As Durrant's company made its way to the warehouse they encountered
a large crowd in the main square. Toward the center of the square and of
the crowd, a wooden frame had been erected. From this frame hung by their
wrists, were ten small, darkly clothed pale skinned goblins. They were
dead. Whispering and grumbling danced throughout the crowd conveying the
sense of anger, outrage, and shame that such abominations be allowed within
their very city. The rumor was that they attacked the newly arrived caravan
and were defeated by the heroic guards on duty. The Constable was to make
an announcement later in the morning, probably to announce a reward upon
the head of any goblin found in or near the city.
No one had seen Sirilyr, Karod, or Jack this morning so everyone hastened by the gruesome display to the warehouse. There, a fuming Durrant discussed loudly with Jack the events of the previous night. Indeed the rumors were true. The heroes were wounded and sleeping in the inn while the angry boss decided what to do. Durrant sat and quaffed a beer to calm down. Jack relayed the tale to the others as they came in. He also added that the goblin Sirilyr had captured was taken by soldiers to the gaol in the castle.
Agitated, Spencer states, "Something's amiss, here, and I don't like it. Why are these vermin attacking us, and how did they know where we were here? They didn't turn up anywhere else, did they? Only at this warehouse...so they knew what they were after and where to find it. There's no way a goblin could know about the insides of this city without help."
Sleene arrived in the middle of one of Jack's retellings. Surprised she stated, "I too had a run in with goblins last night, although I didn't know what they were at the time. Two of them somehow charmed Nip and Snap, excuse me, the wolves I travel with, and we subdued them. One died on the way back to town but the other was taken to the gaol."
Curious Jack asked, "Are you okay?"
Sleene grimaced a little at the memory of her injuries and said, "I was fine during the fight. Afterwards, I didn't feel so good." Pausing, she adds, "I am a bit tired as well. My morning meditations did not go well and I find that I'm not thinking quite normally."
Durrant looked up from his hands, "What time was this Sleene?"
Pausing to consider a moment, Sleene finally decides, "It was about two hours after moonrise, about an hour after midnight, that the wolves woke me. It was a couple hours later when I finally returned to the city."
"Those guards track these beasts?" Durrant asked Jack.
"They tunneled up from the sewer in the warehouse out back."
"Best get Sirilyr and Karod," Durrant concluded. "I think we best get out of town."
"A lot of bloody good that'll do us. Whoever was behind that attack knows we're here, in this very building. You don't think they'll know when we leave and where we go next? We need answers." Addressing no one in particular, "Now, would you say those runts were just intent on killing, or were they trying to steal something? Or were they after information? Either way, someone in Bilcoven is against this caravan, and we need to know who. I'm willing to bet that, whoever it is, they're in league with the Cinclair or the Marchion, or both."
Georan shook his head and said, "The goblins are obviously being organized by someone against us. If that someone can spare a dozen or so goblins on a raid into the city we can assume that there will be more than that waiting to ambush us should we leave the town. I think it might be better if we stay here as if nothing is amiss and wait for our enemies to make another attempt. If we can set a trap for whoever comes at us next, settle the matter quietly and take prisoners - then we can question them ourselves."
Sleene sighed, her mind still in a bit of a fog from the previous night. Then, "You said that Sirilyr and Karod are wounded? I check on them and bring them back. Although my healing powers are weak today, I still possess more mundane ways of healing wounds. Does anybody know what rooms they are in?"
When Sleene talks of her 'healing powers, Spencer quickly turns his head to face her, eyebrows knotted. "Methinks I've some things that may help. Let me fetch them."
"Third door on the right," Jack informed them.
"You are right Spencer, we need to talk to them before we decide," Durrant
conceded. Sleene and Spencer left the warehouse and returned to the inn
passing the still large crowd in the square.
A deep-throated growl emanated from the ranger as he heard the soft
footfalls coming down the Northland Inn’s hallway. An inn was no place
for a light sleeper of soldier; he had hardly gotten any sleep since the
sun came up. Lying in bed and resting was nice through. Sleene rapped on
the door and called to the two guards within. She heard fumbling and low
moans and groans from inside. "A moment if you please." Sirilyr threw a
pillow at the prone blanket covered form that was Karod, "Rise 'n shine.
We're wanted." Tucking in his shirt and smoothing down his hair, Sirilyr
limped to the door calling, "Sleene, that you?"
"It is. With Spencer." Upon entering, Sleene bids Sirilyr who sported cut surrounded by a large bruise on his forehead, to sit back on the bed. The two then inspect the wounded. Sirilyr had by far has the worst wound, a deep cut into the muscle of his right thigh. It was poorly stitched, but fortunately clean. His other sword wound on his left arm was already scabbed over and not too serious. Karod presented two similar stab wounds, one to his chest and the other to his left leg above the knee.
Smiling up at the pretty girl, Sirilyr lightly quipped, "Sleene, you make a half dead man happy to be alive!" Spencer rolled his eyes. Sirilyr grimaced as Spencer looked disapprovingly at the sloppy stitching on his arm while probing at it with his ink stained fingers to see why it was holding together the sliced flesh so apparently well. "Careful there, that's not parchment ya' know Spencer!"
"Hmm," grunts Spencer, "and you're no seamster, Sirilyr. This should hold, but I can sew it again if you want."
Frowning a bit at the prospect, the ranger replied, "go ahead."
"Wait, let me get a closer look at that leg," Sleene said to Sirilyr after inspecting both men. "No, this won't heal well at all. It is clean enough but you won't be able well to move well for some time." She frowns, looks at all of the other wounds on both men, and then returns to the leg. "I got little rest last night and my morning meditations did not go well. I definitely cannot heal both of you but I think I can heal the leg. Sit back and relax." Sleene clears off the area around the leg wound, puts her hands on Sirilyr's
leg, and begins to calm herself. Her breathing evens and her eyes grow slightly unfocused. Sirilyr feels a soothing energy flowing from the light touch of her hands. As his eyes close to appreciate the sensation, it ends.
Sleene slumps disappointed, "I am sorry. I need more rest. It’s not pretty, but you should leave the stitches; more pain than its worth. To the other wounds," Sleene says tiredly. Although it felt a bit better to the ranger, there was no visible effect to her magic.
Spencer sought out a fresh supply of water and cleaned his hands. He then pulled some supplies from a pouch: a salve concocted from ground seeds and alcohol, a few large leaves, bandages and some roots. Wanting to cooperate with Sleene, he explained his intentions: "This salve will make sure no limbs are lost to disease."
Sirilyr wryly interjected, "That'd be a good thing, as I've grown partial to my parts!"
"Indeed," Spencer replies, just as wryly. "The juice from these leaves aids in the healing when bandage them against the cuts," Spencer continued, "I'll make a drink from the roots that will rebuild their strength." He turned to Sirilyr and Karod. "I can make another that'll numb the pain and give you a good night's sleep, too. If that sounds to your liking then I'll cook one up."
The ranger answered, "Only if I'm not on guard and we stay in town tonight. Otherwise, I'd rather be clear headed on the trail."
"I am fine too. No need to fuss over me," Karod said futilely.
"You have good stuff there. Some of it rare in Bilcoven," Sleene said to Spencer.
"You're welcome to any of it. We must speak of this sometime; you can
show me those plants native to Bilcoven." Spencer also mentioned that he visited a grove on a stream to the south and found it missing the usual pickings. Sleene had a similar experience in a grove east of town. "I presumed it was your kind who had stripped the grove," Spencer continued.
"How long has it been since the usual herbs stopped growing?" Sirilyr inquired.
"I think the townsfolk pick just about anything that won’t kill them," Sleene surmised. "They probably don’t know what half the stuff does."
Before applying the salve, Spencer warns ,"Be still...this'll sting a bit." Sleene skillfully cleans and bandages the wounds applying Spencer’s poultice and herbs. Both men stoically sit through the painful process.
Looking to the young druidess Sirilyr asked. "What's happening at the warehouse?"
She says, "I was attacked by goblins last night as well."
Concern filled Sirilyr’s eyes, but only briefly before he added, "it appears you came out of it none the worse for wear. Better in fact than we at the warehouse did."
Sleene laughs, the first genuine laugh any of them have heard from her. "No. I did not come out of the fight all that well. I had to use my powers to on myself before I broke camp to return. Besides, I had my friends with me. They do a pretty good job of protecting me even when I do a poor job myself. Regardless, Durrant wants to leave, but wants to talk to you two first."
"Aye, as do I," Spencer adds. "I'm none too impressed with this turn of events. Tell me, were the goblins carrying anything that might betray their purpose or where they came from? Any clues at all? What would you say their intentions were when you encountered them?"
Sirilyr looked at the glint of light reflecting off of the bald man's head and said, "Jack searched them and came up with a few coppers. So it appears they weren't paid to hit us, it could have been a simple robbery. I am a little concerned by the fact they have free run of the town after dark. And that they came after Sleene."
"I don't know that they've the run of the town. It seems they dug their way up through a sewer in a warehouse next to ours. The guard will have that breach plugged soon enough; I'll be checking up on that. Anyway, my guess is they were here for one reason. And we've no guarantee they weren't paid; maybe they were to be paid afterwards."
Shifting his gaze back to Sleene Sirilyr, "Where were you when you were attacked? Why do you think they attacked you?"
Sleene looked amused at the question. "Well actually I attacked the two of them." After a moment when nobody speaks, she continued, "I was asleep when my friends woke and ran off into the forest. Concerned, and a bit curious, I followed them. Two goblins, I did not know what they were at the time, had them charmed somehow. They were definitely NOT happy about the situation but could do nothing. Lacking anything better to do, I charged across and attacked the goblins hoping that my friends would come to my aid. Fortunately for me, they did."
She concentrated a moment getting Karod’s chest bandage to hold and then said, "We were about a half hour east of town. I don't think the goblins were concerned about me at all. As for what they were doing, I found no clue. Both smelled heavily of sewage but that may be natural for their kind. One survives...well, survived. He was taken to the gaol before I could get Hernry and Dainye to question them."
After listening to Sleene's answers, Sirilyr continued, "The sewers are probably how the goblins are moving so freely about the town. Nothing else was found on them that I am aware of Spencer. Do you or Sleene know any of the Gobbo tongue?"
"No. I have a bad feeling I'm going to need to start learning though." Sleene acknowledged.
"Aye, we are," agreed Sirilyr.
"Bah. I picked up a word or two during the war, but nothing useful. I was going to see about getting a book on the subject. But you say that these two, Hernry and Dainye was it? You say they speak it, Sleene? It's important that we interrogate them," Spencer stated.
"I captured one last night. Jack and Feint have got him. The vile creature's are quite talkative once they get to know you. Where is Durrant and when does he wish to see us, now?" Sirilyr rose to finish dressing and to gather his gear. Pain pulled at his leg.
"Soon enough, I warrant, but I'm sure he'll come here to do it. I advise that you lie down and rest, Sirilyr; that wound isn't going to heal fast, and walking won't help it a bit. Karod, you should stay too; keep watch over Sirilyr. We don't want anymore incidents. Durrant knows where you are."
"Very well," Karod agreed, "I’ll go get some food for us. Be right back."
Spencer goes with him down to the kitchen. Alone with Sleene, Sirilyr felt himself become slightly awkward in her presence, at loss for something else to say he blurted out, "Would ye mind askin' Durrant or Jack to bring Feint along with them? I've become fond of havin him 'round you know. I'd be most beholdin' to ye."
Karod returned with bread and berries, Spencer with some milk in which he had combined juice and pulp from his roots. He gave a portion each to Sirilyr and Karod. "Might not taste pretty, but she'll have you up and about in no time. Just send for me if you need the other brew I mentioned."
As the two prepared to leave, Sirilyr stood and shook Spencer's hand with a quick "Thanks Spencer." Spencer nodded his acknowledgment. Sirilyr turned to face Sleene and unsteadily grasped her small hand in both of his and with a shaky bow kissed it, "Thank you Lady Sleene. Is there anyone in town who might provide the two of us," jerking a thumb towards Karod, "with a healing potion or two?"
"You're holding one. Now drink up," Spencer called over his shoulder as he left.
Sleene frowned, "The local priests may provide such things for a price."
Hearing this, Spencer is reminded of the temple he spotted the night before. He thought nothing of it then, but now it came to his mind. For some reason it left an impression on him; it seemed out of place in this town and Sleene seemed to think so too.
Catching her frown also, Sirilyr with a shrug of his shoulders said, "The need is not overly pressing. I ask only for the knowledge in case of an emergency. In fact, the wonders you and your kindly presence have worked upon me, have made me not mind my wounds at all. Provided you return and make me whole when you are able my lady." Bowing as lowly as he possibly could without falling over, and wincing at the floor as he did so. When the ranger raised up from his mannerly gesture his face was a smiling mask, hiding the pain shooting up from his leg and throbbing in his head.
Sleene left with Spencer. After eating, and a contented sigh, Sirilyr spoke to Karod. "That's a fine Lady."
"A pleasant site, and strong personality. She attacked two goblins!" Karod laughed unbelievingly.
Changing the subject Sirilyr announced, "You know, I've seen ol' soljurs gain a cup or two with their tales, last night's should be worth at least a mug. What say you we hobble ourselves down stairs to the tavern and see if we can find a nice place on the porch to sit and have a honeyed mead to wash away our pains? 'Sides, I am in need of me pipe!" With that the ranger was hopping to his bed to retrieve his blades. Securing them with his belt and pouches, he called, "Now, I'm properly dressed. Coming along Karod, or are ye' of a mind to sit in this wee boX all the day?"
"I am with you." Karod strapped his blade on and the wounded pair went
to the barroom where they found a larger crowd than at any other time.
A hush fell over the room as the entered, then a voice from somewhere shouted,
"To the goblin slayers!" A resounding "Huzza!" answered, and several young
men escorted the two to a table and began pouring drinks and asking questions.
Sleene and Spencer both noticed quite a few more patrons than there
had been the previous mornings. When they got to the street, she says,
"Spencer, I would still like to get Hernry or Dainye to talk to, or at
least look at, the goblin I captured. Would you like to accompany me to
Druid's Park?"
"Aye, I most certainly would. But I've need of talking with Durrant for a moment; I'd be thankful if I could do that first. You can wait for a few minutes or join me, as you please."
Sleene actually smiled with relief. "I was asked to have Durrant bring Feint to Sirilyr when he comes so I guess Durrant is on my way as well. Shall we go?" Sleene started back towards the warehouse. The square was still full of townsfolk, but the crowd had dispersed into clumps. People still wandered by the grotesque display of dead goblins and stern guards posted nearby.
Georan was sitting in the front office when Sleene and Spencer returned. He greeted them and conveyed to them with a look that Durrant was in a foul mood. Georan could tell from Spencer’s expression that he was not too happy also. The rest of the crew was in the back. Cecilia and Wendell had brought up the oxen and they were being hitched to the wagons.
"Things have gotten out of hand, Durrant, "Spencer’s stern tone of voice betrayed his disgust with recent events. "Now I've got some questions and I want them answered fully and quickly, because there's much to be done."
Durrant paused and glared at Spencer. "We’ve got to go," he said curtly giving the knot a final tug.
"I will know a lot more before I leave here, whether I learn it from you or elsewhere, you can count on that. Spit it out now and you'll make things a lot easier," Spencer stated.
Durrant sent a few red-faced glances around the alley behind the warehouse, then approached Spencer scowling. "We have quite an audience out there this morning," he whispered coarsely when he got close. "Is this necessary now, here?"
"I've no intention of sitting idly while our enemy takes potshots at us. I need everything up front. This Rikart fellow…"
Durrant grabbed Spencer’s arm firmly and directed him with very angry eyes to the front office. Georan had been listening and suddenly found himself shut in with the two in the small room. "Gods man, lets keep this quiet, there’s guards all over that alley and warehouse out back."
"I suspect him and think he should be pressed for information."
"He’s a Lord’s man. He can’t just be interrogated. I suspect him too, but if I’m to discover the truth about him I’m going to have to be close to him and get him to trust me."
"Of course, of course," Spencer sighed, lifting a hand to his forehead. He hated to admit it, but the culmination of recent events has rattled him. Regaining his usual stolid composure, he continued, "what he has to do with the mission?"
"NOTHING, yet," Durrant answered frustrated with keeping his voice low.
"How did you and Sirilyr find out about him?"
"I was told Cinclair had envoy here back in Cinclair. That’s not so unusual for feuding lords. During my audience with the March, I was briefly introduced – thought the man a bit odd. As for Sirilyr, he just mentioned that the name came up in a story about the last bandit raid. You’ll have to ask him. Where is he?" Durrant asked noticing his absence.
"I'll talk to Sirilyr later. He's still resting at the inn with Karod. We told them they should expect a visit from you."
"Is he bad? Jack said he walked out of here." Irritated, "Never mind, I’ll go see him."
"What did Rikart deliver to Cinclair?"
"Spencer, I don’t know. Sirilyr said the man was attacked by bandits, and he thinks something was stolen. We’ll talk to him LATER," Durrant said through gritted teeth.
"Stolen by the bandits. Well, could it be the item we're after?"
"Perhaps they got it from him and moved on."
Spencer pressed on, "What have you found out from Terradule, and leave nothing out."
"Look, you know what I know. The Marchion does know I am more than just a merchant, but thinks I am here about his problems not this other business. I think the two may be related. I had a private audience with him, that is how I know he does not suspect Cinclair. Before you say anything, I’ve been in the intrigue business a bit longer than yourself; he could be setting me up a false impression.
"I realize you are concerned. I think we stumbled into a rats nest. Obviously we’re already suspected. So what’s the next move?" Before Spencer could answer, "do the unexpected. If our enemy is trying to force our hand, he wants us one way or other. That means he is unsure. That is why we have to leave; fold the cards and don’t play the game. Keep him guessing as to whether we are what he thinks we are. Besides I’ve a load of metal to sell to pay for my winter."
Speaking quietly, "Hmf, I see your plan. In any event, I've little choice but to stay with the caravan, damn you. I stand more of a chance with it than on my own. Presently, Sleene and I are going to see about those goblins. If they talk it could make our lives a whole lot easier, but I doubt they know anything. After that, I was going to talk to this Doad. I don't know what kind of information he's privy to, but he's the best connection to Terradule I know of, and a good one he is. By the way, have you talked to the guard about the security around here? What are they doing about the raid?"
"They’ve sent a few sods down the hole and will fill it up. I heard there’ll be a bounty offered. The goblins will lay low or get out of town."
"When do you plan to leave? I've heard some rumors about Dir - seems they have been attacked. I think it's in our best interest to send someone down there."
"As soon as the wagons are hitched. Dir can wait until we get back here with empty wagons." Sleene was listening from the warehouse in silence while playing with the mutt. It wasn't Nip or Snap but it was friendly with her and she was able to relaX and rest a bit. Durrant opened the door to the warehouse and called over his soldier, "catch up to us on the road."
"Sirilyr asked me if you would bring Feint along when you visit them. He seems to want the company," Sleene asked as Durrant stormed by. He waved his arm at her. She was not sure what that meant.
Spencer motioned to Sleene who had befriended the mutt. She and it joined Spencer in leaving the warehouse. Spencer asked her quietly outside, "So, we've got one goblin in here," pointing at the warehouse, "and it's a good thing if you ask me; I suspect that someone'll be interested in silencing the one at the gaol. Does anyone outside the caravan know we've got one alive?"
"Uh, its gone. Jack said soldiers took it away last night."
"Blast," Spencer curses as he offered the dog his hand and patted it on the head. "Well, as slim a chance as there is that those goblins actually know something, we need to try. Durrant's keen on leaving now, so we had better hurry. Have you a horse?"
Sleene realized that what Spencer said was likely and a knot of anger developed. Unaccustomedly terse she said, "No, but we need to have Henry or Dainye talk with, or at least examine, these goblins BEFORE they are killed. Has the reward for Goblin heads been announced yet? If so, we can "visit" them on the pretense of identifying them. One we know that they are alive, we can bring Henry or Dainye back. I doubt anybody would stop them from questioning the creatures."
"Hm...this is going to look very suspicious. Damn it, why did Jack let them take that goblin? Let's go," Spencer said. "If they're alive I'll stay with them until you come back with Hernry or Dainye."
"We should probably get the Druids first. The Gaol's inside the outer wall; they may not let us in."
Georan came out the door. "Mind if I tag along? There's not much I can do to help in there," he asked not really needing to.
"Come along. We are to see if we can get the town's Druids to escort
us to the gaol to see the goblins Sleene and Sirilyr captured. I guess
after leaving the dog with Sirilyr," Spencer told him.
Spencer, Georan, and Sleene went to the inn beckoning Feint along
with them. They found both Karod and Sirilyr seated in the barroom being
pampered and toasted by a throng of townsfolk. The dour innkeeper did not
looked pleased to see the dog, but Sirilyr's tale had included the mutt's
heroic feats and the patrons insisted it be allowed to stay. Sirilyr lifted
Feint into his carefully into his lap and recounted yet again his tale.
Scratching behind the dirty dog's floppy houndish ears, Sirilyr looked across the tavern room at the faces of the townsfolk calculating as to when the mood was right to recount their tale before beginning. Taking a large mouthful of honeyed mead, and pausing to spit out the random fly, he began.
"Karod, Feint, an' I were alone at the warehouse in the dead o' night. When all o' a sudden, there came a horrendous crashing from the depths o' the ally 'round back. Quick as a flash we were out the rear doors with drawn bow an' teeth bared! There on the ground, 'neath the lone tree standing next to the building's wall lay a still form. My heart came into me throat as I feared a child had been hurt fallin' from the tree, which had a wee bit of a trap set in it to discourage banditry. But, ol' Feint knew better. He growled low an' mean as he slowly stalked his way to the body on the ground. Drawing my blade Karod an' I rolled the still breathin' form o'er. And low an behold, there before us lay one o' the vile folk, a goblin!" Savoring the expectant hungry looks of the townsfolk, he continued. "Well now, it seems we have caught ourselves a visitor, says I. Help me in with him, then off you go to find Cap'n Durrant." Quickly taking another gulp of the sweet mead, "As I waited for help to arrive, I saw the gobbo was a comin' to. After he was fully aroused from his lil' nap I questioned him thoroughly. The answers the small villein gave wit' a bit o' promptin' were chilling, although of great interest. I canno' share our conversation wit' ye now, although soon all will be exposed, I promise ye.
Our small talk was almost ended when all o' a sudden there came a loud an' repeated hammerin' at the back doors! It was me worse fears confirmed! The lil' fellow's friends had come back for him. I hustled my prisoner up the ladderway with loyal Feint in tow. Settin' this good ol' dog to watch o'er the green one, I cautiously leaned out to view the dusty ally below. There be a horde o' goblins about down there. There must be kinship between 'em an' devils, for through the blanket of night their eyes saught me out an' stones hit the roof. I fought with them from the cover o' the roof an' laid out a few with me sturdy bow. But, my arrows were runnin' low! And the heathens were poundin' away at the front doors now as well!
A catastrophic crash announced the doom o' the front doors, and I resigned myself to me fate. I had poured oil into puddles a'fore each means of access to the warehouse while I had been securin' it against just this occurrence, should it have happened. I'd fry every mother's son and everything worth avin' a'fore I'd let them hated thieve's 'ave it! Leavin' Feint to guard o'er me bow, quiver, an the prisoner who while informative, was also the cause o' so much trouble. I stared evilly into the eyes o' the tremblin' creature, an' swearing I'd return to deal wit' him after I'd finished performin' me pre-sworn duty to my Cap'n. Thar'd be no pilferin' done on my watch! Tossin' my trusty targe on me back, I flew down the trapdoor an on 'cross the room slicin' my way through 'em with a wild yell!" Stopping to again enjoy his audience's wide eyed stares, "They all froze in fear o' the thing in front o' 'em. I honestly don' believe they had ever had expected my charge, an it shook 'em. However, a big'un let's out a bellow to his fellows an the blood began ta spill in deadly earnest. I dun'no how long I danced wit' the heathens for I had become crazy mad with rage o'er the thought that they would dare try an steal from a trust I had been given. An they had only thought me worthy of a score or so to try it!"
Waiting for the laughter to die down, the ranger spoke on. "I had tried to keep them in the way of one another so's I'd only have to fight a few at any one time, but they soon surrounded me and I was fairly covered in blood an' gore. Some of it mine, an' a lot of it theirs. We 'ad reached the point when it looked like no-one would be leavin' the place alive." Sirilyr ended the sentence in a near whisper, "When all o' a sudden there came Karod a chargin' hard from across the room! He had fought his way back from the center o' town where he had just by chance happened to see a flamin' arrow I had shot from the roof as a signal for help, and the beasties had tried to waylay him, to their dismay I might add! He lunged into the fray without a thought as to himself, as he had also already been wounded by the backstabbin' fiends. After that it was all quickly o'er. He," pointing to Karod, "an I alone stood in the middle of all o' the bloody carnage. The goblins, every last one o' them who had dared to steal from Cap'n Durrant's caravan, lay dead or dyin' upon the blood an' oil soaked ground." The silence caused by the havoc of his tale encouraged Sirilyr to add, "An yet all was not yet over! The watch had just begun to arrive along with Jack chief o' Durrant's guards when there came a crash from the roof top! I hurried above an what do I find? The bloody gobbo who had caused such misery pinned against the edge o' the roof by Feint here, barkin' to wake the dead in all o' his natural savagery when protectin' his loved ones. It seems the brute had got it into his head to wriggle loose an' grab me bow to shoot us both down from the back! But, he never counted on so formidable a foe as man's best friend." Wiping a tear from his eye, Sirilyr finished his tale with the plea, "So long as Feint lives, let there never be another dog found hungry, cold, or friendless in Bilcoven. 'ave I your word on that me friends?"
The trio left the inn and went to the park at the west of the street. They found Hernry wandering from tree to tree, plant to plant, inspecting and muttering to himself. Spencer stared at him as they approached frowning in confusion as to what the hell the man was doing. Sleene bowed her head respectfully and greeted the venerable Druid.
Warily, Spencer extended his hand to the druid, and tersely introduced himself, "Spencer."
"Georan," offered Georan with his hand.
Sleene inquired of Dainye and Hernry told them that she had gone to speak to the Marshal about the events of last night.
At that news she told Hernry, "I, too, was attacked by two of these creatures. Somehow, they seemed be able to charm Nip and Snap. I…I didn't know what they were and was meaning to bring them here so you and Dainye could identify them and, perhaps, learn how they controlled Nip and Snap." At this point, she stumbles over her words a bit before continuing, "Can you speak with goblins? I know nothing of their tongue though I would learn. But before I could get the surviving creature here, it was taken to the gaol. If you could go examine it, perhaps speak with it, I'm sure that you could learn something where I failed."
An uncommonly serious hardness came across the man's aged features and he stared directly into Sleene's eyes, "Those are creatures you're best to keep your distance from; and be wary of any who speak their words." He held his glare for a moment before relaxing and turning to Spencer once more a gentle old man. "But there is much to be told without words. Come let us see these goblins."
Along the way Hernry babbled about hyper children that wouldn't pay
attention to their lessons. It was not long before Sleene noticed his audience
ignoring him. Then, mid-babble, he said, "You say they controlled your
wolves? Hmmm. Perhaps such creatures of the night have some natural affinity
for each other." Hernry lapsed into contemplation.
Durrant came to the inn a bit later looking disturbed. He got Sirilyr
alone in the room and after looking at his leg, asked "I have got to go
mainly to avoid suspicion, but also I've got to sell my cargo. The market
festival is here in twelve days. I think the circuit will take nine or
ten days. Do you want to stay or come along? I think you may be in danger
either way."
"I'll come along Cap'n. Although I'll tell you, I like these people. I also believe the goblin's are using the sewers to get around. They probably are doin' the same in the other towns. I also think they have some of what we're lookin' for, as ya may deduce for yourself from Sleene's tale o' how they charmed her druidical friends." A puzzled look crossed Durrant's face, but Sirilyr continued, "A troublin' thought crossed my mind, if the clerics got hold of such a power they could eliminate their competition from the druids and change the way life's been for hundreds o' years. I wouldn't like that Cap'n. I think we need to search the sewers of every town we visit, startin' here."
"Soon as they post that bounty these sewers'll be full'o folks I'm afraid. Garr!" Durrant exclaimed. "I half want to leave someone behind to keep their eyes on what come out of the foul tunnels. We must hope the object of our desires is guarded by more than a tribe of stowaway goblins. I don't know who to trust here, but I'll talk to the constable again.
"We'll put you on a wagon. They should ready to go now, I'll send Karod in to gather your gear and help you to the front gate."
"Thank you Cap'n, but I'm capable of haulin' my own gear. I'll be on the rear wagon when we pull out. If you have a spare healing potion stashed away somewhere so's I'd be at full use to ya'. I think I've proved my worth and warrant trust after last night. By right's, I should be dead. The gods only know why they spared the likes o' me." Wiping his hand across his feverish brow, Sirilyr said, "Sorry Durrant, it must be the fever talkin'. I'll be fine. And I'll do my duty, as I promised Cap'n Trayhan. I'll never allow my pledge to fail you." His eyes burrowed into Durrant's, "And I'll never allow the clerics to have the power to change our world. That's best left to the gods and not the likes o' man."
"We are all pawns at some level or other. I am feeling more and more the part on this mission. I'll get you something tonight for the leg." Durrant patted the wounded man on the back and exited. Karod returned to the room shortly thereafter and they packed their gear and left the comfort of the Northland Inn. Their enthusiastic compatriots, still hanging around the barroom, bid them a hearty farewell. A few followed them toward the gate. The small group grew as the pair of heroes progressed. The throng almost prevented the two from seeing the hastily erected rack displaying their kills like deer in the center of main square. They met the caravan at the head of a veritable parade. The cheering procession followed the slow moving caravan as it left the walled town. Spencer, Georan, and Sleene were strangely absent.
Waving farewell from his seat in the rear cart and giving Feint a rub behind the ears, Sirilyr turned to refill his depleted quiver with broadheads from the caravan's stores. Eighteen of the wicked silvery shafts and two regular bodkins, which the ranger set himself to turning into flaming signal arrows now graced his leather quiver. After they had cleared the town gate and left the crowd behind, he called, "Hey, Jack!" as he worked. "Where's the others?" The soldier absently stroked the amulet given him by the crazy old crone, that event now seemed so long ago, as he awaited an answer.
Jack brought his horse near and told him they had gone to see if they could get to the goblins in the town's gaol. Shaking his head Sirilyr replied, "Likely their all hung o'er one o' the city gates. You know of anybody with us now who speaks Gobbo?"
"Sleene thought some druids might. They'll catch up later today."
The ranger methodically filled his old briarwood pipe while asking, "Would you mind askin' 'em for a moment o' their time so's we can find out what that greenskin tol' me that bloody night at the warehouse?"
"There'll be time tonight in Sola," Jack rode back to Dolan.
"Strange place here," said Wendell staring over his oxen.
"Aye, it be a fey place. The folk's here 'bout are good stock for the
most part though, a wee bit stubborn an' thick headed with their pride
an traditions. An' we wont even bother with their superstitions!" Chuckled
the ranger in reply before settling down to finishing up with his work.
There was a new bustle in the main square. The Constable had posted
the proclamation that a bounty of one piece of gold would be paid for the
heads of goblins. The guards at the gate did not challenge the well-known
druid and his four companions. Inside the gate, the outer bailey was little
more than an extension of the grimy Bilcoven streets. The base of the surrounding
fifteen-foot high walls was lined with wooden structures of various purposes.
It was cobbled from the outer wall to the inner. The gate to the inner
bailey stood closed.
The gaol was a squat stone structure built in the neglected northeast corner of the outer bailey. Hernry found the door locked and rapped loudly. "Gerund!" he called loudly. He kept banging until an irritated voice retorted from within.
"Whad'ya want!"
"It is Hernry to see your recently captured inmates." The sound of a bolt being withdrawn was heard followed by the heavy oaken door being cracked open. The big faced man inside looked to say something then noticed the three bodies standing behind the old druid. After a breath he spoke, "I've been up all night cause of those beasts. They ain't speaking."
"Perhaps our ways will prove more fruitful."
The gaoler chuckled, "They said not to let anyone see 'um, but I suppose they didn't mean you. Gerund opened the door, a cold silent welcome. The front room was his office dominated by a sturdy wood desk to the right of the entry door. In the wall behind the desk was a closed door. Across from the entry and along the wall to the left were four shallow barred empty cells. The gaoler walked to the end of the narrow chamber, kicked a bar out of position on the floor, then lifted a hinged trap door and let it lean on the wall. "Jus' you Hernry; your friends will have to wait up here." He motioned to the wooden chairs along the wall facing the cells. Trying to hide their annoyance the three wordlessly took seats and waited impatiently.
Hernry descended the steep stair into the dungeon. Gerund went to his desk and produced a thick book from a locked drawer. He made a few notes in it; then looked askance at the three seated visitors. He looked like he might ask something, then shrugged and made a few more notes before returning the book to its place.
Over the next minute or so, Sleene's natural curiosity, and her lingering worry for her friends, replaced her foul impression of the place. She rose and walked to Gerund at his desk. "Gerund? I believe that is what Henry said your name was. I am Sleene." What she was, she assumed, was obvious by her dress. "You have been...examining?...these Goblins. One of the ones you have downstairs attacked me outside the walls last night and I asked Henry to come here in hopes of learning how they controlled some wolves I was traveling with. I had wished to watch him work in hopes of learning more of these creatures but, well, I understand your position and appreciate it. I thank you for letting us in."
Sleene paused a moment considering her next words and letting her flattery set in before continuing, frowning slightly. "What do you know of them? The Goblins I mean. I know next to nothing and it appears that my learning will need to be second hand."
"I just make sure no one leaves this place…that's not supposed to. The Constable doesn't want anyone near those two. There's a lot of suspicion about," he said as he eyed the three visitors. "I ain't ever seen one alive before."
Sleene laughed dryly. "Before last night, I had never seen one at all. The next thing I know, two of them are trying to kill me. Other than the smell, and the eyes, I didn't get to examine them very well. I was trying to bring one back to Hernry and Daiyne so that they could teach me of them but..." Sleene paused a moment frowning before continuing, "Did you learn anything of the creatures? What do they carry with them? What do they look like in the light?"
"I learned the sewer rats are to be fouling my cells until someone asides me is done with them. I'd as soon slice their throats as look at them. You lot ought'a think the same thing," he sat back and looked at Sleene with leering eyes. "You brought one in eh?" It was not really a question as he appraised the young woman. "There are much better things to learn of than pit spawned goblins."
Georan, seated nearest the hole, had grown quite irritated by the foul smell rising up from the pit. He was the first to hear the old druid returning. The old man struggled up the stairs mumbling. He breathed deeply once atop the stairs, "Come, let us leave." He moved to the door and said to Gerund, "You won't be hosting those long."
Hernry led the three out of the goal and into the cooler and much fresher open air. "The Constable spared no effort with them. They are battered and terrified. They could barely speak. I do know that the pair is acquainted. But they are too frightened and angry to divulge their secrets."
They left the outer bailey and entered the main square where people still mulled about the rotting goblins on display. "You three go on, join the caravan. This mystery will be solved. I will see the Constable now. We shall meet upon your return." The old druid headed toward the Constable's office off the north side of the square. Sleene's expression fell with Henry's words. What had caused her friends to behave as they had? How could she combat such creatures if she didn't understand them?
"What a waste of time," Spencer complained, staring after the old man as he walked off. "I knew this was a mistake." Spencer sighed, "What's done is done, and I think we've done enough here for now." Durrant's plans will be ruined by stragglers, especially ones who do things like snoop around gaols. "I imagine the caravan's left already, so we'll have to catch up. My horse can take one of you if you've need of a ride." As he spoke to his companions he had to pause and smile inwardly; what company he keeps these days.
Sleene wheeled and looked at him, her eyes flashing. "Waste of time? Trying to learn more of these creatures? Where they come from? What power they have over the creatures of the forest? I thought you more learned than this."
Speaking quietly, Spencer said "Learned?" He exhaled sharply, a brief expression of his bemusement. A slight smirk adorned his face. "If it were learned for us to arouse suspicions on the off chance that that goblin might know a damn thing of use...if it were learned to march off to the gaol, not a one of us able to speak a word of goblin, to try and talk to it...if it were learned for us to sit aside while that nut does who-knows-what down there," he motioned after Hernry. "Well, then we all must be very learned indeed."
She turned sharply away, heading for the warehouse where they had left the caravan. The previous night, the lack of sleep, the healing spells, everything suddenly caught up with Sleene. She stumbled, leaning heavily on Georan to keep herself from falling. "I must get some rest," she mumbled wearily. "Sleene will need a ride." Georan stated as he supported her, "She can barely walk."
"Aye, I can see that," Spencer said, irritated as usual. "Do you wish to sleep, Sleene? We can leave later if you wish. Praedarus, my horse, will easily take us both."
Sleene shook her head to clear it, the fire clearly used up in her outburst of just a moment earlier. "I can rest upon the horse. The sooner we are quit of this abomination of a town, the better. I need to collect my friends by the front gate. I'll make sure that they stay away from the horse." Sleene wearily followed them towards the warehouse.
As they proceeded through the Main Square, Spencer passed a clothier and remembered he had wanted to buy some local clothing. He ducked in and began to inspect the garments. Sleene and Georan followed. Bilcovs wore mainly painted skins, Spencer quickly determined that the more decorated the piece the more it cost. There were also a fair number of died wool accessories, vests, leggings, gloves, etc.
They left with Spencer in a new set of clothes and the proprietor with a handful of coppers. They went to the now vacant warehouse. A few uniformed soldiers were posted around it and the alley to the goblin’s warehouse beyond. Pradareus was waiting at the stables down the street. Spencer got him ready. They walked him to and through the gate. Sleene looked around for her wolves, but they must have wandered off. She looked disappointed when she came back to the road. Spencer had mounted, and after helping Sleene up, he managed to get comfortable with Sleene’s light form along side.
It was not long before the steady rocking put Sleene into near unconsciousness.
The pace was slow with Georan walking along, but Sleene was going to fall
off either. They said little as they progressed west through the autumn
fields around the town.
Feorik had been living on his own in his family's farmstead near
the small village of Dir. Since the goblin raid that took them from him
four years ago he had let the place go fallow. Now the forest was reclaiming
the land. Feorik sat on the decaying porch of the ramshackle house looking
across the fields he had once helped his father till. He was too young
to help when the land was first cleared. Now some other generation would
have to do it again.
He was not a farmer, he was a woodsman like his uncle Daen. He had lived with him for a while after the raid. But life in the village with a house full of cousins was not for him. He spent as much time as could hunting with Daen; learning about the forest and how to live off of its bounty. He moved back to his father's farmhouse after a few months of living in the village. He still hunted with Daen and was keeping himself alive. Every night the nightmares came though; vivid bloody recollections of the raid.
He attempted to join Forest Watch that first year too. Although his father had taught him much, he was too young and not good enough to qualify. He pursued the skill avidly, learn from his uncle and the village Constable - when he could afford the lessons. It took him two years before he passed the trials; a better swordsman than most.
Now he spent days, weeks sometimes, in the woods around Dir. The Forest Watch was an order of rangers established long ago to guard the human population from dangers hidden in the thick woods that covered most of the Marchy. Each village had several Watchers; mostly hunters and trappers that knew the forest well. Feorik was just beginning to learn of all the responsibilities a Watcher had. His primary reason for joining was to never let anything like that raid on his family happen again, ever.
In his travels he ranged far to south to Merson's Ridge, far beyond where he was supposed to go. The rocky hills divided Bilcoven from the Uryl valley and created a impassable wall filled with canyons, crags and caverns. An unpleasant place inhabited by all manner of wildlife, Feorik did not explore long before feeling too vulnerable looking down at the half-devoured carcass of a great cat.
Stories told of the heroic exploits of the great warrior Merson who had chased dragons out the hills making passage to Bilcoven safe for the Milar to come to Bilcoven. There may not be dragons in the hills now, but there are plenty of monsters roaming about, and plenty of places for disgusting goblins to fester.
He sat there now reflecting on his past and on his future. He wanted to raid the hills and drive out the goblinoid vermin that he knew lived there. But since there raid upon his family there had been no sign of trouble and there was no interest in warring against and unseen enemy. It seemed it was going to be a life of forest fire watching for Feorik.
Feorik's evening reverie was brought to end when Feorik heard a voice calling out from up the path to the house. He listened awhile trying to recognize the voice unsuccessfully before getting up and calling back. It was his young cousin Dayla. The crush she had on him had driven him crazy for years. Now she was older and allowed to go about on her own; another reason for his long trips into the woods.
She was very excited and sprinted to him as soon as she saw him. She was worried and happy to find him all at the same time. It took some calming before Feorik was able to understand her babble. A rider had come from Bilcoven with disturbing news. Goblins had attacked a merchant in a warehouse last night. Dayla feared the elder Watchers would leave Feorik out of the investigation, so she came to tell him.
"Goblins!" The word electrified Feorik. "Are you sure," he demanded, not quite believing his ears.
Dayla was still catching her breath from her run. Her brown hair had fallen messily into her blue eyes, and she cleared it away before continuing, "yes...yes. Goblins, small, green-skinned little devils. Like the ones ... the ones that." She stopped, realizing what she is saying.
Feorik stood back, and clenched tightly on the anger building inside of him. His one eye blazing he took a deep breath and spoke, his voice like iron, "yes, the ones that killed my family. It is all right, Dayla. Thank you for telling me."
Feorik looked past her, and upwards to the sun coming through the trees. He sighed, "Calgurn may have 'neglected' to mention this to me, until the threat had passed." The distaste in his mouth for the name is unmistakable.
Feorik took some time to grab several of his possessions including his weapons. He adjusted the straps on his armor, secured his pouch of coins, and grabbed a small bag of wild fruits he had just collected.
Dayla saw his intent to leave and began to protest. "No, no you mustn't go. What about the house here?"
He turned to look at her, "this house here is as good as any other." He gestured to the wildly growing weeds that dotted the once immaculate front field and the decaying wood of the house. "There is nothing keeping me here." Feorik continued as she started to protest again, "I must go. Come, we shall travel to Dir together, before it is dark. I must be in Bilcoven as fast as I am able. Keep up!" The last words more bark than anything else. Feorik started a light loping run, one that he could keep up for hours if need be. Dayla was silent behind him, but he can hear her start to run after him.
Feorik arrived in the village twenty minutes later with the exhausted girl in tow. He left her heaving and muttering to herself at their small home. He then headed straight for the mayor's mansion, the Forest Watcher's post, eager for news.
The grinning face of Calgurn greeted Feorik as he entered the large wooden building that served as jail, town hall, and base to Dir's Forest Watchers. Several other men were present, lounging and talking in low tones. They looked up warily as Feorik entered. "Well, well, well. One-eyed Feorik. What brings you here this evening?" Calgurn's hazel eyes glittered as he chuckled, "more ghosts this time?"
Feorik stopped short, and he met Calgurn's gaze squarely. "If you refer to those forest-men that I DID see, sir, then the answer is no."
Calgurn remained silent, his sharp features still smirking. Last summer, Feorik's wild claims of observing 'forest-men', as he had called them, had the entire community abuzz. Despite several days search, no trace of them were found.
Feorik remained silent for a moment as well, and swept his gaze over the place. Some of the regulars were absent. Several travel bags were absent. Dayla was not telling tales, he thought. "Word has it that there are Goblins in Bilcoven. I would like to see if I can help," Feorik's voice was hardened with determination.
Calgurn looked nonplussed, his perpetual smile unchanged. "Word does indeed travel fast to someone so remote as you. If you must know, there was an attack there, in the night." Calgurn played with his leather gauntlet as he spoke, "of course, I can understand how much you would like to go. But three men have already gone ahead of you. I see no need for a fourth.
"After all," he added nonchalantly as Feorik began to bristle, "perhaps there is a marauding band about, with Dir their next target."
Damn him.
"Then I will go on Deep Patrol and make sure no marauding band comes near to Dir," Feorik stated.
"Ah yes, a good idea. We need a Deep Patrol tonight, we have not had one in a half-moon. Berron, come here a moment."
Feorik cut in, "I patrol best alone. You know that, Calgurn."
The smile drops a little, "but with Goblins about, I can't risk..."
Feorik interrupted, "No, Calgurn, alone. Two men in the forest at night spend more time keeping track of each other than anything else."
Calgurn said nothing. Berron comes over, a lithe man with sandy brown hair. An able archer, but a little inexperienced in Feorik's mind. Even so, he knows better than to speak at the two angry men in front of him.
Calgurn's voice is icy. "Fine. Have it your way, one-eye. I expect you to report in by dawn." And with that, he turns away and strides into his private room.
Oh, if only Arenthal were still here, Feorik lamented, recalling the grizzled old Watcher who had helped him first train, and whose retirement had caused Calgurn to rise to his current position of Head Watcher.
Berron whispers, "what was that all about?"
Feorik doesn't turn as he replied, "nothing at all," and he stalked out of the building.
After a short visit to the local store for refreshment and some food, Feorik's mood recovered and he gathered himself for the long run to Bilcoven.
Deep patrol be damned, he thought rebelliously, I need to see these Goblins for myself.
Feorik walked out the southern side of Dir nonchalantly then circled round in the forest to head northeast to Bilcoven. The sun had gone. The forest hid its beauty in shadow leaving its coarser nature exposed. No one liked traveling the woods at night no matter what their experience. Unseen branches tripped, snagged, and whipped as the eager ranger ran on. An atonal chorus of night creatures urged him on.
Not knowing when the others left, Feorik chose to stay concealed in the woods as difficult as keeping up the pace was. When he made it to the Sorun river, he was glad for the short refreshing swim. The chill air spurred him along the last leg of the journey. When he finally emerged from the woods into cleared fields the sky was beginning to lighten with dawn. Only a few solitary trees dotted the land between he and the hilltop town in the distance. There was no sign of torchlight along the roads; all was quiet and still.
Feorik picked his way across the late autumn fields to the road. He walked the remaining few miles toward Bilcoven. The gates were closed and deserted except for guards hidden behind arrow slits and machicolations atop the gate tower. He approached the gate warily, walking in the middle of the road, and with his weapons away, but at the ready in case all was not well beyond the gates. Still tired from the exertion and the lack of sleep, a fine coat of perspiration dotted his brow. His thoughts swirled as he kept silent counsel with himself. Finally, a chance for something different ... a chance for a goblin-hunt. Calgurn ... he may well reprimand me for not returning. Good. Let him,
and let him learn that ignoring me will only cause him extra work.
Feorik walked the last few paces towards the gate looking about for the Gate Warden to speak to. It's too quiet.
A muffled voice from the tower calls down suddenly, "One at the gate." Followed by the creaking open of the small door within the larger gate. A guard beckoned Feorik in. A second stood appraising him as the first secured the gate once more.
"What brings you at this early hour?"
From his last visit to Bilcoven months ago, Feorik noted that the first man, Ankur, seemed even larger than he remembered. Fully siX foot and a half, if not more, Ankur had beetling brows and a tangled mop of brownish hair crowning a huge head on a bull neck. Broad shoulders gave way to a barrel chest and legs like those of a horse. A halberd rested easily in his hands as he moved with some quickness. The other man Feorik did not recognize, but he seemed to be positively a dwarf in Ankur's presence. A thin long nose poked from beneath small gray eyes and a yellow mane of hair. He fingered his crossbow nervously, glancing about every now and then.
The "Giant at the Gate", as Ankur is known, saw Feorik's appraising glance and commented gruffly before Feorik could compose his reply. Ankur makes no comment on Feorik's haggard appearance. He did not bother to introduce the other man. "As quiet as ever, uh lad...no matter, you know that you are welcome here. I thought the stink of goblin would reach your nose in Dir soon enough, and bring you running."
A small smile cracked Feorik's normally grim expression, and then it was gone. "I have a heard a little of what has happened," Feorik paused. "Is everything alright within? If someone has been hurt-"
Ankur interrupted, "Easy lad. Little damage was done, actually. But how they got inside...that is another matter."
The smaller man blinked nervously as he continued to look about, but remained silent.
Feorik continued, "Who exactly was attacked?"
"An iron monger from down south. He was setup in warehouse three; two of his guards were attacked in the middle of the night. Fine warriors those; their kills are in the Main Square. They were wounded, but they're all right. The whole caravan moved out as soon as they could; to Sola."
"I will see the kills," Feorik announced while thinking it a shame the heroic caravaners moved on so quickly.
"Sleene was attacked too; in Winston's Thicket," the other guard spoke up. "She brought one back alive even."
"Oh yeah, there's two alive in the gaol."
"ALIVE!? Are they being held for questioning?" Feorik thought of the possibilities, "Otherwise, hmm" Feorik cocks his eyebrow and thought of executions. "Sleene you say. Is she still in Bilcoven?"
"She left to join the caravan."
"Has there been a tracking party gathered already?"
"Nay. The Constable spent the day sending his poor sods into the sewer where they dug up in warehouse six. They didn't find anything though; the things are nested deep under the city. Gruper took his guys around the walls, and found where two had crawled through the sludge mire and over two the Thicket where Sleene, well, her wolves, got them. Seems these gobbo's been hiding here for awhile. You'll get a gold for every head you bring, but they'll be laying low I'll bet. Constable figures the bounty will drive them away so there won't be much of an organized effort."
Feorik nodded, taking in the new information, "A gold you say. Good, good. Thank you, Ankur," Feorik said and nodded to the other man as he walked past them into the town proper. Feorik looked about him and shook his head at the filth and the crowded city's buildings. He breathed deeply in anticipation as he headed for the central square. He could already make out the rack with bodies hanging upon it. The square, bustling the last time he was here, was deserted and subdued. The breeze shifted to blow at him from the open square and brought with it the hint of an awful stench.
He headed straight for the rack ignoring the more and more frequent foul wisps of air. The creatures hung with pale gray skin covered in morning due and other offal. Unhealed wounds caked with dark blood were exposed through torn clothing that was little more than rags. One had been beheaded; the head was spiked atop the rack. A feeling of grim satisfaction filled the ranger as he surveyed the dead, staring countenance. "Good riddance," Feorik muttered and spat on the nearest goblin. The smell, truly horrible, was probably keeping everyone else away from the central square. Feorik's lone figure stood out, the low morning sun glinting off his iron spearhead as he surveyed the corpses for several long minutes.
They wore filth stained ragged cloaks over ill-kempt hide vests, probably rat or other small rodent. The townsfolk had spared no insults, pelting them with just about anything rotten they could find. Despite the coating of garbage the unmistakable smell of excrement dominated. None were over four feet which probably meant none were leaders. He filed away all the details of his long unseen nemesis. His grim study over, Feorik turned and headed to the jail, where the two prisoners were supposedly being kept. A wave of tiredness washed over him. He needed sleep, but the excitement of seeing a live goblin for the first time in years, the first time since…Pushing his memories aside Feorik thought, hopefully some Bilcov speaks their tongue so I can find their lair, or more.
The small jail was inside the Marchion’s outer bailey wall; he knew only because the last time he was here was shortly after a band of poachers was brought in and the town was abuzz with the tale. The gate at the north end of the square was closed, but Feorik knew the gate wardens would not be far. Feorik passed the town hall and the neighboring Watcher's Post on the east side of the square. He would visit the constable and Gruper later; he had to see these goblins. Feorik crossed a wooden bridge over a deep ditch separating the town from the castle. The stagnant water far below smelled almost as bad as the goblins. He scanned the littered banks of the ditch and noted that several dark openings with dark water stains spilling down the slope.
He crossed the open sewer to the inset gate. Feorik had not been into the outer bailey before, but the gate warden recognized him as a Watcher; his one-eye made him unique in that group. Once through the door in the gate, the gruff drowsy guard pointed Feorik to the eastern end of the long cobbled bailey. The base of the surrounding fifteen-foot high walls was lined with wooden structures of various purposes. The gaol however was a squat stone structure built in the neglected northeast corner of the outer bailey
Feorik had heard the gaoler, Gerund, was a retired Watcher. He rapped twice on the locked oaken door and waited for a reply. It was a few moments before he heard someone fiddling with the bared door. A panel slid back and Feorik was being surveyed by an unnaturally large, stern face.
Despite his arguments, Gerund refused Feorik access. Gerund told him to go see the Constable if he wanted information. Frustrated and tired, Feorik gave up on the stubborn man and headed back to the Main Square. It was early so it was probably a waste of time to track down the Constable or Gruper. Feorik resolved to get a few hours sleep so he headed to the Northland Inn west of the square. He passed through the square now filling with wives and mothers gathering the day’s food from the few stores and farmers’ carts.
On his way he noticed quite a few dogs tagging along with the morning pedestrians. The aroma of breakfast filled the inn triggering hunger pangs in Feorik’s stomach. He gave in to the hunger and ordered a satisfying meal. While he ate he listened to the few other patrons, mostly craftsmen preparing for a hard day of work. He caught fragments of conversations about the recent goblin attack, but nothing he had not heard from the gate wardens. He was too tired to put it all together anyway; he went to his room to sleep after asking the innkeeper to wake him at noon.
The knock came too soon. Feorik forced himself awake and into action. Gathering his equipment he left the inn with a small loaf and cheese. The town was lively compared to the morning. It was certainly warmer. He headed to see the Constable. Children now played in the square. It struck Feorik as an odd with the rotting goblins hanging nearby. He entered the large room under the curious stares of the town guards. The deputy behind a worn desk told him that Constable Derian was out.
Further frustrated, Feorik stormed out to find Gruper or anyone that could help him. He entered the building marked with the pine and bow symbol of the Watchers. A young boy questioned him and when Feorik showed him his symbol, he directed Feorik up a set of stairs into a meeting room. Gruper sat with a group of Watchers, two he recognized from Dir. From the regalia of the man next to Gruper, he must be an officer. "Feorik! I thought you in Dir. What fortune to have you here in Bilcoven with goblins about." Feorik considered briefly if was good fortune or not. Hoping that they truly were unaware of his recent whereabouts, Feorik joined their conversation. He discovered the uniformed man was indeed the Constable.
The Constable explained that for two days the goblins at the gaol were questioned quite harshly and refused to give up any information about why they were here, how the got in, or where they lived. It was Derian’s opinion that, despite their refusal to speak the common tongue, they understood it. It explained that even the old Druid Hernry had questioned him and found them so terrified as to be nearly insane. Based upon the lack of evidence around the town’s wall, the goblins have probably been here a long time. Perhaps during the famine they sneaked in.
Fortunately Feorik did not have to ask all the questions; they came from the others that had also recently came to town. The Constable or Gruper answered them so that Feorik learned that the only fresh found lead from the mire at the east side of town right to a copse of trees where they encountered Sleene who slew one and brought the other back. The bars in the wall’s spillway to the mire will be patched as soon as new ones can be made. The two will be publicly executed at the next Market Festival."
Feorik grunted at the last, "Good riddance, if they will not speak then they must die. Feorik continued, "Two prisoners...hrm. I wished to see them, but Gerund turned me away. He has taken his charge of guarding them to heart." This last was said with a bit of sarcasm. Were they carrying anything significant when they were captured?" Feorik asked.
"I heard they carried nothing more than a few coppers, local mintage."
"Someplace in town was selling to these scum?" asked another Watcher.
"Money is money to some folks. If there are more goblins under the streets, they are still there. The bounty will keep everyone eager to keep their eyes out for the little buggers. Sooner or later, unless they can survive down there without showing themselves, they will leave."
He regarded the men, nodding at the familiar faces from Dir before continuing, "Who has been below the city? I would like to go below, and see their lair for myself. Perhaps I can find a few of them."
"Just a few of the Guard went down the hole. They feared ambush or traps. The sewers are only three to four feet high; too small for effective hunting." He appraised the one-eyed boy, "I see you’re eager. The hole in the warehouse is being filled, but the ditch is full of entrances if you want to investigate. I would not suggest going alone."
Brow furrowed with concentration Feorik asked, "I wonder what their motive was, to crawl out of their hiding place and attack that caravan. Surely there would have been easier targets. What can you tell me about this caravan, perhaps there is something significant about it?"
"The merchant’s, Durrant’s his name, first time to the March. He’s got a load of metal, including weapons."
Feorik takes in this new information. He grunted, "Weapons. That is a cargo anyone would prize. To himself, Feorik thought, How would the beasts have discovered this without an informant from the town ? "What place has this Durrant left for?"
"He’s headed to Sola. Making the circuit. He’ll be back for the Market Festival."
"And what do druids have to do with this caravan? I was told Sleene joined them, after dealing with a goblin pair."
"I think he hired her as a guide."
"I will go underground immediately. Perhaps there is only eleven days until the goblins try to strike again." Feorik looked at the Dir Watchers and the Bilcovs, "Is there anyone here who wishes to go with me?" Feorik smiled grimly, "Or do I get to keep the bounty all to myself?"
Some abashed glances were exchanged before Teode, the elder of the two from Dir, announced, "I think it best we get back to Dir. I think there’s more danger than good to be found under the city." His companion remained silent.
"Slinking around the muck and filth doesn’t appeal to me," another stated and seemed to garner consensus. . Watchers tended to arrogance Feorik observed.
Feorik was silent as he listens to these arguments. His eyes narrowed as he thought to himself, better to have these cowards away than trust them to watch my back. Feorik’s voice showed his distaste for their replies, "Fine. Suit yourselves. Tell Calgurn I won't be coming back until I've solved this...infestation."
The Constable said when the grumbling subsided, "Perhaps some of my men would join you; off duty. Probably find them at the tavern. There’s a posting board on the town hall too."
"Thank you, sir. If I find anything down there, besides muck and filth," Feorik's imitation of the Watcher was passable, "then I will report it immediately. Good bye", he addressed Gruper and the Constable; the other watchers he ignored as he left.
"Don’t rule out the slum," someone called out on the way down the stairs.
The slum ... not what I had in mind, Feorik thought as he stepped out of the building and back into the afternoon sun; a warm day. He frowned as he looked about the bustling Bilcovs, unaware of the problems that the city may have. This place is rotting from within, Feorik thought. He headed down the row of buildings surrounding the Main Square, where he found and entered a small store. Ingil's Fine Goods, the faded painted sign proclaimed. Inside, he silently scanned the average selection and purchased a trio of well-wrapped torches. As well, he searched for some candles, extra flint, chalk, some fine twine, and some lard. He left a trio of silvers poorer.
That settled, he headed across the square to the town hall, where he found the mostly empty posting board. Unable to read or write, Feorik went into the foyer of the town hall and asked the clerk at the front desk to pen a message. It took another, swiftly pocketed, silver coin to get him to lead Feorik to an antechamber where he directed a young scribe to do the work. The boy pulled out a piece of parchment and looked to Feorik, obviously nervous.
Feorik, thought carefully about what to say while the boy looked on. If there are goblin-friendly Bilcovs around, he better keep his intentions to himself as much as possible. "Those interested in earning gold for labor ask for Feorik at the Northland Inn before late afternoon this day. May be dangerous, men only. Date it. Come along," Feorik beckoned the boy when he finished. He nervously followed Feorik with the paper.
Feorik lead him back to the post board and asked the scribe to read
the other couple of posted messages as he tacked his announcement. "By
Proclamation of Marchion Terradule, a bounty of 1 gold is placed upon the
head of any goblin brought before the Constable of Bilcoven. Come celebrate
the grandeur and healing powers of the great Diancecht at his temple on
Westside Row. Services Daily." The scribe began rattling off several "apprentice
wanted" ads, before Feorik stopped him. Feorik thanked the scribe with
a copper then headed back across the Square to the Smiling Dog tavern.
"Their going into the sewers for the bounty," Gyllick told Mortlake.
"We both have things down there that shouldn’t be found. You particularly
wouldn’t want your dealings of late discovered. Consider this a friendly
warning."
Mortlake squirmed in his chair but kept a stern look on his face. Rasoric’s overweight boss didn’t say anything.
Gyllick, seeing his warning settle in, continued. "I’m sending Cobern along with them, just to make sure they stick to looking for goblins. Their just boys, but one’s a Watcher. That one-eye from Dir. Goblins killed his family; he’s just looking for blood. He’s got a couple guards going with him though who might just get a little curious." Gyllick looked to Rasoric down his pointed rat-like nose. "You may want to keep your eyes out down there too," Gyllick said to Mortlake while staring at and into Rasoric. "I’ll be seeing you friend," Gyllick turned back to Mortlake and nodded before he left the dingy storefront.
No one liked Gyllick, but he was Lord Tollish man. Tollish was no noble, but he did rule the peasants of Bilcoven’s Worker’s Quarter. Mortlake looked at Rasoric with a curiosity Rasoric hated. Rasoric didn’t know what Gyllick and Mortlake were talking about, but it sounded like Mortlake may have been dealing with the goblins and Rasoric was trying to decide how he felt about that. He kept his thoughts hidden behind a dull visage, the best way to stay on Mortlake’s good side was to act dumb and follow along. Mortlake didn’t want Rasoric knowing about these dealings, and Rasoric didn’t want Mortlake thinking he knew too much.
"You heard him. You’re spending the night at the Room." Mortlake was referring to a storeroom of stolen or otherwise questionable goods he kept underground, under the sewers. Mortlake got out of his misshapen cushioned chair and retrieved a bottle of the sweet mead he enjoyed so much. "Clean up too. Run along." Rasoric knew that referred to making sure there were no tracks. Perhaps Mortlake was getting sloppy. Rasoric went to the cellar and grabbed a package of candles. It would be a long night.
Hidden under the planks in the corner of the cellar of Mortlake’s shop was a tunnel to a sewer line. A wooden shelf stacked with bricks plugged Mortlake’s tunnel and hid it from the sewer. There were a couple brooms for sweeping away any tracks from the gritty sewer floor. Rasoric struggled to pull the plug back into the tunnel then back into place with a leather strap fastened to the wood behind the concealing bricks. When he finally lined up the bricks of the plug with the bricks of the sewers wall, he tucked the strap between bricks and took to sweeping away signs of traffic.
This sewer line carried rainwater, but that didn’t make using the tunnels any more pleasant. It had not rained in many days, so the sewer was dry. Mixing the few tracks in the sand into a chaotic mix did not take long. Rasoric proceeded down the tunnel sweeping away his own tracks behind him with one hand, holding the flickering candle with the other. He found the other hidden plug; this one much easier to use; the wooden shelf was hinged and weighted so he just had to push. Beyond this plug was a ladder down to a lower level, the Undercity it was often called. Ancients had built networks of stone walls. Most had filled with dirt, but some still framed hollow rooms under the ground. Some had been dug out by folks like Mortlake and Gyllick; folks with something to hide.
Rasoric descended the ladder to one such stone walled tunnel. He had been down here many times before, but thinking that goblins may be about, and even welcomed by Mortlake, made the dark earthy tunnel seem foreboding. Mortlake’s "warehouse" was to the left, first branch on the right. A trip wire would release a barrage of spring loaded arrows from the walls. A locked door was recessed on the right just before the passage dead-ended. He had a key and knew to avoid the poisoned needle on the latch. A small closet in the room had a chair for such watches. Between the cracks in the wall, the passage leading to the door could be observed. A plank in the wall could be pushed down to topple the wall of the hall onto any unwelcome guests. Rasoric settled in for what he hoped would be an uneventful night.