gate to see Dricka and the other
three off. Sleene took the opportunity to head the other direction, to
see the town druids, Dainye and Hernry. Dricka had gone to see them earlier,
but he was gone now and Sleene needed to know what was going on too. Especially
with the strange questions these strangers had.
Dainye and Hernry were probably the oldest people Sleene had every met. Even Freia was young next to this couple. There were twelve druids in Bilcoven that Sleene had met. Most lived in a secret conclave hidden in the forests of the Marchy. As an Aspirant, Sleene had not been granted access yet, did not even know its whereabouts. These two lived right in the smelly town though. Their park was not too bad considering the surroundings.
They welcomed her with hugs followed by the more formal druidic greeting. They asked how the strangers were. Polite? Giving? Curious? Sleene managed through their sincere questions. When they seemed satisfied, Sleene mentioned that the newcomers were quite concerned with a curse that those of the valley claimed had befallen the Marchy. They assured their young Aspirant that life was filled with cycles and patterns, every day, every season, every body, went through phases. Bilcoven was in a low point and to those that do not understand the cycles of nature such times are blamed on curses, the gods, whatever.
They then explained that even if such bad things are part of nature, there still must exist a balance. Without a balance, things swiftly decay. Freia and Dricka are concerned that there may be forces at work here that may be tipping the balance, and for Bilcoven that could be disastrous. If there is something dark and malign at work in the Marchy, it was their hope that an investigation would bring it to light before too late. They assured Sleene that "too late" was no time soon.
The Druids paused to watch a pair of birds playing in the trees. After a few minutes of this simple pleasure, Sleene says to Dainye and Hernry, "I do have some questions for you. I am not well traveled yet and we have a cartographer in the group who was asking questions. Is there anything you can tell me about Vale...sorry, Cinclair? Anything about the warlord or what happened with the bandits?"
"Lord Cinclair, the bandits, the curse; it's all in reaction to the cycle. You've seen how little the humans understand and appreciate the balance of life. Perhaps the bandits, seeking to profit at the expense of the lives of the Bilcovs brought about the likes of Cinclair in opposition," Hernry explained.
"Yes, but while the havoc of one is countered by the order of the other, they both cause damage to Bilcoven. There must also be balance of good and evil," challenged Dainye.
"Ah but the game is still afoot my dear. Perhaps this group of men, few though they are shall serve to bring goodness back to Bilcoven." He turned to Sleene, "Take nothing for what it seems to be. The world is constantly in motion and we see but a glimpse each instant."
Dainye, seeing Sleene's frustration said, "We have an on going debate. It seems to me that the bandits may have been more of a cause of the famine here in Bilcoven four years hence. Hernry insists that even they are a symptom of a larger cycle, but he is too old to figure it out."
"Bah. Something more'n human greed produced the brigands. That is the true mystery. They started preyin' on the very lifeblood of thousands for some dark purpose. My child, Lord Cinclair is a strong man with power to command. Little is known of his history, but he has chased the bandits away. In return he still extracts a great price from Bilcoven."
"Whatever our disagreements are Aspirant Sleene, neither one of us is sure. Should Freia and Dricka be correct, all of Bilcoven could spiral into war and as you have seen we are no shape to defend ourselves. Let this Durrant take you where he may and the answers should come."
After listening to their replies, Sleene awkwardly questioned them with a student's enthusiasm about Dir and other of the towns. Sleene saw two of the caravan guards emerge from the cluster of buildings south of the driuds' park. She recognized the pair as the ranger and the armored warrior with the emblazoned shield, "EXHEREDARE." Sleene had not spoken with them much; they were on guard duty this morning. They paused, looked back down the street from which they came, then turned and looked into the park. Apparently they recognized Sleene sitting with the old couple in their ring of benches and headed their way.
Sirilyr nodded to the fair Sleene and respectfully waited a few paces away with Karod as she completed her chat with the ancient pair of druids. Whispering to his fellow guardsman, "There must be two centuries betwixt them if thar's a day. They'll likely know and tell us what's happened here." Spying the brown dog hanging out at the edge of the park watching them, the ranger beckoned it to him with a slow movement of his hand to his thigh and a whispered "Come."
The three druids laughed as the mutt cautiously made its way to Sirilyr and sniffed his hand. "You've a gift with the animals; no common warrior are you," said the venerable male druid.
"This is Initiate Hernry and Dainye," Sleene introduced. She giggled nervously, "I don't remember your names."
Karod and Sirilyr stepped forward to introduce themselves making a polite bow to the druids. "Minor matter, I find I've often had that affect with the ladies, especially those blessed with beauty and grace by the gods." Granting Sleene his most charming smile, the ranger then paid full attention to the patriarchal pair of druids. Removing his dark leather gauntlet and extending his naked hand in friendship, Sirilyr spoke to the elder male, "I'm known as Greymantle, Sirilyr to those who know me better than most." Curtly nodding his head to the elder druidess, "I am honored to make your acquaintances." Waving his gauntleted hand towards Karod, "This handsome lad is Karod. We're with the iron monger's caravan from down south."
Sirilyr held his tongue while Karod made his introduction. "You too are more than you appear," said Dainye in a soothing, womanly, almost youthful voice. "My friends, how may be of assistance?"
Karod explained that they were wandering the town and were curious about the many empty homes and buildings. Sirilyr found his eyes drawn to the lovely but rustic Sleene. He managed to snap to attention when he heard Karod ask them about the town's missing populace. The druids exchanged a glance before they bid the two to sit with them. "As you have seen, Bilcoven has seen better times. Four years hence, twas the second season the bandits plagued the merchants bringing food from the valley," Hernry began.
"Bilcoven is a land not suited to the life of humanity, the balance is delicate. Without enough food a devastating early winter brought ruin to the population. Famine and winter took many of the souls leaving the vacancies you see to this day. It is a great shame to us and the Marchion; and generally not spoken of. You will find the folks here quite superstitious."
Clearing his throat Sirilyr answered, "Uh-hem, I see. These are a proud people of good stock, and hardy enough to endure their troubles well. What has happened to rouse their superstitions? Surly 'twas not just life's hardships. Did the famine not also aid in eliminating the rogue problem? Their kind usually seek out greener pastures in lean times. There must be something more to all of this..." The ranger allowed his implied, yet unasked question trail off, waiting to see where it would lead him.
"Long ago the elves lived here. It is a blessed land and traces of their faery magic remain. Since it has fallen into human hands, all Bilcovs feel the sense of responsibility to keep it safe," Dainye explained. "There is a deep sense of failure and unworthiness; fear that they have disappointed whatever spirits remain. There has been famine and sickness before, but the lives of men are short and memories shorter still."
"I think the rogues have moved on east into the wilderness where I hear the few scattered villages are plagued worse than here," announced Hernry. "However, I think the banditry was another symptom rather than a cause and twas the very matter we were discussing with young Sleene here. Everything is a chain of events. Lord Cinclair is the bandits' legacy and we fear the next link in the chain."
"I've heard some pilgrims have come with your troop," stated Dainye in preparation. "The same year a pair of priests of Diancecht established a chapel here, the winter came on early. It was good fortune for many more may have perished were it not for their help. But it is my feeling that presence of these priests and the interest of the gods they represent has served to fuel the superstitions. There are powerful eyes upon the laboring backs of Bilcovs."
Sirilyr noted how the afternoon sun was highlighting Sleene with a golden radiance. "There's no time for that." He thought to himself as he once again forced the course of his eyes back towards the ancient druids and their answers to his questions asked and unasked.
Listening to the elder, Sirilyr replied, "Cleric's always have interests lurking behind their actions as motivation. Have they done anything to kindle superstition in the townsfolk?"
"Nay. It is their devotion to their goddess above all others. It makes our simple rituals to Diancecht, rituals we have all grown up with, seem small."
"We're being out sold," corrected Hernry. "The people need to be confident in their faith and these clerics with their largess make people question their traditional form of worship."
The ranger fidgeted with his sword as he thought before continuing. "What do you think the clerics and pilgrims want in Bilcoven? And, is there anything we can do to help you in the work your doing here?" Sirilyr knelt a moment to scratch the dog's ears as it sat quietly by his side.
"With only two priests they've been busy serving this town. I think the pilgrims are here to widen their influence to the other villages and their hasty departure this morning - well, I think that proves it," Hernry answered.
"Do not take our comments wrongly," cautioned Dainye. "We do not suspect any ill intent from these devotee's. Our concern is that their influence may disrupt the delicate balance Bilcoven maintains in ways we can not predict."
"Just keep your eyes and ears open to the grumblings of the Bilcovs. There are few of us druids here and many things to pay attention to. Sleene and Dricka will accompany your group; treat them as friends and confidants. Sleene here is young but promising; she will learn allot from this adventure."
Raising his eyes to Karod and Sleene Sirilyr addressed, "You two've been quiet. What's your takes on all of this?"
Karod was enthralled, "This type of conflict is well beyond my ken. My homeland is troubled by much more mundane problems. I have grown concerned as we neared this place and I see perhaps rightfully."
Sleene had been listening intently and watching the newcomers. When asked her opinion, she considered a moment before replying, "Humans have a way of coming into an area and making changes without considering the effects of what they are doing. I am still too young to feel the cycles that my elders see in everything but I feel the balance of Bilcoven and know that it is not stable. Is the priestess a part of the problem? No more than any human."
Sirilyr nodded in agreement, before asking the elder druids, "Do you think it possible some outside magic has been brought into the area and it is influencing the balance of nature here? And if this is so, how can we find and eliminate it's presence to restore the balance?"
"Dricka is eager to see such dark influences; Dainye less inclined. Certainly that is a possibility, but rumors abound. Some say the bandits used magic to survive the Marchion's campaign against them, countered by that possessed by Lord Cinclair. The truth is out there," Hernry stated, "waiting for you discover it."
"So you do believe the bandits and Lord Cinclair are holding magic that only came to this area over the last three years or so?" Answered Sirilyr, lighting his well weathered pipe while he continued.
"The highwaymen began their banditry five years ago and managed elude the Marchion for two seasons. Lord Cinclair was successful that third year where the Marchion was not," Hernry reviewed. "Lord Cinclair claims that he did not remove the bandits threat but only through show of force keeps them at bay."
"I don't think powerful magic is behind these events," Dainye answered with a roll of her eyes at her husband, "however, I am in disagreement with Hernry and Dricka."
"None of us know for sure. I merely think it is probable that these bandits were so successful in strangling Bilcoven that they must have had arcane assistance."
"Come Sirilyr," Karod said, "We need some rest." He stood and faced the druids, "You've been gracious to share your knowledge with us."
Sirilyr exhaled a large satisfying smoke ring. He crooked his head to look at Karod while he finished the thoughts he was pondering. "I suppose you are correct." Sirilyr stood too and thanked the pair for their time and information. The pair of uncommon warriors left the park and headed east to find the inn, scrawny tan dog not far behind. Turning to Karod Sirilyr said, "We have many things to discuss tonight my friend."
Sleene left the park with the guards and
after seeing them to the inn, decided she needed some fresh air from the
dingy town. She left the town and went to a small copse about a mile away
where she left Nip and Snap. After calling them a few times, they came
bounding. They played while Sleene gathered herbs and food to last her
on her journeys with the caravan. She communes with nature in the copse,
feeling its pains. The lands around it had slowly been cleared to become
tilled crops or pastures. The lingering memories of the plants in the copse
of its lost neighbors gave the place a sad air. It took a long time for
the trees to get over such devastation. It seemed such a short time until
the sun became low and Sleene knew she had to go back to town. Sleene watched
the sun setting with a heavy heart. It was good to be in the woods, even
if they were in pain, and to play with her friends. The little work she
had done with the copse of trees made her feel better and it was with a
deep sigh of regret that she bade the wolves goodbye, trying to communicate
to them that she would be back to visit later tonight or tomorrow, and
turned towards town. Sleene walked into town and proceeded to the meeting
arriving a bit early. As she waited for the others, Sleene sat quietly
watching the town move about her and listening.
Upon returning to the dark interior
of the Northland Inn, Karod passed on the opportunity to have a drink and
headed to his room to get some sleep. Sirilyr picked a spot at the end
of the bar from which his back would be to a wall and he could watch the
comings and goings of the clientele. It was also an ideal place to sit
unnoticed and catch the conversations of the locals. Sirilyr was hoping
to gather information on the whereabouts of the many missing townsfolk.
"Innkeeper, I'll have a tankard of mead." As he paid for his drink the
ranger innocently asked the proprietor, "Why would anyone open a business
in a town that seems to be dying? Where did your customers all go?" The
man, not a very friendly innkeeper, grunted, made some sign upon himself,
and moved off.
After his short conversation with the tavern master, and thanking him for the service with a decent tip, Sirilyr concealed his hands under the bar and slipped his dagger up his sleeve where it could slide down into his hand without any untoward movement being made on his part should the need arise. Sipping his honeyed mead, he raised his cloak's mantle and patiently waited, leaning back into the shadows of the wall and bar, blending into the murky ambiance of the dismal place. He knew eventually he would hear something of value.
There were not many patrons in the place. Everyone that was there when Karod and he came in wandered away. As Sirilyr sipped his mead, a group of four older men came in. They did not seem to notice him in the shadowed corner. Like most everyone else he had encountered in this town, these were not happy people. They grumbled about not enough this and that. They speculated about what the caravan had with them. They supposed it would be overpriced stuff from far off that nobody needed. They wondered if the Marchion had ordered them to come.
The innkeeper came and took their orders. Sirilyr could hear the innkeeper's wife clanking pots and dishes in the kitchen. The burly innkeeper walked into the kitchen. He must have pointed Sirilyr out to the men. They had stopped talking and were sending furtive glances his direction. All pretense gone Sirilyr slowly pulled the mantle back from his head and pushed back his kettlehelm. Striking flint to steel, he lit his worn pipe. Sirilyr's cold blue eyes never left the four men at the table. Standing, he walked over to their table, "We're here on a merchant venture with a load of smelted iron wares, weapon heads, blades, kettles, hinges, locks, spikes, shoe iron and the like. If you know of anyone interested, we'd be obliged if you sent 'em our way. We expected more customers here than we've seen. Has there been a sickness?"
The four older men sat looking at the young, but battle hardened warrior. Sirilyr knew he was being sized up. These guys were unarmed though and it only took a few moments for the tension to ease. "Aye bold one," the stubble faced, brown haired man across from Sirilyr finally said, "and worse." He lifted his mug and drank deeply, not taking his eyes off Sirilyr. The other three looked at the speaker then put their attention toward their worn wooden mugs of beer.
"We've followed no one's will but our own in a coming here. After we've sold our wares, most will be going again. As fer, meself, I'm not much fer stonewalls. I do however, want to see more of your bountiful forest, ye' are truly blessed in your woodlands. How's the hunting 'round these parts?" No one made a move to answer. Tamping and re-lighting the red polished briarwood, "The name's Greymantle, be seeing ya 'round." Stepping a measured pace backwards away from the men's table, before taking a long side step and slow turn for his place at the bar. Sirilyr felt the hair on the back of his neck bristling under the townsmen's glares when he finally was far enough away from them to safely turn. The targe slung across his back gave cold comfort.
Ordering another tankard, and tipping well yet again, Sirilyr lowly spoke to the innkeeper. "You don't get much gratuity with most o' your business the gods know where. The merchant company won't be here long, an' should you like to make the most o' my trade, I'd be happiest if you wouldn't announce my presence again. There are some who'd insist on unpleasantness. Do we understand one another?" The Ranger's smile was broad and tightly clenched around his pipe's stem, his eyes flickered as ice on fire, as they bored deep into the man.
The large but soft man looked back at Sirilyr obviously torn between his true feelings, whatever they were, and his role as host and servant. He moved to the counter and swiped the coins into his apron while taking the tankard. While it filled he said, "just keepin' them loud mouths from gettin' themselves in trouble. Never know what they're liable to say," he leaned to the put the four men in sight and said louder, "right Potter?"
"Don't you listen to that old liar," whichever one was Potter answered.
"We know how you folks from down south think about us up here," the innkeeper said to Sirilyr. "We might not have all the fancy stuff, the best food, or the finest women, but we get by."
Shifting his focus from the bartender to the local called 'Potter', "From what I've seen, you'ns get by pretty well." Sirilyr's gaze softened, as he finished sizing up the situation. "Not all o'us 'southrons' are cut o' the same cloth. Sure some fit the mold, but not all. I'm a simple soljur. Used to be a game guide before the sweating sickness took my family, and things just got blurry. Some find religion in those times, I found my solace in the way o' the bloody blade and the simple choice of livin' or dyin'. There's no grays in my way. It's that which some call 'bold'. I meet my enemies and my friends, as I choose, with respect. Would you honor me with your company in a beer?"
"Aye lad. Have a seat." Sirilyr put more coins on the bar and grinned at the innkeeper as he spun and approached the four seated men. "To friends and enemies!" toasted Sirilyr. As he took the offered seat between two quiet, burly men Sirilyr smacked his lips and said, "Now what's all this about sickness?"
"You invite bad luck to speak of our plight young warrior," Potter announced. "We've all lost loved ones and try to get on. The worst is over, we've buried the dead."
"Not my intent, simply curious. My apologies if I have offended in recalling bad memories." Lifting his tankard, "To better times." After wiping his dripping mustache on the back of his gauntleted hand, "I was serious in my earlier question about the game around here. How is the hunting and are the roads safe?"
"Huntin's much worse now. Nearby forests are cleaned out. I heard they're having to trek more'n two days out to get a good catch. No hunters here in town anymore. Just got old Tanner there," Potter nodded to one of the quiet men, "he don't hunt no more, just buys the skins when they come through town. I ain't heard of trouble on the road since Cinclair's man, Rikart, was attacked."
"And that was three year ago," the man to Sirilyr's right announced. "Bilcoven's a safe place, don' you worry."
"That fella's still afraid to go back. He's been staying with the March since," Tanner guffawed.
"I heard he's the only thing keeping the March from sacking Valeford," the man on Sirilyr's left said flatly. "Your train better head outta here 'fore things heat up."
"Don't pay him no mind Graymantle," Potter assured, "Lord Cinclair is the Marchion's liege; there won't be any sacking or warring. Cinclair saved us, he's a hero." The quiet man huffed and went back to his drink.
Draining his tankard, Sirilyr said, "Well,
It's time for me to go an get some sleep before my stint. Thank you gentlemen
for the company an the chat." Giving a quick wave before departing, "Good
morrow and well met." Sirilyr went upstairs to find Durrant, but found
the master's room quiet. There were so many questions floating in his head
if he got any sleep Sirilyr didn't remember it. He eventually got up and
went back to the empty barroom.
Dolan nudged Karod awake later that
afternoon. He startled. He glimpsed a fleeting image of the nightmare that
had been plaguing him. It was dark, he was riding, the hoof beats were
drumming rhythmically. He was afraid. He was looking around to find the
source, to find his pursuer. He looked as his hands covered with blood.
No longer riding he held the bloody dagger that killed his grandfather.
Terrified he looked up and saw the scruffy face of Dolan.
Sirilyr was in the barroom where Dolan, Karod, and Georan joined him for dinner. The place was empty of other patrons. The innkeeper's heavy wife smiled largely when she served them, but it was obviously plastic. She and her husband ate at the other end of the room. They finished the meal quietly and left. As they trudged down the well-known way to the warehouse, Sirilyr looked for movement in the shadows and over his shoulder for anyone who might be tailing them. They both spotted the tan dogging them. When they got to the warehouse not everyone had arrived. Sirilyr beckoned the mutt into the warehouse. Jack moaned and told him to get the smelly thing into the back.
Sirilyr got his earlier campfire going strong. He scratched the mongrel on the head and sharpened his blades before returning them loosely to their scabbards. Laughing as the starved critter snuck a quick lunge to snap away the piece of jerked venison he had laid out for it next to his leg. Sirilyr, remembering the way the frightened and over matched animal had rolled to bring all of his claws and teeth to bear against his larger foe, marveled at the hesitant dog's speed when it made up it's mind. "I think I'll call ye 'Feint', it seems to suit ye. Although, some will say ye should of been named 'Faint'!" Smiling, Sirilyr whispered, "We'll just wait an see which it will be, eh my boy?"
He then stretched and bent his bow, setting the string in place. Knocking an arrow, he took a short quiet walk around the warehouse, trusting in the dog to warn him of what he might not see, and verified that nothing had changed from his last visit around the place.
Durrant finally arrived and stuck his head in the storeroom and called for Sirily. Before going into the office Sirilyr motioned to Durrant and after stepping into a distant corner said, "All save one of Bilcoven druids believe it possible the bandits and Lord Cinclair have held, or are holding magic that only came to this area over three years ago. About the same time as the sickness which depopulated this place." Lighting his well weathered pipe while he continued. "This magic could be why the bandits stopped thieving on the roads about that time, after the final robbery of Cinclair's man Rikart. I think we need to find where this Rikart is, and what if anything was stolen from him."
"You're a good man Sirilyr. I must give this some thought. Come lets get it all on the table."
"I did no' want to say anything to the others 'till you knew."
Karod patrolled the shadows outside the warehouse. Above him, Dolan walked along the roof. Both were there to keep the discussion ensuing within from the prying ears of others. More than a bit of curiosity taunted the guards' thoughts. But Sirilyr was in there and he was one of them. If their tight-lipped captain didn't share much, the young ranger would. The two walked slowly around the perimeter as the sun retreated.
Darkness set in along with the autumn chill. The sounds of the town filtered throughout the night air. It was quiet nearby though. Karod had a feeling of separation from the distant echoes of others people's lives. All remained quiet for awhile. He was in the ally watching the heavy wood door when he heard the approach of men on the street. He walked around to see who neared.
It was a patrol of watchmen. They carried on noisily. Several were obviously drunk. There was no semblance of discipline. Karod went back to the alley to watch the shadows. As he rounded the corner, a brief whirl of motion across the alley caught his attention. It could have been a trick of the cool breeze. The yellow leaves of the tree rustled nervously masking any telltale noises. If it were someone, they had disappeared next to the warehouse opposite. He signaled Dolan to keep an eye out and they resumed their synchronous patrol.