The four "pilgrims" walked down the
late morning streets of Bilcoven to their stabled horses and mules. Linda
was silent as they made their way to the Gate Square and into the surrounding
farmlands. As they headed up the north road toward the village of Beir
Linda and Mellody approached the infrequent farmhouse and performed rituals
of blessing as Brian and Storn waited. They resumed the long neglected
practice of blessing the streams they crossed - it had been since before
the Gnash. They passed from the dormant fields into a rocky forest not
unlike the Gnash late in the afternoon.
As the shadows deepened, memories of those horrid nights waiting for the shadows to explode with fierce creatures borne of darkness. Subconsciously each of them picked up the pace so they would not be caught in the woods as darkness fell. Beir was just beyond this stretch of wilds. Brian spurred closer to Mellody and asked her quietly, "Has Mother Linda told you any more about why we are here? I get the feeling this is more than a simple pilgrimage or a mission to convert people. Though I trust her good intentions, I would be more comfortable if I knew the actual purpose of our mission. I feel as if I am a blind man walking a perilous path."
Mellody looked at Brian, her sweet eyes showing a hint of concern, worry. She glanced up at Linda's back a couple lengths away then back at Brian. "She's worried, fears the worst for her father. I'll get her to talk to us in Beir. She needs to for all of us. None of this is expected. Its like the gods have turned from this land." A chill ran through Brian's soul at her words. He had a vision of the sweet face of Brigantia, smile gone, sad serious eyes looking at him - no - at Bilcoven. Then she averted her eyes from shame, from disgust. What horrors could man do to turn the gods away?
The rest of the ride was quiet except for the clop of horsestep. The sky was red when they emerged from the thicket. The sun had just disappeared below the jagged horizon. Fireflies danced and crickets chirped in the meadows between them and the hamlet of Beir. Yellow points of light beckoned to them from atop the next hill. They entered the only inn not too long after. A couple of leathery men sat in the bar room drinking next to the fire and talking with the serving girl. They silently watched as the four approached the keeper who emerged from a door behind the bar.
Renn's rooms were vacant and he welcomed them not whole-heartedly. He and his daughter, Celene, were friendly; they did not get the cold feelings they had experienced since crossing the Uryl. But there was something different about their attitudes. The locals bought them a round. They were quite talkative old men, Tomman and Clent. Widowers, Tomman kept dairy cows, and Clent was a baker. Their kids did most of the work now-a-days and they could spend their nights "drinkin' and thinkin' of better days."
Celene cooked them a late meal, but Linda made it an early night. She and Mellody retired leaving Storn and Brian with the old men. As usual Storn was stoic leaving Brian to parry most of their questions. They had never met holy warriors before. Brian finished his stew with a swipe of bread through the wooden bowl. He then spoke while picking at the tasteless potatoes and gravy, "You say you like drinking and thinking about better days. I have heard many people complain that things are not well in this land lately. What has gone wrong?"
Tomman laughed, "Win you seen near half a hundret winters, y'll see the better days'll be long past. But there's bad times now despite that." The man's big smile vanished then, "Lotta folks gone a few years back; there was a couple bad winters - not enough food. People's still sad about it - don't like to talk about it much." He drank deeply and put on a smile to shake away the sad thoughts. "How about the priestesses?" The question set the two off on a series of topics; including expressed hopes the priestesses could bless they little land they had. Storn actually assured them that they would.
They mentioned the problems they and their fellows had with the rocky soil. Tomman's cows had caused quite a conspiracy, as more and more arable land was needed, "what wid dem bandits keeping away all the grain." Tomman and his two sons were clearing a stretch of the forest, just a few acres flat enough for a pasture. The forests were Bilcoven's livelihood and no one liked messing with them.
"It must be difficult to scratch a living from this rocky soil. You are wise to expand your pasture, but clearing the forest would be back-breaking work and it must be difficult to obtain permission. Who is the lord of this land and what does he demand of you in taxes? Is he fair?" Brian asked.
"The March is good man. He's been around almost as long as we have. He collects from the mayors a head tax and a land tax, couple times a year. Mayor Boyt gets us for ten silvers a head, a dwelling, and an acre. Not too bad. Times like these when prices are high and trade scarce, they take in trade, no ones got much coin anyhow."
"The wood you cut?"
"Aye, hopin' that it'll pay fer my family and holdins," Tomman acknowledged. "I'm waitin' to hear from the March; Mayor's okay with it. Be damn good of them to take it. Not much call for lumber with all the vacant houses around. What we got done is still stacked out there; I need to get it to Bilcoven for dry storage. Even so they'll probably dry out before someone cuts um up."
"You say there are bandits? Where do they come from, and why does the March not protect you from them? How long have they been operating?"
"They've never been here. I heard they mighta raided Dir onest, but nowheres else in the Marchy proper. They started at the Valley Road four, five, maybe six years ago. They bled the route dry. Heard they lived with the goblins in the caves along the Ridge. Never found a camp. That Cinclair showed up with an army and couldn't get rid of them. But he broke their hold. Least he's getting food in, but its costin' us plenty to fund his escorts."
"Cinclair ran'um outta there, but I think its the same bunch on the East Road. They ain't making too much money there though. Only a couple villages out that way, and a whole lot of nothin', dangerous nothin'."
"Eh what do you know." Tomman guffawed. "Clent things he went adventurin' out there onest, but I don't remember it. Them villagers is the East Road bandits. They's on harder times than us."
"I done left and came back and found you in the same barrel of whiskey."
"I am sure that the priestesses of Brigantia and mighty Storn here and myself would be willing to help hunt these outlaws down if we could. They should be brought to justice! What think you, Storn?"
"A noble mission. And perhaps it will be ours someday."
Brian glanced at Storn but his stony face belayed any emotion. Back to Clent, "These thieves steal the grain? You must be paying higher prices for grain since they came around, eh?"
"I heard they take everything. You ain't kiddin' about the prices - and not just grain," Clent sighed. "Used to be there was more then we could store. We're trying to grow as much as we can, but we still need the Valley's bounty."
"I would like to purchase some crackers to take on the road with me, ones that will keep well, like the ones you put in soup. Could you bake me a batch tomorrow?"
"Sure kid, but you're paying high prices too! I don't have a pile of logs to trade for my tax bill." Clent slapped Brian on the back.
Brian had made good money in Cinclair, and Linda had given a few coins too. "I don't mind at all," he said thinking about things come around. Then he had a thought he decided to share with Tomman, "As you are clearing the land, you should be careful to save the heftier oaks and beeches if there are any, especially the big knots of wood where stout branches rise from the trunk." He drew a picture in the gravy on his plate to demonstrate. Those are what carpenters call trees knees, and they fetch a very good price if you sell them to a joiner who is making large roofs, bridges, or ships. The knotty wood is stronger for making V-joints...I could point them out for you if you show me the woods, and I'll show you how best to cut them too. I'm sure you could sell them to a merchant I know who will be making his way back to Cinclair in a few weeks time, and I'm sure he could sell them there since there is a great deal of heavy construction going on. You might make some extra money selling them to this merchant friend of mine, that would be far better than just burning them."
"You sound like you know a bit about logging."
"I was a carpenter before I joined this pilgrimage. Along the way we served as escorts for the merchant's caravan."
"Used to be big business up here, logging. Place was nothing but trees; hell still its nothing but trees. The Villages are all where the clear cutting started and stopped. Now they just fell what's needed or what's in the way. I think that's why Tomman got the grant so easy; some one wants the wood."
"Bah, I paid good money for that land - and it wud'nt easy."
"They say tree spirits stopped it."
"Ah here he goes again."
"No one likes messing with the forest."
"That Sleene's got everyone worked up."
"Sleene the druidess? Has she been raising a fuss around here? What did she say to you about clearing your land?" Brian asked surprised to hear a familiar name.
"Some say she's a wood spirit herself," said Clent. "She got everyone on edge awhile ago: setting off traps, scaring away game. She's lucky one on them hunters or trappers didn't put and end to her. Dricka's taming her. They stayed around town a few months ago. Don't know where they got off to now."
"Mighty good lookin' girl's what I say. Ain't no spirit. They say that 'cause she ain't got no parents; she just showed up in the woods. No one knew she was there 'til she started fightin' against the woodsmen."
"I don't know her well yet, but if there is a way to appease the spirits of the woods, we'll find it. Sleene might help if you ask nicely, and I know Linda will. A man has to make a living."
The small talked continued for awhile but late hours and fuzzy heads drove the two gentlemen home. Storn excused himself too, throwing some coins on the table. Brian followed a few steps behind. The cold air in the dark stairwell made him think of Mellody shivering. He turned and went to Celene who was picking up their table. "Thank you for the delicious food, and here is something for your efforts. Could you do me one favor, before I turn in tonight? Please ask your father where I could find a weaver because I want to have a sweater made for Mellody, the young priestess. It is to be a surprise for her, so do not tell everyone."
She took the coppers politely, "Well thank you sir. Fiona can take of your gift. Her place is just down the road - you don't want me to ask papa if you want to keep it a secret. You better tell Fi I said not to blab too; she's a big gossip too."
"What's the hold up Ce... Oh." A trace of red flashed across Renn's face, Brian couldn't tell if it was from anger, embarrassment, or both. Celene winked and scrambled off to the kitchen with the dishes. Brian caught Renn's attention before he ducked away.
"By the way, the farmers spoke of bandits. Should we worry about travelling these lands?" Brian pressed a pressed a couple of extra coins into his hand, "Will you be sure to warn us if any suspicious characters come around? We will be back this way, and if all goes well, I'll bring a whole merchant caravan with me next time. We would hate to think that our business might bring danger to your household." Brian looked him straight in the eye, gauging his reaction.
Renn took the coins and looked back at Brian, "Don't let them wrack your nerves. We don't have much here in Bilcoven; theives'd starve t'death hanging 'round here. Strangers'r rare too. They say there's never just one, so since your here I'll keep my eyes open for others - suspicious or not. Do not worry, the March won't let any danger befall us; I look forward to his company. Thanks, good sir." Brian bid good night turned in. Storn looked at him questioningly.
"Good folk," was Storn's comment about the evening.
Mellody roused Brian the next morning. She led him to her room where Storn and Linda waited. Linda stood at the window looking out on the twenty some buildings of Beir. A cool morning breeze billowed her cloak. She turned from the pastoral scene and bid everyone sit. Despite its freshness, the morning air weighed heavily in the room. Linda breathed deeply than spoke. "I thought I took this mission for my own reasons; against the advice of others," she looked at Storn. "I should know better. Devotion of purpose can be - is - a sign of faith. I am here to find my father, but I believe that to be merely the ship that brought us to this shore. We have all seen and heard things about this place that bode ill. We were meant to come here and confront the problems of this land.
"I fear that mission though. My search for my father may have brought us here, but I fear that is not the only roll he has to play in this. My father is a mage. I never really knew the extent of his power, but he spent much of his life in the company of eager lords and enterprising merchants. Through my childhood he was absent often, but never for long. Just when I start to miss him, he would be there," Linda's eyes were tearing. Brian placed his hand over Mellody's. Linda sighed deeply.
"He never spoke of his Craft. I knew he did not want that for me. I turned to Brigantia, I became busy, helping. He came by less and less. I did not notice anything; I assumed that this was the way of things, as people grow older. I supposed it is - I try not to blame myself for letting him go. Then he was gone. Mother was devastated. He did not tell her anything. He just left like it was any other job. After a year we just assumed him dead." She let her tears slow before continuing.
"I learned not too long ago about something. In fact while researching options for you Brian. See how things are connected? It was a note about a cleric's report submitted many years ago. I don't know why a formal Request for Inquisition caught my attention, but I read on. This cleric had returned from the northern wilderness claiming a great evil had been unearthed. He stated that he accompanied one who possessed unnatural powers corrupted by forbidden knowledge. The local Heirarch did not know what to do so he sent the request on. The Request was denied.
"The date of this was several years after my father's disappearance, I don't recall even thinking the two were related at that time, but I looked into it further. The cleric, Stevan Riotta, had died shortly after the Request was made. His death was mysterious, but deemed accidental - found drowned in a well. I visited Riotta's home. He was young when he died and his parents still lived there. They knew little of his life, but remembered a boyhood friend of his that had gone off with Stevan. He had been robbed and killed in the same town Steven died, at about the same time.
"The young man, Jeason, had established quite a reputation as a warrior. It was not hard to find those that had worked with him. It was also not hard to discover that an unusual number of them died or were killed the same year. A common factor to all these dead men was a slimy merchant named Frobert. He would have nothing to do with any of my inquires.
"By that time I knew Riotta had been onto something. The entire band he accompanied had wound up dead - none of whom were known magic users. I began to suspect this missing sorcerer could be my father. I took my suspicions and the rejected inquiry to Kaibal. He informed me that an investigation into the matter was already taking place; here in Bilcoven. He assured me that it was very unlikely that this mysterious mage was my father.
"With the problems that Bilcoven has been experiencing, the two priests that were sent here have not had the time to ascertain any more information about the mage and his corrupting magics," Linda had moved from sadness to anger, "as I supposed. Like Stevan and his companions, there has been a series of deaths and disappearances in and around Bilcoven, none lately. The people are mostly druidic and unsure about our church and our gods. Although through desperation, I think they are more open to our assistance. Brian, you will help us the most by relating to the Bilcovs as a man of the people not of the church.
"We will spend a couple days in each village. We will distribute Brigantia's blessings," Linda indicated Mellody. "You can help us gather information," she indicated Brian.
"The locals have already complained of bandits. I will strive to learn more of this and find out who their leader is. They may very well be behind the deaths. What of the two clerics who were supposed to conduct the inquisition here?" Brian asked.
"I spoke with them in Bilcoven. They seem more interested in politics than the matter at hand. They claim they are still working to gain the trust of the people. Bah. I bet they haven't spent a night in one of these villages."
"Stevan involved in any other conflicts before he died, perhaps bringing money or land into question? Or do you think it is all about magic?"
"None that I could find. His mission to the wilderness seemed to be his first and last. I think Jeason dragged him along; the boy his parents described was no adventurer. I think something scared him, and someone wanted it kept secret. I pray it was not my father." Linda's emotions got the better of her again; fear and frustration. She bid them to leave her for a few moments, she would meet them for some food downstairs.
After the meal, the four walked out onto the porch. Brian took Mellody's hand and said, "The best of luck to you in bringing these people to the light. They are in need of some hope, I'm sure your sincerity and your charming smile will win them over. I trust you'll be safe among the villagers during the day, but remember to be mindful and if there is any trouble just holler and Storn and I will be nearby. I'll try to win the villagers over as friends through their bellies and their wallets since I am not so good a preacher." Mellody kissed his cheek and set off with Linda.
"Let's not stray far from the women, even if everything appears safe. At least one of us should remain in sight of them at all times. We should keep our guard up, since there may be informants working for the bandits and murderers lurking anywhere. The more Linda pokes around, the more trouble we'll all be in, and we can't let her be taken the way that young priest was."
"Good thinking. She's going to see the Mayor now, I'll stick with her - I would like to speak with Mayor Boyt myself. I'll meet you here after lunch."
They parted and Brian set off to explore the village. He finds Clent's bakery, but no Clent. His son smiled warmly when Brian told him they met at Renn's. "He told me about you this morning. Had me get these ready for you," Jonn puts the package of crackers on the counter for Brian to buy. Jonn shows him around the bakery behind a stout door. A big oven burned hotly. A young boy and two women labored with the various stages of bread making. Brian greeted the workers who returned his smile but went right back to work eager to get the mornings work done. Brian was glad to get back to the front room and out of the heat.
A couple ladies had come in to get bread while Jonn was in back. Brian smiled a sweaty smile to the surprised women. He introduced himself and got them smiling and blushing. They directed him to Fiona's. The woman who answered the door was beautiful at one time; a fact barely masked by wrinkled and creased features. She looked at Brian suspiciously, wordlessly. When Brian finally mentioned Celene, she let down her guard and he was able to commission her to make a beautiful sweater for Mellody. He let her in his love for Mellody and described her favorite colors. He seemed to gain her trust.
He talked about meeting widowers Clent and Tomman. He managed to get from her that they along with several other "older folks and wee ones" did not survive a harsher winter than usual several years ago. The lost ones were still sorely missed. They built a shrine to remember them. When Brian asked if anything like that had happened before, Fiona shook her head and said, "every year the cold gets a few of us, food gets scarce, but nothing like that." Since then, the Marchion started storing food for rationing in the cold months. This has got them through the years since despite the reduced trade.
Brian left Fiona with a few coins to buy the supplies she needed. He walked the small town awhile then had a lunch in the square where many villagers had gathered. Several had brought various foodstuffs and were exchanging them with each other before settling down to each. The women from the bakery were there along with several young women with small cauldrons of various soups and stews. Many children, young teens, milled about too. Brian greeted people with a hearty smile, introducing himself to the few that were interested. His proffered coppers were graciously accepted.
Brian rejoined the priestesses later that day under Renn's porch sign that read simply "INN". He accompanied the women to the surrounding farmlands. The holy pair performed their rituals of blessing upon the lands while Brian watched for dangers and thought of his mission. When they returned, Clent and Tomman were at the Inn, along with a few other people trying to rouse a conversation from the stoic paladin. At Brian's expressed interest, Tomman invited Brian to tour the woodlot. His sons were there now.
Tomman lead Brian back down the road the way they had come from but took a side trail off the main road. The land was hilly and full of rocks and boulders with sturdy trees intertwined. Atop a hill, the ground flattened and was much less rocky. A small stack of logs lay a short distance off. Two men approached and Tomman introduced his sons, Michel and Jonas. Right away Brian noticed the wooded lot was full of bronze oak, a very rare hardwood prized in Brendil.
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about the values and uses of various woods to a carpenter, and which are most likely worth exporting to Cinclair. They knew about the various trees around Bilcoven, but knew little of logging, carpentry, or construction. They seemed honestly interested in Brian's explanations of the finer points of the carpenter's trade and how wood is graded. As the shadows lengthened, they were eager to get back to the village.
They returned to the Inn to find a full-blown celebration. It was packed with folks who had heard about the new comers and their gifts of divine blessing. He did not get any time alone with Mellody until the following morning. He did manage a few dances with her, but they were short as both she and Linda were in high demand. Brian stayed until the party was over which was not as late as it could have been. Celene carried piles of the night's soiled wooden mugs and dishes to the kitchen. Brian caught Renn's attention again and asked him about Frobert. Renn had not heard the name.
Brian rested uneasily that night in Beir. His mind raced with the information he had learned this day. The people were not as suspicious as those of the northern Uryl valley were, but they did not like to talk about their misfortunes of which their seemed to plenty of late. Perhaps Raymond Knobly had not passed here and the next village would offer more clues.
The second day in Beir went much as the first; except Linda had gained a larger audience as she made her way through the remaining fields around the village. Brian was unable to penetrate below the superficial conversations with the villagers. The Mayor had prepared a town feast when they had returned late in the afternoon. The party lasted until the sun set. After, the four prepared to leave first thing in the morning.
A couple hours along the road from Beir, they came to a wide stream that bounded Beir's fields. The opposite shore was thick with trees and underbrush. They decided to take lunch on the bank before fording. As usual, the two priestesses performed a blessing ritual on the nourishing waters of the stream. As Linda sprinkled the holy water, she let out a frightened gasp and staggered back. Mellody held her and brought her from the water's edge. Linda quickly regained her composure but remained flushed.
"The water, it turned to blood," she said.
"A bleak omen my friends. A first for me; I must pray on this matter."
Linda spent the next hour in meditation while the others ate. They were
hesitant to swim despite the warm air. They forded the stream and followed
the road to Ziret in silence under the green sparkling canopy of the forest.
They passed a crossroad with aging signs on a tree pointing northwest to
"Ziret ½ day" and east to "Macsen 3 day". They came to Ziret early
in the evening. It was a bit larger than Beir. A palisade surrounded this
village and its buildings were a bit more tightly packed. Like Beir, there
was but a single inn serving the town and its meager population. They found
the barroom about half-full and rumbling with conversations. They were
greeted and offered accommodation. Storn saw that the animals were stabled
and Linda paid for two rooms.
Inside the warehouse, Durrant gathered
Jack, Sirilyr, Georan, Sleene, Spencer into the front office. He lit a
lamp and pulled the heavy drapes in front of the shuttered windows. He
produced a bottle of wine, took a swig and passed it. Then he began the
meeting. "You are all involved in something more than a trade mission to
a blighted region. That much each of you either knew or should have surmised
by now. Information about our true mission was held back intentionally
until now that we are here. Now we are on our own.
"First of all, you were all chosen primarily for one thing - anonymity. Me and Jack here, and to some extent Stellan, have some degree of fame and - if our actions are being watched - they will focus on us not the hirelings - for the most part. So now let me explain what I - what your King needs from you.
"Some time more than five years ago, something was brought to Bilcoven by parties unknown and for purposes unknown. The tale was discovered hidden in an abbey library and reported to the King several years ago. The tale was authored by a monk who died under questionable circumstances before he could finish it. He scribed a warning that this thing of great power was not meant for mortal hands. He wrote of an expedition to lands far north of even Bilcoven where ancient ruins were discovered and explored. His was obviously a second hand account shy of details. He claimed these archeologists became corrupted by what they found and eventually betrayed their unnamed benefactor. The tale only explains that some of their discoveries were secreted back to Brendil.
"Much of the account has been confirmed, but not the nature of the 'discoveries' nor their location. We thought we had discovered who the mysterious benefactor was, but recent developments cast doubt upon our conclusion. Namely, no mysterious magics were recovered. It is likely that they are again lost, but that still leaves Brendil endangered. If they are not in the wrong hands now, it is certain that they are being sought possibly by the betrayed benefactor, his betrayers, or others that may have come upon knowledge of the unknown magic treasures.
"Why Bilcoven? As you have seen and heard, many rumors abound about this distant land. It is one of several areas under suspicion. From the last few weeks' experiences, I am beginning to think we are on the right track. Strange things have happened around here in the past five years: an eager warlord, powerful bandits, a curse, a silent Marchion. I have no specifics. Cinclair claims royal support for his actions. At least recently, the bandits have not surfaced. Who knows what this curse business is all about. From what I hear of that crone's stories it bears investigation.
Toying with the amulet he had purchased from the old crone, and now wore around his neck silently tied next to his amulet, Sirilyr whispered to himself, "Tis sometimes good to be fair to the ancient. Old woman, I pray your magic is stronger than that of my enemies."
Georan noticed Sirilyr toying with something around his neck. Sirilyr normally wore an silver amulet, a reward for some heroic deed during the war from the High King. But something else hung there now. From across the table it was hard to tell, but after watching, Georan was sure it was one of the crone's charms.
"That is where we are. Together, tomorrow, we make a circuit of Bilcoven; all but the southernmost village. I'll need you all to keep your ears and eyes open for possible clues about not only what is going on here, but also likely people and places to investigate. Once back here, Stellan will set up shop for the winter. Jack, Talon, and I will winter with the Marchion. I want you all to then go about your lives, preferably in other villages. I need you to appear independent and not necessarily loyal either.
"Whether we find anything or not, you all will be rewarded next spring when we return. If you need money this winter, you can get it. I'm giving you each 30 silvers now. But remember I want you to be independent so you'll only get more if you absolutely need it. The other guards do not know about the mission. I am fairly sure they are not opposing agents, but for now leave them in the dark. They may make observations from a perspective we do not have." Durrant produced a sack and extracted small coin filled pouches that he tossed around the table to each.
"Now that the air is cleared a bit, lets get all the questions and concerns on the table. Spencer, I have hired you to compile maps of our route as well as of Bilcoven. I would like you get a place here; having plenty of reason for travel, you could keep in touch with the others wherever they go. You would also be the contact for Stellan and Talon who will frequent the taverns. What say you?"
"What say I?" Spencer chuckled sarcastically, "I say you're an ass, Durrant! My 'true mission' was to map the road to Bilcoven and that's done. What made you assume I'd agree to all this? I can refuse or assent now just the same as I could have a month ago; you should have been straight with me from the start. If I agree to participate it's for no other reasons than my own. It's got nothing to do with your word or the King's." "Already in character and eager to help I see," Durrant smiled darkly and looked at Spencer, stared at him awhile, probably fighting back a mouthful of angry words before looking around at the others. "None of your missions has changed; you are free to help or not. But don't hinder."
Spencer sighed. "Now I've every intention to go along with this but come now, Durrant, I'd not have expected this behavior from you."
"Bah. We're not that good of friends. But I'm glad for your help."
"As for your plan...I think it's sound, but will it take me 'til spring to map the Marchy? I might need to come up with other ways to occupy my time. I can sell copies of my maps, work as a guide, a courier, a messenger, a clerk...I'll find something."
"Exactly. The appearance of you all getting about your business will make my trip here less unusual to anyone sniffing about."
Everyone pondered the information Durrant just shared. Sirilyr eventually asked, "Which abbey? Is it here in Bilcoven or another land, and was the monk quartered there?"
Durrant answered, "Back east, well southeast of here, Ambronnay, one of the oldest and largest. Whatever he had experienced on this mission disturbed the man, Riatto - Riotta - something like that, greatly. His notes were hurried and rambling. He joined their Order mere weeks before his demise at the bottom of a well. His rector suspects the distraught man took his own life, although it was judged an accident."
"Are there other expeditions such as ours looking there and in nearby lands?"
"There are others. For many years this strange warning has been researched."
"Were the monks' primary sources disclosed and were the archeologists or their benefactor named or perhaps described?" Sirilyr pursued.
Durrant shook his head, "Sadly no. None of people he wrote of were found alive. The expedition into the wilderness was confirmed, but who sponsored it is unknown. We thought it to be Ahkinar, but he has vanished and nothing was found once his castle was taken."
"Who's Ahkinar?" Georan asked.
"The very man responsible for the Goblin War. The scoundrel did something to inspire the beasts to surge from the deep forest and overrun his land. He fled or was captured before the war began. He left no clues in his keep as to why it happened, so all there was was the frightened rumors of the fleeing peasants."
Spencer added, "If Ahkinar made himself scarce, he could certainly have removed any records of his doings."
Leaning back in his chair and taking a long pull from the passed bottle. Sirilyr spoke, "Cap'n, who do you feel have found this knowledge and are also seeking out these "discoveries"? Are they known to be present in Bilcoven?"
"That is a good question. According to Riotta his band was sneaking a wizard and these evil artifacts into Brendil. They were either hiding from the corrupt archeologists, the benefactor, both, or neither if you believe the priest to be insane. The fact that the archeologists' expedition has been discovered and that he and his known associates turned up dead the rules out the later in my mind. Any of you have any ideas? As far as whether or not they are here I hope that the clues that lead us here have not been discovered by any others; but it is possible. Certainly, if the artifacts are here, someone will be guarding them."
Georan frowned, "A wizard? Is there any mention of a name or a description - or if the wizard was male or female?"
"Nay. Just babble about supernatural powers. I assume it was a wizard - and a man. Hard to think of a woman inspiring that much terror, but I guess it's possible."
Thinking thoughtfully for a moment, and after taking another pull from the bottle before passing it on, Sirilyr asks, "How Riotta's mage die? Perhaps Georan here could help determine if the mage's death was a 'permanent' one."
"He - unfortunately - is not one Riotta's 'known associates.' Only Riotta's psychotic warnings spoke of him as the bearer of this unholy power."
Exhaling another of many aromatic large satisfying smoke rings Sirilyr announced, "Cinclair sent a man, Rikart, that may have been carrying something of value that was known of by the brigands or he found or obtained something of such worth he was willing to risk the bandit infested roads to bring it to his master. This thing may have aided him in some magical way against the bandits and is in Lord Cinclair's possession now."
"Yes, thanks for reminding me," Durrant nodded and swigged from the bottle. "This man is here and I met him briefly today. He is the envoy of Lord Cinclair to the Marchion Tarredule and keeps a suite in the castle." Durrant nodded to Sirilyr and stole another swig of wine before passing it along.
Sirilyr added, "a man would need loaded dice if he was contemplating a game that pit him against his liege. The locals seem split 50-50 that may happen in a very little while, with us in the middle. If the bandits in fact survived the Marchion's campaign, then why have they not plied their trade in over three years? Was a deal made between the parties involved, or were the thieves destroyed by Cinclair where the Marchion failed?"
"I will have to investigate this Rikart further; I will spending a great deal of time with him upon our return. The Marchion has claimed that the bandits are indeed not destroyed and in fact such activity has nearly destroyed the frontier villages east of here. His decimated army is now little more than hungry, sickly and inexperienced boys, so he is relying on the strong force that Cinclair has brought to keep the bandits away. He in no way suspects his liege of betrayal. Cinclair on the other hand acts as if on the brink of war."
Finished with his report, the ranger concluded, "Cap'n there's little doubt something of power passed this way in the last three years, whether o' not it still be here, I don't know. But, I'll bet next months pay this Rikart or Cinclair do."
"What of Marchion Tarrdule's silence?" Spencer asked, "It is odd for him to not have requested assistance in such time of need."
"That is true, but his intentions are something I will have unveil over time this fall and winter. My initial guess would be the damnable northern pride; he thinks he can weather the storm."
"I almost hate to leave town without more information from Rikart, but the plans are laid."
Spencer with a hint of curiosity in his voice mentioned, "Earlier today Sleene introduced us to a man named Doad. He works for the Marchion and his loyalty is rather...loose. He may be useful."
"That is true; I'll be wary for him until we can discover more information," Durrant acknowledged.
Mind ever wandering, Sirilyr asked, "Why do we not make a complete circuit?"
"Yeah," Georan added in a serious tone, "Why are we not visiting the southernmost village?"
"Quite simply because its a small place, off the beaten track. Bilcoven's villages with that one exception are on the same road. I'll have our heralds go down there an invite them here, but its not worth the trip. Feel free to visit on your own."
Georan shrugged, "Sounds like a good place for someone to hide."
"That it may be. I would definitely like you to check there even if we don't pull the wagons."
Spencer said, "I'll be needing to head that way in any event."
Sleene listened carefully to the discussion but did not interrupt. When the wine bottle came her way, she did not drink but quietly passed it on. Sleene offered to play guide for the mapmaker. Spencer nodded his acceptance of her offer, though he was not sure how much he would really need a guide.
Sirilyr followed up with another topic, "Are those pilgrims involved in this? Perhaps seeking the same items?"
Durrant shrugged, "Another mystery. They are not as far as I know, but that does not mean they are not."
Georan nodded and said, "The plan seems good to me." Smiling he added, "Besides I was already interested in investigating the matter of this 'curse'."
Sirilyr stated, "I'm inclined to head to the northern most village, stay a week or two and move on and repeat the process. Such a thing is more natural for one such as I. My kind don't stay in one place too long, and I could carry messages if need be. This is what I would like to do, if you have no preference for where I am to be Cap'n?"
"Do as you will."
Accepting the sack proffered Sirilyr quipped, "30 pieces of silver, reminds me o' a story a stuffy ol' cleric once read me as a wee lad." Sighing, "I hope our story has a happier ending!" Sirilyr quipped with a smile. "I could keep an eye out for Spencer on my circuits, stay out o' sight, and watch o'er his back if I know when he'll be going on his country outin's." Looking to Spencer, "Agreeable Mapmaker?"
"Our mission is pretty vague, but I assume we know as much as you. Unless you can tell us any more about what we're looking for, all I need to know is where the others will be stationed and where you want me to start," Spencer answered.
Georan thought for a while and muttered, "Not much for a wizard to do that won't be noticed and winter's not the best time to set up a herb garden."
"I'm to understand the winters are a bit milder this far north. Not that we aren't in for several months of cold and snow." Durrant answered. "For now let's adjourn. We leave in the morning for Sola." The discussion over, they gathered up Dolan from the rooftop and left Karod and Sirilyr to guard until midnight. Night had come and brought with it cold, night air.
The small group [Durrant, Jack, Spencer,
Sleene, Georan, Dolan] arrived at the Northland Inn. Sleene excused herself
outside and the other five entered the barroom. The mood inside was considerably
more subdued than that of the previous night. There were more locals there
than before but only a little more conversation. Probably the folks wanted
a look at the strangers more than a talk with them. Durrant got and sat
with Georan and Dolan; Jack headed to his room; and Spencer decided he
wanted some air.
The dog was sleeping soundly, but occasionally
whimpering and twitching. All was still in order. Sirilyr patrolled all
the while listening for the tell-tale noise of someone hitting the ground
outside the warehouse as well as watching the dog for it's warning. The
hours slowly, silently rolled by. Karod and Sirilyr wordlessly watched
and waited. Only the occasional tramping of a watch patrol gained their
attention and Feint's until a sudden crashing thump erupted in the back
alley.
Both men jumped at the sound and Feint was instantly on his feet and barking wildly. Sirilyr grinned a grin at Karod and gave him a see-I-told-you-so look. There were no windows off the warehouse, only the barred large doors led to the alley and the tree whose limb just crashed to the ground. Sirilyr, arrow nocked, aimed at the door as Karod tossed aside the bar and threw open the door.
Feint was yipping at the door and when it opened he ran out. Sirilyr could see only darkness. Karod grabbed a lantern and illuminated the alley. Feint ran back in as the pair entered the gloomy alley. A limb indeed lay on the ground, its unlucky passenger lay in heap nearby. Feint stood behind the men, tail wagging with excitement. The dark lump did not move and there was no sign of other motion.
Cautiously Karod and Sirilyr approached the heap of dirty rags. Karod with lantern and sword, Sirilyr with arrow taught and trained on the intruder. It became apparent that the thing was small; four foot at the most. The two shared a sinking feeling as they thought this might be a child. It was face down under grime-coated loose ratty clothing and the body odor was horrendous. Karod prodded it lightly with no response.
The smell almost made Karod wretch as he turned their victim over. It rolled, heavier than Karod thought is should be, and flopped onto its back. Karod jumped back suddenly as the hood fell back and did not reveal the dirty face of some curious kid. The thing has a bulbous warty head with an over-wide mouth and nose both of which were crust covered; ooze leaked from the organs. "Yer first goblin?" Sirilyr chuckled at Karod's quick retreat; not that it did not surprise him either.
Sirilyr cautiously kicked the horrid creature in its ribs with the toe of his boot. Relaxing his bow and looking to the dog to see if it smelled anything else worrisome; Feint seemed interested but apprehensive only in the creature at hand. Sirilyr drew his dagger and cut a short length of cord from his haversack, tying a loop around the goblin's hands and feet before checking to see if the creature lived. It did; it grunted as Sirilyr roughly bound it. "Karod, I think we need to take this inside and then you go get Durrant and tell him what's happened. Give me a hand now." They dragged the semi-conscious beast into the warehouse and hung the creature from a central rafter by its wrists.
Karod left when the goblin was secured. The thing struggled weakly twisting itself back and forth. Sirilyr watched it while he heated up the fire and barred the doors. He returned to the goblin and gave it a rough shove toward the fire. "How long were ye on the roof ye little rat?" spat the ranger. The thing squealed as it realized its destination. Sirilyr grabbed the dirty thing on its back swing and shouted loudly into its face, "yer kind don' come out to play by themselves and ye were alone or yer mates ran off an left ye to yer fate. You owe 'em nothin'! Who are ye working fer? C'mon be quick now, or I'll warm yer backside fer ye!" Swinging the hapless vile thing out over the hot flames again, "Ye know what I want, now make it easy on both o' us lad. Tell me what I want to know and do no' lie to me." Swing. The thing whimpered and twisted but offered no answers. Sirilyr took no pleasure in this work. However, he knew what must be done to get the answers he sought from one of this kind. In their war, neither side expected nor gave any quarter. Those were the rules of their ageless game. Sirilyr has steeled himself for what was to happen when the large doors to the alley were suddenly slammed from without. Squinting, with one eye smaller than the other, as his head swung towards the alley doorway. Sirilyr gave a grimacing smile and stoically said to his prisoner, "So ye weren't alone." Quickly grabbing for his pack, the ranger pulled forth two flasks of oil. Silently spreading one of them in a puddle immediately at the ally entrance, the other he spread in a similar manner at the front entryway. "Up you go laddie." He said as he lifted Feint up the ladder and gently threw the mongrel onto the roof. The frightened dog ran off and started barking.
Grabbing several torches, Sirilyr stabbed a lit one standing into the ground by the ladder. Throwing the empty oil flasks in the fire he kicked the rest of the kindling into the searing flames and laughed, "Everybody's in rush these days, an I'm no different!" Tying the rest of his cord to the goblin's ankles and wrapping the other end to his wrist, Sirilyr gave the hanging gobbo a gentle pendulum like swing over the flames. Taking up his gear and slinging his shield, bow and arrows over his shoulder, he made haste to the ladder.
Pausing only to draw an arrow and set it alight in the sentry like torch he had left for the purpose, the woodsman hurried up to the building's roofway. Setting the burning arrow down behind the trapdoor beside him and kneeling in the shadowed entrance, he pulled the well backlit hollering greenskin up towards him in much the same way a catapult is drawn back before firing. "Last chance to tell me what I want to know or you'll die screaming. Look at me you bit o' rat filth! I intend to kill them all. Do you wish to go with those harlot's sons?"
The human's building fury was so intense, even the befuddled, scared creature could comprehend the man's willingness to bleed, to possibly even burn, if it meant taking every dark soul including it's own in the warehouse with him in the pursuance of his duty. A shivering chill swept up it's back as it became acquainted with the realization that it's life was over if it failed to betray it's master. There would be no salvation. It's hope died first.
The goblin stared at his captor with fear and hatred as it struggled in its binds. "Algut de zarug een!" It shouted. "Deen karrat agute jared!" Sirilyr could not understand the words the frantic thing spat. Drawing his dagger, Sirilyr held it for moment before the goblin's eyes. He then severed the rope holding the goblin to the rafter beam with a single stroke of the sharp blade. He tied the rope off to the ladder in case it would be needed later. "You'll live as long as ye do as yer told and tell all yer able to tell o' what I want to know. Lighting another arrow from the quickly dying remains of the first burning shaft. The ranger fired it straight up in the air, hoping the others of the merchant company would see the signal and come running. He then lit another shaft and left it to burn on the roof as a fire source to implement the graver part of his plan should things not develop well.
After dragging the hog-tied captive greenskin to a protected corner of the roof Sirilyr moved quietly to the opposite corner and, nocking a sharp shaft, slowly peered over the edge of the rooftop to the ally below. The arrow and barking dog had already drawn the attention of three of six small darkly cloaked figures to the roof; the other three were shouldering the door ineffectively. Sirilyr had expected to find his unwelcome visitors still hard at work on gaining entry to the well lit interior of the warehouse; the other three lobbed rocks at him. The ranger ducked easily and scooped up the barking dog and placed him to watch and growl over the captive. "When that door opens, they'll be lit up like a tree at Yule time." The ranger thought wryly to himself. Moving silently around the roof's perimeter the ranger discovered a pair working on the weaker front door.
Concern growing, Sirilyr went back to the alley corner opposite from where he had been. "Well, with the others pounding away I canno' wait for these to breech the doors." Laying out eight of his remaining broadheads, the hunter exhaled a deep breath then rose up with the first shaft in place. He swung his bow over the lip of the building and fired into the concealing darkness at the closest rock thrower. Rocks ricocheted off the wall. Sirilyr dodged back then sent a second shaft speeding at another stone thrower. He must have hit solidly as a disturbing high pitched scream erupted briefly.
Dropping rapidly back behind the cover of the wall, the ranger grabbed four of his ready arrows and moved back to his original position on the roof and rose to fire twice more. The two goblins had dropped back and Sirilyr's first shot was way off. A rock careened into him as he sought out a new target in the dark alley knocking his second arrow off. He hunkered down to ready the other two arrows. A loud crack vibrated the structure from the front. The pounding ceased from the alley and all went strangely quiet.
Sirilyr rose up and shot from the same corner, catching a greenskin as it moved to the side of the warehouse toward the battered front door. Its yelp was much shorter than its brethren's.
A rock whizzed by and Sirilyr countered with another arrow at the goblin now standing by the tree; it landed short. Ducking again Sirilyr made for his other two arrows. He peered back over the lip arrow ready but found no shadowy targets. His eyes darted quickly from left to right sweeping the ally before slipping down under cover of the low wall. He stared at the orange opening in the roof; it glowed from below as if from hellfire. Sirilyr knew that at least five goblins were down there. "Where in the Underdark has Durrant got to?" Sirilyr whispered to himself. Three broadheads and six piercing shafts, they would do in a pinch against goblins, were all the ranger had left.
"This damn roof's a trap, I feel like a tree'd bear." Touching his gauntleted hand to the cut on his face, he placed the bloodied fingers to his lips. The coppery taste of his own blood helped to induce a cold fury in the man. He broke and stuck the shafts he had used as a fire source so that their glowing embers hung from his beard, billowing his dark cloak out around him he spoke lowly, "I never was any good at lettin' someone hit first. Stay Feint and be well."
Sirilyr reached for the tied rope on the ladder and glanced around the chamber below. Two goblins were entering from the front office. Quietly pulling the rope free, he lay down his bow and slung his shield over his back. Looking harshly at his prisoner he said, "I'll be back." Placing a dagger in his teeth, loosening his belted hatchet, and drawing his long sword he wrapped the rope once around his left forearm to secure his grip and guarantee a quick release, "So be it. If I give them a chance to see I am just one man an' not some flying demon from below, well there's always the fire..." Sirilyr leapt through the hole screaming like a banshee "OAAARRIGHEEAR!"
The goblins were approaching the ladder when the screaming bat creature burst through the hole and swooped down at them. The lead dove to the ground as it swept by wielding a vicious blade; the second took a blow and staggered backwards. The thing landed across the room. It spun suddenly, cloak billowing, to face the goblins. It sneered wild eyed and roared insanely while shaking its wicked long blade and hand axe. The goblins that had just run through the front door stopped and stared at the monstrosity. The charade only lasted a moment. A goblin roared back and his companions rallied.
Everyone moved at once like some choreographed dance. The first two goblins rushed at the ranger who was moving toward the others charging from the doorway. Seeing their motion the ranger backtracked and spun around laughing evilly as he put the first two between himself and the other four. He met the first two in a flurry of parries and ineffectual attacks. The goblins beat at him frantically with their swords; a searing pain tore up his arm [3 HP]. The other goblins were circling around while these two beat at him. Sirilyr managed to spin around and parry more blows.
He heard blows striking his shield and knew he was surrounded. Sirilyr tried to maneuver and felt a sudden pain; a goblin had jabbed its sword deeply into his leg [6 HP]. His blades were busy tangling with others, but with sudden fury he swept his long blade around and down slicing through the cheap rotting armor of his adversary and into its torso; it staggered back and collapsed. He punched with his hatchet and another dropped to the ground allowing him to turn and face the remaining four disgusting goblins head on. Sirilyr whacked and parried the clumsy but ceaseless jabs and thrusts then managed to slice and fell another.
Karod heard Sirilyr secure the doors behind him. There was no sign of anyone on the streets. The warehouse quarter was dark and quiet. The shadows seemed full of dark invisible eyes; Karod could not shake the grotesque visage of the goblin from his imagination. They were the nightmare creatures his mother warned of and his brothers taunted with. "Don't stay in the woods after dark or the goblins will take you away. Hey Karry! We saw a goblin hiding under your bed." Sirilyr was right, it was his first goblin. Karod started to walk toward the square and their inn beyond; goblins leering from the darkness; imaginary goblins Karod kept telling himself.
Karod continued down the dark road toward the main square where he could even then see the pools of light from the unsteady street lamps. Oddly it did not assuage the unease. A barking dog suddenly became clearer along with a sinking feeling. Was that Feint? Karod turned to look back the street to the warehouse. All was dark and brooding. The moon had waned and offered little help. It could have been his imagination but Karod thought he saw motion in the shadows by the warehouse. Then as if to assure him that all was unwell a fiery arrow lofted into the sky. It arced high over the road and landed in the mud. In the faint light its flight shed, Karod made out four stout figures at the front of the warehouse.
Karod resolved the debate quickly; he hoped the flaming arrow would draw the attention of the town watch and he hastened back to aid Sirilyr. His approach was far from stealthy however. Two of the creatures ran at him. Sword drawn, Karod met the small nightmare creatures in the middle of the abandoned street. The two bore grimy swords and slammed at him. He easily caught the blade with his shield and swung strongly at one of them. A skilled fighter would have easily dodged the power blow, but this one lost its head and slumped the ground without a sound.
Karod glared down at the other goblin and thought he saw fear in its eyes as it stared back. Karod faked a shield punch and swung at it. It ducked the blow and jabbed suddenly, digging its blade through Karod's armor [2 HP]. It grinned evilly up at Karod completely oblivious to the back swing that sliced across its chest easily through the ill-kept armor and down to the bone. It fell back, grin erased. Karod looked to the warehouse and saw the door bashed in and no sign of the goblins.
He ran to the door and looked in to see Sirilyr surrounded by six goblins. A bright fire lit the room in hellish orange. Blood dripped from Sirilyr's face. Karod watched the gruesome dance; the ranger spun and whacked at the creatures' blades with sword and hatchet managing to keep them at bay. Then suddenly a goblin scored a hit into Sirilyr's leg. As if in slow motion, Karod watched as pain erupted into rage; Sirilyr's defense was suddenly transformed into a vicious offense that felled two goblins almost simultaneously on each of his weapons. Sirilyr spun and returned to his defenses obviously wounded and slower. Sirilyr struck and a third slipped off his blade as Karod charged to the melee.
Karod's appearance rushing from the front office surprised Sirilyr and he jerked to face the new threat. The goblin with its back to Karod spun at the last moment and managed to avoid being impaled on the warrior's big sword. It reacted quicker than Karod and it jabbed its blade into his leg [2 HP]. Sirilyr's relief was short lived as he had to return to parrying the other two goblins' blows. The dance continued for a short while. Karod ran the goblin through then stabbed one on Sirilyr in the side. Sirilyr gave the last opponent a grievous wound, but it refused to surrender and made its last lunge; stopped by the point of Sirilyr's blade.
Both men looked at each other and looked around at the bloody mess. A few of the goblins were moaning in pain. Extending a blood-soaked hand to Karod, "Well met. Where's the others?" Exhaling heavily, Sirilyr felt the exhilaration of the battle heat leave him, to be replaced by pain. "Feint's watchin' o'er the prisoner on the roof, the rest'll bleed to death soon enough." Wincing, "Now if you'll pardon me, I feel the need to have a seat." The blood soaked ranger staggered to his place by the fire and sank heavily down.
Taking cloth, salves, and herbs from his haversack, Sirilyr moaned as the partially congealed blood ripped away from his wounds as he stripped off his clothing to expose his many wounds. Taking inventory, "Le's see a cut cheek, sliced arm, and a pierced thigh. I got 'o tell Durrant I need a raise in me wages." The battered, bloody man proceeded to leech and bind his hurts. His right eye squinted mightily as he pulled needle and thread stitching closed the gashes. Muttering to himself "be damned if I let 'em try these shenanigans on my watch."
Sirilyr was not long at patching himself up before a watch patrol burst into the warehouse from the street. Amid the flurry of questions and the young watchmen's poking and prodding of the fallen goblins, Jack strode into the mayhem and up to his two guards. His questions were unspoken but obvious.
Raising his eyes from his stitching up to Jack, "There were ten of them. You'll be findin' two out in the ally, seven lyin' 'bout in here, an I got me a prisoner Feint be a guardin' on the roof." Shifting his eyes from Jack to over where Karod stood talking to a watch officer. "He did well. I'm glad he got word to ye."
"Word?" Jack asked.
"I didn't make it to the square when I saw your arrow," Karod explained. "There are two more dead in the street that tried to stop me."
"It is midnight, I was coming to relieve you. There is a bit of a crowd out there too," Jack said. "You both have been wounded." Indeed Karod had two tears in his armor stained with red. "Have you a healer?" Jack asked sternly to the distracted watchmen. One looked up from the dead goblin corpse and snapped to hurrying out the door. "You're making a mess of yourself Sirilyr," Jack observed stoically while Sirilyr winced as he bit through the thread pulling closed the wound on his thigh. The watchman returned with a companion with a leather bag. He proceeded to check the guard's wounds and bandage them.
While the medic fussed over Sirilyr and Karod, Jack inspected the warehouse turned slaughter pen. "I'd suggest ye search these bodies thoroughly, then we'll have ourselves a little talk wit' the lil' green fella upstairs," Sirilyr called to him wincing again as guy pressed on a wound too hard. "Ye wouldn't know a bit of Gobbo would ye? He said something to me when I spared his life, 'Algut de zarug een.' It screamed first, then it cried, 'Deen karrat agute jared.' I never picked up the lingo during the war, so I'm not sure what he said to me."
"Not I," said Jack as he knelt over a goblin. "Phew, they smell awful." He popped a ragged pouch off the goblins rope belt and peered inside. "Coppers."
Finally Sirilyr was left alone and Karod, now divested of armor, received attention of the clumsy medic. "See, just scratches." Sirilyr heard Karod say as he gingerly pulled himself to his feet.
As he dressed he said, "When we pull out, I think I'll ride in the rear cart for a bit in the mornin'." Sirilyr walked to the roof ladderway and slowly climbed up calling for Feint and waiting to hear the dog and see his nose in the hatchway before climbing through to retrieve his prisoner, bow and quiver.
"Not sure what to make of this. Boss may want to stay when he finds out there's goblins in town," Jack observed as he continued looting the beasts. "Why you let goblins in this place?" Jack called accusingly to the watch. They had started to clear out and were gathering outside the front office muttering amongst themselves. They did not answer him.
The dog poked his head over the ladder and yelped. Then there was a bang and stomping from the goblin's corner of the roof. Feint barked and growled looking then heading back across the roof. The stomping stopped. Sirilyr hollered to Jack and Karod, "The roof, something's landed on the roof!" Drawing his sword and hefting his shield, the ranger hurried up the ladder shield raised above his head to aid his companion and deal with the new threat as best he could. "Feint, get back boy! Get back!"
The bloody man swept through the hatchway thrusting up from under his besmirched and battle torn targe towards where the goblin had lain. The goblin had managed to get on its feet and wiggle and stomp a leg out of its binding. It stood kicking at Feint to keep the growling dog at bay. It saw the ranger burst onto the roof and started muttering unintelligible curses into its gag. It leaned back against the lip of the roof in defeat.
"Okay up there?" Jack asked from below.
Lowering his shield, while pointing his sword down the ladderway, Sirilyr said, "Move." Then he called down in a louder voice, "we're fine. He almost managed to kick hisself loose. Sounded like a wyvern hit the roof. We're comin' down now." The goblin sneered as he got to the ladder. It held out its bound arms to the human who scoffed and pushed the thing toward the ladder. It awkwardly got on the ladder and made its way down. Sirilyr scooped up his bow and quiver muttering, "This damned night's got me jumpy." The suddenly sore and very tired man followed his charge down into the warehouse interior, a tail wagging and playful Feint dutifully shouldered along for the ride.
"No one outside speaks the things tongue either," Jack announced. "I'll stay here with the thing. The watch will stay outside the rest of the night. You two go get some rest, we'll send for you in the morning – let you sleep in. Nothing was stolen or damaged – lucky that fire didn't spread – so don't wake Durrant."
"There was no luck to it, I would have taken out the carts, them, and me rather than let it go. Be wary of the oil puddles at the doorways." The worn woodsman stated, before continuing in a very tired and lower voice, "I'm tired and I really HATE thieves." Sirilyr silently crawled under a cart near the fire.
"Sleepyhead. You and Karod head to the inn. You won't get much rest here – a soft bed's what you need. I'll watch the mu…Feint."
Sirilyr replied, "You sure ya want to be left alone with that lot out front?"
"Those guys have enough to answer for letting these things in town," Jack kicked the goblin. "They won't hassle me."
Sirilyr winced as he slowly righted himself. Taking a deep breath and looking down at the dog, "Ya want to stay here or tag along, up to you buddy?" Feint sat and cocked his head at the ranger. "Suit yourself." Sirilyr slung his shield, bow and quiver and, pulling his wool cloak close about him and raising its mantle, he called to Karod as he limped towards the doors. "Karod, I don' know 'bout you. But, I am in dire need of a drink and a soft bed according to Jack - not necessarily in that order. Care for a stroll?"
"More than happy to get out of here."
The pair headed for the inn. Sirilyr made a mental note to seek out a healing order's temple to track down a cleric with a curing spell in trade for a donation. He grit his teeth as he felt the stitching in his wounds pull with every movement of his body. Sirilyr discretely unsheathed his dagger and hand axe under the concealment of his full cloak, keeping them ready and tucked against his body as he walked.
"Karod, why don't we take a care on our way back. Stay to my left an' do as I do."
Outside the warehouse twenty-some watchmen milled about. The group went silent as the two emerged from the office. Under their awed stare, the two wounded men headed to square keeping to the edge of the street. Karod noticed the nervousness of his companion. The two young men felt vulnerable in the dark. There was another group of people standing around in the street about halfway to square. Sirilyr glanced to Karod who nodded at him. The pair continued along passed the group of locals staring at the dead goblins.
As they neared the square, the sound of hoof beats echoed down the street. "Follow me," Sirilyr whispered to Karod before sinking into the shadows of the square's back alley. They waited and watched as two mounted men charged down the street. The sound of a marching troop followed the horsemen. All attention was diverted to the horsemen. Not wanting to encounter the soldiers, Sirilyr clasped Karod and bid him follow deeper into the alley.
From the deep shadows of the alley, the
watched as a tight formation of soldiers passed along the end of the alley.
They emerged on the square through a small hallway. It was quiet and vacated.
They crossed the square and from the opposite side could see from the orange
glow toward the warehouse quarter that their was still much activity. They
passed the Smiling Dog tavern; it was closed. The two arrived at their
inn without further incident. It too was vacant. A single fat candle flickered
in the barroom lighting the hall to the rooms. They found their room and
shed their burdens, Sirilyr secured the room, and they both sat with a
sigh on their soft beds. Sirilyr produced some warm wine from his wineskin.
After the soothing wine, both men unsheathed their swords and stood them
in the floorboards. Sirilyr doused the candle. They both chuckled after
the simultaneous 'shing' of daggers drawn and placed under pillows.
Spencer stepped into the night air
leaving the smoky aromatic bar behind. The murmur from within was suddenly
extinguished as the door swung shut. Bilcoven was quiet. The streets were
empty and the cobblestones slick with dew. Streetlamps along the streets
spilled swaying pools of light into the darkness. This was a town unlike
any he had experienced. He headed to the main square where he hoped there
would be some sign of life.
There was some activity in the square. A clump of shadowed figures hung around the fountain. There were a few others about too, mostly in pairs. Spencer walked along the storefronts looking for anything that might be open with no success. He made his was around the square finally passing the tavern, the Smiling Dog. Unlike the Northland Inn, noise from within seeped into the square.
Spencer continued back toward the Inn disappointed in the early closure of the shops. As he stepped along the stones Spencer looked down the street that branched south off to his left. A watch patrol was making their way down the street, relighting faltering lamps as they went. Sleene had not taken them down that street earlier so Spencer, not wanting to turn in decided to investigate. Not too far down Spencer passed in front of a detached building glowing oddly with shadows cast from below. The light came from two sources hidden in bushes beside the entryway. A wooden archway with a upraised series of runes unfamiliar to Spencer was the focus of the lights. It must be a chapel to some god or other. Spencer continued on.
The patrol had disappeared around some corner and Spencer found himself alone again. He continued walking the lighted streets. The place seemed empty, only the occasional glimpse of rat and feline assured him that he had not stepped into some vacated corner of hell. He found himself coming to the end of the line of streetlamps and having to retrace his steps or venture into the unlit streets.
Spencer shrugged off the apprehension and continued into the unlit streets. All the empty buildings were unsettling for some reason. Hell, Dann nearly emptied out after the war leaving hastily built structures vacant and Spencer did not get this feeling. What was the difference? Spencer could not quite put his finger on it. It was almost like Bilcoven should not be so empty, like what had happened here should not have happened and the brooding town was mourning its loss.
The slums were like any other slums Spencer had came across in his lifetime, only quieter. A rare sound of passion from behind closed doors, whining cats and the occasional yelping dog were the only noises filling the cool, still night air. All was dark under the waning moonlight. There were a few places with firelight flickering between worn shutter boards. Spencer came to see a fountain square; the fetid fountain they had passed this morning. From the dark street of his approach, Spencer could see a few people sitting around the fountain oblivious to his presence. Not liking the feel of the place of the seedy look to the men, Spencer slipped back the way he came. He set his mind on a strong drink at the Smiling Dog to take in what he can of the locals.
The tavern was as sleepy as the town; at least there were people here. The twenty or so people sat in small groups and talked quietly. There was the customary silence when Spencer came in, but he took a stool at the bar and ordered confidently. The murmuring resumed. Spencer looked around the room. The patrons were young mostly – teens or early twenties – with a few older men in the back corner. Before long, a few bold souls approached the stranger and bid him welcome. That started a series of questions that stemmed from these folks isolated land. They were curious about what was brought from the south. Where Spencer had been and what had he seen. Did he fight in the war. Was shaving his head a religious gesture.
Spencer parleyed the group of curious youths. They all seemed genuinely curious and stuck with wanderlust that would likely never be satisfied. Spencer's questions about Bilcoven were met with flat answers that showed this crowd to honestly think there was nothing interesting about their homeland. The older men had slipped out at some point. Spencer was concerned about the departure of the older men; most people around here are obviously not interested in associating with outsiders. The youths may provide a rare opportunity for some insight into Bilcoven. Though not much of a storyteller, Spencer tried to be friendly and answer their questions. "Well, well," Spencer chuckled when he's heard one too many. "You all seem enamoured of everything except Bilcoven. In fact, that seems true of everybody in this town. Why is the mood so morose? To walk down the street, you'd almost think no one lived here!"
"No one lives in Bilcoven," came a sarcastic answer.
A more serious man with several drinks in him stated, "Ain't a one of us 'ere hadn't lost family a few years back. Elder's don't like to talk about it. T's bad luck."
"They're right too," a young woman inserted, "let the demons of the past and their victims lie."
"Don't mind her," the drunk man whispered too loudly, "the winter orphaned her." She stormed out of the place.
Another guy slugged him, "Lotta folks died. We're just waitin' for it to happen again."
"The March's taken care of things. It won't happen again," another announced.
"Bah, our fate's in Cinclair's hands."
"What won't happen again?" Spencer turned to address the confident speaker who he guessed was most likely respond given he was less worried about the situation and more likely to overcome his superstitions and talk about it. "And what have the Marchion and Cinclair done?"
"Famine man. The Marchion's been stocking food, but there's no way there'd be enough if the bandits come back," the drunk man intercepted, "and they will if Cinclair loosens his grip." The man clenched his fist in Spencer's face annoyingly.
Spencer kept facing the calmer guy who said, "The bandits are out east now, our lands are safe. The stocks are just in case. I don't believe that Cinclair is against us."
"They're in the hills, biding their time." The drunk guy harrumphed and walked off. All of Spencer's previous suspicions about Cinclair rushed to his mind. He'll believe there's an evil artifact when he sees it. But regardless, there's something going on around here and now he knows for certain that Cinclair has something to do with it. Spencer glanced at the drunk as he moves away, then turned back. "Bandits have raided your farms?"
"Nay, they attacked the caravans coming from the valley. They may have attacked Dir once. It's been years since Cinclair drove them away."
Spencer asked another question, "Did the famine only strike this town, or were the other towns affected?"
"Probably here the worst. Food was expensive - people were already leaving, going into thhe forest to fend for themselves – some say many joined the bandits – before the early blizzard. The lands outside these walls are the most of what little land Bilcoven offers farmers. It was all lost."
The bandits took enough food to decimate
Bilcoven's population? That doesn't sound right... A group of bandits large
enough to need that much food and strong enough to overcome a town's defense?
No, Spencer was convinced that someone with power made this happen, and
Cinclair and the Marchion are his prime suspects. "I'm sorry to hear of
your troubles." Spencer raised his glass. "To the memory of friends lost,
and to better days ahead," he toasted, downing the better half of his drink.
. He clasped the hand of his new friend Josun then took his leave as his
tiredness had grown
Sleene made her way back to the city
gate. The guards looked at her like she was crazy, but most of them new
her by reputation and that did not include love of the town. She breathed
deeply the cool night breeze and exhaled the foul city stench with a cloud
of mist. The moon had waned to a small crescent and the terrain was quite
dark but that did not bother her; she had survived most of her life's nights
in the wilds. She walked along the road listening to the night until she
could make out the copse of trees eclipsing the stars on the horizon.
She called for her friends when she reached the trees to no avail. Before admitting they had gone to hunt, she figured she would try something she rarely had the opportunity to try. Sleene howled into the night sky. It worked a few moments later she was answered. Smiling she found a spot to make camp. Soon the two wolves joined her. They were hunting and they had brought their kill. Both muzzles were caked with blood and held dangling pieces of meat, probably rabbit but it was hard to tell. They lay and continued their meal sloppily while Sleene settled down for the night and drifted to sleep.
A growl woke Sleene. It was completely dark and Sleene could not see Nip or Snap. She heard them growl again then a bark and they ran off. Sleene felt fear creep up her spine to her neck; something was wrong. She grabbed her nearby staff and quietly got to her feet. She could hear the growling wolves and knew she could follow them, then they were silent.
Sleene pondered for just a moment thinking that the wolves going silent was likely a sign that they hadn't found anything or they were stalking it. "By the Hills! Why couldn't they have waited for me?" she thought to herself. Grabbing her belt pouches with her medicinal supplies, Sleene moved as silently as possible to into the concealing trees and carefully and quietly followed parallel to the path the wolves would have followed to get to where she heard the growling looking and listening for her friends.
She crept almost to the northern edge of the copse when a new noise became audible. It was some sort of high-pitched whispering. Sleene got close to the ground and crawled to peer around a tree. The first thing she saw took her by surprise; two pair of eyes with a slight red glow bobbed in the darkness. As Sleene stared she began to make out the shadowy forms surrounding the eyes. Two short cloaked humanoids approached her wolves that sat still on their haunches between her and the frightening forms. She heard a short whine that told her one of her pets was not happy with the situation.
Sleene suppresses a shudder as she watches the creatures. "What could these be? And the red eyes...." she thought as she looked around for others of the same ilk. Only the two were visible, but it was very dark - what little moon there was was gone now. Sleene returned her attention to her friends with concern and then felt around for a rock or pine cone or something small enough to be thrown. She found a thick stick and peeled slowly from the lichens and moss as quietly as possible.
"Why don't they react??" Sleene thought. "They must be charmed in some way." Suppressing another shudder, Sleene thought quickly. "Maybe if I can take their attention off the wolves the charm will be broken." Sleene stood slowly behind the tree with her staff in her off hand and the branch ready to throw. Breathing deeply she swung quickly around the side of the tree and through the branch at the shadowy forms and ran to the wolves, "Nip! Snap! Come out of it. Come on!"
The wolves looked at her and seemed strangely torn between her and the goblins. Sleene spun at the goblins when she realized that the wolves were somehow entranced then swung the long staff at them as she charged; they were too far away but the sound of the vicious swing cutting the air was satisfying. The creatures were obviously taken aback and Sleene closed the distance rapidly before they could react. She tried to keep one in the way of the other, but the dark little bastard got around and stabbed her right leg [1 HP] while she engaged the first. She gasped in surprised pain and turned on the beast.
As she parried both and prepared to swing two handed at the one that stabbed her, Nip and Snap leapt on it from behind. They each sank teeth into its shoulders and drove it to the ground. As Sleene watched, surprised at the vicious attack, another spark of pain stabbed up her left arm [2 HP]. She spun off the blade and faced off with it. Its eerie red eyes darted between her and the wolves now hunched and growling at it. It was backing away slowly. Sleene poked her staff at it but it slapped her staff away with its blade and poked her in the chest [1 HP]. It was barely able to jump back and dodge Snap's lunge. Nip did not miss though and got a hold of its sword arm. Sleene clubbed the restrained thing easily knocking it out.
Buoyed by the adrenaline still pumping through her system, along with not a little joy at seeing her friends restored to themselves, Sleene quickly looked around to see if more if the creatures had appeared. The woods were quiet and dark. Sleene could hear Nip and Snap licking themselves or each other it was hard to tell in the dim starlight. Sleene looked out into the fields and open sky to the north. It was sometime after midnight judging by the stars. She could see the shadowy Town of Bilcoven blotting out stars on the horizon.
Satisfied that these creatures were on their own, Sleene turned her attention to securing them. They smelled horrible, like rotting sewage. Sleene grabbed the dead one's clothing to pull off to bind the other. The coarse material was greasy and gritty beneath her fingers. She shuttered in revulsion. It wore a hooded cloak and Sleene had to roll the thing over to get it off. A wave of nausea hit her when the over ripe scent of the creature’s garments under the cloak hit her. The worst thing was that it was a smell she recognized, an unwashed human smell, just multiplied ten, no a hundred fold. Then the beast groaned face down and arms akimbo; it was not dead. She quickly glanced to the shadowy lump of the other one; it was still there. "By the Hills," Sleene swore softly under her breath. "I still have two of the beasties to deal with."
Sleene bound the beast, gagging it and blindfolding it with its torn cloak then repeated the process with the other. She tossed their rusty swords and daggers aside. "What is this?" Sleene wondered again nearly retching at the smell. They each had small pouches with a small handful of coppers and stones with runes carved in them. Disinterested in the filthy things, Sleene examined Nip and Snap. They were uninjured. Glancing nervously at the surrounding trees looking for more....whatevers..., Sleene roused the injured beasts. They were delirious with pain and found struggling and being threatened by the cruel female and her stick not worth the effort. Sleene and the wolves herded them back to her camp. Sleene quickly gathered her things. The adrenaline that had kept her going for the last half hour or so finally began to wear off and her neglected wounds suddenly became more than a minor annoyance.
Realizing that she was actually hurt, and fairly badly, Sleene took a few minutes to clean and bind her wounds using the materials she had with her. Still hurting after her ministrations, Sleene finally decided to use a bit more force on her problem and, calming her mind and body, sat and rested. When she released her tension she began a prayer of healing and felt the healing energies flow into her body. Feeling better, but still sore, Sleene finally paused to consider what she is going to do with her...whatevers. While her desire for their deaths had waned as the adrenaline was purged from her system, her natural curiosity was heightened.
"What are these creatures?" She thought yet again as she glanced at them. The bitten one had passed out, the other sat and watched her with hate filled eyes. Sleene glanced nervously at the surrounding woods. "Regardless," she thinks, "I can't just let them go at this point." Thinking a moment longer, Sleene checked the bindings on the creatures and quickly packed up the few items she had unpacked for the night then prodded the unconscious creature with the end of her staff. It was out cold and only moaned weakly. She shook it again to no avail. Frustrated, Sleene steels herself to put the beast out of its and her misery. Death was entwined in her druidic training. It was a part of the nature of things, of the overall balance of life. Nonetheless, she had only rarely been called on to actually kill and this was the first intelligent creature that she had been forced to kill and she didn't want to cause the creature more pain if she could avoid it. Bracing her feet, she swung the heavy staff at the creature's head. The blow fell solidly on its skull. Its wide-eyed companion was all the more submissive after watching the beautiful human take life.
With her prisoner in tow, Sleene headed towards town. "Dainye or Hernry will surely know what these creatures are and how they so easily enslaved my friends," she thought. Warily she prodded along the bound captive as quickly as it would allow. The wolves tailed behind her. The strange procession emerged from the night to find the gate closed. Sleene had never known the gates to be closed. As she approached the gate, Sleene thought of the guards, "while they are used to the Druid's comings and goings at all hours, what will they think of the creature?" She also didn't really want to take the wolves into town, it made both the wolves and the townsfolk nervous. "Hmmm. Well," she thought, "maybe I can get the guards to loan me an escort to Druid's Park and let the wolves remain outside."
When Sleene reached the gate, two guards opened the small door and stepped out. They did not look happy, but she smiled broadly anyway and said, "Good evening gentlemen. I have a strange creature that I know nothing about but that seem to have power over the local wildlife." She nodded at the wolves slinking nearby. "I wish to bring it to Dainye and Hernry for identification and study but would leave my friends outside. Could I trouble you for an escort to Druid's Park?"
"You won't be taking that to the druids'. Straight to the March's gaol with it. Where'd ya get it?"
Grimacing, Sleene said, "As you know, it is my practice to avoid towns when I can. I was camping about twenty minutes from here with the wolves when they ran off barking and growling at something. Alarmed, and maybe a bit curious, I followed them and found them...perhaps charmed?...by two of these creatures. I am unfamiliar with the creature and, after subduing them, I decided to bring them back to Hernry and Dainye to see if I could learn what they were. Unfortunately, one of the creatures was too badly injured to make it back to town. It is quite dead."
"We're thinking their gonna post a bounty for goblin heads come morning. You may be due, stick around." A pair of soldiers nudged their way by the guards and grabbed the goblin roughly and dragged it away. "Come on in, "the guard invited. As she stepped through, Sleene realized those were the March's personal guard – elite soldiers rarely seen in town.
"Goblins? I have heard of them but know little. Do they normally have the ability to control woodland creatures? I am reluctant to bring the wolves within the walls, they make you nervous and, to be honest, you make them nervous as well, but if it isn't safe for them outside…" Sleene hesitated by the gate, half in, half out, waiting for a reply.
"Best leave'm out. Town's gonna be in a fit come morning. We'll let'm be."
She motioned for them to come to her. They obeyed and Sleene pet them both quickly and indicated that they should wait outside for her. The guards looked mildly disgusted as the pretty druid handled the dirty beasts. She entered and headed to the Druid's Park to question Hernry and Dainye about goblins. As she came into the main square, she was surprised to see about fifteen men in the center hammering something. Two officials stood by and shooed away any onlookers. The druids were no where to be found. Like Sleene they often spent their nights elsewhere. Sleene got some rest in the park. She awoke tired and sore to a gray morning sky. She managed a morning commune there in the park, but she could sense her lack of sleep inhibiting her ability to absorb nature's energy. She left the park to find the cartographer. She peaked into the inn, but they had probably already gathered at the warehouse.