swordmeetssorcery

[swordmeetssorcery]

Border Crossing

The patrons of the Broken Saw tavern squinted at the opened door letting in the afternoon sun and chilly late autumn wind as a burly mahogany skinned stranger let himself in. Although he wore no uniform and carried no obvious weapons, most of the denizens of the Mill Quarter knew a watchman by his bearing, uniform or no, and more than one customer who’d spent time in the city’s jail recognized his face as well. Someone at a table towards the back wall shouted for him to pull the damned door shut, and he sheepishly complied. The crowd went back to their drinks, their subdued conversations turned to curiosity about the newcomer.

Sergeant Eddrehn Longrove stopped just inside the dark confines of the ‘Saw to allow his eyes to adjust to the murky light inside. Being a jail guard, he’d heard stories of the place and dealt with more than a few of its regulars, but he’d never been here himself. He was surprised at its size. From the street, it looked like a simple, small alehouse, but inside he found a convoluted layout, with odd nooks and alcoves concealing who knew how many tables or customers, and the place seemed to extend much farther from the front door than one would expect.  He took in the dim lighting, and the scarred and stained surfaces of tables and bar. He glanced around at the rough looking clientele glaring at him: shifty eyed men and women without proper employment, some looking too familiar for his comfort. A gnome sat on a raised stool at a lowered section of the bar, head resting next to his mug, obviously passed out drunk. Eddrehn questioned the choices that had brought him to this point. City decree forbade the carrying of offensive weapons on the street, even for an off-duty watchman, and the dirk hanging from his belt was far less comfort than the halberd he carried on duty. He stroked the mustache that connected his muttonchop sideburns and wondered: had he made the right decision? A stubble faced thug sitting in a booth against the back wall waved him over, and he knew it was too late to back out now. He was in too deep already. He inhaled deeply, let it out in a heavy sigh, and held up one finger, then pointed it at the bar. The other man nodded approvingly, and Eddrehn stepped over and ordered a tankard of ale from the barman.

A fresh keg was being tapped, and as he waited, he considered how he’d never before strayed from his duty as a lawman. He’d stuck to the straight and narrow, always doing what he’d been told was the right thing, even while witnessing the corruption all around him within the Watch. Until two days ago.

Two days ago, he’d overheard the interrogation of a highwayman and had gained some useful information, then had sought out a way to profit from it. He felt like he was the only watchman who wasn’t somehow profiting from a scam on the side; it was his turn now. He rationalized his actions with the excuse that in order to profit from this information, he’d have to leave not just the city he worked for, but he’d actually have to cross the kingdom’s border, a few days ride away. It wasn’t corruption if he didn’t have jurisdiction, was it? His conscience still wrestled with that question. But as the bartender traded him a frothy mug for his coin, he again realized there was no backing out now.

As Eddrehn took his lager and made his way back to the booth, he studied the man he’d conspired with yesterday, Jafton. Like most of the clientele in the tavern, Jafton wore the functional, heavyweight woolen clothes common to people who lived in the Mill Quarter, whether they actually worked in a mill or not. His disheveled dark blond hair was not quite long, but somehow still looked to be in need of a cut, and he hadn’t shaved in several days. The well-worn sheath on his belt carried a knife of the broad bladed, utilitarian sort favored by laborers and craftsmen. He gave Eddrehn a gap-toothed smile as he gestured to the seat opposite his. As Eddrehn slid into the booth, he realized he’d been steered into a position where he couldn’t see the door, or even the rest of the barroom. He knew it wasn’t by accident, and he felt his heartbeat speed a bit.

 “So, tell me again what it is you have in mind” Jafton said, cutting right to the chase. “And this had better not be some sort of trap the Watch is trying to pull”.

“No, of course not – I’m not high enough rank to plan anything, to be honest. I merely oversee a squad of jailers” came Eddrehn’s response.

Eddrehn was startled by a woman’s voice from behind him. “By all means, let’s hear this crime scheme from the mastermind jailer”. He turned to find he’d been watched by a woman who looked as at home in the Broken Saw as Jafton. Dressed in dark gray leather pants and sleeveless shirt despite the season instead of the standard wools of the neighborhood, she wore a matched brace of daggers. They rode high on her belt, handles canted forward for a cross-draw, like little swords. The hilts and scabbards, a slightly darker gray than her clothing and tooled in intricate patterns, looked as well used as Jafton’s, but, like her clothes, were higher quality and better maintained. She stood average height for a woman, but was leaner and harder than most, the muscles in her scarred arms like knotted cords pulled taut. Her hair, somehow both blonde and light brown, yet also neither, hung loose, but looked just long enough to tie back out of the way if needed. She had a face that might have been pretty if not for a childhood spent fighting for food. The knife scar across her cheek did her no favors, either. She slid into the booth next to Eddrehn, shooing him further into the seat and effectively trapping him in place. As she set her own cup on the table, he noticed her knuckles were even more scarred than Jafton’s. Particularly of note was the faded tattoo of a bee on the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger.

“Please continue, Sergeant” she said as her icy eyes locked onto his. It occurred to Eddrehn that as nervous as Jafton made him, this woman was likely far more dangerous. He nervously began to answer her request.

“Yes, well. Um, as I told Jafton yesterday, I recently overheard an interrogation in the dungeons - a bandit who’d been captured in the forest. His face was recognized from a wanted placard that had been sent out to all the northern city watches from the border keep at Oaksplit. Apparently, they’d captured him and he escaped.

It turns out this man is a deserter from a large company of bandits operating just over the border in the Doyenwood kingdom. It was founded by an orc soldier named Chimelac who deserted his unit during the war. The squad of goblin mercenaries he commanded left with him, and they took possession of an abandoned tower in the woods. The tower was rumored to be haunted, and as such it was generally avoided, which helped his cause. They focused their efforts on raiding and killing merchants and travelers making their way between cities in Pentalohr and Doyenwood. They fought off a couple of attempts from the elven army to put them down, and made it look like the soldiers had been killed by haunts from the tower. They even built some traps along the approaches to the tower, and the army resorted to just warning travelers to avoid the area if possible.

“Well, I guess this orc is smarter than most, because he realized they’d need more food than they could hunt or grow in the compound they’d built up around the old tower, especially since none of the goblins was likely to take up farming. They also wanted more liquor than they’d been able to steal. The goblins couldn’t exactly wonder into a town to buy supplies without raising a lot of suspicion at the very least, of course. So, he grew his company beyond the small band of goblin deserters, actively recruiting survivors of their raids. The ones they didn’t eat, anyway...” He shuddered a bit at that. The woman took a swig from her cup while maintaining an intimidating level of eye contact with him, then motioned for him to continue.

“They’d have a couple of the recruits clean up and wander into nearby towns to buy food and booze and sell stolen valuables to local fences. They also began luring women from the towns. They’d hire harlots or deceive honest young women with promises of employment. Either way it ended the same. The women are there to be used, and they’re never allowed to leave.” The woman sitting next to Eddrehn tensed and her grip on her cup tightened, although she kept her face impassive.

“This bandit was going to be executed, but traded the information for a pardon and safe passage out of the barony. After hearing his confession, the captain relayed it to the Lord Mayor, who’s now sent word to the Baron, thinking that they may try to form a joint expedition with the elf army to put these villains down. I also happened to overhear the robber giving the general location of the tower. My thought is that an enterprising group of adventurous minded folk could sneak past those traps into the cellar of the tower and take a few armloads of that treasure home before the armies come in and claim it all for the nobles. I also thought that you would know a few of those adventurous types, Jafton – I’ve seen you in custody more than once, which is of course how I knew to come find you. I’d think it would be highly profitable – they’ve been at this for twenty years or more.”

“I’m sure it would be. But I’m curious why you’re so eager to go on this venture. Isn’t burglary pretty much the opposite of what you usually do? You’ve been my jailer for the same crime before. Why the change?” Jafton asked.

“I’ve given this a lot of thought, believe me. Two things: it’s well out of my jurisdiction, so I’m not breaking any laws of the city that employs me. And also, it’s stealing from murderers who stole it in the first place. There’s not even a rightful owner alive to return it to.”

“Yeah, it’s likely to be a big haul. But it sounds awfully risky. I mean, basically an army of cutthroats and we’re supposed to just…” Jafton said, shaking his head.

“Shut up, crybaby. We’re doing this” the woman said, cutting off anything else Jafton might have had to say. “And we’re not stopping with just loot, either – we’re taking the women away from there and killing that orc bastard.”

“Now, Danniven…” Jafton started to protest, but she continued on “And Lady Luck smiles on us, too – it just so happens my brother is due in town any day now, and you know Aefsheen won’t hesitate. We can find one or two more; we’ll all travel in Aefsheen’s wagon, and we’ll free the women as well as taking gold and blood from the bastards.”

Jafton sighed and shook his head woefully. Eddrehn was taken aback, both by the vehemence of the woman’s tone, and the names he’d heard. Every watchman in the city of Oakyard knew the names Aefsheen and Danniven. He was half-elf, she was human. They claimed to be brother and sister, but no one knew whether it was true. They were reputed to be thieves and killers, but had always avoided being caught for anything beyond the pettiest of crimes, and that was in their childhood. They were rumored to be the founders of the gang of urchins known as The Swarm, and the bumblebee tattoo on her hand lent credibility to that story. He wondered if he might not profit more from turning them in to his superiors than by going on this mad escapade which had now evolved into something far more reckless than he’d ever intended. A look at the stern set in Danniven’s eyes and he laid that thought to rest.

  Eddrehn returned to the Broken Saw the next night to meet the others and begin planning. If he’d found the tavern intimidating in the daytime, it was almost frightening in the evening hours, nearly full to capacity with even more of the sort of folk he’d seen earlier. A group of black-clad dwarves was playing a game of darts, using dirks instead of the usual items. The thick, hardwood dart board looked to be hacked nearly to pieces, evidence that this was a regular pastime here. He saw even more people obviously well into their cups than there had been earlier in the day, and there was a half-elf minstrel on a small platform along one wall struggling to keep his eyes open while strumming an out of tune lyre and singing drunkenly. It dawned on him that a large portion of the crowd was half-elf. It wasn’t surprising - with the large number of elf soldiers garrisoned in the northern towns during the war between the orc invaders and the Doyenwood-Pentalohr alliance, some mixing was inevitable. Many of the citizenry were grateful for the elves’ help, but just as many were spiteful of having to help house and feed the foreigners. The half breeds were often resented, and it was hard for many to find honest work, so they found their way to the quarter of the city that was home to laborers, beggars, and criminals.

He jumped as a hand tapped his shoulder. When he turned around, he found Danniven laughing at his discomfort. “Come on, we’re back here”, she said, leading him deeper into the tavern.

She stopped short as she passed a table with several merrymakers obviously enjoying their drinks and each other. Looking down at the slender, mustachioed and chin-bearded half-elf man who was clearly in the midst of seducing the young lady beside him, Danniven cleared her throat and in a hurt tone interrupted his carousing. “Aefsheen! You’ve been away so long, and now I find you here with some strange woman instead of coming home to your loving family?!” The woman at his side turned to him and yelled “You’re married?! You bastard! I almost let you take me home.” The half-elf flashed a frustrated glare through violet-colored eyes at Danniven, refilled the barfly’s glass and said through gritted teeth “Here, have another drink while I go talk to my sister.”

Danniven said in a huff “Sister? Well, I never!” and turned to walk away, leaving Eddrehn thoroughly confused.

The other woman, now red faced with anger, rose to her feet, and raised her voice even more.  “Your sister?! You bitch! You think it’s funny to try to ruin someone else’s night?”

Laughing, Danniven turned back and replied “It is, a little”. The woman grabbed the now empty mead bottle by its neck, but Aefsheen stayed her hand with his own, “No, love” he said to the lady at his side.  “Believe me, you really don’t want to do that. Let it be. I’ll be back after I resolve this little family squabble.”

Still smiling, Danniven turned and continued leading Eddrehn toward the back of the alehouse. The man, clad all in oxblood leather, caught up to her and whirled her around by the elbow. “You do realize you’re the only one in the world who would get away with that, right?” he growled, barely audible above the din of the barroom. Danniven met his angry gaze and replied “And you’re the only one who could grab my arm like that and not come away bleeding. Besides, it was only a slight exaggeration. I am your family, and you haven’t come to see me yet, jackass.” Eddrehn was worried they would come to blows, but after a tense moment of scowling, they both burst into raucous laughter and he lifted her off the floor in a tight embrace. “Put me down, you ass! You’ll rob me of what dignity I have left!” she protested. Still laughing, he set her on her feet as she asked “Have you even visited your mother yet?” He grinned and replied “We had lunch today as soon as I rode into town. Tomorrow I’ll eat dinner with her and spend the night at her house. So, you can see why it’s important that I get in my fun now. You should join us, actually. Um, for dinner tomorrow, not for fun tonight.” He winked as he finished talking.  

“Now you’re a jester, eh? Grab yourself another drink and forget your pretty little playmate over there, little brother. You have wonderful timing. Let me tell you what’s going on.”

“Danni…” he started to protest, and she interrupted, continuing “You can replace her easy enough later, after we finish our planning. She’s not exactly unique” Danniven said, looking around the barroom. “Besides, when you hear what we have in the works, you’ll jump at the opportunity.”

When Aefsheen returned from the bar with a new bottle of mead and goblet, Danni whispered a quick summary of what they were planning. Eddrehn witnessed the half-elf’s eyes go from happily tipsy to murderous as Danni finished. He was genuinely surprised that such infamous criminals seemed so outraged over the plight of total strangers. After filling Aefsheen in, Danniven led the two men to a hallway whose entrance at the back of the main room was concealed by a heavy leather curtain identical in color to the wall, neatly concealing the passageway behind it. A second curtain on the other side of the door hung from the top of the doorframe and dragged the floor, blocking any light from escaping the back area, adding to its concealed nature.

Walking down the concealed hallway, they passed a few doors on both sides, then walked through one of them. It was a low-ceilinged room lit much better than the common room, and with a spacious table and comfortable chairs. The chamber was walled with thick beams, shutting out the noise from the raucous barroom. Eddrehn looked around and saw various maps posted on the walls: Oakyard, Torguard Barony, Pentalohr kingdom. There was a side table along one wall with what appeared to be many more maps rolled and neatly stacked on it. Jafton was at a table in the center of the room, facing the door, and from the chair opposite him a diminutive head turned to look their way. Bright but sleepy eyes peered from a craggy face framed by a wild, frizzy mane of gray beard atop a body half as tall as Eddrehn. With a bit of a start, Eddrehn recognized him as the gnome who’d been passed out on the bar the day before.

Aefsheen strode to Jafton, who stood to greet him. “It’s been a while, old friend!” They clasped hands while wrapping the other arm around each other’s shoulders. The gnome reached up from his chair and gave the half elf a hearty shove, and Aefsheen, laughing, shoved him back, then hurriedly caught the little man before he fell out of his seat. Everyone laughed a moment, then Danniven cleared her throat. “Let’s get to business. Everyone, take a seat. Eddrehn, this is my brother, Aefsheen. The shorter man there beside you is Fanjeer.”  As Eddrehn shook their hands he noticed a small faded tattoo of a wasp on the area between Aefsheen’s thumb and forefinger, in the same place as Danniven’s bee tattoo. It piqued his curiosity, but he held his tongue.

Danniven continued, “Eddrehn, why don’t you fill Fanjeer and Aefsheen in? I only gave them a short and quick version.” Eddrehn did so, adding in a bit more detail than before, as far as landmarks and directions. They discussed travel times and routes, and decided the direct way would be best: they’d take the Great Road from Oakyard north to its terminus at the barony seat at Elmhold and then continue on through the Greenwood Forest to the border town of Oaksplit. From there, they’d cross the border into the Doyenwood forest and the elven kingdom of the same name. Soon after, they’d need to leave the road and proceed cautiously. None of them knew if they’d be questioned by elven border guards or if they’d need to provide particular reasoning for entering the kingdom, or if they’d even see any soldiers at all. Aefsheen had had some business dealings with people in Elmhold, so it was determined he’d contact them and see if they could shed any light on the topic. Once they found the encampment, Jafton would reconnoiter it during the day, trying to find and disarm as many traps as he could. They’d wait until the brigands were asleep or drunk or otherwise unaware, then Danniven would release the women from their cells/cages and escort them to the wagon while Jafton and Fanjeer broke into the tower to find the treasury. Eddrehn would follow them to watch their backs while Aefsheen kept watch over the camp, ready to signal the others if things went awry. Once they had the women safe and a good portion of loot secured, the group would move in to kill Chimelac and anyone who got in the way. Then, they’d either run for it, or things would fall apart and they’d find themselves in a pitched battle against overwhelming odds. In case things went particularly wrong and they needed to avoid being seen, they planned an alternate return route. Hopefully, they’d all survive and return to Oakyard a bit wealthier than when they set out. They agreed to meet at the Broken Saw at dawn in two days to head out. That gave everyone time to make any necessary arrangements and procure whatever supplies they’d need.

   Cloaked and hooded against the dawn chill, pack on his back and halberd in hand, Eddrehn approached the ‘Saw as the sun began to light the world. He saw a large, covered cargo wagon sparkling with frost parked on the cobbles in front of the entrance and a couple of people milling about it, cloaked and hooded against the cold morning as he was. His foot sent a loose cobblestone rattling and they whirled toward him with a start, hands on dagger hilts. Hoping it was the group he was to meet, he slowly reached up and dropped his hood back, revealing his face. They visibly relaxed, dropped their own hoods and waved him over. Danniven admonished him, ��Either learn to move more quietly or make some more noise as you approach. You almost became a match for the dartboard inside. Quick – toss that poleax inside the cart before a patrol comes by and questions you about it. Today, you’re not a sergeant, you’re just another Mill Quarter lowlife as far as they’re concerned.” As he placed his weapon inside, he saw a stack of weapons and packs already accumulated. The gnome, Fanjeer, was inside the wagon, arranging the packs and weapons to keep the wagon balanced and make room for passengers as well. “Lovely morning to set out for murder and pillage, ain’t it?” He greeted the watchman with a hearty laugh. Eddrehn winced at the realization that the gnome wasn’t that far off in his assessment. He handed his own knapsack up to the shorter man, and walked back to the front of the wagon.

As Eddrehn approached Aefsheen and Danniven, Jafton appeared silently from the shadows of the alley beside the tavern. He was carrying a pack and a longish thin package that was fairly obviously a sword wrapped in a blanket. “I hate to do this, but I have a loose end I need to tie up before I can leave.” The siblings, visibly frustrated, looked about to voice an objection, but he continued quickly “It shouldn’t be more than a few hours. Meet me at that place where we camped before. I’ll hurry along and catch up by midnight. Dawn at the latest.” They both sighed in exasperation. “Go on, then. But we need your skills for this run, Jafton. Don’t stand us up, and for the gods’ sakes, don’t get arrested.” Aefsheen asserted. “I won’t let you down” Jafton promised. Then, tossing his pack into the wagon but keeping hold of the longer parcel, he disappeared into the shadows as quickly as he’d emerged from them.

“I guess there’s no need to wait any longer. Everyone, climb aboard. Keep inside the wagon until we’re outside the city – I’ll look like any other traveling merchant and they likely won’t even notice me at the gate, much less ask any questions” Aefsheen told them as he climbed into the driver’s seat. He apparently spoke from experience, because less than an hour later, he pulled the wagon to the roadside just after they lost sight of the city gates out the back of the wagon. Eddrehn watched as they all got out, then followed them curiously. “Why are we stopping so soon?” he asked. Danniven looked at him sideways like he was a child asking why the sky was blue. Without answering, she pulled off her cloak, revealing a light mail shirt of much finer, lighter links than the heavy hauberk he wore under his own cloak. The matched brace of daggers still rode her waist. Reaching inside the wagon, she pulled out a sheathed sword with a wide belt wrapped around it, its leather the same shade of grey and bearing the same intricate tooling as her dagger sheaths. Eddrehn watched her well-practiced hands buckle on the basket-hilted broadsword, adjusting it so it rode low on her hips and didn’t interfere with her daggers. Then she reached inside to retrieve a round steel-rimmed wooden buckler before putting her cloak back on against the chill, making sure to leave the sword hilt accessible. Meanwhile, Aefsheen hung a pair of baldrics holding fencing swords on his shoulders, crossing his chest over the studded leather cuirass he wore. This was in addition to the daggers Eddrehn had noticed him wearing in his boot and at the small of his back the other night. Fanjeer simply huddled in his cloak, gripping a short quarterstaff. Aefsheen lifted the driver’s seat to reveal a storage box underneath and withdrew a bow and a quiver of arrows. As he strung the bow and placed it and the quiver in a holder beside the seat, he told Eddrehn “You should take out that halberd now, Sergeant. We’re outside the city and its laws and protection”. It was hard not to notice the sarcasm in the way he pronounced the word “protection”.

“One of you can sit up front with me as I drive. I’d recommend taking turns, since it’s going to be a few days and the view inside is likely to be a bit dull” Aefsheen announced to the group as he climbed up to the seat and took up the reins. Having never ventured far from the city’s walls since a few hunting trips with his father as a child, Eddrehn was eager to see the countryside outside of town. He hefted his weapon and climbed up to share the driver’s seat with Aefsheen for the first leg of the trip.

 That evening they pulled their packs from the wagon, making camp. Eddrehn watched Fanjeer gathering deadfall wood and stacking it for a fire. Eddrehn spoke up “You know, you’ll need to pile some dry leaves and smaller twigs at the base of that woodpile to get the fire started”. The small man gave an annoyed sideways glance at the city watchman, turned back to the wood, snapped his fingers, and a fire blazed to life.

“Don’t school me on fire making, turnkey. I’ve been burning wood longer than you’ve been alive” Fanjeer sneered.

“Hmm. I thought wizards wore robes, not miller’s wools.”

“Oh? And I thought watchmen arrested thieves, not partnered with them.”

Danniven laughed at their exchange while she shook out a large tarpaulin to build a lean-to as Aefsheen broke out cookware, dark bread, and some dried meat to heat over the fire, which was blazing quite well within seconds. Once the fire was going strong, Fanjeer sat down and opened a thick leather tome with aging parchment pages and began flipping back and forth, reading some passages, glancing at others, and flipping past yet other pages. Those he lingered over, he read aloud, muttering under his breath, and Eddrehn could see his hands going through intricate gestures. He tucked his grimoire away in his pack once the supper was ready to eat.

While they ate, Aefsheen brought out a magnum of mead and some leather tankards, filling and passing them around. Fanjeer supplemented the honey wine with strong pulls from a flask he produced from one of the many pouches hanging from his belt. As they started to relax and he felt the soreness of the day’s travel easing out of his stiff limbs, Eddrehn also began to worry a bit. “Shouldn’t we set a watch for the night?” he asked. “Tomorrow night we will” came the slurred reply from the now drunk gnome across the fire from Eddrehn. “Tonight, we’re still close enough to Oakyard that we’re protected by the reputation of these two siblings sitting with us.” Aefsheen and Danniven acted as though they hadn’t heard that comment. She began picking up the cookpots while he got a second bottle and a fifth cup. Eddrehn raised an eyebrow and asked “Do you think Jafton will be joining us soon?” Aefsheen just smiled and nodded across the fire. Eddrehn jumped with a start when he saw the thief already seated next to the gnome and reaching for the last trencher of bread with the remains of the reheated meat with one hand while taking a slug from Fanjeer’s flask with the other. He laughed at Eddrehn’s surprise, then coughed a bit as he swallowed the strong spirits the gnome had shared. “Damn it, that’s a rough batch.” “I know. I tried a new recipe, and it’s not up to my usual standards. I’m just trying to get through it as quick as possible. Here, have some more” the smaller, wizened man replied as he tipped his flask to fortify Jafton’s mead with its contents.

“At the rate you’re ‘getting through it’, are you going to be any use to us once we get to the Doyenwood and the bandit’s camp?” Jafton chided.

“I was wondering the same myself” Eddrehn added.

Fanjeer straightened his back, and smugly regarded the two with great disdain. “I’ll have my dipsomania well corked long before we reach the bandit camp. Never you fear, I can either hold my liquor or set it aside just fine when I need to – I’ve been drinking longer than either of you has been alive!” He rose to his feet in a swaying huff and stalked away from the fire.

“Dipsomania?” asked Jafton in a confused tone.

“It means he’ll have his drinking under control by then” Eddrehn answered. Danniven murmured “Too bad my father never learned that trick…” and wandered off with a faraway look on her face.

Aefsheen approached the fire and sat beside Eddrehn with the second bottle of mead, refilling both of their cups. Then he looked at Jafton, and raising one eyebrow questioningly, said “Well?”

Jafton replied “All looks good, Aefsheen. Nobody followed you, watch activity seemed normal around the gate, nobody spying on the ‘Saw that I could see. I think he’s on the level.” Eddrehn, realizing that he’d been second guessed, looked nervously at the two other men, and craned his neck around to find Danniven behind him, resheathing her daggers. Eddrehn got that feeling of being in over his head again, and wished his weapon were closer to hand, for all the good it’d do against the group of them. Aefsheen got very serious, and locked Eddrehn’s gaze with his own.

 “You have to understand a few things. You’re a city watchman, and we’re not inclined to trust gaolers unless there’s a bribe involved, so you had to be checked out. We had to make sure this wasn’t some sort of trap. Without admitting to anything, I’ll just say that Danniven and I have managed to stay on this side of those bars this long for good reason. Jafton stayed behind to ensure all was as you claimed. Yes, we tested you, but cheer up” and he smiled a bit, “you passed that test.

Also, and just as seriously: Look me in the eyes and understand this well, Sergeant. Whenever this excursion is over, we may all go our separate ways or we may continue working together in the future; who knows? We may never speak again. However, as of the moment we set out this morning, we entered a pact together. It’s unspoken, but it’s one we all hold to above anything else. We’re now a team. We work together until this job is done. We each get an equal share of the haul, but we also each do an equal share of the work involved, whether that’s cooking, making camp, hauling the loot, or fighting. We each have a skill or knowledge to contribute. Fighting means the bandits we’re targeting, but it also means any watchmen or soldiers who may try to arrest us or stop us from our goal. For the duration of this trip, you’re no longer a lawman – you’re every bit as outlaw as we are, and you’re expected to side with us. Cowardice and running away will forfeit your share of the bounty, but betrayal will forfeit your life. Don’t doubt that. I’ve found you likable enough so far, but I will open your veins if you betray us, and so will the others. Fanjeer may even do worse – who knows with a wizard?”

Eddrehn nodded his understanding, and took a big gulp of the mead to steady his nerves. After a few moments of strained silence, Fanjeer came stumbling back to the fire, flask in hand. “Wha’s goin’ on? Why so serious? Who died over here? Haffa drink!” With those words, he pushed his flask toward Eddrehn, sloshing some of its contents on him. The tension broken, they all had a good laugh and passed around the gnome’s flask, each coughing and wincing in turn and adding his or her own comment as to its quality, or lack thereof.

“That really is some awful stuff, Fanjeer. Did you distill armor polish?” laughed Eddrehn. Fanjeer tensed again and retorted “Hmph! I don’t need your criticism – I’ve been making liquor longer than any of you has been alive.” Once again, he turned his back and staggered away. Soon, his snores could be heard over the sound of their conversation. Trying to lighten the mood again, Eddrehn addressed Jafton. “I see you took the time to see a barber for a haircut and a shave. Why the sudden attention to grooming?”

“Yeah, I did. I don’t normally bother with appearances much, but we’ll be passing through the capital, and maybe run into guards at the elf border. Strangers in town or at the border are met with suspicion as it is. It don’t do to look like a bunch of cutpurses and scoundrels, especially when that’s what we are.” He chuckled at the last. It made sense to Eddrehn. Aefsheen and Danniven looked like they kept themselves more neatly as a habit anyway, so there’d been no need for them to make any changes. He supposed a gnome was always going to look like a gnome to a soldier. He, of course, couldn’t help but look military. Luckily, he’d convinced his captain that he’d had a death in the family and had secured a writ of absence that allowed him to travel to the “funeral”, should he be questioned by any officers.

   Two nights later found them at the barony capital, Elmhold. Aefsheen announced it would be their last night to stay in an inn and sleep in beds, so they decided to splurge a bit and stay in a more upscale place with a dining and gaming hall on the ground floor, thinking that in addition to the comfort it would be safer from fellow thieves and that they could avoid drawing any undue attention to themselves. To blend in, the group all bought some better clothes and changed out of their traveling garb. Fanjeer even traded his mill clothes for a simple black scholarly robe, belted with a gold cord, that he pulled out of his pack. His emergence from his room distracted the others from gawking surprisingly at Danniven in a low-cut dress. When they looked at him funny as he stepped into the hallway, he retorted “What? I actually did go to the magic Academy, you know, long before any of you lot were born!”

Grinning at the grumble that seemed to come out of the old gnome’s mouth hourly, Eddrehn asked “Just how old are you, anyway?”

“Why, I’m just a spry 147 years old!”

 To avoid the usual problems associated with the combination of drinking and gambling, the inn forbade weapons of any sort in the hall. With the new clothes and being unarmed, the group felt a bit uncomfortable and out of their element as they headed downstairs to eat.

After they had supper in the dining room, Aefsheen broke company with them to seek out his contacts to find out what to expect when crossing the border. The others continued talking and drinking, and Fanjeer found himself invited by a local to play a few hands of a gambling game involving a combination of cards and dice. As Eddrehn watched over Fanjeer’s shoulder trying to figure out the rules of the game, the other two wandered around the crowded common room, sipping drinks and trying to overhear anything that could be turned into valuable information. New to the game, and having enjoyed some drinks already, both his own and the inn’s, Fanjeer began to lose money. To Eddrehn, the game’s rules seemed to change according to whether the man dealing cards and rolling dice was winning that hand or not.

“There? See that? High cards and low dice. I win again” the stranger proclaimed as he used an ornately headed walking stick to rake a pile of coins across the table to add to the growing pile in front of his seat.

“Damn. Again?” grumbled Fanjeer.

Eddrehn cleared his throat. “Ahem. Seems to me that when my friend dealt high and rolled low just like that earlier, you said it was a losing hand. And when you had high cards with high dice, you also claimed a victory. I’ll admit I haven’t seen this game before, but it looks like a version of ‘I Win’ where the dealer always wins. Usually works well against drunks and children. Also, you alternate dealing from the top and the bottom of the deck, as if you know what cards are where.”

The foppishly dressed man sat at full attention, puffing out his chest, his face reddening with anger. “Are you accusing me of cheating?!”

Eddrehn, feeling the tension rise in the room, prepared himself for a fight. “Yes. I am. I’ve spent enough time watching convicts passing contraband that I know a card con when I see one. And you’re conning my friend. You owe him that money back.”

“I won’t stand for this! A jail guard, are you? Which squad? My cousin is a captain with the city watch. I’ll have you terminated and jailed yourself. What’s your name?” The man smirked, obviously feeling he’d just played an unbeatable hand.

“I’m squad sergeant – but in another city. I’m traveling through Elmhold; I don’t live here. Which means your cousin, assuming he’s real, has no authority over me.” As Fanjeer began to drunkenly grumble something about having gambled since before Eddrehn was born, Eddrehn reached across the table to retrieve Fanjeer’s losings. The dandy stood abruptly, as did his two friends who’d been seated on either side of him.

“You’ll leave my winnings where they lie!” he shouted as he drew a thin sword from its concealment within his cane. Eddrehn met the man’s enraged glare with a calm gaze. This was a man who clearly was used to bullying and cheating his way through life, relying on a powerful relative (fictional or otherwise) as reinforcement to his bluster.

“Hmm. I’d think a kinsman of a City Watch officer would know that a weapon like that is illegal to carry around the city. Looks like you’re more in danger of a cell than I am.” As his compatriots drew daggers from under their jackets, Fanjeer woke up to the situation at hand. He began gesturing over his dropped cards and dice. Just as his hands began to glow with an arcane aura, a short, slender knife snaked around the fop’s neck to rest its edge along his throat.

“Do we have a problem here?” Danniven’s voice was a veritable purr in the dandy’s ear that still managed to reach everyone’s ears. “Because I do love solving problems.” Eddrehn saw Jafton lay the blade of a steak knife lifted from an adjacent table against the throat of one, then the other of the cheat’s friends, relieving them in turn of their weapons as the others continued their conversation.

“The problem is that I’ve been insulted and my honor called into question. I won’t stand for that from someone so low-born that all he can be is a jail guard. I demand satisfaction!” Her blade twitched a miniscule amount, but it was enough to draw a single drop of blood from his now throbbing throat.

“I’d be careful about ‘low-born’ comments. You never know what company you’re in.”

Eddrehn interjected. “I accept.” All eyes turned to him.

“What?” asked Jafton, tossing the confiscated stilettos into a chair across the table from the cheater and his friends.

“Sounded to me like he just challenged me to a duel. I accept” came the reply.

The card cheat, looking a bit less confident, murmured something under his breath.

“Oh, weapons, you say?” asked Eddrehn. “Simple matter. We meet outside the city walls in the morning. Dueling by mutual consent is perfectly legal outside the city. What do you think? Along the north road, just after breakfast? Since you laid out the challenge, I receive the courtesy of choosing weapons. Since I’m traveling, I’m a bit limited in what I carry, and really don’t have the time to procure other arms. Let’s keep it simple. I suggest we each bring whatever we’re most comfortable fighting with. And by the way, my name is Eddrehn Longrove. May I know yours?”

Slightly blanched, the man agreed to the terms and introduced himself as Filgar Clearcraft. They further agreed that the disputed money would be placed in a sack and the winner of the duel would take it. Danniven tucked her little knife into its upside-down sheath hanging from a silken cord around her neck, and dropped it back down the decolletage of her dress, where it had apparently been hiding in her cleavage all this time. She gave Eddrehn a wink and whispered “I’m never unarmed”.

 “So much for ‘safer’, and ‘not drawing attention to ourselves’…” drawled Jafton as the crew made their way upstairs after watching their adversaries leave.

“I apologize – I couldn’t just let Fanjeer be taken advantage of” protested Eddrehn.

“What’s done is done” said Danniven, adding “I do have to admit I’m surprised by your loyalty, Sergeant. I’m also impressed. We’ll just need to able to leave in a hurry once this duel is over tomorrow. Assuming you mean to go through with it? Or did you want to slip away quiet like?”

“I have no intention of taking a coward’s way out. I’ll fight the man” replied the jailer.

“No disrespect, but have you actually battled before? I mean for real, not just knocking inmates’ heads when they’re shackled?” Jafton asked pointedly. “I only ask out of concern for you – I mean, you’re a big man and all, but it’s different when your opponent is also armed, with armor to boot.”

“Yes. I have. Not that this will likely endear me to any of you, but there was an armed riot and mass escape attempt a few years ago. I helped put that down. And remember the war between Lord Wulfmas and Lord Wellstone last year? Some of their soldiers decided to wage a battle on the city streets and I was part of the force that separated and arrested them. I’m no stranger to fighting.

But he doesn’t worry me. I think he’s relied his whole life on bluster; he likely bluffs at fights just like he does at the gaming table. And I have no doubt he cheats just as much. I’m not that concerned about him, but I’ll be prepared in case he does know what he’s doing.”

This was met with nods of approval by the others. Particularly the second event. It had pitted city watchmen against veteran soldiers and mercenaries, and the Watch had had to essentially fight a two-front battle. There was more to the stocky watchman than met the eye.

 When Aefsheen returned later that night with information about the border, he was frustrated to learn of the next morning’s scheduled duel, but was also impressed with the loyalty Eddrehn had shown Fanjeer.

“Well, at least make it quick so we can be on our way. From what I’m told, we shouldn’t have any problem at the border. Merchants come and go all the time. If the wagon is empty there’s no issue, but on the return trip if there is anything visible that looks salable then we’ll have to pay a tariff on it. We may encounter a Doyenwood patrol on the other side of the border, but as long as we’re just traveling it shouldn’t be a problem.”

 The next morning, they arose, packed their belongings, and broke their fast quickly. They passed through the northern gate of Elmhold as the dawn sun sparkled off the light snow that had fallen during the night.

“I still think I should be the one fighting this duel” grumbled a hungover Fanjeer from the cargo hold of the wagon, now wearing a dagger and a leather case holding a slender wand of polished hawthorn on the cord around his waist, “I’m the one he cheated”. “Yes, but I’m the one who called him out and I’m the one he challenged” replied Eddrehn. “I’m sure you’ve been dueling since long before I was born, but I’m afraid this one falls to me. If you like, I’ll name you my second, and if I die, you can step in and avenge me, does that suit you?”

Fanjeer’s mouth gaped open at the lost opportunity to use his standard grumpy protest, then he shrugged, accepting.

 The flagstone-paved Great Road had ended at the barony seat, and they now traveled a rougher, yet still well-traveled road of beaten down earth. A mile or so outside the gate, they topped a rise and saw a small grove of maple trees off to the left side of the road. Standing beside it, they spied Filgar and his friends. As Aefsheen pulled the wagon to the roadside and halted the horses, the travelers climbed down from the wagon. Filgar, now clad in a steel breastplate over a shirt of mail and wearing a longsword and dagger at his belt, stepped away from his friends, who were slightly less well armored, and taunted Eddrehn.

“I see you felt the need to bring your little army, watchman. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t trust you to come alone and brought my own.”

Eddrehn laughed derisively as he hopped down off the wagon’s front seat “As I said last night – I’m traveling. You’re simply a rest stop at the beginning of the next leg of my journey. These are my traveling companions, here for some morning entertainment.” And with that, he doffed his cloak and hauled down his halberd from its resting place on the driver’s bench. As Aefsheen climbed down, Jafton stepped up and took up the bow from its perch, nocked an arrow and scanned the trees for ambushers. Aefsheen spoke now, while Danniven and Fanjeer exited the back of the wagon.

Aefsheen called out to Filgar. “You’ll have your duel, windbag. Make sure it remains between the two of you. If you have any friends waiting in the trees, tell them now to go home. We’re in a hurry, and none of us is here to play games. Any treachery by you or yours won’t end well for you.” Filgar looked at the hard set in the eyes of all the group, noted that Jafton hadn’t bothered to look at him – just kept scanning the trees. He swallowed hard and replied a bit shakily.

“Yes, well. See that your people do the same. Let’s do this now.”

And with that, he drew his sword and rushed at Eddrehn, bringing it to bear in a wild, two-handed swing. Eddrehn brought his halberd up at an angle, deflecting the sword to the side with the shaft of the longer weapon. He followed the parry with a downward swipe, dealing a glancing blow to Filgar’s arm with the ax head. Filgar stepped backward to regain his stance and Eddrehn thrust the pike point toward his abdomen. When Filgar deflected the attack, Eddrehn stepped in and whipped the butt of his halberd around, splitting the skin on the bridge of Filgar’s nose, causing blood to stream down both cheeks. Filgar stumbled backward, wiping the blood away with a leather gauntleted hand. Eddrehn pressed his attack, thrusting with spear point at his opponent’s body and slashing with the heavy axe blade at arms and shoulders. Filgar, for his part, focused on blocking and parrying Eddrehn’s attacks. Eddrehn, sensing Filgar’s hesitancy, knew he’d been right about the man having relied on bluster to get his way through intimidation. He pressed on, forcing Filgar’s retreat right up to the dense tree line of the woods behind him. When Filgar stepped on a deadfall branch, he realized he’d been backed against the wall, so to speak. Not wanting to embarrass himself further in front of his friends, he gathered his resolve and advanced on Eddrehn with a flurry of clumsy hacking slashes and wild thrusts, hoping that something would get through the other man’s defenses. Eddrehn, using his longer reach, poked Filgar in the stomach with the spike head of his halberd. It didn’t penetrate the plate, but the impact did knock Filgar’s wind out of him with an audible “Oof!” Eddrehn then sidestepped the charge, whipping the butt of the handle downward to sweep Filgar’s ankles, sending him sprawling facedown and sliding in the fresh snow that dusted the humus under the tree branches. As Filgar rolled over, spitting dirt and rotting leaves from his mouth, Eddrehn placed the tip of his halberd at the supine man’s throat.

At that, Filgar’s friends drew their swords and moved to rush Eddrehn. A sharply uttered word and a flick of the hawthorn wand in Fanjeer’s hand, and the ground around the two suddenly sprouted dense spiderwebs, which clung to the would-be ambushers’ feet, and writhed up to encircle their knees. One of them reached down to pull the webs off and found his hands hopelessly mired in the sticky strands. The two stared in horror as they watched scores of spiders meandering through the blanket of webs, slowly making their way toward the two captives.

Eddrehn looked down at his opponent. “I ask you to surrender, Filgar. By rights and by law, I could take your life right now, but I’d rather not do that. Walk away with your minor wounds and I’ll tend to mine, and we’ll just call this morning a lesson, eh?”  

Filgar looked up with a mix of fear and hatred in his eyes, fingers flexing around the grip of his sword. After a moment, fear won out over hatred and, closing his eyes, he nodded his capitulation.  Eddrehn stood back and allowed his foe to regain his feet.

Jafton maintained his watch on the tree line with knocked arrow while Aefsheen spoke up. “I believe there was the matter of a sack of coin that was to go to the winner?” He rested his hands on his sword hilts and continued, “And if you say you didn’t bring it, I’ll finish the job Eddrehn started.” Filgar looked to his compatriots, still struggling in the magically conjured webs, sighed, and walked to the tree line, returning with the sack of money, and handed it to Eddrehn.

Aefsheen resumed the driver’s seat and Danniven, Fanjeer, and Eddrehn returned to the back of the wagon. As the wagon began to move, Fanjeer gave his wand a flourish and the webs holding Filgar’s friends dissolved like spun sugar in water. As the wagon rolled away, Danniven gave a friendly wave and a big smile to the three defeated men and blew a kiss at Filgar. “Well, that was fun!” she cried, nudging Eddrehn with her elbow. “Nothing like a good fight to get your blood running in the morning, huh?” She laughed and sat on the back, swinging her legs and smiling like a happy child on a hay ride.

 Another day on the road, and another night camped alongside it brought them close enough to the border that they didn’t bother with a camp breakfast next morning, knowing they could stop at an inn and get hot food there. Oaksplit was unlike the other cities they were used to.  It was much smaller than those cities, and existed mainly to serve the needs of those guarding the border and those crossing it. It was more a keep and garrison attached to a waystation than it was a true town. All the businesses in Oaksplit served either the border guards or travelers. Inns, smiths, tanners, and general outfitters were the most common establishments. Like all the cities in the northern part of Treeguard Barony, it was enclosed by walls, but as it was on the border, these walls were higher and thicker, and the guards more heavily armed and more alert. Unlike the other cities, Oaksplit didn’t ask them to disarm before entering.  Everyone of age here remembered the orc invasion vividly, and the Lord Mayor thought it wise to have an armed populace, just in case.

As had been discussed, they wouldn’t be staying overnight. Over a breakfast of eggs, bacon, toasted bread, and porridge, the group discussed what provisions they’d need for the rest of the journey – dried, preserved foods that wouldn’t necessitate a cookfire so they could be less conspicuous; a barrel of drinking water since they didn’t know for sure if they’d encounter natural water safe to drink; an extra quiver full of arrows to deal with the bandits and a professional resharpening of Eddrehn’s halberd (he’d bent the spear point and dulled the axe blade a bit on Filgar’s breastplate), along with some other sundries. After eating, they agreed to meet back at the inn as soon as they each finished their errands, and resume their journey as soon as possible.

They left around noon, headed north on a wide, hardpacked stretch of road that was almost, but not quite, big enough to think of as a highway. The squad sergeant at the border gate, sun reflecting brightly off her breastplate, nodded in reply to Eddrehn’s polite wave, then, as the group crossed the bridge over the Doyenflow River that formed the border, they were all outside the kingdom for the first time. “This is it” thought Eddrehn. “Well beyond the point of no return. As far from my post as I can possibly be. No one to rely on if things go bad other than this small band”.  He thought he saw a quick smile flash across Aefsheen’s face.

 Although the road narrowed a bit, it was still wide enough to be called a highway. Yet, the forest grew denser on this side of the border, and the branches of the roadside trees met overhead, leaving the roadway in shadow. Eddrehn mused to himself that if the entire Doyenwood were this dense and shadowed, it was no wonder that the elves had evolved to see in the dark.

A late lunch was eaten roadside, cold with no fire to warm it or themselves. And fire would have been welcome, too. They were moving closer to the northern corner of the world, and especially with sunlight being scarce, they were really feeling the cold. There was frost visible even still in early afternoon in some of the deeper shadows.

After lunch, they pushed on. A couple of hours later, they encountered a group of five mounted elven knights on the road, halted under a break in the treetops, sunbeams glinting off their ornately sculpted and painted breastplates and helms. The lead rider, wearing armor fashioned to look like shrubbery leaves and painted green with frost tipped edges, pulled ahead of his compatriots.  Holding up his hand, he commanded them in halting and heavily accented Moralian, the tongue spoken in Pentalohr, to stop and dismount the wagon.

“State your business in Doyenwood” he demanded.

“I’m a merchant looking for elven craftsmen whose goods I can resell in Pentalohr, and these are my apprentices and traveling companions. I seek relatives of my late father as well,” Aefsheen replied in near perfect Doyeni, the elven language.

Switching to Doyeni, the cavalier said “Yes, I’m aware that all too many of our soldiers dallied with humans while we rescued your land, and left mongrels such as yourself behind for your people to endure. I doubt you’ll find much warmer welcome here than I’m sure you’re accustomed to in your homeland.” Glancing at Aefsheen’s facial hair and undoubtedly comparing it to the smooth face of a purebred elf, he sneered and added “If anywhere can be thought of as your home.”

Aefsheen’s hands started toward his sword grips, and as the group of knights did the same, Danniven stepped in front of him and grasped his forearms. Facing him with her back to the knights, she whispered in an urgent tone “I only understood a little of what he said, but we have a goal here, brother. Getting killed or running from a bunch of knights will just make things harder than necessary. Swallow it for now. Maybe we hunt him down later and you can challenge him then, but for now, don’t lose sight of what we’re here for.” His purple eyes, radiating hatred, remained locked with the orange eyes of the arrogant cavalier, but he moved his hands away from his weapons. The knights, swords already half drawn, resheathed their weapons, but didn’t let go of the hilts.

“Well, your opinion of me and my kind aside, Sir Knight, I’d like to continue on my way, if it’s not too much trouble for you and your crew to let us pass.” The head knight stiffened and haughtily replied “We are not a ‘crew’, mongrel. We are a squad of Doyenwood knights in service to the Ancient and Royal Monarch of the Celestian Elves, and I am Lord Cellig Winterleaf. Your impudence and belligerence will earn you nothing but scorn and trouble here in the Doyenwood. You’d do well to remember that. As you’ve technically broken no laws, I shall allow you to pass, but be aware that we could do as we wish and no one would miss you. Be thankful that I’m a lawful man. Go on, then. Take your little cart and continue on your fruitless half-breed quest.”

Aefsheen flushed red with anger, but told the others through gritted teeth “Let’s go. Now. No questions. I’ll explain later.” The knights watched over them as they boarded the wagon, and eyed them until they’d disappeared around a bend in the road half a mile farther on. Once they were out of sight, Aefsheen allowed a stream of profanity in at least three languages to gush out of his mouth, then took a deep breath, accepted Fanjeer’s proffered flask and drew deeply from that as well, and gave a summary of the encounter to those who didn’t speak the elven tongue, ending it with “Damned Celestians think they’re better than everyone”.

 Later that night, they found a game trail just wide enough to allow the wagon to trundle along its curves and get out of sight of the road so they could make camp unseen by other travelers. After their cold meal, during which they all drank only water, even Fanjeer (“I told you I’d have my dipsomania in hand when the time came for it”), they all began to go over their gear, making sure the things they’d need were easily accessible, tightening fastenings on armor, scraping whetstones against blades, Fanjeer perusing his codex, all getting into the frame of mind to sneak into what was essentially an enemy army’s camp and try to rob them of both treasure and captive slaves, hopefully killing or routing all the bandits. They each knew there was a chance any or all of them could die in the next day or two, and they took the evening to get their minds set to kill or be killed.

Eddrehn looked over at Danniven and Aefsheen as he heard them raising their voices a bit in a private conversation. “Look, Aefsheen, I know. I understand, believe me. Obviously, you know I do. But it comes down to this: You still have your mother. I don’t even have memories of mine. Those bastards robbed me of even that. S I’m claiming this kill. It’s the reason I spent so much money to get Doomfeed – even if I don’t manage to deliver a killing blow with the blade, the poison will make sure he dies in a lot of pain. Now, stand back while I spread it on my knife. Believe me, you don’t want this to get on you.” The half-elf seemed to acquiesce and concede her point. Meanwhile, Danniven opened a small jar of the type used to hold makeup. She set it aside and pulled on a pair of gloves made from the hide of some sort of reptile, then began coating the blade of her little hideaway knife with a viscous black goop she dipped out of the makeup jar.

Aefsheen called over to the others and told them “I know you’re here for treasure. Danniven and I are, too, but that’s secondary to us. You know why. I want to make it clear ahead of time that my sister and I have no intention of leaving our mission half done. If the fight turns against us, and let’s be honest – there’s a good chance it will, take whatever gold you can, get back to the wagon and head home. The two of us aren’t leaving without freeing the women and killing that orc. Jafton, I have a will stashed in my lodgings. Please execute that if it comes to it.” He looked at Jafton and nodded subtly toward Eddrehn. With that, he turned and walked out into the woods, clearly wanting some time to himself.

 “What’s all that about?” Eddrehn asked Jafton.

Jafton sighed and said “Well, there’s a lot of history there. What I’m about to tell you, very few people know. Mostly those who lived it and only their closest friends. Aefsheen told me that, under the circumstances, you should know, too, so you’ll understand the seriousness of what he just said. But you have to swear that you’ll keep this knowledge in your head and never let it spill out your mouth. Say it.”

Nodding his head, Eddrehn said “I swear I’ll keep the secret.”

Nodding, Jafton continued “You know about the woodcutters’ hamlets?”, referring to the small groups of woodcutters’ families scattered throughout the forest in northern Treeguard Barony. They practiced communal living, sharing gardening, meals, construction, and labor. They survived through subsistence farming and selling lumber to the mills in cities like Oakyard. Most of Oakyard’s mill trade depended on wood felled by the hamlets.

“Yes, of course. Go on” came the reply.

“Well, Danniven’s parents and Aefsheen’s mother came from one of them. During the war, they were attacked by a band of orc scouts. Most were killed, a few were lucky enough to escape. A few of the women were unlucky enough to be taken alive.

Both their mothers were pretty young at the time. Lorahna, Aefsheen’s mum, was a couple years younger than Danniven’s, who was already married. Danniven wasn’t even old enough to walk yet. Her dad managed to escape with her, but couldn’t save his wife. I guess the guilt got him and he crawled into a liquor bottle and spent the rest of his short life there. Lorahna’s parents and a small group of other villagers stood against the orcs with wood axes and hand tools. She saw her own parents get cut down. The women, girls really, were taken to a slave camp, where I assume you can guess what they were forced into.  

Danniven’s mother died there. Aefsheen’s mother survived long enough to be rescued by a group of elf outriders. I guess it was love at first sight between her and the captain of the elf company. They wound up marrying. Sadly, they didn’t get a lot of time together – whatever downtime he could get between missions. They say he was some kind of big deal. Him and his company went around doing pretty much what we’re about to do: tearing down prisoner camps and freeing the prisoners and killing orcs.

He died on one of those raids, and Lorahna and Aefsheen came down to Oakyard with a bunch of refugees once the elves made it clear they wanted nothing to do with a human widow and a half breed kid. Danniven’s mom had been her best friend, so when she ran into Danniven’s dad in Oakyard, she looked after Danni a lot when the old man was too drunk to do anything for himself. That’s why they call themselves brother and sister.

Anyway, Danniven lost her mom to the orcs and her da to the bottle. Aefsheen only has foggy memories of his da, but at least he has his mom. That’s what the two of them were arguing about: who has the biggest grudge against the orcs and goblins.”

Eddrehn nodded. “That explains a lot. I wondered why two criminals with such a cold-blooded reputation cared so much about total strangers.”

“Don’t let reputation rule your thoughts too much, there, watchman. Remember we’re people in the Mill Quarter, too. We’re not all evil and heartless, you know. We just do what we have to do to survive. When you’re born hungry with no family trade, your options are limited. Sometimes you steal just so you can eat. Sometimes you get good enough at it to be a professional.” Eddrehn nodded his understanding again. Jafton’s words struck a chord in him. He’d always been taught to think in terms of black and white where the law was concerned. Shades of gray were a new thing for him, and he began to see his new comrades in a whole new light.

 Eddrehn had the last watch of the night, which suited him. He was used to rising early anyway. He walked the perimeter of their little camp, watching the woods carefully and listening for anything that sounded like it didn’t belong in the forest. Snow began to fall an hour or so before dawn, blanketing their lean-tos and the wagon. There’d be no covering their tracks if they had to run. Just as well – the lack of ability to retreat helped Eddrehn steel himself for what he had to do this day. And it would be today; he’d recognized a couple of landmarks the fugitive had described. They were close. As the sun rose, he fetched the jerky and dried fruits from the wagon and began waking the others. Aefsheen and Danniven were instantly awake when he crouched next to each of them and called their names in turn. Jafton grumbled and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head, while Fanjeer sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. Before eating, the siblings and Eddrehn each stepped to the edge of the camp and began going through weapons drills. Earlier in the trip, once they’d noticed each other rising early and going through the practice routines, they’d begun to do some light sparring with each other. They refrained from sparring this morning, however. The snow had brought a hush over the forest and they didn’t want their weapons making any noise while they practiced. They spontaneously fell into whispering when they spoke while breaking their fast.

Not long after breakfast, they spotted a stone marker post along the left side of the road, inscribed in Doyeni. Sitting atop it was a skull with the fine, angular features of an elf, with a few bits of flesh and sinew still clinging to the bone. They all got down from the wagon and took a long, wary look around them as Aefsheen translated the inscription.

“The crown advises all travelers not to leave the road for any reason. If you do, the risk you take is your own.”

“Charming. I can’t believe a ruler would let this threat stand for so long, and care so little for their subjects” Eddrehn mused. “Not to mention allowing a desecration like that skull to remain in place.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not near a city. Doesn’t affect many people other than those on the road to another kingdom. Why should the king spend money to protect lives that aren’t contributing money to his coffers?” came Jafton’s reply as Eddrehn removed the skull and set it down out of sight of the road.

“Sounds fun. Let’s get going!” Fanjeer cried.

“This is just as the prisoner described it. I guess we leave the road now. It shouldn’t be too long before we find the tower.” Eddrehn said, turning to remount the wagon.

They had to push some bushes aside to make room for the horses and wagon to leave the road, but once under the trees, the undergrowth thinned out a little and Aefsheen was able to navigate the team and wagon through the trees, though not without some challenges in coaxing the horses and having Eddrehn use his halberd to clear some of the lower growing branches.  After a couple of tedious hours winding through the trees, during which they’d traveled less than a mile, they came to a narrow trail that snaked off to left and right.

“Here. The deserter said this is the game trail they use to get from their camp to the highway to ambush caravans. If we followed it to the left, it would come within a short distance of the road, giving them hidden access to make their ambushes. Might make a good route back if we’re pursued. The tower and camp are to the right. According to him, it’s about five miles, give or take.”

They decided to take a rest before the next phase of their expedition. Aefsheen unharnessed the horses and put them on long leads to allow them to rest, too. As the band chewed on jerky and sipped water, they all made minor last-minute adjustments to armor fittings and Eddrehn put a whetstone to his halberd’s blade to restore the edge after chopping tree limbs. They shed themselves of any gear they wouldn’t need. Basically, they only carried weapons at this point except Jafton who had a coil of rope over his shoulder like a sash in case they needed to climb into or out of the tower. He and Fanjeer also each wore sizable pouches on their belts. After they’d eaten and rested a bit, Aefsheen hitched the team to the wagon again, got them pointed down the trail in the direction of the road, and retethered them on shorter leads. He wanted to be able to cut those leads quickly, jump in the wagon, and run if necessary.

They took a moment to stretch their arms and legs, then set off toward the bandits’ tower and encampment, with Eddrehn in the lead, watching for landmarks he’d overheard during the interrogation he’d guarded the door for.

 They came to a small, shallow brook bisecting the game trail, hoarfrost clinging along its banks and on the flat rocks visible here and there in the water. Eddrehn announced that they were to turn off the bigger path here. They looked to their left, uphill and upstream from where they stood. They could just make out a smaller game trail that was nothing more than a meandering wide spot without trees growing in it. The earth wasn’t even bare – the carpeting of fallen leaves and fresh snow all but concealed it to anyone who didn’t know to look for it.

“I wonder how they built a tower this deep in the forest, with no roads to bring the bricks and mortar and lumber and all?” Jafton said.

“The Doyenwood kingdom was already ancient when King Rothnik united the original four kingdoms into the baronies of Pentalohr two thousand years ago.” Fanjeer replied. “It’s entirely possible that there were once other roads around here that stopped being used once the highway we just left was built. The forest could have taken back that ground long ago”.

Danniven spoke up. “Time to focus. Eddrehn, continue leading the way. Jafton, walk with him and keep an eye out for those traps. I’ll bring up the rear in case they have any roving patrols who try to approach us from behind. I doubt it, considering what we’ve heard about them, but it’s best to be prepared. We should keep talking and any noise to a minimum from here out.” They all nodded agreement and took their places in line. Swords and wand were drawn, and with a deep breath, they stepped deeper into the forest, all senses alert to danger.

 After walking a while, Eddrehn motioned the group to stop, as he rounded a bend in the path. Those behind him craned their necks to see what lay ahead. The trail was fenced on both sides for dozens of yards by skulls mounted head-high in the trees in matched pairs across the path from each other. Most were elvish or human, although the group could discern the odd dwarf and gnome skull in the mix.

Jafton crept slowly ahead and investigated the skull to the right. Satisfied it was safe despite its gruesomeness, he crossed the path and carefully approached its mate and inspected it as well. It proved to be innocuous as well in spite of its goriness. Eddrehn started walking again, at the same pace they’d been keeping, but Jafton hurried from the tree over to him, and stopped him with a hand on his chest and panicked look.  “Don’t be a fool! We don’t know the rest are safe yet.” He whisper-shouted.

He turned and proceeded to the next skull. Behind this one, he found a thin wire attached to its mountings that led forward parallel to the path. Carefully following it, he found it connected to the mountings on the next skull, then the next. The wire continued halfway along the parade of skulls until he found what he was looking for: a crossbow mounted behind the skull of a dwarf; the bolt coated in something that looked foul and smelled worse aimed through the eye at the path. The wire that connected to the moorings for the other skulls was attached to the bowstring and continued on, presumably to the other skulls. This time, there was a second wire, taut and wrapped around the crossbow’s trigger, that went down to ankle height, wrapped around a stake hammered into the ground, and stretched off toward the path, becoming invisible within yards due to its thinness. Careful not to touch anything other than ground and leaf, he crept along the length of the wire to the opposing skull, where he found the wire connected the same way. He knelt behind the tree, and, holding his breath, reached out and pulled the trip wire. Both crossbows fired their poisoned bolts, crossing each other’s trajectory at about chest height, and piercing the ground near the edge of the trail. Half a second later, all the skulls along the path dropped from their riggings, dancing at the end of their ropes, rattling the dry bones and creating quite a horrific sight.

The party gave a jump when the skulls fell, but quickly recovered, except Eddrehn. He paled as he realized that Jafton had just saved his life – he’d have blundered right along and tripped the crossbows, skewering himself. They all stood stock still, waiting to see if something else was going to happen, or if it had raised an alarm at the camp. After several minutes of nervously sweating despite the icy air in the shade of the old forest, Danniven gave a nod and gestured for Eddrehn and Jafton to go on.

The path wound its way along, parallel to the serpentine streambed, leading them slowly uphill. They began to smell smoke, then saw it as they turned a corner. Startled by its sudden appearance, they all jumped into defensive postures, ready to fight whoever they found waiting. However, there were no people.  No fire, even. Just smoke seemingly coming from the ground. They held back while Jafton approached the source of the smoke, which he soon saw was a sunken bed of smoldering embers. A few feet from where the smoke drifted up from the earth, he froze. They’d all heard the frightening click as his weight had come down on the ground. He’d overlooked a trigger, buried under loam and frost. They waited and nothing happened. Without moving or shifting his weight off his foot, Jafton squatted and inspected the ground beneath his feet. Sure enough, a few inches to his left, a tripwire emerged from the frosty leaves coating the path and made its way into the trees. When he looked up, his heart skipped a beat as he saw the large basket stretched across the trail. He knew that once his weight came off the spot under his left foot, whatever was in woven case was going to be dumped across the trail. He motioned Aefsheen to approach.

“I’m standing on a wire. If I move, whatever is that long basket over our heads will drop down.” Aefsheen looked up and flinched with a start. “I need you to follow the wire and see what it’s connected to and then come back and describe it to me with as much detail as you can. Then I’ll see if I can figure out how to disarm it, and tell you so you can do it.” He pointed out the wire and Aefsheen followed it to the trailside, then sheathed his swords and began to climb the tree. He came back down in a few minutes.

“The wire runs along the tree trunk, and I’d never have believed it but that basket is full of snakes.” Jafton paled a bit, then asked for a description of the mechanism, and directed Aefsheen to uncover the wire and follow it to beneath Jafton’s foot, then describe that.

After hearing the description, Jafton thought if they were able to keep it from releasing, then he could reset it once he moved off it. It might not be a bad idea to have the trap still in place if they needed to retreat while being chased. The bandits might assume the trap had already been sprung and then trigger it themselves.

“Think this is going to work?” Aefsheen asked as Jafton crouched and went to work.  

“Gods, I hope so.”  

Aefsheen rejoined the group and they all watched tensely while Jafton found a hook for the trip wire, and stretched the wire back over it. He held his breath while he gently released it. They all held their breath in anticipation as he lifted his foot.

The thief, dripping with sweat in spite of the frosty air, went back to stand with the group and they waited for their nerves to calm. While they waited, Fanjeer spoke up. “That’s a pretty clever trap. Snakes tend to hibernate in the cold months, but I’ll wager those embers keep them just warm enough to stay awake. Meanwhile, the smoke disguises the basket from anyone foolhardy enough to traipse up this path. Most animals would avoid the hot coals, leaving the trap in place for curious and again, foolhardy, people who might be likely to get closer to inspect the source of the smoke. They get close enough, and bam! – Snakes rain down on them. If it were me, I’d feed them just enough to keep them active, but just little enough to keep them hungry and aggressive.”

“I didn’t think snakes even lived this far north” pondered Eddrehn.

“Probably exotic pets of some wealthy traveler, or the wares of a traveling pet merchant. Either way, their previous owner was most likely killed by the bandits” Aefsheen said in reply.

After a few minutes, the adrenaline had worn off and the cold was starting to settle into them again, so they resumed walking.

Under the high canopy of trees, they were losing sight of the sun fairly quickly. The trail was in shadow, but they could still see patches of the reddening sky overhead through occasional breaks in the foliage. Soon, they caught sight of the battlements on the top of the crenelated tower. They could smell the bonfire several minutes before they began catching glimpses of its glow through the woods. So much for scouting during the day and having time to make a plan before nightfall.

The game trail had parted ways with the brook and wound around a large hill before continuing on to the bandit camp. The group stopped with the hill between them and the bonfire, and Jafton went ahead to reconnoiter. He was gone an hour or more. The sky overhead had gone from red to purple, and finally full, star-filled dark by the time he returned. Just as Danniven was suggesting that she or Aefsheen should go look for him, he appeared out of the trees. The party sighed their collective relief.

“All right, here’s what I found. From here, you can see how the trail winds to the left around this hill. As it comes back around, it goes downhill and just sort of disappears into their compound. The tower is at the back and sort of to your left as you come around the bend. There’s a sort of big yard area between it and the tree line, with a huge bonfire in the middle. There’s little huts all around the yard where I figure the bandits sleep, and the ruins of some old stone outbuilding to the rear and right side of the camp. It’s right next to the water, so I guess the stream must have been a river back when the tower was built, and the ruins were a boathouse or millhouse. Danni, I bet that’s where they lock up the women.

Eddrehn and Fanjeer, you can follow me to the left. We’ll leave the trail and make our way through the trees until we have the tower between us and the bandits. We shouldn’t have to worry about being too loud – this hill blocks their racket, but they’re drinking and making plenty of noise themselves. Apparently, they’ve kidnapped a musician, and that’s adding to the general chaos.

Danni, you can make your way to the right around the hill. You’ll have to get close to the stream. If it wasn’t so cold, I’d recommend wading to be sure you’re not seen, but if I know you, you’ll be able to stay invisible anyway.

Aefsheen, if you climb this hill, you should have no problem climbing one of the trees and finding a good branch for a sniper’s roost.

We should gather the loot and the women here if we can before the battle starts.

Everyone ready?”

“Let’s do this.” Danniven replied, adjusting her grip on the buckler and drawing her sword. Without another word, she jogged through the trees to the right-hand side of the hummock.

Aefsheen hefted the quivers he’d laid down while they’d waited for Jafton to complete his scouting, nodded to the others, then hustled up the slope. Jafton led the other two around the hill and into the woods, skirting the bandits’ camp, which turned out to be as loud as he’d said. Eddrehn was a bit worried that it sounded like a bigger crowd than he really wanted to fight with their small band, but there was no backing out now, and while his eyes and ears remained alert to any potential immediate danger, his mind started formulating tactics for the imminent battlefield below.

Aefsheen crested the hill and chose a tree as close to the edge of the copse as he thought he could get without being seen and climbed it, sitting on a sturdy branch several yards off the ground. He wanted the widest field of fire he could get, with as little foliage as possible between him and the bandits. He drew an arrow, nocked it to the bowstring, and made himself comfortable as possible.

Danniven made her way to the brook and started following it toward the encampment, keeping a wary eye out for guards. Her progress was hampered by a couple of things. For one thing, the tree growth was sparser here, creating more opportunity for her to be seen if a bandit happened to look her way at just the right time. The ground was also rockier, and slick with ice this close to the water, causing her to slip a couple of times. She avoided falling, but barely – one time her foot splashed into the stream.

“Wha’s that? Who’s out here?” Drunkenly slurring in heavily accented Moralian, a smallish man, only about a head taller than Fanjeer, with ears flat to his hairless head, coming to a slightly rounded point, and skin somewhere between green and brown in color, stumbled toward her through the trees from her left. “You come out here to piss, too? I tell ya, drink one, drain two. Every damn time.” Laughing through pointed teeth at his own joke, he stopped short when he saw her well enough to realize that she wasn’t one of his companions. He drew breath to sound an alarm. Before he finished his inhalation, Danniven drove the steel rim of her shield into his mouth, muffling his cry, shattering most of his teeth and knocking him flat onto his back. Before he could regain his feet, she was over him, bringing her sword down and bisecting his head from crown to chin.

Crouching, she quickly looked around. There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the woods, and nobody at the bonfire was reacting. She was clear. Sheathing her sword, she grabbed the goblin’s feet and dragged him to the stream, then through it to the other side. She didn’t want anyone else coming out to relieve himself and finding this corpse before she was able to get the women out of their enclosure. She carefully picked her way back through the frigid stream, and, teeth chattering from the cold, continued toward the outbuilding.

 Aefsheen had chosen his perch well. He had a good view of the whole encampment, and would have a clear field of fire if it came to that. He looked to his right and was just able to make out movement along the waterline. Then, he saw a second, smaller figure approaching the first. He pulled the string back to his ear and sighted along the shaft of the arrow, estimating how much to adjust his aim to allow for the difference in height. Just as he was about to loose the arrow, he saw the second figure drop. Half a minute later, he saw Danni dragging a goblin body across the creek. He smiled grimly as he relaxed the bow and turned back to watch the revelers below.

 Jafton led Fanjeer and Eddrehn through the woods at a jog, more concerned with speed than silence. He knew the siblings were eager to kill the orc leader of the brigands, and he was good with that, but he wanted to get as much of their valuables as he could before the fighting started in case they had to run. When they had the tower between the fire and themselves, Jafton led his little crew out of the trees toward a small staircase that led down below ground. “This is the only way in I see on this side” he told the others. “It’s either a cellar or a dungeon. Either way, it’ll get us inside and we’ll find the treasury then”. He approached the stairs slowly, looking at them carefully, searching for any more traps. He knelt down at the top, and found it. Another trip wire, just barely glinting in the moonlight. He traced it to each side of the stairway and found it simply anchored. Simple – just a literal trip wire to send the unwary interloper head over heels down the stone steps, probably breaking a bone or two in the fall. He cut it dismissively, then sheathed his knife and began walking down the steps, announcing over his shoulder “All clear”. When his foot hit the third stair from the top, all the steps gave way and dropped to form a steep slope. The thin layer of ice on the steps sent him hurtling toward the door at the bottom, which bore rusty spikes protruding from its surface. Reacting quickly, he thrust his hands out and aimed them at spaces between spikes. He hit the door with a bone jarring thud, his elbows flexing as his weight drove into his arms. He was able to stop his momentum just before his face met a spike tip. He looked back over his shoulder at his two partners. “Well… all clear, now…” he added. As he pushed himself back away from the door, he felt a tug at his left elbow. Looking over at it, he saw that a spike had punctured his sleeve, barely missing his arm. He gave a tug, ripping his jacket and shirt and freeing himself to stand on the small landing in front of the door. He reached into the pouch on his belt for his lockpicks, and went to work on the ancient lock. The petite conjurer and the brawny watchman carefully crept down the slope, arriving at the be-spiked door as Jafton finished struggling with the rusty tumblers and got the lock open.

 Danniven approached the ruins of the old outbuilding quietly, alert for any more of the brigands approaching or any other signs of danger. As she got closer, she heard a noise that didn’t seem to fit. Rhythmic and low pitched, it was a rumble almost felt more than heard. Confused, she peeked over a window ledge, looking for a means of entry not visible to the revelers at the fire. What she saw almost made the odd noise make sense. The building’s interior walls had long since deteriorated to mere piles of rubble, revealing the original floor plan, but it was otherwise a large, open room. Against the wall farthest from the entrance facing the bonfire was a bed made of a huge slab of wood supported by thick oak stumps. What she was hearing was a loud, deep snoring. What she was seeing was definitely not a bunch of enslaved women, but something that vaguely looked like a man made of nightmares. She’d never seen an orc, nor a goblin before tonight, but she’d seen sketches and heard descriptions often enough to have recognized the man she’d killed earlier as a goblin. But this was no goblin or orc. This was far too big for either. Very little scared her, and she’d die before she backed down from any man, but this was no man. This looked to be half again as tall, and two or three times as bulky as a man. Holding her breath, she slunk away, careful not to waken the creature. Mind reeling, she started back toward the meeting point.

 Aefsheen saw Danniven making her way back along the creek alone. Apparently, the building wasn’t where the women were housed after all. A thought occurred to him. He’d seen several of the men below going into and out of the huts. He’d assumed they were going to fetch belongings or drink from their quarters. But what if they were going in to the women instead? Of course! They’d have claimed rooms for themselves inside the tower. The huts were the cells. The gods damn it all, they were going to have to finish their fight before they freed the women. He had no intention of leaving the orc alive, but this was a complication. He’d hoped they could have targeted Chimelac, then made a fighting withdrawal. Killing all the highwaymen before even freeing the women seemed a daunting task. No matter. He’d lived most of his life on borrowed time anyway. If he died tonight, he was satisfied it would be while doing something worthwhile.

 Once inside the tower, Jafton looked around for a lantern or a torch to light. Fanjeer muttered something unintelligible to the others, and a string of glowing orbs appeared overhead, trailing down a corridor that stretched away from the door. They didn’t exactly create daylight, but it was enough to maneuver by. They saw cell doors on either side of the corridor as far as the lights went. The doors were thick wood reinforced by iron straps, with a grate in the center to see through and a slot at the floor for passing plates of food through. They looked through the grates, and saw crates and boxes and what looked to be piles of backpacks, bags, and purses. It looked like the robbers had just filled the first cells they came to, then moved on to the next. Then they’d likely have removed coins and items to fence from the cells closest to the outside door. The group wasn’t going to have much time to appraise a lot of things before all hell broke loose, so once Jafton picked the first two locks, he had the other two focus on running through those cells to find coins and obvious valuables while he opened a couple more doors, then he quickly glanced at some of the other things. It wasn’t long before they’d collected a couple of chests filled with coins and jewelry. Jafton had also found a case of Celestian wine that the bandits had somehow missed. Or maybe they just didn’t like the elven wine. Didn’t matter – this stuff was expensive in Pentalohr and while he wasn’t familiar with the various vintages, he knew a fence who was, so he added it to the pile.

Fanjeer drew his wand and uttered an incantation. The thief and the guardsman watched as the chests were picked up and, to all appearances, placed on an invisible shelf a few feet off the ground. Then they saw the “shelf” was more of a “cart”, because it began following Fanjeer toward the exit. “Grab that chest and come along” they heard Fanjeer say. As Jafton started toward the case of wine, it rose into the air, and Eddrehn would have sworn an invisible man had shouldered it and was following the unseen cart.

 The trio got back to the hill with their haul just as Danniven came running in, alone. Aefsheen stayed in the tree to cover them until they were safely out of sight of the bonfire, then slid down the tree trunk as quickly as he could.

“Danni, what happened?!” Aefsheen said in a whisper-shout.

Teeth chattering from the soaking she took while running through the creek to get back to the others, she replied “The women aren’t in the ruins. I don’t know what that was. Bigger than a man. Bigger than an orc. Like if Fanjeer stood on Eddrehn’s head and outweighed all of us together. And ugly. I’m just glad it was asleep.” She turned on Eddrehn, stepping close into his personal space, and using the same whisper-shout Aefsheen had, demanded “What the hell? Why didn’t you warn us they had a pet monster? That’s some useful intelligence, gods damn it! Were you setting us up after all?!”

Eddrehn flinched, and stepped back, his empty hand held up in a placating gesture, while angling his halberd away from her. “I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. The deserter didn’t say anything about any monster. Maybe it’s a new development?”

“Sounds like an ogre to me” Fanjeer interjected. “Wouldn’t be the first time goblins or orcs took one in to help them fight.” Danniven glared at Eddrehn, sighed, then turned to the rest of the group. Dismayed, she asked “Where are the women?”

While Aefsheen told them what he’d witnessed around the huts, Fanjeer approached her, and reached his hands out to her knee and slowly moved them down to the ground, leaving her leg and foot warm and dry behind his movement. He repeated the process on her other leg. Her teeth stopped chattering and, her shivering abated, she thanked him.

“This is worrisome. That means the bandits live in the tower itself. And that means there could be more of them inside” mused Eddrehn. Then they heard an uproar from over the hill. They all turned in the direction of the party, and Aefsheen ran to the base of the tree that had been his perch. He saw a great milling about, and heard much shouting, though he couldn’t make out words. When he saw the dead goblin body with the split skull on the ground by the bonfire, he knew they’d been discovered. He rushed back to the group.

“No choice now. They’ve discovered the goblin Danni killed. This is your one last chance to back out” he told the companions. Danniven nodded her agreement.

Eddrehn shifted his grip on his halberd, and holding it at the ready, said “Some advice from my experience in fighting against crowds: Whatever you do, don’t let them circle you. Step in, hit, step back out. If they surround you, you’re done for. One thing in our favor is that even though they’re armed, from what I could tell, none of them are wearing armor. They’re used to fighting from ambush – they’ve never expected to be attacked at their home. That should help a bit, anyway.”

“Give me the bow and the arrows. I’m a better shot than you anyway” Jafton said to Aefsheen, holding his hands out. “You all sneak in and take out the ones on the edge of the crowd. Eddrehn’s right. They won’t expect an assault like that, and coming out of darkness into the light, you’ll be hard to see until you’re among them. I’ll start picking them off until I’m out of arrows, then I’ll climb down and join you. We just need some sort of signal so I know when you’re in place and ready for me to start firing”.

“Oh, you’ll know” Fanjeer said, “You’ll know”. Jafton nodded, knowing from the grin on the mage’s normally grumpy face that some sort of show was imminent. He sprinted to the tree and shimmied up it as the other four decided their routes.

 Since Danniven was still feeling spooked, Aefsheen and Eddrehn headed around the right. Fanjeer and Danniven went left. Jafton climbed the tree and watched the ruckus below. The music had stopped. The minstrel, if he was even half smart, would have slunk away in the confusion. He heard voices shouting in different languages, no one voice understandable above any of the others. There was too much milling about and confusion, and even a couple of fistfights and pushing matches breaking out in the crowd for him to count, but he estimated at least a couple dozen, maybe as many as thirty. Far too many for a fair fight. Fortunately, he and his friends didn’t fight fair. He hoped Eddrehn would be okay in that regard. That man with his sense of fairness was too naïve to last long if he didn’t wise up.

 Fanjeer and Danniven crouch-ran to the shadow of one of the huts and hunkered down. She snuck a quick look around the edge to the crowd. They were all too busy shouting and arguing about what course of action to take to notice the two. “All right, Fanjeer, we’re here. They’re not paying attention to anything our direction. Let’s give it a minute to make sure my brother and the sergeant are in place, then you can let loose whatever it is you’re grinning about.”

Aefsheen and Eddrehn followed the stream that Danniven had earlier. They moved a bit quicker than she had, since they didn’t feel any need to be stealthy due to the commotion at the fire. Closer to the open area, they crouched and moved more quietly until they were just barely obscured from view by the trees. As he drew his matched fencing blades, Aefsheen told Eddrehn “Now we wait for Fanjeer to make the first move”.

Jafton scanned the crowd below, straining his eyes for any sign of Fanjeer’s signal. Out of nowhere, a heavy downpour of sleet and freezing rain dropped onto the clearing, pelting the bandits and coating the ground in a layer of ice. The fire doused, the men began slipping and falling on the newly slick ground. “Dammit, Fanjeer. Now I can’t see who to shoot!” Jafton muttered, irritated by the lack of warning. All he could see was a crowd of movement, but not enough detail to aim at anyone in particular. Shrugging, he pulled the bowstring back and sent an arrow flying into the turbulent mass of bodies below.

 The battle with what turned out to be dozens of bandits caught unaware by clever adventurers quickly devolved into the mass of confusion that any fight of large scale inevitably becomes. Through discussions with each other in the days following, the group managed to patch together a few agreed upon details, as follow.

 Aefsheen stood up from his hunker and charged through the stinging sleet towards the crowd with Eddrehn hot on his heels. Aefsheen veered right, Eddrehn to the left. Aefsheen slashed through the tendons and muscles of a goblin’s weapon arm, rendering him inert, and half a beat later ran his rapier through a human bandit’s ribcage, rendering him inert permanently. Withdrawing his weapons, he retreated quickly to the woods, the goblin’s screams ringing in his ears.

Eddrehn swung his halberd in a long arc. The heavy axe blade cut through the top of a goblin’s skull and bit deep into the hip of the taller human next to him. The goblin dropped in silence; the man howled in pain and surprise. Eddrehn had to kick the man to extract the blade from his pelvic bone. With no structural skeletal support, the man fell to the ground while fumbling for his sword. Eddrehn left him lying there and joined Aefsheen in his sprint for the cover of the trees.

 Danniven raised her buckler, held her broadsword at the ready, and ran to attack a trio of bandits at the edge of the crowd. One of them heard her running footsteps and wheeled around. She blocked his mace with her shield, and hacked at his weapon arm, catching the elbow and releasing a gout of blood. The man yelped in pain as he dropped to his knees. She kicked him in the face to silence him and turned to face the other two who’d heard him and wheeled around toward her. They separated, flanking her. The one to her left was wielding what looked to have once been a table leg, big enough that he needed both hands when he swung it at her head. She ducked under it, feeling the whoosh of its passing ruffle her hair. Too late, she turned to see the other man’s hatchet arcing toward her. She tried to swing her sword to parry, but she was too slow and felt the axe bite into her forearm. The glancing blow drove her sword hand down, but before the man could reset to swing again, she thrust back upward. The pain in her arm threw her aim off, so she didn’t pierce his abdomen, but the edge of her blade sliced his skin from belly to chin. It was a shallow cut but it put him on the run. She felt the thud of the other man’s oversized club between her shoulder blades and she pitched forward. She managed to avoid planting her face into the frozen ground, but wound up on her knees. Spinning around and dropping to her back, she managed to avoid his attempt at a backswing attack. He recovered quickly, bringing his club over his head for a coup-de-grace. This time, her sword point didn’t miss its mark, and she impaled his gut. His eyes went wide, then glassy, and his club dropped to the ground behind him. She rolled to her feet as he fell, and sprang for the cover of the hut with Fanjeer so she could recover from the shock of her wound. “You’re bleeding. Are you alright?” the diminutive wizard asked her. “I’ll be fine. Luckily, he doesn’t use his whetstone often. It’s as much bruise as it is cut” came her reply, ignoring the blood streaming down her arm. They watched as a few arrows dropped from the sky along with the sleet and freezing rain. The crowd was beginning to notice its members dropping. Fanjeer waved his hand and the storm immediately disappeared. He winked up at Danniven, saying “Watch this”. He stepped around the edge of the hut, drew his wand and gestured with it while muttering in an arcane tongue. The wand glowed with a black light, and as he pointed it at the crowd, great black tentacles sprouted from the ground in the midst of the crowd, and surrounding them. As the brigands began to notice and panic, the tentacles started flagellating, beating the men mercilessly. Some at the periphery were able to escape the bludgeoning, and others were able to dodge and shimmy their way clear, but most were hopelessly snared and their screams filled the night.

Danniven looked across the crowd and the writhing horror show to see Chimelac. Even seated, it was obvious he was well over six feet tall. His skin was the gray-brown color of dust, and his large muscles were starting to soften from old age. He wore no shirt underneath his open hide coat, and his chest and shaved scalp bore the scars of a life spent in battle. He sat on an enormous wooden armchair; a throne carved from a great tree trunk. He’d been watching the events unfold before him as if it were a play and he had the best box seats in the house. The only time he moved was to drink from the pitcher he used as a mug. To his right, a tremendous scimitar leaned against the armrest, and on the other side of his chair stood a slim elven woman next to a tapped keg on a small table. She wore a collar with a thin chain attached to it. The end of the chain was wrapped around an armrest of the great chair. She looked on with horror at the scene in front of her, while Chimelac grinned around the great tusks protruding from his lower jaw.  

As Aefsheen and Eddrehn rushed in on their next charge, the sleet was replaced by eldritch tentacles that sprang up from the ground and thrashed around, mauling the bandits who were caught in its midst. The sight would have been truly unnerving had they not known it was caused by their friend. Their situation was different this time, however. Their opponents were fleeing the tentacles, which meant they were running straight for the duo. Aefsheen, accustomed to using speed and agility to fight, simply ran through them, slashing, stabbing, parrying, dodging, ducking, and pressing on through them in a deadly dance of flashing steel, leaving wounded and confused foes in his wake. Eddrehn, on the other hand, found himself worse off. His heavier armor and large weapon kept him from using Aefsheen’s tactic. He swung the halberd at waist height, slashing a few shallow wounds into the group facing him. That checked their stride, and he recovered his grip and thrust the pike point dead center at one of their bodies, piercing the man’s ribcage and killing him instantly. Eddrehn heard steps behind him, and quickly withdrew his weapon, thrusting its shaft backwards, butt first into the forehead of a goblin trying to get at him from behind. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder to confirm the strike, and three others were on him, bringing him to the ground. They laid into him with swords. Luckily, they were as negligent with their edges as Danniven’s attacker had been, and none of their strikes breached his armor, and the few that hit his less-protected limbs were dull, leaving shallow cuts and bruising that would make his arms purple by morning. However, two of them managed to knock him down and pin his arms to the frozen ground, holding him still. The other raised his sword with both hands, preparing to bring it down on Eddrehn’s head. Eddrehn struggled to free his arms or at least land a kick to the standing swordsman, to no avail. Realizing he was lost; he raised his eyes to defiantly meet his killer’s gaze dead on. The man worked his hands on the hilt, adjusting his grip. Suddenly, an arrowhead protruded from the swordsman’s cheek, dripping blood and bits of brain. The sword dropped, planting itself point down into the soil as the bandit crumpled to the ground beside it. Eddrehn took advantage of the surprise that overcame the others and yanked his arms free from their grasp. The halberd was out of reach, so he drew his dirk and drove it toward the man on his right. The man’s crouched posture skewed his aim, and he missed his belly, but landed a solid blow into his thigh, lodging the blade into the bandit’s thigh bone. Leaving it there, he spun around driving a backhanded punch with mailed fist into the jaw of the other, knocking him backward and allowing Eddrehn to stand and recover his halberd.

By the time the crowd dispersed, Jafton couldn’t make out any targets, and didn’t want to risk shooting one of his friends in the dark, so he scampered down the tree and made his way to the melee.

Danniven worked her way through the crowd in a similar fashion to Aefsheen, using her buckler instead of a second sword to parry and smash. The tentacle spell had run its course and the survivors were recovering and one by one noticed they were under physical attack as well. Just as they began to move toward the companions, Jafton, enroute to the fray, saw a familiar patch of spider webs sprout under the bandits’ feet, trapping many of them in place.

Jafton saw Danniven beset by three large men with swords of their own, and crept up behind them, cutting one’s throat and stabbing another in the back before they even knew he was there. He threw Danniven a wink, she nodded gratefully, and he turned to find himself being rushed by two more brigands with swords.

Eddrehn watched the two bandits rush past him toward Jafton’s back. He reached out with his halberd, and caught one of the ambushers by the shoulder with the back spike, biting in and bringing his upper body to a halt. His legs continued on, though, and Eddrehn yanked back on the polearm, pulling the man back until his legs rose into the air. Being caught on one side made him spin in the air and he landed face down on the hard packed, frozen earth. When his cohort turned to look down at him, Jafton ran that man through with his wicked blade that was somewhere between long dagger and short sword, while Eddrehn ran the spear tip of his halberd into the prone man’s ribcage.

Meanwhile, Fanjeer strolled around the perimeter of the web-entrapped throng, casually flicking his fingers, flinging a viscous fluid that burned like liquid fire when it landed on flesh.

A loud, bear-like roar caught everyone’s attention, and the melee halted as all eyes turned toward the ruins of the outbuilding. The noise had woken the ogre that they’d all but forgotten about in the heat of battle. A battle which that ogre now seemed eager to join as he hefted a club that was essentially a small tree trunk with most of the branches torn off, leaving a few root stumps still protruding from the business end. Danniven darted a quick glance over to Chimelac, still sitting on his wooden throne. He had a full, broad smile plastered on his face now, and laughed before bellowing “Ha! My uninvited guests have woken my watchdog. Careful, now, or you’ll get bit!” He laughed more, guzzled the remains of his pitcher, and held out his pitcher-mug for his serving girl to refill. Jafton had snuck around the knot of men held by the flailing eldritch tentacles to get behind the great orc. As she finished topping off Chimelac’s drinking vessel, the girl turned to hand it back to Chimelac, inadvertently bumping into Jafton and causing him to stumble into the oaken throne, alerting the orc to his presence. Chimelac whirled around in his seat and wrapped his arm around Jafton’s neck in a headlock, drawing him forward. They struggled against each other, but the thief was no match for the orc’s strength, and was stuck, so he went ahead and did what he’d intended to do anyway – he plunged his dagger into Chimelac’s side. The orc howled in rage and pain, but the angle in which he held Jafton prevented a lethal wound. He reached over and fumbled with his sword. The blade was too long to bring to bear, so he smashed the pommel down on top of Jafton’s head with a cracking sound and the thief dropped like a stone. Chimelac stood, lifting his great curved blade. Smiling, he stalked the group like a predator hungry for its next meal.

 Eddrehn faced the ogre, which stood over half again his height. As the brute lifted his tree trunk to swing, the guardsman closed the range, and swung his halberd like a woodsman’s axe at the behemoth’s knee, landing a solid blow and raining its blood down on him. The ogre, recoiling from the pain, lifted his leg, and as soon as his foot touched the ground, he brought it forward swiftly, punting Eddrehn across the revel grounds.

 Chimelac reached Aefsheen first. Aefsheen dodged the first two-handed swing and riposted with a thrust which Chimelac batted aside with his much larger blade and followed with an overhand blow aimed at Aefsheen’s head. The half elf agilely sidestepped the swing while bringing his saber up to slice at Chimelac’s forearm as it crashed the scimitar into the frozen soil. The orc grinned at Aefsheen. “It’s been too long since I had a good fight. I’ve grown old and soft. I was hoping the bait I set would bring soldiers, but I think you lot may be even better.”

Aefsheen thrust his rapier at Chimelac’s belly and replied “Bait? You wanted soldiers to find you?” Laughing, Chimelac brought his blade up to block the thrust and continued “I’ve grown old and soft. My time is close, and I’m an orc warrior. I may have deserted my post during the war to seek more fortune, but I still feel the need to die in battle, not on a sick-bed, twisted with arthritis and shitting myself from weak bowels. I needed a company of soldiers, at least, to get through my men. But I see you and your friends are” *swing and miss, parry the riposte* “clever. Of course, having a wizard helps. I was never able to recruit one here. Too bad” *block, punch* “- that would have made things more entertaining.” As he talked through the fight, he was moving around Aefsheen, trying to get an advantageous position, but the half elf made up for his lack of strength with speed and dexterity. “Well, we’ll do our best to grant your wish…” Aefsheen’s reply was cut off as Eddrehn skidded across the ground into his legs, knocking him aside. Eddrehn came to a stop at Chimelac’s feet. Aefsheen, stunned at being knocked aside, got up and looked about the battle, trying to get his bearings. He spied Danniven facing the ogre alone. Forgetting all else, he darted off to her aid, leaving the sergeant to face the orc.

Eddrehn managed to get up to his knees and bring his halberd up to block Chimelac’s downswing just in time. However, his balance was off and he misjudged the timing of the swing to knock aside the sword blow. Instead of catching it at an angle and redirecting the force, he had the shaft of his halberd perpendicular to the trajectory of the scimitar. A soldier to the end, Chimelac hadn’t neglected his blade like so many of his men. The sword cleaved the handle of the pole arm neatly in half, continuing through to cut a crease in Eddrehn’s chainmail and opening his flesh down to the ribs.

Bleeding from a half dozen wounds, Danniven was fighting for her life against the hulking man-shaped beast as it roared and swung its tree at her head. She ducked, covering her head with her shield, feeling fear from a fight for the first time since childhood. As the massive club swept past her, she darted between the ogre’s feet, landing a solid sideways swing of her broadsword into the same knee Eddrehn had wounded moments before. The ogre howled, stepped back with its wounded leg, and tried to bring its other foot down on her in a great stomp. It was much taller than her, but not tall enough for that maneuver. However, it did manage to kick her hard enough to knock her over onto her back and make her see stars. While she was stunned, it turned to face her, laughed and raised its bludgeon over its head for a death blow. Danniven saw a blur of oxblood colored leather race over her and watched as Aefsheen ran between the ogre’s legs with both arms outstretched, slashing both legs as he ran past it, turned around and thrust his rapier point into the back of its colossal thigh. With a bellow of rage, the monster spun around to face Aefsheen, whirling its great weapon toward his head. Aefsheen followed the ogre’s swing with his saber, cutting it on the back of its forearm, sending a gout of blood into the air. As the two traded swings, Danniven regained her feet. The ogre’s back was to her, and she saw what she must do. She thrust her sword into the ground, planting it like a battle standard. She dropped her buckler to the ground, and ran toward the hairy man-beast. Leaping as high as she could, she grabbed a double handful of its body hair and pulled herself up, climbing it as best she could while it wiggled and shook, trying to dislodge her. Luckily, the ogre also had to deal with Aefsheen in front of it, so its attempts to shake her off were halfhearted.

Aefsheen went to dodge a mighty swing of the enormous club, but slipped on the icy ground. He recovered from the slip, but it left him a bit too upright, and the makeshift maul connected fully with his body. He went sailing through the air, landing on his back and gasping for air. The ogre began to shake and contort with renewed vigor, reaching around its side and over its shoulder to try and grab Danniven. She managed to avoid his grasp, but found holding on to be harder now. She did the only thing she could think of. She drew her daggers. First the right, then the left, and, grasping them like ice picks, plunged them deep into the ogre’s flesh. She climbed up its back this way, hand over hand, leaving a bloody trail, and easily avoiding its now desperate attempts to club her over its own head.

Meanwhile, Fanjeer had stopped his magics and was now strolling around the perimeter of the tentacle field and casually dispatching those who still hung onto life with his dagger. He happened to glance the right direction to see Aefsheen’s flight through the air, and Danniven’s struggles. She was on the ogre’s shoulders now and it was about to grab her. The diminutive mage disappeared in a wisp of foggy smoke, reappearing a couple of yards in front of the ogre. “Danniven, get clear of it!” he shouted. She looked down at the gnome, already chanting and mystically gesticulating, and she raised both blades high, and brought them down into each side of the ogre’s neck, leaving them buried hilt deep, then launched herself backwards, somersaulting back and away, landing hard on the ground and falling to her knees. She looked up to see a steel-gray ball of mystical energy shoot from Fanjeer’s wand toward the ogre. As it flew, the nebulous sphere coalesced into a swirling miasma of blades. All sorts of blades: kitchen knives, meat cleavers, shaving razors, filet knives, daggers, hatchet blades… Danniven was pretty sure she even caught sight of a saw blade in the edged maelstrom. The spinning ball of sorcerous blades spun its way right into the ogre’s chest and face, chewing its flesh into a bloody stew of flesh, blood, sinew, and bone. As the ogre gave his guttural death rattle and dropped to his knees, then onto what was left of his face, Danniven ran past it toward the orc captain, snatching up her buckler and sword on her way.

 Eddrehn was holding both ends of his halberd, trying to use the butt end to parry Chimelac’s swings and trying to swing the now unwieldy weapon head with his left hand to fight back, and clumsily failing at both. Danniven thrust her shield between the two combatants, blocking what would likely have been a killing blow by Chimelac. The force of the curved great sword split the small buckler and knocked it from her arm, but she managed to swipe her blade across the orc’s ribs, opening a rift in both his coat and his hide. He roared, and turned to face her.

“You and your army took my mother from me, you bastard! Tonight. You. Will. Die!” she shouted, deflecting his swing and closing the gap to thrust her sword into his unprotected belly. Releasing his sword with one hand, he embraced her and pulled her in close, where she couldn’t bring her own weapon to bear. He leaned into her ear and whispered “Is that what this is about? Poor thing, come to daddy, little one” and kissed the top of her head, laughing at her angry, flailing attempt to escape his mighty grasp.

Meanwhile, Eddrehn had recovered and moved the business end of his halberd’s remains to his strong hand, and Aefsheen had gotten up and made his way to the fight between Danniven and Chimelac. Seeing that she was trapped, Eddrehn approached and swung his unwieldy half-halberd like a battle axe at the great orc, who simply parried the unbalanced attack. Aefsheen took advantage of the distraction and swooped in with both blades, slicing the orc’s shoulder and running his rapier through his forearm. Chimelac roared and twisted his arm, tearing the rapier from Aefsheen’s grasp and hurling Danniven aside. The orc pulled the thin bladed dueling sword from his arm and flung it away, grasped his immense scimitar with both hands and swung it at Aefsheen with all his weight behind it. Aefsheen dropped to the ground to avoid the blow, came up with a dagger in his hand, and flung it at Chimelac’s face. It left a slice across the orc’s cheek as it sailed by. Aefsheen and Eddrehn, seeing Danniven getting to her feet behind the orc, pressed attacks with the saber and ruined polearm, slashing repeatedly at the orc, Aefsheen aiming for the already wounded side, Eddrehn going for the arms and legs, putting Chimelac on the defensive, and driving him back, right into Danniven’s waiting blade.

As the orc stepped back, withdrawing from the double onslaught, he felt Danniven’s sword bury itself in his spine. He howled with fury mixed with rage as he fell on his ass in a sitting posture, unable to move anything below his ribs.

Danniven pulled her sword out of her bleeding and mostly immobilized foe, used it to knock his own out of his weakening hand, and knelt behind him. She leaned over, put her mouth to his ear, and murmured “Well, -Daddy-, it seems we’ve come to an end. Your people, maybe even you, raped and killed my mother and drove my real father into drunkenness. I had to fight for scraps of food, or depend on the charity of one woman who barely had enough to feed herself and her own child. I just want you to know that you made me. You created your own destruction”.

Chimelac chuckled. The laugh turned to a gurgle, and blood ran down his chin. He coughed blood and said “Then you should thank me, child. You’ve grown into quite a warrior. And you’ve selected good warrior comrades for your horde. You overcame overwhelming numbers and, let’s be honest – I’m a legendary foe. Both our deeds will live on in legend and song”.

“No. No, they won’t. No one will know your name.” she said as she grasped his forehead and drew the Doomfeed coated stiletto from its sheath hanging from her neck, and plunged it into his neck, leaving it there. She held onto his head with both arms while he thrashed and screamed in agony as the poison coursed through his veins, making him feel as though he was burning from the inside out. She relished his pain and felt it almost matched her own anguish from the lack of a mother and an incapable father. She held on all through his dying thrashes, glorying in his pain, tears streaming down her cheeks for the first time since she was a small child. When his spasms finally stopped, she released him, realizing only then that her arms were cramped from holding him so tightly. She stood, wiped her cheeks dry, and only then did she notice Jafton on the ground, unmoving, with Fanjeer kneeling beside him, trying to rouse him.

 The elf woman, still chained to Chimelac’s chair called out to the band “I can help. I was a healer in my village. Unchain me and I can go get some healing herbs and bandages”.

Eddrehn used his halberd’s axe head to chop through the chain holding her to the heavy oaken chair. It turned out the young woman was an acolyte of the Old Faith, a religion devoted to the spirits and gods of the land, sea, and sky. Her healing skills were why Chimelac had kept her in a relatively protected status.

“There are a half dozen more women chained to stakes in those huts yonder” she told them. “I’m sure you came for gold, but before you leave, could you help me release them?” Danniven was already striding toward the huts before anyone could tell the elf that that had been half their goal in the first place. The elf then rushed to her hut to grab her healer’s bag and set to work cleaning and binding Jafton’s wounds and praying over him.

It took some coaxing from Danniven to convince the women it was safe to come out of their cell-huts, but she managed to get them all out, although they stood at a distance from the men. The young healer spent a few minutes applying healing poultices and prayers to the rest of the band. They were feeling a bit more soothed from the pain of their wounds, although they’d need more time to properly recuperate, and they were all tired nearly to the point of fatigue, particularly Fanjeer. Channeling the magical forces that bind reality together takes its toll on the mind and body of a mage, and exhausts them quicker than swinging a sword does a warrior.

Exhausted, battered, bruised, and bleeding, the group, except Eddrehn, sat and rested wherever each could find a spot of ground not soaked with blood. Ever the professional lawman, he walked among the fallen to survey the damage. While he walked the battleground, he retrieved all their thrown and dropped daggers and as many reusable arrows as he could gather. He confirmed all lying there were dead, although he was pretty sure he’d also seen quite a few flee into the woods. Losing count of the dead, he was surprised at just how many they’d prevailed against. Then again, having a conjurer within one’s ranks really couldn’t be undervalued. He was touched with a bit of sadness that so many innocents had died at the hands of this troop. He felt much better about his decision to get the ball rolling on this expedition. As he returned to the group, he idly bent over and lifted Chimelac’s great two-handed scimitar. His halberd had been ruined, and he didn’t relish the idea of traveling with only a broken weapon and a dirk for defense. He gave the oversized sword a few experimental swings and thought he’d be able to put it to use. He then sat with the group.

They sat mainly in silence for an hour or two, occasionally commenting about a particular point of the battle, and comparing memories and impressions. During this time, Danniven and the elven druid, whose name was Pixen, did their best to comfort the traumatized women. “I’m afraid some of them will live forever in those huts in their minds, no matter where they travel in body” Pixen whispered to Danniven. “Well, we’ll get them away from here at least” came the warrior woman’s reply, “We already have someone waiting to give them whatever help they can, down in Pentalohr”.

 They seemed to decide at the same moment that the time had come to depart. They stood, and Danniven and Pixen coaxed the women uphill toward the spot where the pile of loot had waited while the fighting men led the way and Fanjeer followed.

As the group trudged uphill, they heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Around the bend at the crest of the hill rode Lord Cellig and his two fellow knights. He called out to the group.

“What in the Abysm has happened here?!” The knights galloped down the hill to the battlefield with a small troop of foot soldiers in tow. Weary and wary, the adventurers stood their ground and drew steel. Pixen ushered the women behind them and Danniven stepped protectively in front of them.

Fanjeer darted behind one of the huts, beckoning the women to follow. They were understandably resistant at first, until he used his wand to draw a rectangle in the air, golden lines trailing behind its tip. When he finished, the lines solidified into a glowing door. He tapped it with his wand and it opened, revealing a space of glowing light. He stepped inside it himself, and again gestured for the women to follow him. The riders were almost there as Pixen urgently coaxed the hesitant women inside the space and Fanjeer closed the door behind them, leaving no outward sign of its existence to the others.

 The knights halted ten paces from the bleeding and bedraggled band, dismounted and drew their swords. The jogging footmen caught up and circled the group, half drawing swords and half putting arrows to bowstrings. Cellig spoke.

“I allowed you to pass before because you hadn’t broken any laws. But now I see you came to my beloved forest to murder and loot. I order you to lay down your arms and submit to our authority. You’ll be taken to the nearest noble’s castle and tried for your crimes.”

Despite the pain from several wounds, Aefsheen drew himself to full height and, drawing his own blades, replied “Murder? Looting? You can’t be serious. You know better than I do that this area has been plagued by travelers and caravans disappearing for decades. Your Monarch’s army was unable to roust these bandits, and let them continue, while repeating the lie the area was haunted and the travelers were taken by spirits. You call us murderers and looters? I call you a coward and a hypocrite!”

Lord Cellig raised his sword in a two-handed grip and started toward Aefsheen, declaiming “No man calls me a coward! Prepare to meet whatever god you follow!”

Just before the two were in range to eviscerate each other, Eddrehn spoke loudly and quickly.

“I’d think twice, Lord.”

Cellig hesitated, keeping his eyes on Aefsheen, asked “Oh? Why is that, thug?”

“Think about it” Eddrehn began, speaking in his sergeant-voice, loudly enough for all the soldiers to hear, while turning in place to face the soldiers now moving to circle the group, “A whole platoon of Doyenwood soldiers were sent here to roust these bandits several years ago and were never heard from again. Your Crown decided it wasn’t worth it to pursue, and chose instead to warn travelers about the area. A platoon, milord. You have what? A squad? We five did what 30 or more of your soldiers couldn’t. And you think three knights and a dozen infantrymen can beat us?”

“A Doyenwood knight is worth ten men!” one of Cellig’s companions retorted and stepped toward Eddrehn, who turned to face him with a flourish of his newly acquired scimitar.

Pixen’s voice rose above the others. “The real crime here is that the elven kingdom, those who profess love for freedom and pride in being the first realm to abolish slavery, allowed a slave camp to exist under their own rule. I’d think both the knighthood and the Monarch would be more ashamed than angry about that. You should thank these heroes, ‘Lord’, not arrest them.”

Cellig faltered in his rush toward Aefsheen, hesitating as a thoughtful look fell across his face. Just as his fellow knight approached fighting distance from Eddrehn and the two began to square off, Cellig spoke again.

“You’re right, woodswoman. This evidence of slavery in our midst would indeed be an embarrassment to the Monarch, and especially to my squad, as we patrol this area. I change my stance. I’ll overlook your murders and allow you to leave in peace. Just leave the women with us.”

He lowered his sword and took a step back. “Are we in agreement, half-breed? Where are they, anyway? Where have you hidden them?” he asked Aefsheen.

“Don’t, brother. He means to kill them” Danniven said. “I merely wish to assure their discretion about what happened here” replied Cellig.

“Through murder!” shouted Pixen. “That’s the only way to guarantee their silence. Anywhere they go, there will be questions about their past. Haven’t these poor girls been through enough? Please, let us pass, milord.”

“Looks like we’re back to the arrest then” delared Lord Cellig, raising his sword and walking toward the group.

Keeping his sword pointed at the nearest soldier, Jafton turned his head to the knight, laughing. “Don’t forget we have a wizard with us. He seems to have slipped away from us in all this excitement. I wonder where he is and who he’s aiming his wand at right now?”

Hesitation clouded the faces of the knights and soldiers at the mention of the conjurer, and with that, a spinning ball of flame floated around the corner of one of the nearby huts, followed closely by an smiling Fanjeer. He shouted to the knights’ leader.

“Lord Celllig! So nice of you to join us. It’s turned quite cold since the sun set, hasn’t it? Why don’t you come and relax by our fire? Or here – I’ll send the fire to you. I do believe in being a gracious host, after all” and with a flourish of his wand, the blazing globe began to drift toward the knights. Aefsheen and Cellig backed apart from each other as the floating fireball got close enough to raise beads of sweat on their brows.

One of the soldiers in the rear ranks fired an arrow at Fanjeer, and the wizard flicked his free hand, deflecting the arrow harmlessly to the ground as if it had hit an invisible wall, and Fanjeer pointed at the archer, sending several glowing arrows of light back in a return attack. Two soldiers dropped dead with smoldering holes in their chests.

“Still think it’s a good idea to push us, you arrogant prick?” growled Aefsheen at Cellig.

“I’m a knight. I can’t back down now” the elven lord demurred.

“Just talk to your men and ‘assure their discretion’ then. Or you can die tonight. I backed down from you before not because I was afraid, but because I needed to make sure our group all got here to rescue these women. You’ll fall right here alongside common bandits. Anyone who finds your bodies will assume you died fighting alongside them. What will that do to your precious honor? What will your family think of you? You’ll be forever known as the outlaw knight who defended slavers.” With that, Aefsheen raised his blades and assumed a ready stance, waiting for the knight to rush him. “Your move, milord”.

The knight faltered, lowered his sword and called to his men to stand down and allow the band to leave.

“No” Aefsheen said firmly. “You go first. I don’t trust you at our backs. Go now, and we’ll leave in a little while. Stop wasting time – the sooner you go, the sooner we’ll be out of your kingdom and you can forget this whole thing happened.”

    Three weeks later, in the now familiar back room of the Broken Saw, the band reconvened. They’d taken back roads and avoided towns except to reprovision with food and drink on their return to Oakyard, just in case Cellig had planned an ambush, so the trip home had taken a little longer, but luckily had gone without incident.

Aside from a few bulkier items like the case of wine Jafton had found, Aefsheen was able to hide their treasure in the secret compartments of his wagon in his usual way, and they’d only had to pay a small tariff when they crossed the border back into Pentalohr. They’d taken the women directly to Lorahna, who housed and fed them for a few days, before finding new homes for them with the families of other survivors of the orc slave camps.

 “Well,”, Jafton began as they all drank mead from the bottles Aefsheen had provided, “I managed to sell the wine and other non-coin valuables we brought back to several fences around town so as not to draw too much attention. I’ve divided it equally into these bags. Friends, we’ve brought in enough to lay in for the winter, stay inside, eat and drink when we want, and sleep all day when we want.” With a metallic jangle of coin, he plopped a small sack in front of each person at the table. “Cheers!” he said, lifting his glass of honey wine.

“Eddrehn, I’m curious what your superiors had to say about your wounds when you returned to work” asked Danniven.

“Oh, they asked, to be sure. I mean, one doesn’t usually get wounded at funerals” he said with a chuckle. “I told them I was attacked by bandits on the road. Not a total lie, really.” He looked thoughtful and serious for a moment, then continued. “I’ve announced my resignation from the Watch.” Jaws dropped around the table as he went on. “City watches, nobles, knights… I’ve always believed they had a purpose: to ensure a peaceful and secure life for those they’ve sworn to protect. Yet through all my years in the Watch, I’ve seen so much corruption. It seems that those who enforce the law feel exempt from it themselves. And then to see a group of hardened criminals, no offense, care more for the plight of those poor young women than their crown did, and knowing that knights of that crown wanted to kill the women to avoid embarrassment… Well, that was all just too much.” He drained his cup and reached for one of the open bottles on the table to refill it.

“These are lessons we learned as wee ones. Although I imagine it might be more of a shock to realize it after you’ve spent so many years defending the hypocrites.” Jafton said. “Welcome to our world, Sergeant”.

“You know I’m not a sergeant anymore” he said. “Too late” Danniven cut in, “You’ll always be Sergeant to us now. But you’ll also be ‘friend’.”

Eddrehn laughed, “That’s fine. I guess as nicknames go, I could do worse. I don’t think I’ll ever be a true outlaw, though” Eddrehn replied. “But I can’t see bearing arms for a city or a kingdom that’s no more honorable than a street gang. Again – no offense to anyone here. Actually, just the opposite…” and he raised his glass “…here’s to honest criminals over lying governments!” They all touched cup rims and drained their cups.

“So, what will you do?” asked Aefsheen.

“Oh, I’ve been a watchman too long to really know anything else. I just can’t work for city or crown. I think I’ll look for work as a caravan guard or a bodyguard. At least I’ll be able to choose who I work for and can walk away with a clear conscience if I see anything I don’t like.”

 “Psh. I’ve been wandering the highways and backroads longer than any of you has been alive” Fanjeer grumbled.

   The early spring sunlight turned the morning’s frost to dew as the dark-skinned, mutton chopped man pulled his horse to the side of the road at a familiar and well-trodden spot just around a bend from and out of sight of the city gates. Several people were there, removing secured weapons and strapping them onto belts and backs, or just holding them at the ready as they prepared to travel.  He spied a familiar wagon with a familiar face on the half elven man standing beside it, strapping on a pair of baldrics. The man noticed him looking and called out “Hello there, Sergeant. It’s been a few months. How is civilian life treating you?”

Eddrehn finished buckling his great, two-handed scimitar, newly repaired and honed, onto his back with the custom tooled leather harness he’d commissioned. “So far, so good. I’ve sold everything I own except what you see here. I’m headed out to find my place in the world, if I have one.”

Aefsheen smiled. “Two pieces of advice: The Crossroads Inn at the Hub is a good, neutral territory. Almost all travelers from one barony to another pass through there, so you may be able to find work. Also, and you’ve probably already figured this out, but don’t trust anyone until you’ve looked into them. Always watch your back out here, Eddrehn.” Eddrehn nodded his thanks, strapped his now uncovered halberd back to his saddle and mounted up. Waving to Aefsheen, he set out to find his place in the world.

If there were one.

Copyright 2022 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr.

[swordmeetssorcery]

This photograph depicts a “witch flute” circa 1850. It is fashioned from a bone and a rat’s leg. It is believed to be inscribed with spells which would be used to call witches together on the sabbath. It is currently housed at Museum aan de Stroom in Antwerp, Belgium. 

[swordmeetssorcery]

What are some of the more bizarre or creative armor things you've seen?

The most fascinating things, to me, that appear in armor are always the grotesques that were popular in the 16th century.

(Germany, 1520-1530, the Met)

(Milan, 1550, the Met)

(Innsbruck, 1512, Royal Armouries)

[swordmeetssorcery]

Boat Ride

Aefsheen looked at the crudely painted sign displaying a caricature of a fish with both eyes pointed at each other on the same side of its head and concluded that he’d found the tavern called the Cross-Eyed Flounder. He’d stabled his team and parked his wagon at a hostler’s corral just inside the city gates in the shadow of the ancient lighthouse and, having asked directions to the tavern, had proceeded on foot. The raised eyebrow and dubious look on the face of the stableman at the mention of the tavern hadn’t been lost on him.

 Indeed, the building was in the rundown dock quarter of a rundown seaport city. Oversea was so rundown, in fact, that its largest docks – those capable of mooring full-sized ships, had long ago rotted away from disuse, leaving only smaller docks for local fishing and diving boats. No reputable seagoing merchant bothered with Oversea anymore, as most importers of any repute had migrated north along the eastern coast to the city of Seaside centuries before. Occasionally, a large vessel headed south around the end of the continent to the western coast might drop anchor and send in a launch for supplies or to give its crew shore leave before the long sail to the next port that was safe from criminals or savages, but they rarely offloaded cargo of any note.

All traffic in the city was pedestrian. Oversea was terraced into the steep cliffs along the eastern coast of Pentalohr, and as a result, streets were built laterally to the slope and connected by stairways at regular intervals. Most buildings were a few steps above or below the street, depending on whether they were on the seaward or landward side. The streets themselves also had high and low spots, requiring stairs up or down at places where the bedrock had proven too unyielding to scrape level, and the crumbling cobblestones in the lesser maintained quarters made passage with a vehicle impossible and difficult even by horseback. There were two streets flanking the city on north and south that ran from the docks to the higher end of town, but each was reserved for the use of the city watch, or to move rare large quantities of goods from the docks. Commercial use required permits and advance notice (and occasionally a bribe or two), and necessitated the use of cables, pulleys, and large teams of mules to move heavy freight up the steep slope. It happened seldom enough that most citizens had never witnessed it.

The half-elf stepped into the low-ceilinged main room of the tavern and took a slow look around the place. The room was three steps below the entryway and formed a rectangle running from left to right. The opposite wall was dominated by a long bar that looked to be made of sun-bleached planks salvaged from a derelict ship and then lacquered by years of sweat and spilled food and drink. The place was dark and poorly lit, as he’d expected. The windows flanking the door were so encrusted with cobwebs and salt from the sea air they were virtually opaque, leaving the main source of light the large fireplace set in the wall on the left end of the hall. As the door closed behind him, conversation in the room dwindled and he could feel the stares as the local thugs assessed him. Apparently, the collective consensus was that he was either no threat or was too much of a threat. Either way, the patrons returned to their conversations, with only the occasional sideways glance in his direction.

 The room was filled with an oily, smoky, fishy smell, overpowering the smell of the sea outside and giving him an idea of what would be filling his plate. He shifted the weight of his backpack and allowing his hands to hover near the hilts of his paired swords, he stepped down the stairs and strode across the pub to the bar, set his pack on the floor and stepped through the shoulder strap to keep it from leaving in the wrong hands.

“I don’t suppose you have much of a selection for drink here, eh?” He asked the barman.

“Local brewed ale, some dark Markwynn lager from the Godslawn, and wine from the Glayyen Islands. I wouldn’t recommend the wine. Nobody’s sure just how old it is, but it’s older than the embargo. The corks are old and dry. You’re welcome to buy a bottle, but you won’t get your coin returned if it’s turned to vinegar.” came the gruff reply.

“Mead is out of the question, then?” Aefsheen shook his head ruefully under the stone-faced stare of the barkeep. What was the point of a life of crime if one couldn’t use ill-gotten gains for finer things? “In that case, I’ll have a pint of the Markwynn lager and a plate of whatever that fish is that I smell cooking.” He dropped a couple of silver regals on the bar to pay for his order, retrieved his pack, and took his frothy tankard to a table as near a corner as he could get and sat facing the door. In a place like this, one would almost have to be among the first patrons entering for the day to get an actual corner table. Nobody here would be inclined to leave his back exposed.

 A bedraggled serving girl emerged from the kitchen door behind the bar and brought him a shallow wooden bowl filled with a greasy looking fish stew with chunks of potatoes in it. He picked up the spoon she apathetically dropped onto the table and began eating. It was far from the best he’d eaten. He wouldn’t even go so far as to say it was good. However, it was also not the worst he’d had, and since he’d had to push his horses hard and fast to make it here ahead of schedule, it was the first hot meal he’d had in days. While he ate, he eavesdropped on as many conversations as he was able. More than one was being conducted in the secretive Thieves’ Cant, and he paid particular attention to those.

Eventually he overheard the conversation he needed to hear. The captain of a small ship who didn’t care much what cargo he hauled if it put coin in his purse.

 As the man broke off from his conversation and passed Aefsheen’s table on his way to the bar, Aefsheen used his foot to push a chair out in front of the mariner, gesturing for him to sit.

“Please, Captain, allow me to buy your next round. We have business to discuss.”

The man tensed, angry at having a chair pushed into his path, and bristled at being summoned. Taking in with a quick glance Aefsheen’s clothes and arms, too fancy for this seedy bar in this dilapidated town, the old salt gave Aefsheen a hard stare. “And what sort of business would someone like you have with me?”

“The best kind. The kind that puts coin in your hand, friend.” Aefsheen replied in the thieves’ tongue as he waved to the barman to bring a round for the two of them.

The sea captain did a double take, then sat down, removed his hat and ran a hand over his shaved pate, then accepted Aefsheen’s offered handshake.

 “My name is Aefsheen, and I’m a… courier. I need to collect a package and deliver it to my patrons. The problem is that it’s being delivered by a ship that, for several reasons, can’t dock here in Oversea.”

The barmaid set two fresh tankards on the table, and the mariner lifted one.

“I’m called Viclas, and why can’t this ship just dock elsewhere – maybe Seaside like all the others? “You have until I finish this to convince me.” He then turned up his mug and downed half of the contents.

Aefsheen grinned slyly. “Well, Captain. That falls under the ‘several reasons’. Let’s say that this ship’s port of origin keeps it from docking pretty much anywhere along the Pentalohr coast, if you understand my meaning.”

Viclas nodded his understanding and took another large gulp of beer. Aefsheen laid a hand on his forearm, pulling the mug away slightly and continued “…but that works to your and my advantage, don’t you see? If that ship sailed to Seaside, neither of us would be needed. Trust me, Vic. You’ll be paid enough to make it worth the very small risk. Your biggest challenge will be to avoid the naval patrols, and from what I’ve overheard of your conversation just now, you have no problem with that. All you have to do is get me past the horizon and a touch south, let me board that ship and retrieve the cargo, and bring me back. You or your men won’t even have to load anything; it’s just a chest that I can easily handle myself. Then bring me back to town and spend your pay in the taverns and brothels.”

 Viclas scowled. “Sounds like smuggling. What’s in the chest?”

Aefsheen chuckled a bit and replied in Thieves’ Cant, “Vic, I had the impression you didn’t care what was in the hold of your boat as long as you made money from it.”

 That got Viclas’s attention. His attention sharpened and he looked sternly at Aefsheen.

“Maybe that can be arranged after all. I’m telling you, though – my name ain’t Vic. It’s Viclas, gods damn it. Do folk call you Aef?”

 Bluster aside, Viclas was convinced, and they began discussing specifics. After a bit of haggling, Aefsheen and Viclas found a mutually agreeable sum for the day’s ride. The ship would be anchored just over the horizon (and therefore out of sight of the town watch) in two days’ time and would remain there for two days at most, to allow the courier time to arrange transport. Luckily, Aefsheen had found transport quickly and they could all be on their way that much sooner. They agreed to meet the morning after next at the berth of Viclas’s sloop, the Tideskimmer.

 The next day, Aefsheen rented a saddle, retrieved one of his horses from the stable and rode outside the city gates looking for alternate routes, in case he needed to avoid being seen on the road when he left town. He lucked out and found an old trail through the woods that had been abandoned just long ago enough to have weeds and the beginnings of bushes growing in its path, but recently enough that he’d have little trouble traveling it with the wagon. He arose early the second morning and retrieved from the concealed compartment within the wagon a small knapsack, heavy with coins, mostly contained in wooden tubes of a uniform size. He put a handful of loose coins into a pouch on his belt, and then counted a quantity into a smaller pouch which he dropped into the pack. Shouldering the pack, he set out downhill across town to the docks. He arrived at the pier with a clanking pack on his back while still breaking his fast on a piece of roasted fish he’d purchased from a street vendor as he walked. Viclas was on the weather deck of his boat shouting orders to his small crew, making ready to sail.

 “Good morning to you and your crew, Captain! You know, I’ve never thought of fish as a breakfast food, but I guess one adapts to the local customs. This isn’t half bad, to be honest.”

Viclas looked down at him and gave a short laugh. “You do realize that’s likely to be picked over fish that no other merchant would buy from yesterday’s catch, don’t you? If it makes you sick, be sure you heave overboard, or you’ll be swabbing your own puke from the deck.” Aefsheen chewed a bit slower, swallowed slowly, and giving the rest of his breakfast a look of dismay, hastily threw it into the water.

 Viclas had a gangplank lowered to the pier and Aefsheen climbed aboard the boat.  

“Haul up the plank, and reel in the lines, boys! Heave out and let’s get ‘er underway! Welcome aboard the Tideskimmer, Mr. Aefsheen. She may not look like much to you, but she’s my home and my livelihood, and she’s all mine. Settle yourself somewhere out of the way and enjoy the ride. Once we’re out to the blue water, I’ll come fetch you and we’ll go below and see to payment.”

Aefsheen had always been good at dodging people, so staying out of the way proved easy enough. He watched the crew of ten men hauling in lines and working the sails. Once they were underway, he noticed it didn’t take all of them to work the sails and man the wheel, leaving several to station themselves along the gunwales, keeping an eye on all horizons. This was obviously not the first time the Tideskimmer had been on the dark side of the law. Shortly, two of the men disappeared below and returned with an armload of cutlasses, and a couple of bows and quivers they dispersed to the others, supplementing the knives they all wore on their belts. Aefsheen thought that could be either good or bad. Good if they were attacked or if the other ship tried a double cross. Very bad indeed if they intended to double cross Aefsheen, take the gold and dump his corpse into the ocean. Even with both his rapier and sabre he didn’t think he’d be able to win against the lot of them, but he’d take a couple with him at least. He decided to maintain a watchful eye on all aboard.

 Shortly Viclas beckoned Aefsheen to the small cabin and down a ladder to what appeared to be a combination office and living quarters. Viclas sat himself at a small writing table, reached over to a chair facing him and swept a pile of unfolded, worn clothes to the floor beside it, motioning Aefsheen to sit.

“Well, I believe the price was two gold royals for each of my men and ten for me, bringing the total to thirty royals. Do you have it ready?”

Aefsheen opened the pack and withdrew the small purse he’d put in it earlier. He caught Viclas staring greedily at the coin tubes in the pack. “Hold steady, friend, and don’t get greedy. That’s the purchase money for the package I’m to retrieve. This purse has your thirty royals. Feel free to count it if you’d like.”

Slowly, Viclas tore his eyes from the sack of gold, and poured out the contents of the smaller pouch and confirmed the count to be correct. He tucked the purse into his tunic and reached across his desk to retrieve a sheathed dagger and stuck it in his belt. Aefsheen tensed when he also put his hand under the bed and pulled out a great, knobby club large enough to require both hands to use and nearly as long as Aefsheen was tall.

“Heh heh. Relax, Aefsheen. If I were going to cross you for your money, I wouldn’t have brought you down here where your carcass would have to be hauled back above. We all normally carry arms once we’re well underway where the weapons won’t interfere with the tasks seamen tend to. As captain, I have no other duties, so I can comfort myself with the weight of a larger weapon in case we run into anyone else who’d steal from us. You’ve paid your fare - you’re safe from us. Come! It’s a beautiful day – let’s enjoy the sea and the sky that our goddess Amerrah has gifted us with.”

 It was indeed a pretty day. Deep blue sky with only the occasional puffy white cloud, the temperature was just right, and the wind and waves were favoring them. Aefsheen was even starting to lose some of the queasiness that most people unaccustomed to sailing feel while on the waves. He became a sightseer, taking in the waves, and looking at the famous Rockface cliffs. South of Oversea, the cliffs continued along the coastline, grassland ending abruptly in a drop-off to the rocky coast below. The land rose until it formed the Rockface cliffs. Barefaced rock for the most part and carved with busts of five humanlike figures hundreds of feet tall, they formed an imposing sight. No one knew just how old the carvings were, but they were assumed by most to be likeness of the Parental Gods, the generation of divinities that had sired the current pantheon. The sight of the towering figures informed travelers both on land and sea, that the southern border of Pentalohr was close.

 After a couple of hours, the Tideskimmer veered to port and made for the horizon, leaving the cliffs behind. Soon, the lookout in the crow’s nest cried out that he saw a ship ahead and that it appeared to be anchored and not moving. Viclas sprang into action, shouting orders and directing men to adjust course to approach the other craft. As they came within hailing distance, he brought the Tideskimmer around to float parallel with the larger ship. “Don’t drop anchor, men. We may need to move away quickly. Look alive, boys!”

 The foreign ship was hailed, and with a bit of pantomime and gestures to help bridge the language gap, communication was established, and the larger galleon dropped a rope ladder for Aefsheen to climb. Once he was aboard the larger ship, the quartermaster escorted him to the captain who was luckily more versed in the language of Pentalohr. Behind the captain stood two cabin boys, one holding a small leather-bound chest and the other a small table. The captain motioned them forward. One of the boys set the table between the two negotiators. Aefsheen set the pack on the table, while the other youth did the same with the chest.

Aefsheen unfastened the clasp on the chest and opened it to reveal a lining of oilskin stuffed tightly against the walls and seams of the container, effectively waterproofing it. He unwrapped the material to uncover corked vials of a dark liquid nested inside. He counted twenty vials, then carefully rewrapped the contents and sealed the chest. He then began taking wooden tubes full of coins out of his pack and placing them on the table.

The captain spoke, in a heavy accent. “I trust it’s all in here. 25,000 gold coins?”

Aefsheen tensed as he continued unpacking the coin tubes. “It’s in platinum to make it easier to carry, but the agreed amount is there. 2,000 tenroyal coins in 40 tubes containing 50 coins each. ” The captain glared at Aefsheen. “But that’s only 20,000 gold, my friend. I asked for 25.”

“Perhaps you did. However, my employers and yours agreed on 20,000. At 25 they wouldn’t be able to profit from selling the contents.”

“But I have a crew to pay here, you see. They get quite angry when they run out of money, my friend.”

“Quite understandable, Captain. Maybe they need an employer who negotiates fees better. This is the amount agreed upon. As a matter of fact, I was authorized to haggle with you to get a lower price and keep the extra profit for myself, but I was in such a pleasant mood today that I just wanted to get business done and enjoy the afternoon, so I kept to the original fee. I suggest you do the same. My patrons aren’t anyone you want to make enemies of.” He laid the final coin tube on the table and picked up the chest, placing it in his pack.

The captain barked an order in his own language and gestured to the cabin boy to take back the chest. Aefsheen had anticipated this as soon as the captain mentioned a higher price. All thoughts of “enjoying the afternoon” had disappeared in a heartbeat. As the boy advanced, Aefsheen gave him a hard shove to the chest and sent him sprawling. He hurriedly shoved his arms into the straps of the backpack while he kicked the other cabin boy in the knee, dropping him to the deck. The captain was drawing his sword, so Aefsheen threw the table at him and spun on his heel, heading for the edge of the ship. He found the quartermaster and two sailors blocking his way, so he drew both his swords, parrying the quartermaster’s cutlass with his own sabre and running him through with his rapier. Withdrawing his rapier, he kicked the man into the sailor to his left, then skirted to his right and slashed at the pirate’s forearm, leaving a deep wound and causing him to drop his blade. Reaching the gunwale, he hurriedly resheathed his blades and threw a leg over the side, grasping the rope ladder as a cutlass blade bit into his arm, swung by the sailor who had extracted himself from beneath the wounded officer. Aefsheen descended faster as a second blow glanced off his leather breastplate. He saw more armed men approaching the railing of the ship. A couple had bows they were now aiming at him, so he let go of the ropes and kicked off the hull of the ship, splashing into the sea while arrows pierced the water close by him. Luckily, the Tideskimmer had a shallow draft, so he swam under her to the other flank and there was Viclas, having anticipated his move. He threw down a line, and Aefsheen caught it. Viclas hauled him up, and as he climbed over the gunwale, Aefsheen saw two of the Tideskimmer’s crew trading arrows with the foreign pirates, while the rest of the crew hastily brought the smaller craft into motion, sailing away from the larger vessel. He saw one pirate fall overboard with an arrow in his chest, but also one of the Tideskimmer’s crew fell to the deck, similarly wounded.

Viclas shouted orders: “Errod! Get Mattlis below and patch up that wound! You two – keep flying arrows at the bastards! Everyone else, heave to, and let’s get some water between us and that damned galleon! Move it, ye worthless girls!” He rounded on Aefsheen with a rage and shouted in his face, “Just what the hell happened up there, half breed? I thought it was a simple exchange? No work or danger for me or my crew? Aye, we fought to protect you and get you back on board, because I honor my contracts, but now you’d best give me a good answer or things will look bleak for you by the time we dock.”

“He tried to wring more money out of me. Significantly more. I brought what my employers had agreed to pay. I didn’t have any more to give him had I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you just pack up and leave? You’ve caused bloodshed and cost lives with your stubbornness!”

Aefsheen held up his arm, sleeve soaked and dripping with blood. “Maybe you didn’t notice that some of that blood spilled was mine, Captain! And even assuming that captain had any intention of letting me leave, not completing the purchase wasn’t an option. The people who hired me don’t accept being disappointed. If I’d come away without the contents of this chest, they’d have killed me. Painfully. Then they’d have sent people here to kill you and your entire crew to drive home the message. Believe me – this was for the best for both of us.”

Viclas looked nervous and asked, “Just what have you brought onto my ship, damn you?”

“Twenty vials of undiluted Doomfeed. It’s a very potent poison, distilled from a mix of the blood and venom of creatures that only live in the Glayyen Islands and it’s illegal everywhere – even there. Does that give you an idea who my patrons are?”

Viclas paled a bit, and while he didn’t seem any happier, he did calm down a bit. “Go below and let Errod sew up that cut when he’s finished with Mattlis. When we get back to port, we go our separate ways. Don’t look to me for business again after this, do you understand?” He turned on his heel and stalked away without waiting for a reply.

The galleon had weighed anchor and looked to be giving chase, so Viclas had the Tideskimmer set course for the shoreline and shallower water as that would get them out of bowshot quicker than taking a straight course back to Oversea, since the larger vessel couldn’t follow into the shallows. After a while the foreign ship gave up the chase and turned back to the east and disappeared over the horizon.

 After an hour or so of hugging the coastline, the lookout called down from the crow’s nest. “Captain! We’re being followed alongside and underwater. I thought it was a school of dolphins or large fish, but I can see now that they have arms and legs like men. I’ve never seen anything like them!”

As they all approached the sides of the ship to take a look, they saw a gray skinned arm reach over the gunwale. It was a man-sized limb, gray skinned and ending in a four fingered hand, clawed and partially webbed. It pulled itself up and leapt onto the deck, and suddenly there were many more of them climbing over the railing and onto the ship. They stood the height of average to tall men, and had a thin, corded, sinewy humanoid build with smooth, naked frog-like skin and fully webbed and clawed toes. The most unsettling thing, though, was their heads. They had no eyes, and they seemed to have flat nostrils where eyes were expected, with gills visible at their throats. Horrifyingly, they had a vertical mouth set in the middle of the “face”, all fangs and incisors and forked tongue, and below that, a second mouth set horizontally like a normal mouth which, when opened, appeared to contain only molars, like a cow or horse.

They emitted sounds somewhere between a hiss and a growl, and advanced on the ship’s crew, slashing with their clawed hands. Unfortunately, the crew, having thought their fight was behind them, had already stowed cutlasses and bows, so now had to make do defending themselves with the long knives they all wore on their belts. Still, these men were no strangers to fighting, and they set to it with grim determination. Luckily for Aefsheen, he had his swords still hanging in their baldrics, and he joined in the fray - parrying claws, slashing with sabre, thrusting with rapier. He attacked, dodged, and moved on, making his way through the inhuman throng like a dancing madman. There were too many of the beasts, though. They far outnumbered the sailors, and they were winning the fight. Men to his left and right fell as Aefsheen dropped the creature in front of him. He was bleeding from several slashes himself and beginning to tire. Suddenly, he was tackled from behind by at least two of the monsters, and he found himself on the face down on the deck, and both his swords had been knocked out of his hands and skittered out of reach. He was having trouble drawing a full breath with the full weight of one of the creatures on his back. That coupled with his wounds and the blood he’d lost now and earlier, caused his vision to start to blur and grow dark. He heard the battle continuing around him and felt himself lifted off the deck. He was hopeful that one of the ship’s crew had helped him up until he realized he was being carried to the side of the ship. There was a lurching, reeling sensation as he was swung backward, then he flew through the air to splash into the sea. The shock and burn of salt water in open wounds woke him up, but he immediately realized that he’d been thrown into a net spread out on the waves. Two crewmen had already been thrown overboard, but only one was moving, and his thrashing had completely entangled him. Fighting panic, Aefsheen paddled upward toward light and air, grateful that it was daytime, and he could tell which way to swim. He took a large gulp of air mixed with water from a wave that washed over his face. Coughing, he reached behind his back, drew the dagger sheathed there and cut his way free of the net. The crewman was within his reach, so he pulled the man’s face to the surface. After the sailor sputtered and started to breathe again, Aefsheen asked if he had a knife. When the man nodded yes, Aefsheen left him on his own to cut himself free and swam over to the ship, looking for a way to climb back aboard. Luckily, during the battle, one of the mooring lines had been knocked loose and was trailing into the water. He grasped it and began to climb, dodging the falling body of one of the fish-men who’d been driven overboard. He stole a quick glance at it once it splashed into the ocean and was grimly satisfied to see a deep slash across its chest before it sank out of sight, unmoving. Someone must have retrieved the cutlasses after all.

On deck, Aefsheen was greeted by a grisly sight. Sailors and creatures fought savagely. All were bleeding, and the deck was red and slick from the battle. Several members of both forces lay unmoving in the gore while their comrades tried not to trip over them. He saw that some of the monsters were picking up the fallen from both sides and heaving them overboard, along with any loose gear they could lay their hands on. He stole up behind the nearest fish man, and as it drew its dripping, clawed hand back for an attack on one of Viclas’ crewmen, he grabbed its wrist and buried his dagger into its armpit, hoping it had similar internal anatomy to men. It must have, because it fell to its knees gasping for breath and coughing gouts of blood. He put his boot on its neck and pushed while wrenching his blade free of its torso. A dozen yards away, he saw a creature holding his pack that held the chest. It was making its way to the gunwales with his cargo. He’d have to fight or dodge through several separate melees to get to the creature. There was no way he could make it in time. He glanced up and saw some of the rigging rope swinging free. Sheathing his dagger, he leapt up, grabbed hold of the line and kicked off the back of a struggling creature, sending it sprawling at the feet of Viclas, who then crushed its skull with his massive cudgel.

Aefsheen’s kick launched him past the hull of the small ship, arcing out over the water. He saw that he’d managed to aim his trajectory fairly well as he seemed to be on a direct course for the monster holding his pack. His opponent was within a few steps of the railing when Aefsheen’s boot heels collided with its double mouthed face, throwing its top half back while momentum kept its legs moving forward. Aefsheen’s relief lasted but half a breath, however, as the creature had lost its grip and he saw the pack carried forward by the same momentum that had propelled the creature’s legs and he saw it sail gracefully through the air another several yards before plummeting into the waves. The rope he clung to carried him over the supine creature and into another one who took the opportunity to slash his neck as he crashed into it. Letting go of the rope, he tumbled to the deck with his new opponent, wrestling it while trying to keep it from opening any new gashes in his skin. He deftly drove a knee into its chest and rolled away, coming up with his dagger in his hand once again and slashing its throat.

The battle wound down as the fish-men retreated over the side. They’d managed to throw their own fallen and a few of the crew’s downed men overboard, and they’d taken some random pieces of equipment and weaponry with them in addition to Aefsheen’s pack. Apparently, they’d planned this as a raid for equipment and treasure. But why did they take the slain sailors? The remaining men shuddered at the possibilities and set to work getting the ship moving as fast as possible. The creatures swam towards a rift in the Rockfaces, near where the massive cliffs shortened to the regular rocky coastline. Perhaps they retreated to some subaquatic cave lair under the cliffs. Aefsheen looked sullenly after them, knowing better than to say anything aloud about his loss when the men around him had lost comrades. He knew there was no delaying their rapid return to port at this point, so he concentrated on memorizing the features of the figures between which the creatures had retreated to facilitate his return. He thought about trying to fire a burning arrow to shore to leave a burned place in the scant foliage along the coastline to mark the spot but knew that by the time he got below and found a bow and arrows and fashioned a way to light the arrow they’d be miles away, assuming the crew would even allow him near the weapons. He’d never lost a consignment, though, and didn’t intend to now. Especially not with this client. It was either return and regain the chest or die trying, or he might as well throw himself overboard and let the sea take him, so memorizing landmarks was his best bet. He did manage to find his rapier and sabre lying on the deck when a sailor rewound a coil of rope that had been knocked over onto them. He stayed away from the crew and out of the way, cleaning his blades while they sailed. No one spoke to him again. If anyone chanced to meet his gaze, it was with an expression of resentment or outright hatred. When they docked, he approached Viclas and tried to express condolence for his losses. Viclas placed a hard, calloused hand on his chest and shoved him back two paces. “Don’t. Don’t say one. More. Damned. Word. Don’t ever speak to me again. Get the hell off my ship and give a wide berth if you ever see any of us again. Leave. Now.”

Aefsheen nodded somberly and stepped around the mariner and returned to the lodging he’d rented in town, stopping to purchase some supplies along the way.

After cleaning up, binding his wounds, and changing into dry clothes, he sat down with the paper, quill, and inkpot he’d procured and carefully drew a map of the coastline he’d passed, making sure to write an accurate description of the figures between which the fish-men had disappeared. He also wrote down everything he could remember about the creatures and their actions and the direction they seemed to be swimming and made a written set of directions to accompany the map, just to firmly implant the place in his memory. Later that evening, he returned to the Cross-Eyed Flounder. All eyes in the place lifted to him as he approached the bar. The barman looked at him, crossed his arms and shook his head slowly. “Nope. We’ve all heard what happened. You caused the deaths of half the crew of the Tideskimmer. You’re not welcome here. Leave.” Aefsheen nodded his head, turned to leave and found half the customers on their feet, hands on hilts, looking at him angrily. Refusing to show fear, he walked purposefully yet slowly to the door and left.

 He spent the next couple of days wandering from tavern to pub to alehouse, looking for someone with an adventurous spirit, as he’d need to hire some help to accompany him to regain his lost cargo. He was normally a private person, listening more than talking, but in his despair and dread of failure, he drank more and more, sharing his tale with any barfly who’d listen. The third or fourth day (he’d lost count) found Aefsheen in yet another tavern, the Brazen Eel. The Cross-Eyed Flounder was rundown and haphazardly furnished with castoff chairs and tables and an oft-repaired bar. It catered to thugs, thieves and smugglers who preferred an atmosphere that didn’t invite the curious. The Brazen Eel, however, with its ample lighting, polished teak bar, and polished hardwood floor, tended to attract travelers with full purses: merchants, caravan guards, adventurers. He tried to focus his attention on the more adventurous types, thinking them more likely to be bold enough to accompany him yet not already bound to an employer. He was eating lunch and reviewing his notes over and over in his head to be sure to keep them clear in his memory. He was also assessing his fellow patrons, trying to make a good estimation of his fellow drinkers before his day’s drinking got the better of him.

A man walked in, auburn of hair and beard and wearing laborer’s clothes that showed signs of age but very little evidence of hard use. The knife sheath on his belt told a different story. The hilt worn smooth and the scarred and well-oiled sheath told a tale of frequent use. He was darkly tanned but had no apparent callouses on his hands. Apparently, he wasn’t a manual laborer, but also didn’t care to spend much money on fashion, either. The barman slid a tankard and a goblet across to him, and he turned and approached the table where Aefsheen sat with his back to the wall. He set the goblet in front of him, where a quick glance confirmed it was the same mead he’d been drinking already. The fellow sat down across from Aefsheen.

“Since you fit the description, you must be the half elf who’s been drunkenly talking about the odd fishlike humanoids to anyone who’ll listen. Of course, since I’ve also never met you, it’s merely an assumption. Assumptions are often wrong, and if that’s the case, I’ll gladly move on and leave you to indulge your habit.” He then leaned back in his chair, casually drank deeply from his mug, wiped froth from his goatee, and waited for a reply.

“I thank you for the mead, stranger. Before we continue, I have to ask – who are you? Most I’ve spoken to about my encounter have shrugged it off and didn’t believe it. Those were the polite ones. You can see the split lip on my face from one person who was so insulting we came to blows. Can’t blame them, really – most of them have lived here or nearby most of their lives. It seems odd they wouldn’t have heard of these things by now. Why did you seek me out?”

The stranger shook Aefsheen’s hand and replied, “My name is Mardixx Hedgestone, and I believe I’ve heard your name – Ansheef?” Aefsheen corrected him, and the stranger continued “What you’ve heard is mostly true. It’s not that the people you’ve talked to have never heard of these things. They have. It’s just that they’re dismissed as fables. Myths. Tall tales told to children to entertain or frighten, depending on the circumstances of the telling. Things they’re embarrassed to talk to outsiders about. I’ve spent my life watching the sea and its creatures. Studying patterns, researching myths, even. I believe these creatures are very real indeed. The reports of their sighting seem to come around only every few generations, making it easy to dismiss the stories as something made up to scare the kiddies. I’m an herbalist and make my living as a healer, so I’ve spoken to a lot of elderly folk who swear they saw these things in their youth or knew someone who did. Often those were stories of the disappearance of a friend or relative.  I think most people have heard these stories as well – from their grandparents or great grandparents, someone trusted but maybe assumed to be senile. So, some of their denial may be fear. I think what you saw was a raiding party, come to the surface to take supplies, weapons, food, and maybe bartering goods. They seem to be capable of using tools and weapons, but from what I’ve been able to find, they don’t seem to make their own. Laziness or lack of ability? I don’t know, but it really doesn’t matter, in the end, does it?”

 “Not really. So, what then? They’re underwater bandits? They seem to be able to breathe both in the water and out of it. Why did they take the dead sailors with them?”

“Bandits is a good way of looking at them, I think. From all accounts, they do seem to be both water and air breathing. I believe they attack any craft on the water small enough for them to outnumber the crew. They come aboard and take any tools or weapons that seem useful, along with anything they think they may be able to sell or barter. As for the dead sailors, I’m afraid they’re meant to be food. If the pattern holds, these raids will escalate and continue for several months, and then end abruptly as they started.  

I don’t know whether they take enough to hold them until the next appearance, or if they’re nomadic and just happen to come back here every so often. But I’m pretty sure things around here are going to get worse until they’re dealt with or they disappear again.”

Aefsheen shuddered at the food hypothesis and replied “I’ve drawn a map and made written notes to help me find where they retreated to. They took something from me – a small chest. It may seem crazy to you, but if I don’t get that chest back, it will mean my life. I’ve been trying to recruit some folk bold enough to accompany me, but no one has taken me seriously until you.”

Mardixx said “Well, as I said, a lot of the reactions you’re receiving are based in fear, although you won’t find anyone willing to admit that. This place caters more to travelers and adventuring folk. In other words, not locals, so much. You may have better luck here than you’ve found so far. Personally, I’d be willing to go with you just to see them with my own eyes. I’d like to see these notes of yours, too.”

Aefsheen gave him a sideways glance. “You? No offense, but I’m not sure a healer will be much use until after the fight is over. They were hard enough to deal with while standing alongside fighting men; I’d rather not feel the need to protect a member of the expedition in addition to trying to keep myself alive.”

Mardixx grinned, mumbled under his breath and his hands twitched a bit. Aefsheen lifted his cup to find his mead was frozen solid. Mardixx smirked and said “Herbalism isn’t my only talent. I’d bet a week’s income that their lair is either completely submerged, or at the very least you’ll have to swim quite a way underwater to get there. Longer than you can hold your breath – that’s another wager I’d feel sure about. Either way, I can help with that.”

Aefsheen nodded his appreciation. “Point taken. I won’t dismiss the help of a mage. Tell me I’m not overly optimistic to hope that you can do more than this? From what I’ve seen, most any wizard’s apprentice can do tricks like that.”

Mardixx nodded, saying “Believe me – I wouldn’t invite myself to go searching for these monsters if I didn’t think I stood a good chance of surviving the encounter.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and the mead thawed instantly to room temperature.

“That’s good.” Aefsheen replied, “Because they’re pretty vicious. They laid waste to half the crew of the boat I was on, and left the survivors wounded and bleeding.” He took a sip of his mead once he noticed the mage had relinquished his spell.

They heard a hearty laugh from close by. “Well, if the crew of the Tideskimmer fights as badly sober and at sea as they do drunk and in a tavern, I’m surprised any of them lived. And ‘sober at sea’ is giving them the benefit of the doubt. Ha!” Aefsheen and Mardixx turned to see a newcomer who was just taking his seat at the table next to them. A strange sight to behold, indeed: a Markwynn, looking like a human and with the same approximate proportions, but standing half the height. Incongruously, he wore the clothing of a nomad of the Wandering Tribes of the Godslawn, the wild country east of the southern half of Pentalohr and south of the Worldcrown Mountains. His long hair was tied back into a ponytail, and he wore a horsehair vest over a homespun shirt, worn leather pants, and boots. A horse’s tooth hung from a thong around his neck. A small axe was tucked into his belt at each hip. He flashed a big, friendly smile at the pair. “Sorry if I startled you. I keep forgetting that city dwellers don’t always notice somebody of my dainty personage” he said with a humorous tone, as if anyone could look at his bulging muscles and even think of the word ‘dainty’. With his build, dress, and the horseshoe tattoos on his hands, he made an imposing figure even at his diminutive height. “Also, my apologies for just jumping right in, but I couldn’t help overhearing. I have to be honest, in my wandering, I’ve stopped in Oversea quite a few times and visited most of the pubs here. I’ve seen those men fight more than once. They’re really enthusiastic, but they’re also really bad at it. But maybe I’m biased since I was taught by master warriors?” He chuckled a bit at that. “Oh, my manners! Vehlor Tallgrass, of the Windmane Tribe of the Godslawn. Out wandering the world, just to see what I can see.” Hand clasps and introductions followed.

“Sorry again for eavesdropping, but from what you’re talking about, I’d really like to see these critters. You were worried about solid fighters? I’m worth at least three or four of those fellows. They tend to pick fights where they outnumber their opponents. If they do that in a pub, you really shouldn’t be surprised they couldn’t handle a fight for their lives when the odds are against them. I was trained to fight against larger numbers. No pun meant, ha!  ‘Prepare and you won’t need to hope’ was what we were taught when it came to fighting. I know you were probably looking to hire some mercenaries or something, but how about this instead: I come along. No need to offer actual payment - just let me take whatever bounty I can carry away. The same goes for any other recruits you can round up. You” he pointed at Aefsheen, “get your chest, and you” pointing at Mardixx, “you get, well… whatever it is that you’re after. You don’t look like you care much for loot.”

 The three looked at each other, assessing and measuring. They agreed to work together. Aefsheen had traveled much and seen many warriors and many who thought they were such. He’d learned the signs to know the difference and had no doubt that Vehlor wasn’t just bragging. He’d also heard about the nomadic Wandering Tribes and they had quite a reputation as fighters and craftsmen. If Mardixx was the magical equal, he felt they’d be in good shape to continue. He just needed to recruit a handful more fighting men – he’d seen what these things did to a person and wanted a larger party than just the three of them, Mardixx’s spells notwithstanding. Despite Vehlor’s criticism of the fighting abilities of the Tideskimmer’s crew, he didn’t think they’d been all that inept, just surprised and still nerve-shot from the earlier battle with the foreign ship. Probably three or four more would do it - his goal was to be stealthy: hit hard and fast, get his property back, and get out. Vehlor’s idea of a share as payment sounded good and took the burden of coming up with payment off Aefsheen. The others could grab whatever plunder they wanted in the process; it was the chest that was important to him.

In the next two days, the three of them discussed plans. Mardixx read over Aefsheen’s notes and maps, asking questions here and there for clarity. Vehlor skimmed over them himself, just to get an idea of what his upcoming foes looked like. While Mardixx tended to clients and gathered his arcane supplies, Aefsheen and Vehlor spent time in taverns and pubs, bragging of their upcoming expedition and attempting to recruit help. It was difficult to convince any of the more mercenary types to come along without being able to promise a specific payment. But once Aefsheen started explaining that he was only after the chest, and Mardixx wasn’t generally interested in wealth, only knowledge and any arcane baubles they might find, it became a bit easier. Eventually they were able to recruit four young spearmen who had just quit their employment as caravan guards for a traveling merchant and were eager to make a name for themselves as adventurers.

The agreement was that Aefsheen would buy two boats small enough to carry and the group would take them close to where they needed to go into the water, then lower them with ropes down the cliffs just before the ascent to the Rockface cliffs. They hoped this would get them close enough to approach the lair’s entrance before giving themselves away too soon to any scouts. Assuming they didn’t run into another raiding party. In that case, any plans they had were probably moot, anyway.

  From any booty they found in the creatures’ lair, Aefsheen would get his chest and be reimbursed the price for the boats and the ropes, and Mardixx would get anything of magical interest. Beyond that, any loot would be divided evenly among the rest, with Vehlor getting a double share since he was part of the three who made the plan and would take on the role of captain of the fighting men.

The day of the excursion came, and the group met just after dawn by the water on the southern edge of the docks. Aefsheen and Vehlor arrived earlier than the others, and stood next to the two rowboats, watching as their new comrades approached wearing mail shirts and carrying their spears and shields. Each man carried a second, smaller spear for throwing, and wore a sturdy camp knife on his belt. Mardixx showed up wearing a leather cuirass. He also wore a strap on his left arm that held three wickedly barbed darts, and a pair of daggers on his belt. On his belt hung a couple of large well-oiled sealskin pouches. Aefsheen, wearing his usual steel studded leather breastplate, fencing swords and knives, raised an eyebrow at the sorcerer’s armor, unusual for a spell slinger. Mardixx shrugged and said, “It rarely hurts to have an extra layer between your skin and anything that can shred it.” For his part, Vehlor had the small axes from the other day, but was also carrying a war hammer with a head the size of his own slung on his back and there was a large dirk hanging from his belt.

They estimated a day’s walk to get there, a day or two to hunt for the lair and make their raid, and then the trip back, so they’d stocked up on food, tents, and tinder. The group distributed supplies evenly between the boats. They used some of the rope to fashion slings at each end of the boats, and the former guardsmen put their spear shafts through those to make for easier carrying.

The little band began the long day’s walk. Being the only resident of the area, and therefore having some knowledge of the local terrain, Mardixx took the lead, followed by Aefsheen, then the spearmen with their boats loaded with equipment. Vehlor brought up the rear, keeping an eye ahead and behind for any potential danger. Soon, the sun rose, and the dawn chill gave way to the heat of the day.

 During rest breaks, there wasn’t a lot of talk, but during the midday lunch stop, they chatted a bit, getting to know each other more. Mardixx had been born in a seaside village a little distance from Oversea and developed magical abilities at a young age after being swept off his small fishing boat in a storm and nearly drowning. His new magical abilities and unnatural affinity for the sea caused his fellow villagers to fear him and drive him away. He’d set himself up as a healer on the outskirts of the city and downplayed the magic until it was needed. However, he spent his free time researching the sea and anything magical related to it and had gained quite a bit of knowledge. The four newcomers didn’t have much of interest to say, aside from having tired of the boredom of marching alongside a rich man’s merchandise. They’d almost come to wish for bandits just for something new to do. That’s when they decided to leave and try their hand at adventuring. Once they got to Oversea and received their pay, they deserted the caravan, absconding with the weapons and armor that had been issued to them, but leaving behind the tabards bearing the trader’s livery. They happened to meet Aefsheen and Vehlor a couple of days after that, just as they were about to drink and carouse their way to the end of their money. Vehlor’s Markwynn village had been raided by goblins when he was an infant, and when the Windmane tribe found the smoking village, he was the only survivor. The tribe was fond of the villagers, trading with them often, and a nomad family adopted him without hesitation and raised him as one of their own. After lunch, the walk got a bit demanding, as the land began its ascent to the Rockfalls, and talk ceased as they saved their breath for the hike.

They camped that night within sight of the peak of the first of the Rockfaces. The spearmen had brought several bottles of wine with them which they passed around after the evening meal. Listening to their banter, it became apparent that one of them, by the name of Jaften, had a hearty dislike for another, named Arral. The other two formed a buffer between the two to keep the discord minimal, but it was noted by the others.

Aefsheen kept quiet and sat apart from the others. Mardixx noticed and walked over to sit beside him.

“Everything good, Aefsheen?”

“Mostly. Honestly, I’m a bit nervous about these creatures. And seeing that new dynamic between those two doesn’t help. We need to work well together if we’re going to survive this raid.” the smuggler replied.

“Agreed. I heard some backstory from Mehlliam earlier today” Mardixx said, referring to one of the other men at arms. “There was some joke made months ago at Jaften’s expense and he never let it go. Mehlliam says that they’ve always been professional while on duty, though, so that’s some comfort. Let’s just hope that this less regimented excursion doesn’t encourage them to drop their discipline.”

 As the sun rose, the spearmen and Mardixx awoke to the sounds of struggle. At first, they were surprised to find Aefsheen and Vehlor locked in combat with each other, but when they heard laughter, they realized the two were merely sparring. After a brief conversation, they learned that the two of them were in the habit of working through weapons drills in the morning. After a quick breakfast of unheated trail rations, the small band struck camp, packing the tents and cooking equipment up and stashing it in bundles among the shrubs on the hillside. They only took weapons, rope, the boats, and each man had an empty backpack for the loot he dreamed of picking up. Blades were given quick last-minute swipes with whetstones and all weapons and gear was double checked to ensure it was secure yet accessible when needed. As armor was donned and tightened securely, Vehlor spoke up, saying “Well, I’d rather not go into battle all encumbered like you lot with your metal suits”, and stripped off his shirt, revealing tribal tattoos of a horse’s head on each side of his chest, facing inward, the manes extending over his shoulders and upper arms to form the impression of wings running down his back. He shrugged his vest back on and adjusted his great hammer.

The spearmen shouldered the boats with the makeshift harness and the group made their way to the edge of the cliffs to search for a good launching point. After an hour or so, they found a narrow trail with a manageable slope and plenty of scrub trees to hold onto for balance. That got them about halfway down to the water without too much effort, and had the bonus of tree trunks to tie the ropes to so they’d have a way to climb back up later.

Within minutes, they’d tied the ends of the ropes to the boats and to tree trunks and lowered the boats to the water. As they prepared to descend to the boats, Vehlor spoke.

“Remember, men: keep your eyes open and look all around you. It’ll be different under water – you’ll need to pay attention above and below as well as to all sides. We’ll all watch each other’s backs and stick together. Hopefully by the end of the day we’ll each be a bit richer in treasure, stories, and glory.” All nodded and made sounds of agreement.

 Mardixx cleared his throat and called out to the group. “Alright, everyone, gather close. First of all, as promised, I’m about to give you all the ability to breathe both air and water. This spell will hold until exactly this time tomorrow, so if our venture runs long, don’t lose track of time or you’ll drown. Second, a couple of words of advice from someone who’s spent a lot of time under the waves. Use your weapons in a thrusting manner – the water will hamper swinging motions and make them useless in a fight. Vehlor, that hammer won’t do you any good unless we fight them in a dry cave” Vehlor grinned and patted the dirk on his belt. Mardixx nodded and continued “Should we get separated or if you get lost, look for the light and swim that direction; it’ll be the sun and therefore the surface. Once there, swim and keep the shoreline to your left. That will bring you to where these ropes will hopefully still be waiting for us.” With that, he started chanting eldritch words. The seaglass pendant hanging from his neck took on an eerie blue-green glow and all the men felt an odd tingling in their necks. Panicking, the spearmen clawed at their throats, only to find the flesh rippling and reforming itself. Within a few heartbeats, they all discovered they now had gills on the sides of their necks. First to recover his wits, Vehlor urged the others “Quickly -let’s get to work! There’s a limit to how long this spell will hold us.” With that, the group hastened to lower the boats to the water. Ten minutes of lowering and a half hour of climbing had them all afloat and paddling. Soon they were all gazing up at the first of the eight colossal carvings.

  An hour into their excursion, Aefsheen pointed to the shore and called out. “There! That deep rift between those two faces, with a scrub tree about halfway up the left face. I last saw the monsters swimming for that nook.”

Fisherman’s anchors were dropped from both boats and oars were secured, then, without prelude, Mardixx tumbled out of his boat face first and disappeared below the surface with hardly a ripple. Vehlor made sure his weapons were snug in their holders and Aefsheen pushed his swords a bit tighter into their scabbards, and they both tumbled overboard, followed closely by the others. They’d all taken a deep breath out of instinct. Gradually, they all let it out, then hesitatingly tried breathing. They found that they had new instincts and drew water through their gills instead of into their lungs. Once they acclimated to the new sensation, they all began to swim toward the shore and found Mardixx waiting for them about halfway.

 Vehlor took the lead, knife in hand. They knew they were approaching the shoreline when the weeds and other underwater flora began to rise to meet them. Just as Vehlor started to realize they’d either need to clear a path through the growth or swim on the surface, a dreadful, two mouthed face darted from the weeds, followed by two clawed hands reaching for his throat. As he prepared to meet it with his dagger point, he felt the sting of a blade nicking his neck as a spear thrust past him and into the neck of the fish-man-beast. Jaften swept the spear to the side as he withdrew it, slicing his foe’s throat and coloring the water pink with blood. Vehlor glared at him, pointed at the spearpoint, then his neck, then at Jaften’s eyes. “Watch what you’re doing” was the unmistakable message. Jaften simply grinned and shrugged, then pointed urgently beyond Vehlor. The fishman hadn’t been alone.

Several more rose up from the undergrowth, all brandishing weapons. The motley crew set upon them. They fought hard, but they were soon surrounded by the platoon of guards and were starting to fatigue. Mardixx, sheltered in the middle of the others, clutched his crystal amulet and bubbles streamed from his mouth as he intoned an incantation. With a roar of thunder, a shockwave rolled through the water, battering the fishmen. A few floated toward the surface, belly up, and the others all looked gravely wounded, but they rallied and closed back in.  

 Soon, between spears, rapier and dagger, the fish creatures were floating suspended and motionless in their own spreading red-pink clouds, while the sole survivor turned and fled toward the space between the cliff outcroppings. Tired from fighting against the resistance of the water, and pained from their own wounds (exacerbated by the salt in the water), but knowing the survivor was running to warn others, the group swam after it. Unfortunately, it was more adapted to swimming than they were, and it soon outpaced them.  Aefsheen, ahead of the rest, saw a sphere of crackling bluish white light speed past him. It slammed into the beast’s head and burst with an electric crackle audible even underwater. The thing stopped swimming started slowly floating, following its blood trail upward, and trailing bits of brain and bone behind it.

 Confident now that there were no more guards, the group pressed on, Mardixx taking Vehlor’s place in the lead position, with Aefsheen right behind to point out the direction in which he remembered seeing the things retreat. The cleft had seemed narrow from their vantage out on the water, and it was, but once past the initial crack in the cliff face, it opened up much like a box canyon filled with water. As they swam, the water got deeper again, and they dove down as well, all looking about them for any sign of a cave or some sort of portal in the rock walls.

Soon, Mardixx spied a natural rock shelf protruding from the rock wall about halfway between the sea floor and the surface. It looked to provide a sort of porch for large flat stones leaning against each other, forming an inconspicuous opening in the cliff. He got the others’ attention and pointed to the cave entrance.

They swam to the entrance and entered it unchallenged. Apparently, the creatures thought the patrol was enough guard for their lair. They were immersed in near total darkness almost immediately on entering. Mardixx drew one of his darts, bubbled out more magic words, and the barbed blade of the dart began to glow, providing them an underwater “torch”. The group followed the cavernous subaquatic tunnel as it twisted through the mountainside, soon losing track of whether the twists went up, down, or to one side or the other.

 At some point, the tunnel must have brought them upward, because they surfaced. They found themselves in a lagoon inside a large grotto. The large cavern floor before them was worn smooth from use and piled with boxes, chests, and assorted bric-a-brac. As they made their way to the beach, they could hear movement coming down a tunnel that branched off to the side of the cave. Just as they stepped out of the water, the first of the fishmen came into view, carrying a large wooden chest. It turned its eyeless head toward the party with a jerk, and dropped its cargo, reaching for a sword strapped to its waist. Aefsheen recognized it as a cutlass from the Tideskimmer. Before it could draw the blade, however, Mardixx flung his glowing dart at it and caught it in the face. It fell back clawing at the fletching as more of its kind came running forward. Many of them now carried weapons instead of just relying on their claws, and that, coupled with being in their own territory, seemed to make them even bolder than before, although they certainly hadn’t lacked confidence on the ship. As they entered, blocking the light that now shone out through the wounded creature’s mouths and plunging the cavern into darkness, Mardixx mumbled the arcane words that had illuminated the dart tip and now one of the chests near the entrance began to glow, allowing the troop to see to fight.

 Free from the movement-impeding water, Vehlor’s left hand drew an ax and cast it into the crowd of charging fish men while his right reached over his shoulder and hauled his ponderous warhammer from its hanger while Aefsheen drew his sabre to complement the rapier he’d been using in the water. The former caravan guards were able to put their shields to use now that they were on dry land and stood to receive a charge. Just as the throng of fishmen finished crowding into the cavernous chamber, Mardixx once again clasped his crystal and shouted a few arcane words accompanied by occult gesturing with his free hand. From behind his compatriots, a great wall of water rose from the lagoon and sailed over their heads, flying with the force of a hurricane driven tidal wave toward their foes. The waterwall slammed into the creatures, crushing the front rank in its onslaught and wounding most of the others.  The survivors threw the corpses of their comrades aside and rushed the invading adventurers.

Vehlor drew his other ax and rushed into the fray, ducking under the lead assailant’s sword swing and leaving the ax in its gut as he ran past it to swing the massive hammer with both hands at the head of the next one. Aefsheen went into his fencing posture, parrying, slashing, thrusting, riposting, and dodging his way through the melee. For their part, the former soldiers held their ground well enough, but before today, they’d seen little action more than fending off drunk trespassers, and they started to be overwhelmed. Hayber, already sorely wounded from the first fight with the guard patrol, fell as a gout of blood sprayed from his clawed-out throat. Arral, standing beside him, bashed the monster with his shield, knocking it down, then thrust his spear blade into its belly and twisted before withdrawing, bathing himself in its blood. The heartbeat he spent mentally gloating was enough for two of the savages to set upon him, bringing him down and nearly killing him before Mardixx threw a magical barrier in front of him, followed by an icy blast of magical force that killed the one about to rip his throat out with its claws.

 A few minutes that felt like a lifetime of thrusts, slashes, parries, and spells later, Aefsheen and Vehlor were delivering final coup de grâce to the last couple of still-breathing fishmen. Mardixx checked on Hayber, and found him to be beyond even magical help, so he started to bind Arral’s wounds, applying medicinal herbs to help speed the healing. The others started dumping boxes and chests, sifting through the contents for anything of value. To their horror, the first few crates they opened contained what looked to be butchered human remains. Those they closed and moved aside quickly. They found various tools and weapons, but there were also some gold- and silver-plated decorative pieces, along with numerous purses and money pouches filled with copper, silver, and even a few gold coins. They divided the coins into four stacks now that they realized Hayber wasn’t going to wake up. The other items they distributed by weight, agreeing to take them for appraisal and to split the proceeds after.

Aefsheen, frustrated, kicked over box after crate after chest, finding foodstuffs spoiled by saltwater, and more coins, and rusted weapons. Just as he was about to give up, he spied a small case that looked familiar. It was banged up and deeply scratched, but he was sure it was what he came for. He twisted the latch, swung open the lid, and: thank the gods! The oilskin was still tightly bundled, and every vial was still in place, and still intact. He made a mental note to leave an offering at the temple of Johssehn, also called Lady Luck, to thank her for smiling on him.

 After he finished tending to Arral’s wounds, Mardixx started looking through the spoils, hoping to find something of value to him. He commented on a few items, but ultimately left them where they lay. He went to retrieve the dart he’d thrown earlier, and then asked Vehlor “May I?” while pointing to one of his axes. When Vehlor handed it to him, Mardixx started stalking the dead creatures. “I think they’re all finished off, my magical friend” Vehlor chuckled. Finding what he was looking for, Mardixx calmly beheaded one of the corpses, and placing it in one of the sacks he’d hung from his belt, grinned at Vehlor and said “I know. I’m taking my own spoils; I just needed one with an undamaged head and a good pair each of hands and feet. I’ll take these back and study them and write my observations. Maybe next time these things come around; the local folk will be more prepared.” Next, he harvested a pair of webbed feet and a pair of clawed hands and dropped them into another sack, amused by the looks of horror and disgust cast his way by the others.

Arral wasn’t the only one wounded – they’d all been beaten and bloodied during the battle. Mardixx took a few minutes to apply bandages and herbs to the worst of their wounds as they took a moment to catch their breath. When it was time to go, Arral had to be shaken awake. He was pale and short of breath. “Are you going to be alright?” Vehlor asked.

“I’ll be fine” was the answer as Arral struggled to pull the straps of his backpack onto his shoulders.

“Good, because there are more of these things in these caves, and they’ll soon notice their fellows missing. We can’t stay here any longer.”

Arral swayed a bit when he stood. “Whoa…. everything just went black for a second.” he said.

Vehlor looked gravely serious and said “I’ll help you with this. Give me a moment to get it adjusted and we’ll be on our way.” Vehlor pulled the pack off Arral’s shoulders and pulled it onto himself, in the front.

Mardixx moved the magical light back to a dart tip to shine their path back through the tunnels and they all waded into the water to waist depth and dove in, swimming down, and back through the twists and turns toward the lagoon in the hidden canyon.

They swam as quickly as they could, and Arral, weakened, began to fall behind. Much to everyone’s surprise, Jaften hung back and took hold of Arral’s arm, helping pull him along. When they surfaced near the boats, Jaften was alone.

“Where is Arral?!?” demanded Mehlliam.

“He didn’t make it. I had to let him go – no use dragging dead weight behind us, is there?” retorted Jaften.

“I find that hard to believe. He was hurt badly, yes, but the herbs were already showing signs of healing in his wounds before we left the cave.” Mardixx argued. “He may have passed out, but why would you abandon him?”

“I didn’t want him slowing us down if those things were chasing us. If enough of them caught up to us, we’d all be dead instead of just him and Hayber. Are we going to wait around for that to happen anyway, or are we going to get to the boats and back to town? Besides – more loot for the rest of us now, isn’t there?”

The last sentence was too much for Mehlliam, and he shouted “You’ve had a grudge for months over a stupid joke! Your ego made you hold onto the spite, and now you found a way to get your revenge. Too far, Jaften! Too gods-damned far!”

 As the two former caravan guards argued, Mardixx disappeared beneath the waves. Aefsheen suggested they continue their argument on dry land in order to avoid retribution in the even they were followed. They all got in the boats and took oars in hand, waiting to row, just waiting for Mardixx to resurface.

 “Where do you think he’s gone off to?” wondered Vehlor, eyes searching the waves for angry fishmen, hands on ax hilts.

“I don’t know for sure, but I have a feeling he went back to look for Arral.” replied Aefsheen. Sitting across the length of the rowboat from him, Jaften looked nervous. “What’s the point of that? Wasting time and effort on literal dead weight!” Aefsheen noted the guilty look on his face as he looked away spitefully.

Half an hour later, Mardixx surfaced a dozen yards away, yelling “Paddle! Go! They’re coming!” Then, with a flash, he disappeared and reappeared in the boat with Vehlor and Mehlliam, holding Arral’s limp body. As they began to pull frantically at the oars, the little boats picked up speed, cutting through the waves. The creatures glided through the water in pursuit. Mardixx hurled a ball of magical force at the one in the lead, bursting its chest open, then started casting bolts of magical force at the others, leaving frostbitten flesh around the open wounds. Soon, the fishmen abandoned their pursuit, and the rowers were able to slow to a less grueling pace.

They were relieved to find the ropes they’d used before were still hanging in place, waiting for them. Mardixx offered to go up last, so he could maintain a watch for more pursuit. When his turn came, he tied the end of one of the ropes around Arral’s waist and yelled for it to be pulled up as he climbed the other.

Once Vehlor had Arral’s body on the clifftop, Mardixx held it by the collar for all to see and rounded on Jaften.

 “He ‘didn’t make it’???? He had no wounds on his throat when I treated him in the cave. Explain to us why his throat is cleanly slit from ear to ear, Jaften! Explain this murder!”

All eyes turned to the accused, who first looked scared, then angry. “I told you – he was dead weight. You all saw it – he couldn’t keep up; he was slowing us down. He’d have caused all our deaths. I did us a favor!”

Aefsheen spoke up next. He stalked an ever-tightening circle around Jaften as he berated him. “I grew up on the streets, in a gang. It’s surely no secret that I earn my way now as a criminal. There aren’t a lot of rules I consider unbreakable, but even the people I’ve spent my life around consider betrayal and treason as the worst offense. There were things my gang would beat you for, things we’d put you out for. But for a betrayal like this? You’d be killed. Matter of fact…” and, having positioned himself behind Jaften’s back, the edge of his dagger was against his throat with blinding speed. “How does it fell, Jaften? Knowing your throat is about to be cut by someone you trusted to be at your side? This is how Arral felt when he died, and now it’s going to be the last thing you feel, too.” As he started to apply pressure, Vehlor’s voice stopped him.

 “Hold on, Aefsheen.”  The redness in Vehlor’s face and the volume of his voice both increased as he spoke to Jaften. “You don’t turn on your comrades, boy. Aefsheen’s right. That’s the lowest thing you can do. When you go into battle, you protect each other, no questions. You knew your life was at risk before you ever agreed to go. There’s no excuse for what you just did. However, if we kill you like this, we’re no better than you.”

Mehlliam looked about to speak, but Vehlor continued. “Choose your weapon, coward. My hammer against your spear? Axes? Knives? Empty hands? Choose quickly, because this is happening.”

At the mention of fists, Jaften looked relieved. “Fists are an option?”

Vehlor chuckled mockingly. “Sure, but think carefully. That won’t save your life. It just means it’ll take longer to die, because I’ll beat you to death instead of using a weapon. Make no mistake – I’ve just challenged you to a duel. The rules of honor I grew up with mean that only one of us leaves this spot alive. Choose, or I’ll choose for you.”

Jaften paled, and he tried to think quickly. He’d been trained with various weapons, but had more experience with shield and spear, so he chose those for his weapons. Vehlor chose his hammer and asked to borrow Mehlliam’s shield. “Gladly” was the immediate reply as he handed the defensive weapon to the shorter man.

The two dropped their packs and squared off, circling each other, each taking tentative swings and thrusts with his weapon, testing the other’s defenses. Vehlor suddenly rushed toward Jaften, who reacted by thrusting his spear at the nomad’s head. That was exactly what Vehlor had hoped to provoke, and he used his shield to deflect the spear harmlessly to the side, and as Jaften raised his own shield to defend his body and head, Vehlor instead swung the heavy headed hammer at Jaften’s elbow, breaking his arm and causing him to drop the spear and cry out in pain. Vehlor backed off a few steps and said “Pick it up. We’re not done here.” Jaften tried, but his hand wouldn’t obey his mind’s order to grasp the spear’s haft. He dropped his shield and diffidently picked up the spear with his left hand, holding his broken right arm tightly against his mailed chest.

Jaften, feeling awkward holding his weapon in the wrong hand, panted and winced in pain as Vehlor circled him. He grew dizzy turning in place, trying to keep his front, and more importantly, his spear point, toward Vehlor, waiting for the inevitable attack. From the corner of his eye, he saw Aefsheen holding a dagger by the tip and looking ready to throw it at him. That unnerved and distracted him enough that he missed the charge until he felt the hammer blow fall squarely in the center of his chest. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, trying to breathe and failing. Vehlor looked grimly down at him. The short nomad knelt next to the dying man’s head and said “If you weren’t so dishonorable, I’d give you a quick death right now. But after what you did, I think instead I’ll watch you suffocate trying to breathe through crushed lungs.”

Aefsheen looked to Mehlliam. “Learn from this. Wherever you go, and whatever you do, whether you go back to guard service, take up the adventuring life, or take up with thieves and assassins: nobody likes or respects a traitor. Once you’ve turned on your own, no one will work with you, and it takes a godlike person to make it through life entirely on one’s own. If you have a problem with someone you’re working or traveling with, you wait until the task is done, then challenge them. Hell, you could even get away with killing them in their sleep as long as you wait long enough afterward. But if you’re working together, you work together until it’s done.

And it looks like it’s done here.” He glanced over and saw that Jaften, eyes sightlessly pointed to the sky, no longer attempted breath. He walked over to him, grabbed his collar, dragged him to the cliffside, and shoved him over it, watching the body tumble down the path and finally fall over the edge to land in the branches of a tree below. “Let the insects and vultures have him.” Aefsheen said, and spat toward where the corpse had caught in the foliage. Then, lacking shovels, he and Vehlor lowered Arral’s body back down to the boats and carried kindling down. They lay him to rest in one of the boats and packed kindling around him, then said silent prayers to the deities they each felt appropriate, and set fire to the craft, giving it a good shove seaward. The tide caught it and carried it out to sea.

They abandoned the other boat and climbed back up. Aefsheen and Mardixx then hauled up the ropes while the two men at arms redistributed the coins and other valuables. Vehlor handed Aefsheen more than enough coin to reimburse him for the boats and ropes.

 They walked back to Oversea in a tense silence, until Vehlor began whistling a happy tune. Aefsheen laughed out loud at the unexpected light heartedness, and tension broken, said “Well, aside from the treachery, I’d say that was a successful venture, as long as I can get my package to its owners in time. Should our paths cross again, I’d be happy to work, or even drink with any of you again.”

 They met for supper and drinks at the Brazen Eel. They went their separate ways after that night, but fate saw to it that some of them would indeed meet again in the future. Copyright 2021 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr

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Finally got the new laptop and had Geek Squad transfer all my data. Looks like I got lucky and they were able to retrieve everything. A couple more evenings setting up and settling into the new device and I’ll be back to writing and posting. :)

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Just got a call from the Geek Squad. Looks like they'll be able to recover all my data!! 🎉

Of course I had to buy a new laptop but whatever.

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I'm scared. My latest story (14+ pages in Word, nearly 25 or so book pages) is on the desktop. From now on anything I work on gets saved in Docs or Dropbox.

😬😬😬😬😬😬

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Where’s the lie?(via)

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I’ve been neglecting this blog a bit. Not intentionally - some personal/family/life issues have taken my attention. Also, I’ve started work again, seven months after getting laid off due to the Great Plague of 2020, so my time is more limited. I’m writing my longest story so far, however, and hopefully it’ll be finished and ready to post soon.  I see I’ve acquired new followers in my absence. Hail, and well met! I see you, and appreciate your presence.

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The Markwynn

Averaging about 3 feet tall, and tending to have little to no facial hair, these people otherwise look like the typical human in both features and proportions. Although some take on a life of adventure and travel abroad, they live primarily in the Godslawn, a vast savanna southeast of the kingdom of Pentalohr.

 They are farmers and craftsmen, excelling at making clothes, shoes, leatherwork, and mining and cutting gemstones. Like the Wandering Tribes nomads, their economy is based on barter, and they have no currency, although it’s not uncommon to see coins from other lands being used as decoration. They also use pieces of gemstone too small for barter to decorate much of their clothing and equipment.

 Being smaller in stature, and living in small groups remote from each other, they’ve developed a unique defensive housing situation. All their houses are underground, accessed by trap doors in the ground.  These doors are landscaped to match the ground around them, and when closed, are completely camouflaged. Doors are opened and closed using a rod hanging from the outer edge. One climbs down a ladder into an entryway. To three sides of this room, the ground slopes down into chambers whose floors are riddled with drain holes to prevent the entryway and the home from flooding during rains. The floor is also a step lower than the living area for the same reason. From there is the mudroom where coats, cloaks, and shoes are left in order to keep the house clean. The family sitting room is usually the first room encountered from there. The kitchen is off to the side of this parlor and shares both a wall and the fireplace with the kitchen. The house will also have as many bedrooms as necessary for the family, sometimes with a guest room or a workshop for craftsman families. Due to the scarcity of wood on the Godslawn, chairs, benches, and even beds are sculpted from the earth and padded by moss with sheets and/or blankets draped over that. Most rooms have windows in the form of skylights that are covered the same way the doors are. Ladders are kept in every house in case a window needs to be used as an escape path. The chimney is tunneled in a long, twisting path that eventually branches into smaller outlets far away so that it’s impossible to determine where a house is just by observing smoke exiting the ground. Above-ground structures consist of smithies, animal pens, granaries, and things of that nature. Also, each village has a gathering hall where the town comes together for celebrations or council meetings. All above-ground structures are located a good distance from all houses. It is literally possible to pass over a Markwynn village and not even know it’s there.

 Village leadership is a council consisting of a mayor, an elder, and a captain. The mayor is elected once every five years, and any adult member of the community is eligible. The elder is simply the oldest member of the village who still has his or her wits. The captain is the leader of the militia, and is appointed by the mayor. The captain leads the village’s defense force, which is an all-volunteer, part time militia. Since village economy depends on barter, there’s no way to pay a standing military or police force. Most able bodied adults either serve or have served in their village’s militia.

Because of the small size of their villages, there is a strong sense of community among most Markwynn, and crime is exceedingly rare and usually consists of petty theft or crimes committed from anger. Most offenses can be settled between individuals, often with a trusted mutual friend acting as mediator. When that’s not possible, a trial is held in the gathering hall, and is judged by the council. There are no jails, so the punishment is made to fit the crime, such as replacing a stolen item, or performing labor for the victim. In extreme cases or for repeat offenders, the punishment could be banishment. In the case of banishment, word is also spread through as many villages as possible to protect them from the miscreant and to ensure a more complete exile.

The one city built by Markwynn is that of Mossrock, along the river Hillsea, close to the area where the river spreads into delta and swampland. There, one will find anything found in virtually any other city in Trebhoria, only scaled down to Markwynn dimensions, although smart innkeepers and tavern owners have constructed taller buildings to attract the business of nomads and wanderers from other realms. One can even find a magical academy, a bard academy, money (largely ignored outside Mossrock), and even crime and therefore a city watch. City government is very similar to that of the village: an elected mayor, an elder, and a captain of the watch. Every two years, the mayors, elders, and captains of all the Markwynn villages convene in Mossrock for the Grand Council meeting. Affairs affecting all Markwynn are discussed here. Since there is relatively little to discuss, it’s usually just a way for the various communities to maintain friendly relations.

(Copyright 2020 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr)

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Ambush

The drive north from Loamhorn, the capital of the Heathguard Barony, had been fairly uneventful. Aefsheen had his contraband secured in its secret nook, covered by a wagonload of fresh flowers on melting blocks of ice, allegedly bound for a noble in the city of Stoneheart in Barony Torguard. He’d hired some local muscle named Welsehn at the local adventurers’ hangout in Loamhorn to ride with him as extra security. The fellow seemed okay. Not the most intelligent, perhaps, and bit lacking in sparkling conversation, but the heavy crossbow and longsword he carried were the reasons Aefsheen had hired him.

The one time a patrol had stopped them, Aefsheen complained loudly about the delay, pointing out that the plants wouldn’t stay fresh long, and if he lost money over dead cargo, he’d be seeking an audience with the lord who commanded their captain. He managed to sound entitled and whiny enough that they believed he just might know their lord, so they let him travel on without further trouble.

Aefsheen and Welsehn then carried on, simply enjoying the mild sunny spring weather and keeping an eye on the rain clouds on the horizon. Their biggest worry at the moment seemed to be hoping they’d make it to a town before the rain met them. Since their rendezvous was between here and the next town, with no specific time to meet other than sometime today or tomorrow, that unfortunately seemed unlikely.

The meeting place was a cave in the forested area ahead. Nobody knew for sure whether the Great Road had been built through the woods, or if the trees had grown up around it during a period of lax maintenance, but the fact remained that the great ancient paved highway went right through a small forest. Aefsheen had been given directions to find a cave in the side of a large hill off to the right. He was to park within sight of the hill and wait for those he was to meet. Once they’d exchanged passwords, he’d hand over the secret cargo to them, they’d pay him, and they’d all go their separate ways. He’d drop Welsehn off at the next town or the one after, and try to sell the flowers to a landscaper or innkeeper somewhere to pick up some extra coin.

Alas, the rain started just as the road entered the forest. Although the day had been warm, it was still early spring, and the rain was cold. They put on cloaks and pulled the hoods over their heads, but it seemed as they entered the cover of the trees, the rain compensated by getting harder and soon their cloaks were soaked and the road was washed over with mud, making the paving stones slippery. They pressed on, and just as the mud became deep enough for the horses’ hooves to lose traction, he spied the hill just around a bend in the road. The cave was easy to miss – he’d only seen it because he’d been specifically looking for it. “Hey, is that our cave, Aefsheen?” Welsehn asked a moment after Aefsheen saw it.

“It appears so, my man. And none too soon, either. Unfortunately, I don’t see a fire burning in it, which means they’re either being cautious or they’re not here yet. We’re supposed to wait out here by the wagon.”

After waiting a few minutes to be hailed from the cave, they decided those they were to meet were absent and not just cautious. They moved inside the wagon to try to dry out, but they were already soaked to the bone, and the rain had brought cold air with it, and a wind that seemed to blow through every crack and seam in the framework of the wagon. Soon, the two men found themselves shivering and their teeth chattering.

After an hour or so of shivering and trying but failing to keep warm, Welsehn spoke up.

“Look, I know we’re supposed to wait out here for them to call us up to meet them. But they’re obviously not here yet. Probably delayed by the weather. Likely, they’re holed up in a nice warm tavern up ahead somewhere, eating warm food and washing it down with ale, waiting out this storm. Let’s just go inside the cave and light a fire. They can’t really blame us for that, can they? Surely they don’t expect their smugglers to die from the weather and leave their delivery unguarded?” Aefsheen hesitated. The direction had been clear: wait outside for an invitation to approach the cavern. But Welsehn made a couple of good points.

“It’s against my better judgment, but to hell with it. I’m cold and I’m wet, and we can light a fire inside that cave, assuming we find any dry kindling.”

 Aefsheen unhitched the horses and staked them nearby so they could have a break from the harness and graze. While he did that, Welsehn shouldered his crossbow, and got the mess kit from inside the wagon, along with a couple of wineskins. Aefsheen took part of the load and they started making their way uphill to the cave, slipping and sliding on mud and wet weeds the whole climb, arriving slightly winded from the effort.

 As their eyes adjusted to the darker interior of the cave, something felt off. There was a fire already, or the remains of one, anyway, and it still smelled fresh. Someone had been here within the last day or so.

 “Welsehn, what do you make of this? Looks like they’ve been here and left. I can understand if they wanted to stay the night in an inn if there’s one nearby, but now it’s midday - why aren’t they here now?”

“As I said earlier – likely holed up out of the weather, waiting out the storm. It seems to be heavier north of here. They may be in the thick of it and decided to drink the day away instead of freezing and soaking like we are. Why don’t we rebuild this fire? I think I see some logs toward the back of the cave.”

Welsehn went to retrieve an armload of logs. As he placed them on the ashes of the previous fire, Aefsheen pulled flint and steel from the mess kit, and started striking it to kindle the fire. Welsehn went to lean against the cave entrance.

“Yeah, you’ve parked well. You can see the wagon and horses clearly from here.”

Aefsheen heard noises from the direction of the woodpile Welsehn had gotten the logs from. He looked up and saw several man sized figures coming around a corner he’d thought was the back of the cave. They were all wearing colorless dark cloaks wrapped tightly against the cold. The one in front, a grizzled and gray bearded, weatherworn man spoke. Aefsheen set down the flint and steel and stood to meet them as the leader greeted him.

“I see you made it. Well done, lad. You can give it over to us now, and we’ll all move on to a drier place and celebrate in warmth.”

“Absolutely. Password?”

“What? Give us the goods, son.”

This felt absolutely wrong. The day had definitely taken a turn for the worse.

“I’m not your son. Just tell me the password and I’ll help you unload the packages.”

 The graybeard seemed taken aback. “What are you talking about? Just give us what’s ours, so we can give you what you have coming and we’ll all get on with our lives.”

“Oh, now you know better than that, ‘friend’. I need to hear the password.”

Suddenly, they were all holding weapons. His rapier sang from its scabbard. The first one rushed toward him holding his blade high and swinging it down toward Aefsheen’s shoulder. Aefsheen stepped to the charger’s right, slicing his forearm and tripping him, sending him sprawling among the logs, and faced the second attacker. This one swung from the hip, perhaps seeing the overhand attack fail a second ago. Knowing that his narrow fencing blade couldn’t directly block a swing from the heavier broadsword, Aefsheen deftly brought his blade around low, point down, and whipped the rapier up to redirect the heavier blow away from himself, and brought his left fist up to meet the man’s jaw. He rushed onward to the next attacker, who thrust his short sword at Aefsheen’s charging belly. Aefsheen dropped into a feet first slide trying to avoid the sword point, escaping with a shallow cut along the side of his neck as his slide toppled the assailant. Unfortunately, this one landed on top of him, and they began to wrestle, both dropping their swords in the process. He heard struggling noises and assumed his first assailant was getting up from the abandoned fire. As he writhed free of the other’s grasp and stood up, he yelled “Welsehn! Use that crossbow, damn you! Shoot these fools!” Then he heard the twang of bowstring and felt the impact in his shoulder. The blow from the heavy bolt took him to his knees. He looked about for his sword but it was somewhere out of sight. As the others moved to surround him, he heard Welsehn say “I’ll finish him. Go hitch the wagon and let’s get moving.” He caught a glimpse of his sword and made a clumsy move toward it, only to see Welsehn’s boot kick it farther away. “Days on the road, watching you go through drills every morning with that thing. You’re no battlefield warrior, but you’re fast and sure with that needle. No way I’m letting you lay a hand on it again.” Welsehn began the laborious process of winding the bowstring into cocked position as Aefsheen willed his vision to clear and he took stock of his situation. No sword in reach, and Welsehn had just gotten the string into position and was making a big show of carefully selecting a bolt from his quiver and gloating about it. “Oh, great smuggler and thief you are, Aefsheen. Such the reputation. Apparently it’s all talk. You just lost your cargo, and now you lose your life. I’ll be remembered as the one who killed the famous Aefsheen Silverthorn.” While he gloated, Aefsheen noticed an errant log, kicked out of the fireplace in the scuffle. As Welsehn took slow, exaggerated aim, Aefsheen’s hand snapped out and grabbed the log, bringing it upward in an arcing swing. It connected with the stirrup at the front of the crossbow just as Welsehn released the string, sending the bolt to shatter against the stone wall above, raining splinters down on the two of them. He dove at the other man’s midsection, tackling him and sending the crossbow skittering out of reach. His vision was beginning to blur again and he felt his fingers and toes tingling. Welsehn pushed on the arrow in his shoulder. He steeled himself against that and fought for his life. He brought the log down into Welsehn’s face, stunning him for a moment. He heard some of the others reenter the cave, and an instinct for survival took over as the edges of his vision started to darken. With barely a conscious thought, he stood and fled from his assailants, toward the back of the cave. As he rounded the corner, an arrow crashed against the wall behind him. He tripped over something. Lying on the ground, he looked back and saw four dead men sprawled on the ground in pools of blood, weapons near their hands. Apparently the rightful recipients of his haul had been here before him, but were also ambushed. He heard footsteps and voices approaching. He realized the cave continued onward in a passageway of sorts. He scrambled to his feet and ran as well as his remaining blood allowed. He heard the voices behind him.

 “He’s getting away.” “Let him go. He won’t get far with that wound.” “Even if the wound doesn’t get him, he’ll die of thirst in there.” “Or get eaten by who knows what.” “Or fall into a pit.”

 Then the voices and laughter grew faint as they moved outside and he moved deeper. He ran through a few twists of the cave tunnel, and, satisfied that he wasn’t pursued, allowed himself to succumb to the pain and shock of his wound. He sat and leaned sideways against the wall, the crossbow quarrel preventing him from lying back against it. He kicked himself as it all turned over in his mind: Not being hailed, Welsehn insisting on going inside even though Aefsheen had told him the arrangement. Welsehn getting the logs himself, preventing Aefsheen from seeing the bandits, but leaving it to Aefsheen to light the fire so he could get into position to block Aefsheen’s exit from the cave, which Aefsheen would normally never allow. Dammit, he should have seen the signs before the ambush happened. At least he hadn’t entrusted Welsehn with the password, or even that there was one. Had he handed the cargo over to the wrong people, he had a feeling his death would have been even more painful.

He passed out with bitter thoughts of revenge swirling in his mind. He awoke some time later; he had no way of knowing how long. The left side of his neck was stiff with crusted blood from the sword cut, and his left shoulder ached and throbbed around the arrow still protruding from his body. He gritted his teeth and reached back to take hold of its shaft and gave a tentative pull. Luckily the leather armor he wore had slowed the projectile down and the wound wasn’t as deep as he’d feared. It hurt like hell to extract it, and the barbed head ripped flesh and caught on the armor as he pulled, opening the wound a bit more, but at least he’d be able to move a bit easier without it stuck in him.

The elven sight inherited from his father allowed him to see in the subterranean gloom, and he looked about him. He was in a fairly circular room of the cave. Indeed, “room” seemed to be the right word, for there was evidence that this space had been enlarged and shaped by design. In the center of the cavern there was a circular structure rising from the floor. He approached and saw the aged wooden bucket and rope on the ground next to it. A well! He was surprised to find the rope in usable condition, and moved the capstone to the side. He lowered the bucket down for what felt like longer than it should have taken, and the rope seemed to stretch as he fed it down into the well until he was sure it was all delirium. Finally, he felt the slack that let him know the bucket had met resistance. He waited for the bucket to sink into the water, then hauled it back up.

The water was clear, cold, and the best tasting thing he’d ever drunk. He drank deeply, and felt newly energized. He realized that he felt stronger than a moment ago, and more so than simple hydration could account for. He used the water to wash the crusted blood from his neck, and found the wound already closing. He felt a tickle in his shoulder where the arrow had been and it seemed to him that that wound was healing itself as well.

He’d heard that there were wells scattered around the world that reached down into magical springs but he’d always dismissed them as myth. He looked at the well walls, and started to brush the dirt and dust of centuries off the bricks. He uncovered an inscription. He recognized it as an ancient form of Elvish, and although he spoke and read modern Elvish, he could do little more than guess at pronunciation of most of what he saw chiseled into the stone. But it was clear to him that he’d accidentally discovered a long lost Elvish well of healing waters.

 An hour later he was walking north on the Great Road. His sword scabbard was empty, but he still had his daggers at belt and boot. He also carried a wineskin full of water from the elf well. He’d searched the cave and found that the bandits had taken all the weapons and anything of obvious value. He’d counted himself lucky that they’d missed one wineskin. With the rain and the trees obscuring the moon, there was just enough light for him to make out the tracks of his wagon and horses, and he pushed himself onward through the cold and rainy night. His fury kept him warm and focused. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that he was hungry and hadn’t eaten in who knew how long. He pushed the thought and the sensation aside as he’d learned to do in his poverty stricken youth. There’d be plenty of time to eat after he caught up with the bandits. Or they’d finish killing him. Either way, the hunger was temporary, but his rage felt infinite.

Soon he saw firelight glowing in the windows of farmhouses, letting him know a village or town must be close. He quickened his pace.

 The village was hardly big enough even to call it that. A stable, an inn and tavern, a couple of shops that looked to be a cartwright and a general store, and a smithy, all stretched along the highway, with no side streets.

 Aefsheen kept to the shadows as well as he could, and snuck to the stables. He recognized his horses grazing at the open trough. One nickered at him and he whispered a greeting to calm them, then moved around to the back of the building. Sure enough, there was his wagon. He stood still a moment, then saw the movement and heard the conversation. Just under the eaves, out of the rain, stood two men in dark cloaks, facing the wagon. They looked to be part of the crew that had nearly killed him. Listening to their conversation, he could tell by their complaints that they resented being on guard duty while the others were drinking in the tavern across the road and he could tell by their posture that they didn’t expect anyone to approach the wagon on this rainy night.

He crept back to the side of the long building, and climbed up the gutter pipe at the corner. After making his way slowly across the roof so as not to slip or make an errant sound, he finally arrived at the spot directly above the two guards. He carefully stood at the edge of the roof, facing its peak, knelt down and took hold of the gutter with both hands, then launched his feet outward. The bandits were caught completely unaware by the pair of boots swinging toward their faces, and had no time to react. The one on the left caught a boot heel in the forehead, driving his head into the wall with a hollow thud and he dropped. The other had managed to turn his head just enough that the kick only landed a glancing blow, causing him to stumble, but he managed to draw his sword before Aefsheen could land.

 Aefsheen sidestepped the man’s clumsy thrust, and trapped his elbow, preventing him from bringing the sword back around. He hooked his foot behind the man’s ankle and shoved, sending him sprawling. He drew the dagger from his belt as he leapt on top of his opponent. The man on the ground saw his attacker’s face for the first time. “You!” he gasped. “But you’re…” His sentence was punctuated by the dagger entering his lung. “…very angry.” Aefsheen finished the sentence and pulled his blade free of the man’s ribs and stood up, leaving him to drown in his own blood.

 Aefsheen turned to face the other bandit left to guard the wagon just as the man was rousing himself and struggling to regain his feet. His eyes widened as he recognized Aefsheen and saw his compatriot bleeding out on the ground next to him. Aefsheen leapt onto him, grasping a handful of hair and laying the bloody edge of his dagger against the man’s throat with just enough pressure to break the skin.

“Is all my gear back in my wagon? In particular, my sword?”

The man sputtered in reply, pleading “Yes, just please, don’t kill me – I was just following orders…” “I don’t care about that. One more question. Answer me honestly and I won’t cut your throat.”

“Yes, anything.” “Tell me, are the rest of you in the tavern across the road? And is that everyone, or do you have other lookouts?”

“Yeah. They’re all drinking over there. We only set a watch on the wagon because of the valuables in it. I thought it was a waste since they’re hidden and we’re in the middle of nowhere anyway.”

“Thank you for you honesty. I’ll make this quick.”

“But I answered you! I told the truth! You said you wasn’t going to cut my throat.”

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Replied Aefsheen with a cold smirk, as he thrust his dagger into the man’s heart. He didn’t lie. The man’s death was quicker than his partner’s, who was still sputtering his final breaths a few feet away.

 He considered just hitching his team back to his wagon and driving away. After all, they had nearly killed him once today. As he entered the corral, though, it occurred to him: Welsehn had helped him load the wagon, which meant he’d probably told the others about the secret cargo hold underneath. That wouldn’t do. Aefsheen could count on his hands the number of people he trusted with that secret. No, the betrayal alone should cost Welsehn his life, but adding in knowledge that could hurt Aefsheen in the future? That couldn’t be allowed. He retrieved his rapier and began his furtive and circuitous route through the shadows to the inn.

 Approaching the inn from the back, he spotted a man heading outside to relieve himself. In the brief moment the light from inside illuminated the man’s face before the door shut, he recognized him as the one who’d cut his neck and then wrestled with him back at the cave. He halted in the shadows and waited for the bandit to begin emptying his bladder against the side of the building. He slunk up behind him, dagger in hand, and, clapping his left hand around the brigand’s mouth, he drew the edge of his dagger across the man’s throat. He held him upright until he’d stopped struggling, then lowered him quietly to the ground.

 The tavern was usually a quiet, calm place where local farmers and craftsmen gathered for a couple of drinks at the end of their day. Being on the Great Road, they were used to occasional travelers stopping for the night, but most travelers passed on by their little hamlet, pushing on to one of the bigger towns where they were sure to find more comfortable accommodations. Those travelers who did stop here tended to be a bit quiet themselves, owing to road weariness.

 This lot, though, were a different tale indeed. They’d come into the taproom laughing and making jokes about everything from coarse sexual innuendo to casual violence. They’d taken over the middle of the room, occupying the largest table in the place, and bellowing orders for more beer, more food, more wine, more liquor, more, more, and more. The longer they stayed, the more they drank and the rowdier they got. At one point, they began boasting of battles they’d been in, drunkenly drawing weapons and carelessly waving them about in a drunken reenactment. The locals were frightened enough to be uncomfortable anyway, but when it became apparent that they were referring to having just killed a courier for his wagon earlier that very day, the few other remaining patrons settled their tabs with the barkeep and made a hasty retreat. When the barman tried to announce a last call of sorts (this place was never open this late except around holidays and festival times), they threatened him, telling him he’d serve them until they decided they were done.

 When the back door opened, the carousers barely even took notice, until the lone figure stepped to their table, bloody dagger still in his right hand, dripping water onto the gray haired leader. As the grayhair looked up, the newcomer said “I believe your friends dropped these”, and dropped the swords he’d collected from the wagon guards and the man outside onto the table, spilling drinks. As they all started hollering and standing up to draw weapons, he grabbed the leader’s gray hair and yanked, tipping his chair backwards and driving the dagger into his chest. By the time the rest had moved their chairs back, gained their feet and gotten their weapons into play, Aefsheen sent the dagger flying toward another brigand and whirled to race to the bar itself. He jumped, planted a foot on a bar stool, then launched onto the bar, leaving the stool rocking back and forth on its legs while he turned to face the band of thugs. There had been five at the table when he’d entered. Their captain lay dead on the floor, and another was sitting spread legged on the floor with his hands on the hilt of Aefsheen’s dagger protruding from his belly, covering the floor with his blood. The remaining three spread apart, trying to figure out how to flank him with him above them. He threw off his cloak and hood, revealing his face. Welsehn stared in horror. “But… I killed you!” Aefsheen laughed and said “So you did, so you did. Are you ready now to face me in death? Come on, the three of you. Ghosts can’t pass on from this world if they have unfinished business – and I feel like avenging a betrayal. Let’s do this; my blades are thirsty!” He freed his rapier, and his left hand snaked down to his boot to draw his other dagger.

Welsehn was uncomfortable and obviously nervous, but he was also a seasoned veteran. The other two were visibly spooked, however. “What are you waiting for? He’s no ghost – he’s dripping rain. If water affects him, so will steel.” Still they hesitated, so Welsehn shoved one of them toward Aefsheen, and moved back toward where his crossbow lay on top of the table. As the robber stumbled toward Aefsheen, wheeling his arms as though trying to swim backwards through the air away from the “ghost”, Aefsheen kicked him solidly in the face, sending him sprawling backwards into Welsehn just as the other was lifting his crossbow.

Aefsheen, remembering the pain of that bow’s bite, made a desperate dive off the bar, landing full sprawl across the pair, and sending the crossbow skittering away. Before the three could disentangle themselves, the third bandit rushed in, hacking and managed a glancing blow across Aefsheen’s leg before the half elf could roll away. His rushed swing continued on, however, and also cut into his cohort’s side. Aefsheen had managed to hold onto both of his blades during his leap, and reached the sword tip out to trip Welsehn, preventing him from regaining his crossbow. Aefsheen rolled away and onto his feet as Welsehn drew his longsword. Aefsheen used his dagger to parry a second attack from the one who’d just cut him and sidestepped a jab from Welsehn. The man on the floor had regained his feet by now, and Aefsheen withdrew to the bar, sneaking a fast glance to assess the rest of the room. The only other person present was the frightened barkeep, who had withdrawn as far as possible from the melee. Aefsheen backed himself into a corner. True, there could be no escape from this position, but he had no intention of escaping this fight anyway. This way at least he couldn’t be flanked unless one of them decided to climb on top of the bar to his left as he had done earlier, and approach him that way. They approached him cautiously, the wounded man hanging behind the other two, who were shoulder to shoulder, confident in having blocked him in.

As they approached, Aefsheen launched his dagger at the bandit to his right, managing to sink it into his forearm, making the man drop his sword. Welsehn rushed him then, swinging at Aefsheen’s head. Aefsheen ducked sideways and reduced what would have been a killing blow to a glancing one to the side of his head. He responded with a quick thrust of his narrow blade to Welsehn’s belly, finding a gap in the links of the mail shirt the other wore, driving Welsehn back a step. They exchanged feints and parries and ripostes and small nicks and near misses for a few minutes, circling one another, each seeking the advantage. The man who’d approached with Welsehn had removed Aefsheen’s dagger from his forearm and made a clumsy offhanded throw with it, missing Aefsheen, but distracting him enough that Welsehn was able to get in another cut, this one to the leg. From the corner of his eye, Aefsheen saw the cloak he’d cast off onto the bar top earlier, and snaked his left hand to grab it as he thrust his blade at Welsehn’s face. Before the other could recover from dodging the sword point, Aefsheen threw his cloak over Welsehn’s head, blinding him. As the man fumbled to remove the cloak, Aefsheen turned his attention to the lesser foe, driving an attack toward him, despite now having to limp to do so. The man’s lack of experience showed itself in his feeble attempts to block or parry Aefsheen’s swings and thrusts. Finally, after parrying an awkward forehand swing, Aefsheen brought his blade back and across the bandit’s throat leaving his opponents number at two. He turned around in time to meet Welsehn, who’d just freed himself from the cloak blinding him. The other remaining brigand looked lost and frightened behind Welsehn. Aefsheen led his attack with a distracting kick at Welsehn’s knee, then followed with another thrust at his belly. The other man was maneuvering around his companion, hoping to get some advantage over Aefsheen. Welsehn thrust at Aefsheen’s belly, putting all his weight behind the attack. Aefsheen twisted to the side, just barely avoiding the brunt of the force, as the longsword scraped a gouge into his leather cuirass. Spinning to face the other, he made his own lunge. That man back pedaled, taking just a small nick in his chest. Aefsheen bent over and scooped the cloak back up, and readied himself as he realized he’d allowed them to outflank him.

They came at him simultaneously, and Aefsheen whipped the cloak around the one’s sword arm and yanked, bringing him off balance while he and Welsehn gave each other small wounds on the arms as they parried each other’s attacks. Aefsheen saw the other man’s head jerk to the side and he fell. Standing behind him was the barkeep, who’d apparently snuck out from the bar and hit him with a heavy wine bottle as the man held his throat, trying to stem the flow of blood. Aefsheen turned his full attention to the man who’d betrayed him. Welsehn gripped his longsword two handed and gave a mighty swing at Aefsheen’s chest. Aefsheen moved to the side, whipping the cloak around Welsehn’s sword hand and pulling down to throw the man off balance. As he stumbled toward Aefsheen, Aefsheen punched him hard across the bridge of his nose with the basket hilt of his rapier, crumpling the larger man. As Welsehn looked up at Aefsheen through eyes blurred from having just had his nose broken, Aefsheen found another gap in the man’s mail shirt and slowly pushed the point of his rapier into Welsehn’s chest until he met resistance from the back side of the man’s armor. Welsehn grunted in pain as Aefsheen withdrew the blade and spat in his face.

Aefsheen left him to bleed out and turned to face the remaining bandit who still lay unconscious.

“You’re going to kill him in his sleep? Surely you could spare him – he’s no threat anymore.” The innkeeper protested.

“These men ambushed me with the help of that one’s betrayal” Aefsheen said, gesturing toward Welsehn with his sword. “They left me to die, and it was only by sheer luck I survived, and only by surprise and luck that I was able to take them on. I appreciate your help, but I’ll ask you to step aside now and let me finish my task.”

Whether he was convinced by, or afraid of Aefsheen, the man wisely stepped back and turned his head as Aefsheen knelt and finished off the last bandit.

“Now, I know I’ve caused you no small amount of concern and extra work here tonight. For that, I do sincerely apologize, but I was to meet up with a group of people near here to hand off some cargo. This group got to the meeting place early and ambushed them, then tried to kill me when I got there.

I’ll take these bodies outside and if you’ll fetch a mop and bucket, I’ll help clean the blood, but then I’ll need a place to rest, recover from these wounds, and figure out how to contact the organization I was supposed to deliver to, since I have no name or location; just the site where we were ambushed.”

 The innkeeper seemed shocked that this man who’d just turned his barroom into a bloodbath had offered to help clean it up. He offered “I think I know who you’re talking about.” He gave a description that from what Aefsheen had seen in the cave matched the people he was supposed to meet. “I only saw their bodies for a moment, and in the heat of a bloody retreat, but I’m fairly sure that was them.” He told the innkeeper.

 “Well, they had a room upstairs. Paid up for a week, because they knew this weather was coming. You’re welcome to use it.”

They cleaned up as well as they could, given their level of exhaustion. Aefsheen drank the water from the elven well, and it seemed to help a little, but it didn’t heal him as completely as before. Apparently, it needed to be drunk at the source, and seemed to lose its magic once taken away. He went to the room upstairs, used a chair to block the door closed, stripped off his armor, weapons, and clothes and passed out on the bed.

 The storm cleared up by midmorning on the third day after the battle. Aefsheen was sitting in a chair in front of the inn, resting after his morning sword practice and sharpening Welsehn’s long sword while enjoying the spring weather once again. He still didn’t know what to do about delivering his cargo. The ice was melted completely by now, and he’d ingratiated himself to the little village by giving away all the flowers to the townspeople to brighten up their businesses or homes. Never hurts to have a friendly place to retreat to when one needs to lie low a while, he mused to himself. He’d also paid off a local pig farmer to let him dispose of the bandits’ bodies by feeding them to the pigs. Their weapons and armor were stacked inside his wagon now, waiting for him to clean and sharpen them for resale later.

 He looked up and saw on the horizon a small party on horseback approaching the village. He continued his work evening out nicks along the edges of the sword and honing it back to deadly sharpness. He kept an eye on the group, as they got closer. He sheathed the sword as they dismounted and hitched their mounts at the trough in front of the inn. There were four of them, including a dwarven warrior, all nd heavily armed and armored. A stoutly built woman wearing ring mail, with a morning star hanging from her belt addressed Aefsheen. “You there. Are you the innkeeper here?”

He replied “No, I’m a mere customer. The portly, balding man inside is the proprietor.

Forgive my intrusion, but I’m curious. Are you connected to a group that came through here headed south a couple of days ago?”

 They all perked up and looked at him suspiciously. Their hands hovered near weapons. He lay the sword on the ground and held his hands up. She held up a hand to restrain her group and spoke up “We are. We expected their return two days ago. We rode out yesterday to search for them. What do you know of them?”

“I was the courier they were to meet. They were ambushed, as was I. They were killed in the cave where the rendezvous was set. The man I’d hired to ride along with me as security betrayed me and got word to some bandits. They killed your men and ambushed me. I was wounded and left for dead. I caught up to them here, though. I’ve been recovering from two fights and wondering what to do about delivery. I hoped if I stayed here, someone would come looking for them, and here you are.”

“My name is Taleen, and obviously we’re looking for our associates, as well as the cargo. You say you recovered it?”

“Yes, it’s still concealed in my wagon, which they also stole and brought here. It’s across the road at the stable. I’ll be more than happy to retrieve your cargo for you.”

“And what came of these bandits. Those were friends of ours that came to meet you. I’d like some vengeance.”

“On that note, Taleen, I apologize, but I fed their remains to pigs at a farm just down the road two days ago.” She seemed both disappointed that they were already dead, and impressed with the casual air Aefsheen had about relating their deaths. “I can show you the farm. Maybe some of their remains are still in the sty.”

 “Perhaps later. Can you show us where our friends are? I’d like to at least bury them once we retrieve our property.”

 “Of course. Go on inside and get yourselves a meal and a drink, and I’ll go get your cargo.”

She turned to the dwarf. “Winslir, go with him and help him unload and carry.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. And no offense, but it’s also not wanted. I’d rather not reveal the secrets of my manner of concealment. Relax, and I’ll bring the gods to you. I don’t mind making more than one trip.”

 Three quarters of an hour later, the various packages were strapped to saddles, and Aefsheen settled into a chair to share a meal and a drink with the crew. They paid him his fee, and paid for rooms for themselves at the inn. As they ate, Aefsheen told them how to locate the hillside cave where they could find their companions. He was careful not to tell them about the elf well. Who knew if that water was infinite or how limited its supply was? Best to keep it to himself, and know that if he needed somewhere to hide and heal in this area, he had a place to do so.

 After their lunch, the group mounted up and rode south while Aefsheen hitched his team to his wagon and continued northward. He had a feeling he’d gained their trust and that he’d likely work for them again, but today it was sunny and warm and all he wanted to do was enjoy the weather and be on the road.

(Copyright 2020 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr)

[swordmeetssorcery]

Sir Ebrenn’s Houseguest

Aefsheen shifted in his sleep, dream memories washing through his mind…

 The teenaged half elf looked over at his human counterpart, the girl panting as heavily as he. They were in their usual hiding place, an abandoned and shuttered storefront in the mill quarter. The two urchins had been sneaking in here for years, and over time had furnished it with castoff items. There was a wobbly crate for a table, a couple of broken chairs they'd crudely repaired enough to use, and a couple of abandoned mattresses found on the street. They stank of the wood smoke they’d used to drive the bedbugs and fleas out, but they were better than lying on the bare earth floor of the old storefront’s storage room. They each now lay on one, bruised and bleeding and out of breath from their flight from the city watch. As he caught his breath, Aefsheen spoke.

"You know, Danniven, there are some things I understand and accept. If we pinch food from a butcher or grocer and get caught, I expect a couple of kicks and a head knocking. They're trying to survive just like us. Don't get me wrong - I'll take that food and dodge that beating every time I can, but I don't hold a grudge about it. I'd do the same thing in their place.

But what that watchman does. And it's not just us - he strides roughshod over the whole quarter. Bullies people that haven't done anything wrong. And just now? We were lucky to get away. I think this time he meant to kill us."

Danniven, wiping blood from where it still flowed freely down her chin from her nose, nodded.

"You're right, Aefsheen. Absolutely right. He needs to be taught a lesson, that one."

"Yeah, but what can we do, Danni? He nearly killed the two of us singlehandedly. He even managed to take our knives away.”

“Well, yours he took. Mine, I left in his leg. I guess I’ll have to break into another butcher shop and steal us some replacements. But I know, brother. He nearly killed the two of us. But could he take ten of us down? Fifteen? I don’t think he could.”

“Are we back to that, sister? We’ve talked and talked about it.”

“Yes we have, and it’s time to stop talking and act, Aefsheen. I know you’re not thrilled with the idea, and I honestly prefer going alone or with just you, but we’ve caught the Watch’s attention now, and they’ll be hunting us. We won’t survive on our own any longer. We have a few friends. Let’s talk to them and they can talk to their other friends. We’ll see how it plays out.”

Aefsheen turned it over in his mind and the more he thought about it, the more he realized she was right. The pair had targets on their backs now. If not the whole watch, then at least this tyrant and his friends would hunt them down now that they’d wounded him. Reluctantly, he agreed to organize a group of other youths from the neighborhood.

  Tohlfehn meandered through the mill quarter. He was a large man, but lazy, and so had chosen to join the city watch rather than fell trees or labor in the lumberyard. When he’d finished his training, at first he’d resented being sent here to police the city’s laborers and drunks and urchins. But he soon came to realize that he could truly make use of his great size and strength and have some fun with the city’s poorer citizens. He’d always been a bully, and he soon turned the quarter into his playground, knowing the locals would never bother to complain to his superiors. He pushed around drunkards, beat children, and occasionally had his way with some of the fairer women unfortunate enough to catch his eye.

Movement in an alleyway caught his attention, and he hefted his mace and turned that direction. He limped into the shadowy space between the butcher’s and the tanner’s shops and paused to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Then he saw her. One of the two little bastards from last week. He’d caught them stealing apples and tried to arrest them but they fought. He’d beaten them with his fists until they pulled knives. He’d managed to disarm the pointy ear boy, but the filthy girl had sunk her knife into his leg. They used the distraction to escape. Now she was standing at the other end of the alley, face still swollen, but she wasn’t running this time. She spoke as she approached him.  

“Your days of abusing the people of this neighborhood are over, Tohlfehn. You’ve terrorized us for the last time. It ends today.”

The burly watchman, confident in his leather armor, iron headed mace, and sheer size, laughed loudly enough to echo through the alley and out into the street beyond. He reached out and grabbed the front of her tunic. She didn’t resist as he dragged her out into full view of the growing crowd.

“Little girl, what do you mean, threatening ME? I’ll give you the beating of your life right here in the street as a lesson to any others that feel brave. Ha! I’m a man of the city watch, and you’re nothing. You’re an insect! What threat is an insect?” He lifted her by her tunic and punched her in the face. Her head rocked back, then she lifted it back up and looked him in the eye. She grinned at him as the crowd closed in on them.

“You’re right, watchman.” She spoke the last word with all the disdain she could muster. “One insect is no threat. It stings, and you swat it and it dies. One insect is a nuisance. But a swarm? There’s your threat.” He felt the bite of a blade entering his back and she laughed at the look of shocked pain in his eyes.

He dropped her and spun around, swinging his mace inches over Aefsheen’s ducking head. Aefsheen reached out and left a bloody gash in the large man’s thigh as more than a dozen children and youths emerged from shop doors and alleys, running to attack Tohlfehn at once with knives, table legs, boards, and cobblestones pried from the street.

Danniven laughed as she drew her knife and joined in the attack. She leapt onto Tohlfehn’s back, wrapping her legs around his waist and one arm around his head. “Meet the Swarm” she murmured in his ear as she buried her blade in his neck.

  He woke groggily from his dream of the Swarm’s first attack. He sat up and looked at the faded tattoo of a wasp on the web of skin between the thumb and forefinger on his right hand while his left hand rubbed his swollen jaw and he took in his surroundings. He appeared to be in a small stone cell with an iron grate for a door. The bed was a wooden platform jutting from the wall, almost padded by a thin mildewed blanket. There was another bed across the cell, a chamber pot in one corner of the cell and a pitcher near the door. The whole room was perhaps eight feet square with a low ceiling.

He took a look and a sniff at the pitcher. It appeared to be water. Maybe a bit stale, but likely not dangerous. If his captors had wanted him dead, they’d have killed him while he was unconscious instead of going to all the trouble of imprisoning him first. He drank the water and tried to think through the throbbing in his skull. How had he wound up here? As the water revived him, his memory slowly returned and he remembered the conflict. He’d gotten lost in a forest after seeking shelter from a storm. He was camped for the night when he found himself surrounded by soldiers including one mounted and dressed in full plate armor and helm, holding a lance and wearing a sword.

As it turned out, the mounted man was Winslir, Sir Ebrenn Markwell’s squire. Winslir informed Aefsheen that he was trespassing on Sir Ebrenn’s lands and accused him of poaching, although he was clearly eating dried meat and fruits inside his wagon, taking shelter from the rain still soaking everything around him.  

This was bad. He’d heard stories of Sir Ebrenn. He was referred to as the Mad Yeoman, although presumably not to his face. He was crazy and, ironically for his station, reclusive. He was as likely to treat a guest with all the hospitality of a noble lord or with all the cruelty of a twisted inquisitor, apparently completely randomly. By all accounts, he was an old man, too old to ride into battle anymore. His squire was said to be up in years as well, and to have fought in many battles in his youth, but Ebrenn had always refused to grant him knighthood, and kept him away from any noble who could bestow the honor so that he could keep the poor man indentured to him for life. Most other men would have abandoned Ebrenn long ago and sought a new mentor, but Squire Winslir was afflicted with a deep sense of either loyalty, twisted honor, or his own brand of madness, and he’d remained in Ebrenn’s service all these decades. Ebrenn was rumored to have employed unscrupulous wizards and sorcerers in the past and was supposed to keep monsters as pets and to have inhuman hordes, either as henchmen or prisoners, depending on the story you heard. This was not a man whose prisoner Aefsheen wanted to be. For that matter, he’d prefer to not even be an invited dinner guest.

Aefsheen tried to explain that he’d merely gotten lost in the storm, and offered to leave immediately, but they told him they had standing orders: Anyone who entered Sir Ebrenn’s land without immediately announcing himself at the castle was assumed to be a poacher or an invader and was to be arrested on sight. He’d resisted, and at first fought off his attackers, but then the squire landed a solid sideways blow with his lance across Aefsheen’s jaw, and the world had gone black. The next thing he knew, he was waking up from his dream of the Swarm, feeling hungover without having had the night of revelry to make it worth the headache.

He got up and crept to the door of his cell. He saw a stone hallway leading to his left and right, lit by torches in sconces set just close enough to provide dim lighting in this dungeon. The other side of the hallway appeared to be solid stonework, unbroken by any other cells or doors. He could hear stirrings off to his left and assumed he wasn’t the only prisoner.

 “Pssst. Anyone there? Are you awake?” He asked in the Common speech, hoping the sounds weren’t coming from a guard sleeping at his post. In reply, he heard a wordless baritone grumbling.  

“Humph. I’m awake, alright. Now, at any rate. Second time in the last few hours I’ve been awakened on your account. How’s your head? They had to carry you in here last night” the deep voice answered in the accent of the dwarves of Worldcrown Mountains.

“It hurts, and my jaw’s fairly swollen, but I’ve had worse from drinking at the wrong tavern.” Aefsheen replied with a chuckle.

“Well, welcome to the dungeons of the Mad Yeoman. From all accounts, he could hold us for life, let us out today, or have us killed at any time. I’ve heard he’s even pitted prisoners against each other in gladiatorial combat. Who knows?”

“Well, that’s … unfortunate. How long have you been here?” Aefsheen asked as he began investigating the lock on his cell door. It was a purely academic act, done out of habit and to occupy himself, since his captors had taken his lock picks along with everything else but his clothes.

“I’ve been here a week or so, assuming I haven’t lost track of the days. They keep the water pitchers filled regularly, but the meal schedule is pretty irregular, as is the quality. Sometimes it’s stale bread and moldy cheese, sometimes it’s a feast of roast mutton and potatoes. At any rate, the mercurial timing makes it hard to gauge time. My name is Fehrehngarr Stonehew, skald of the Clanfolk. Who might you be?”  

“I’m Aefsheen. Question, Fehrehngarr: Have you tried escaping yet?”

“Oh, aye, it’s crossed my mind, lad. But I’m not capable of bending steel bars nor of burrowing through stone with my bare hands. I’m no picker of locks either. So here I sit until an opportunity presents itself. So far they haven’t made it easy. They don’t open the door – they just pass the food through the slot down by the floor and have me pass the chamber pot and empty pitcher through the same way.”

“How many guards do you see at a time?” Aefsheen inquired.

“Usually two, sometimes just one” came the answer.

“I may have an answer then. Wait a moment.” Aefsheen took off his jacket, and began rubbing a spot along the bottom hem against the roughhewn stone of the cell’s wall, fraying the thread of the hem. He pulled at the thread and removed a gold coin concealed there and dropped the jacket onto the bed.

“What are you up to over there, elf?”

“Half-elf, actually, my new friend, but I applaud your ear for voices. And plotting our escape is what I’m doing. The soldiers took my weapons and pouch, and emptied my pockets, but I have a few tricks. For example, this piece of gold that was hidden in the seam of my jacket. If there’s one thing I’m sure of regarding soldiers, it’s that to a man, they consider themselves overworked and underpaid. Makes them easy to bribe.”

“Humph. I can’t argue with that logic, but tell me this – what will you do when the guards take your gold and then leave you sitting there anyway?”

“I’m two steps ahead of you. I’ll offer it, then retreat to the rear wall of the cell. When the guard comes in, the door will be open and I’ll have my window of opportunity.”

“I admire your ambition, but they’re armed and armored. You’re neither. What do you hope to accomplish?”

Aefsheen sighed. “Fehrehngarr, you have no faith, but that’s forgivable, since we’ve only just met. This won’t be my first time fighting this type. Soldiers, city watch, gaolers – they’re all the same at their core. Assuming this one fights like the ones who took me last night, I think I’ll be alright. After all, it took four infantrymen and a mounted squire to bring me down. And if we’re visited by a pair of them, I’ll bide my time until there’s only one to better my odds.”

The pair passed the time with casual conversation. Aefsheen discovered that Fehrehngarr was from the Rockfall Clan, a group of nomadic dwarves roaming the Worldcrown Mountains. He was a skald, recording and reciting history and heroic tales in the form of songs and epic poetry. He’d gone off into the world to seek out new tales to add to his repertoire, and to find opportunity to add his own deeds to his library of songs. To that end, he’d served an enlistment in the mercenary company Swordsong. He’d just finished a three year enlistment and was headed home to reunite with his kinsmen, although he’d caught the wanderlust and would probably venture back out into the world after a bit.  Aefsheen, true to his own nature, revealed just enough of himself to achieve a rapport with Fehrehngarr. He spoke vaguely of growing up in the north, and of his travels as a drover and courier, carrying goods by consignment throughout the five baronies. Fehrehngarr, thinking of Aefsheen’s earlier comment about having fought watchmen and gaolers before, came to his own conclusions about what sort of goods Aefsheen ferried.

After an hour or so, they heard booted footfalls descending a stairway nearby. When Aefsheen realized there were two sets of boots, he quickly slipped the coin back into his pocket. The guards refilled the water pitchers and slid plates of food through the slots in the cell gates. At the sight and smell of eggs, ham, and dark rye bread, Aefsheen realized just how hungry he was and his mouth watered. It didn’t even matter that the food was cold and looked already picked at, hinting that it was probably leftovers from the soldiers’ mess.

The two prisoners ate their meals quickly, and one guard left to take the bucket of water back upstairs while the other waited to take the empty plates back. Seeing an opportunity, Aefsheen spoke up as he placed his plate on the floor and pushed it through the slot.

“Quite the meal, my good man. Thank you – much better than the jerky I was accused of poaching last night. So good of your master to feed his falsely accused prisoners so well.” As the guard started to bristle at the insult to his employer, Aefsheen produced the coin from his pocket. “I’ll wager so petty a nobleman isn’t likely to pay his soldiers well, eh?” The gold coin twirled across Aefsheen’s knuckles as he spoke, gleaming in the torchlight. “Here’s an interesting proposition – I’ll trade this coin for that ring of keys on your belt. It’s probably as much as the old miser pays you in a fortnight. More than enough to let you get away from here and start anew elsewhere.”

The guard slid the plate across the floor and away from the door with his foot. He reached for the key tucked into his belt. “These keys for that gold coin, you say?” He asked, greed in his eyes.

“Yes. Surely it’s a more than fair trade. Gold is worth so much more than iron…”

“Aye, that it is, poacher. That it is. However, I don’t like my chances of getting away from here alive if I did that. For that matter, I wouldn’t place any wagers on your escape, neither, if I did let you out. So why don’t we remove the temptation, and I’ll just confiscate your contraband. I’ll do you a favor and not even mention it to the others. That way, you won’t get into even more trouble. You’d likely be executed for attempting to bribe me.” With the last words, he drew his shortsword and moved to put a key into the lock.  

Aefsheen moved toward the back of his cell, forcing the guard to come after him. Once inside the cell, the guard hooked the keys back onto his belt, held his sword at the ready, and extended his other hand, palm up, demanding the coin.

“I suppose I should’ve expected treachery from the hired sword of a knight who imprisons travelers for the crime of getting lost.” Aefsheen said with a heavy sigh and held out the coin, which he fumbled and dropped, sending it rolling between the soldier’s feet. As the man looked down at the rolling coin, Aefsheen acted quickly, grabbing his jacket from the bunk and whipping it over the other man’s head, then giving him a hard shove, sending him sprawling on the floor. The guard fumbled his sword, and Aefsheen stepped on the blade, pinning it to the ground. As he knelt and reached for the hilt, the guard freed himself from Aefsheen’s jacket and flung it aside. He put both hands on the sword’s handle and the two struggled over it. The guard was the stronger of the two and was about to wrest the weapon away when Aefsheen leaned over and drove his forehead into the supine man’s face. The stone floor prevented his head from rocking back to absorb the impact, so his nose and mouth took the full force of the blow and, dazed, his fingers loosened their grip for just long enough that the half elf took the sword away and stood up.

Aefsheen pointed the sword tip at the guard’s throat while he retrieved his jacket from the floor.

“I’ll take the keys now, if you don’t mind. Nice and slow.” As the guard handed them over to him, Aefsheen nodded his thanks and walked out of the cell, closing the door with a clang. “It only seems fair that I let you keep the coin after all that trouble. I just hope your superiors don’t find it and think you took the bribe…”

 Fehrehngarr shook his head and chuckled at that last bit while Aefsheen unlocked his cell.

“Now, do you have any idea where our things are? We won’t get far without weapons, no matter how stealthy we may be.” Aefsheen asked the dwarf. Fehrengarr looked up at Aefsheen through eyebrows as bushy and red as his long beard, and replied “I’ve only seen guards come and go from that one direction.” He replied. Indeed, looking the opposite way from the stairs the guards had used, they saw only a few more yards of corridor and a couple more cell doors. Looking toward the stairs, they saw the corridor went beyond them and took a turn underneath the stairwell.

The pair headed that direction, came to the turn, and after cautiously peeking around the edge of the corner, continued on. Soon they came to a heavy wooden door. Aefsheen put his ear to the roughhewn surface and listened. After a couple moments of silence, he started trying keys in the lock. On the third try, the lock clicked open. He slowly opened the door while Fehrehngarr stood by with clenched fists, ready to jump into battle should anyone be lying in wait on the other side.

The door opened into a dusty, little used room. They saw piles of crates and chests stacked here and there. There were old weapons and sets of armor, traveling sacks and backpacks, all covered in deep layers of dust. Some of the metal implements were showing rust through the grubby accumulation. But closer to the door, lying atop a rotting wooden chest and piled on a creaky table, were their own belongings. Some of them, anyway. Fehrehngarr’s gear was all present: chain mail shirt, dagger and short sword with the red wrapped hilt and silver plated pommel in the shape of a harp (displaying his standing as honorably discharged from Swordsong), and his great battle scarred ax, pack, and the bag holding his lute and bagpipes. The only thing of Aefsheen’s to be seen was his armor and the pouch he carried on his belt.

“You go unarmed, do you, Aefsheen? Seems dangerous for a courier traveling alone.” Fehrehngarr commented.

“They must have disarmed me when they knocked me out. They probably put my weapons in my wagon – I’d have been lighter and easier to carry. Damn. I’ll just have to make do with the guard’s sword, since these others don’t exactly seem fit to use.”

Fehrehngarr pulled on his hauberk, strapped on his sword belt and hefted his battleax, and Aefsheen donned his leather breastplate studded with steel rivets. They surveyed the room and saw two doors at the other end, and made their way there through the clutter. The first door wasn’t locked, and Aefsheen eased it open. They slipped through and found themselves in a larder. There were crates of various foods and sacks of flour and other ingredients on tables along the walls. There was a large icebox in one corner, and an open stairwell leading upward in the middle of the wall on their left. There was light coming down that stairway, and they could hear kitchen sounds. Likely the next meal was being prepared. As shadows grew on the stairwell, they beat a hasty but silent retreat back out of the pantry to the storage chamber and closed the door as quickly as they thought possible while remaining quiet. Their options were to go up the stairs the guards used to get to the cells, which seemed ill advised, or the other door leading out of this locker. After a brief discussion, they opted for the door in front of them. It had layers of dust and cobwebs built up on it, to the point of obscuring the seam between door and jamb. It had obviously not been used in many years.

Fearing a squeaky hinge would give away their presence, the pair searched the store room and found a discarded oilcan that still contained some thin, watery oil at the bottom and they applied it as well as they could to the hinges. The door was so encrusted, it took both of them pulling on the ring in the center of its face to open it. Even freshly oiled, the hinges squeaked and the wood, so long settled in place, creaked loudly enough for them to halt at one point, fearing the sound would be heard from the kitchen, even through a door and two rooms. They heard nothing from the kitchen, but they could hear sounds of alarm coming from the direction of the cells. It had only been a matter of time before the locked up soldier was missed and discovered, and that time had come. They’d run out of options. They yanked the door open another foot, which allowed them to get through. They plunged ahead through a curtain of cobwebs, pulling the spidery silk off their faces as they went.

They heard calls behind them as they ran blindly down the web filled space. “After them – they’re getting away!”

 The space beyond was more tunnel than hallway, unfinished earthen walls, supported at irregular intervals by rotting wooden beams collapsed in places, allowing soil to landslide down, partially blocking their way and forcing them to climb over or run around small mounds of loose dirt.

The tunnel smelled of damp earth, rotting wood, and decay. They could hear other shouts now, from the door. Orders and refusals: “Go in after them!” “I’m not going in the tunnels – we all know what he keeps down there!” “You’ll follow orders or answer for it, coward!” “I’m no coward, but I won’t go down there with those unnatural *things*!” “Fools! The Harvestmen are rumor and myth. Stories told to scare children and keep them from trespassing on Sir Ebrenn’s estate. Now get in there!”

Sounds of scuffling reached their ears, above even the sound of their own labored breathing as they ran and wondered what had the soldiers so frightened. They rounded a bend in the tunnel and stopped to catch their breath. Fehrehngarr pulled remnants of spider web from his beard as Aefsheen nudged a small snake away from his foot. As a dwarf and a half-elf, they could see in the darkness of the tunnel, so had not bothered with any of the torches from their places on the dungeon wall, but they could see the light from torches carried by the soldiers begin to slowly creep in their direction. Apparently the sergeant had proven scarier than whatever bogeyman the men feared in the tunnels. They began their flight anew. Here and there, they began to see small tunnels branching off the main one. These obviously weren’t dug by men, because they weren’t even with the floor of the main passage. They were at seemingly random heights, even through the ceiling, and they had to watch their footing lest they step in one. The smaller passages didn’t always fork off at right angles. When the pair bothered to look, most of the smaller tunnels seemed to twist in odd turns and directions, and many looked to be lined with a white silky coating.

The tunnel they ran through gradually devolved from the structured, semi-finished passage it had started as to a simply dug, rounded hole through the earth and began to twist and turn like those side tunnels they'd passed.

They began to notice an upward incline to the tunnel, and they could just make out a hazy light up ahead, as if daylight were creeping around a doorsill. Just as they started to feel some hope of escape, they began to hear a new noise mixed in with that of their labored breathing and the clamor of the soldiers blundering through the tunnel in pursuit. From all around them, they heard an odd skittering noise, much like the sound a beetle might make as it crawls across a piece of parchment.

Then, in the semidarkness of the tunnel, they saw the first of the creatures. At first, neither believed his eyes, because the images were so surreal. Dozens of what appeared to be gigantic spiders crawled out of the twisted cross tunnels. Up through the floor and down from the ceiling, as well as from all sides, they climbed over each other in their haste, presenting a chaotic swirling tableau of oddly jointed legs like crooked stilts, all racing each other to get to the two adventurers. Each one seemed to be about a foot tall, with a body about the same size, and a leg span of at least five feet. But that was the most easily digestible part of what they saw. What took them valuable seconds to believe was the human face on the front of each of the creatures, and the fact that the first pair of limbs wasn’t spidery legs, but humanoid hands. As though that weren’t bad enough, several of the creatures held sticks or rocks in their hands, presumably as weapons. If the horrid screeching sounds issuing from those ghastly mouths was speech, it was no language either man had heard before.

As the beasts drew closer to the front, and the soldiers closed their distance from the rear, the two men felt real fear creeping at the sides of their minds, threatening to swarm panic over them. They gripped their weapons and looked at each other. “More inspiration for your tales, if we survive, eh, skald?” joked Aefsheen with gallows humor. Fehrehngarr adjusted his grip on his ax, gave it a flourish and replied “Don’t stand too close to me when it starts – an ax requires a wide berth in battle. Shall we?”

“Ready when you are.” Aefsheen readied his stolen sword. Fehrehngarr gave a great roar, lifted his ax, and charged into the cluster of monstrosities with a mighty swing. As he cleaved the head of one, Aefsheen thrust his blade into the face of another. They pulled their weapons free, and not caring to try to kill all the man-faced creatures, began to hew a path through the crowd.  They pushed and fought their way through the arachnid throng, making progress by ax stroke and sword thrust, spilling foul blue ichor from the unnatural beasts. For their part, the monsters, through sheer weight of numbers, took their toll on the pair trying to escape this nightmare dungeon. Aefsheen and Fehrehngarr both were covered in deep bruises and shallow cuts from their clubs and stones. The two could better see the light coming into the tunnel now. It looked as though the tunnel led outside and its opening had been loosely capped. They hacked their way towards it.

A great beast of a harvestman made a leap and landed on Fehrehngarr’s chest, wrapping its spider legs around his back and grabbing his beard with its humanlike hands. He could feel others pummeling his legs, and a well-placed blow to the back of his knee caused his legs to buckle. As the beast on his chest lowered its mouth toward his face, fangs dripping with venom, Fehrehngarr dropped his ax and began wrestling with the creature, trying to keep its teeth away from his flesh. A dollop of poison dropped onto his cheek and he felt his skin burn and smelled his whiskers singe. As other monsters crawled onto him, he began to lose his struggle and the fangs drew closer to his cheek. His arms shook with the effort of pushing it away, and just as he felt the tips of those murderous fangs make contact with his flesh, he saw the beast’s head flinch, and the point of a sword exited its forehead. As the blade retracted, he shoved the corpse off himself while Aefsheen set to work slashing at the others who’d crawled aboard the fallen dwarf.

As Fehrehngarr regained his feet, he could see Aefsheen being overrun himself. Not daring to swing the ax and risk cutting the half elf as well as the man-spiders, he drew his own sword and set to work skewering and prying the monsters to free his comrade.

As they were freeing themselves from the onslaught, they noticed a slight ebb in the arachnid tide. They could hear screams from the way they’d come, indicating that the troops had now encountered the swarm.

Aefsheen had a flashback to that first attack by the Swarm he’d helped to found. He saw the irony that he now faced almost certain death at the hands of another type of swarm. If he ever survived, this would make for the perfect tale to share with Danniven and the other remaining founding members back in Oakyard. But first, he had to survive.

Fehrehngarr spoke, “Aefsheen! Stay with me, friend. It’ll take both of us to make it out of here.” Aefsheen shook his head, clearing his mind of the flashback. Fehrehngarr picked up his ax and continued “If I use my ax properly, it takes both my hands, but here – borrow my sword. Do you ever fight with two weapons? It might make the difference.”

Aefsheen replied “It’s how I prefer to fight, actually. These blades are a bit shorter than I’m used to, but they’ll do.”

They resumed their push toward the light. As Aefsheen thrust and slashed to both sides with the pair of shortswords, and Fehrehngarr hacked and swept his way through the arachnid hybrids, they heard a renewed pursuit coming toward them. Just ahead, they saw a large, round stone blocking what looked to be their exit out of this hellhole. There were just a few yards of distance and only a couple of the creatures between them and daylight. They each dispatched a man-spider and then both broke into a run for the stone blocking the exit. Coordinating their timing, they both crashed into it with their shoulders, hoping against hope that their weight and momentum would open their escape route and let them get away from the horrific horde behind them.

Breaking free from the spider hole into the sunlight, they shoved the capstone aside and their momentum carried them to the ground. As they caught their breath, they took in their surroundings. They were in a small, lightly wooded, naturally bowl shaped hollow a few dozen yards across, whose sides sloped up to the crest about twenty feet higher than where they lay. There were fallen trees and boulders strewn around the depression, all covered in webs still beaded with moisture from last night’s rain. They also spotted too many web-obscured lumps that looked uncomfortably humanoid shaped. There was a light scattering of web strands across the rest of the ground as well, resembling a light frost, while the lower branches of trees might as well have been subjected to a blizzard for all the white clinging to and hanging from them.

 As the pair stood up, they heard more battle sounds from the tunnel, but more ominously, as they looked toward it, they heard a loud rustling from the fallen leaves beneath the trees behind them. They turned to find another cadre of the spiderlike monsters approaching them from the leaves, while their second line dropped on webs from higher branches.

The fight began anew as the adventurers thrust sword and swung ax, and did their best to dodge and parry stones and sticks. They could hear the fight from the tunnel getting closer, and just when they were beginning to wonder if they’d run out of stamina before their enemy ran out of numbers, they saw the knight’s guards hack their way into the sunlight, having finally overcome the spiders in the tunnel. The guards emerged blinking at the sun’s brightness contrasting with the tunnel they’d just fought through. They seemed confused as to whether they should continue to pursue Aefsheen and Fehrehngarr, or to fight the creatures. The question was answered for them as a new pack of Huntsmen broke away from the main force and encircled them.

 After what seemed an eternity of fighting, hearing the screams of men and the horrific screeching of man-spiders, enduring the bruises and cuts of wounds, and feeling the burn of cramping muscles in desperate need of rest, the two escapees found themselves backed up against a web-shrouded boulder alongside the last two soldiers left alive. The giant spiders seemed to be regrouping in a semicircle facing the four. Everyone on both sides seemed to be taking the moment to catch their breath. Hearing the guards ragged breath, seeing one looked like he was about to die, Aefsheen steeled himself to take his last stand. He spoke, “Fehrehngarr, this looks like the end. Shame, too – I feel we could have been friends under other circumstances.” For his part, the skald looked around at his impromptu battle mates and took a deep breath. When he spoke, his sonorous voice carried the authority of a historian and the inspiration of a poet. “Few against a throng Captain Asfandiar Cried out ‘Cut down the vile invaders!’

 He raised Troll-Sunder Swung down the notched blade and Elf heroes laid waste to orc raiders”

 Raising his ax blade as he spoke the last stanza, he then roared and charged the gathered spider throng. Aefsheen, inspired by recognizing the name in the poem, gave both blades a whirling flourish and leapt back into the fray with renewed vigor. The soldiers, encouraged by Fehrehngarr’s oration, began once more to swing their own swords.

There weren’t so many monsters left now, and by this time, the men had begun to figure out the weak spots to aim for, and soon turned the tide. There was a scream, and Aefsheen and Fehrehngarr, having each dispatched the last of the creatures facing them, turned to see only the sergeant left alive. He was disarmed, on his back, wrestling with one of the beasts, much like Fehrehngarr had been earlier. The dwarf strode steadily toward him, drew back his ax and swung. The blade bit right through the monster, cutting it in half, sending the two pieces scattering, and covering the soldier in blue blood, but sparing him the venom that had killed his companion beside him.

 “You could have left me to die and made good your escape. Why did you help me?” the man at arms asked, and Fehrehngarr replied “No, I couldn’t. Have no doubt I’ll be leaving, but I couldn’t walk away from any man and leave him to die such an unnatural way. If you wish a clean death in battle, let’s take a moment to recover our energy and we’ll have a go at it. Otherwise, I’m walking away now.”

 “Not at all. You’ve more than earned your release as far as I’m concerned. Looking at some of those shapes wrapped up in webs, I think I know what happened to some of our ‘deserters’, and what would have happened to me and the bodies of my men had you not intervened.” He looked over to Aefsheen, who was using the shirt of one of the fallen to clean the sword blades. “I’ll retrieve your wagon and deliver it to you on the road near where you were captured last night. Just wait until after nightfall when the knight and the squire have retired for the evening.”

Aefsheen nodded his thanks and replied “Just don’t wait too long. If I don’t have reins in hand by midnight, I’ll come back in for it myself. And I won’t be caught unaware this time.”

 ________________________________________________________________

  Later that night, having regained his wagon, donned his own swordbelts, and returned Fehrehngarr’s blade, Aefsheen took shook the reins and set his team to a relaxed canter despite the rain having started again. There would be no stopping tonight – he wanted as much distance as possible between himself and whatever dark wizardry was responsible for what they’d just survived. He looked over to the dwarf seated next to him and asked “What was that bit of poetry you called out back there?” The dwarf shrugged and replied “Oh that was just the end of the Tale of Asfandiar Silverthorn. I’m surprised you’re not familiar – it’s a true tale that took place during the Orc War up in your part of the world.” “Oh, I know that much. We just didn’t hear a lot of poetry or singing in my quarter. Well, at least none that wasn’t lewd.” They shared a laugh that helped relieve some of the day’s tension. Then Aefsheen got serious. He was distrustful by nature, both from upbringing and profession, but this man knew things he wanted to hear. Plus, they’d just saved each other’s’ life. He decided to let himself trust the bard.

“Some time you’ll have to tell me the rest of the poem. To be honest, I’ve heard quite a few stories about Asfandiar. For example, did you know that Asfandiar took a human wife in the Treeguard Barony?”

“I’ve heard rumors about Asfandiar Silverthorn’s human woman, aye. But the historians are divided on how true it is.”

“Humph. The elves provided a proper funeral for him, but then abandoned his widow and child afterwards… Yes, any tales you’ve heard of Asfandiar, I’d love to hear them, my new friend. And in exchange, perhaps I can supply you with some you haven’t heard.” Fehrehngarr stole a glance at the man he’d just met, looked at the head and face that was shaped like an elf, but bore beard and mustache like a human and started to ponder.

“Aefsheen, are you saying –“

 Aefsheen cut him off and said “I’m saying that in my mother’s house, in the mill quarter of the city of Oakyard, on the wall above her fireplace is an elfmade longsword, with a prominent notch in one edge, hanging below a scrap of banner from the Elderwood kingdom.

I didn’t tell you my surname, did I? It’s Silverthorn.”

(Copyright 2020 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr)

[swordmeetssorcery]

The prince had the boardwalk built to make it easier and quicker for his subjects to travel the wetlands. But was it safer? Who knew what fiends lurked in the stagnant waters below the boards, awaiting the unwary traveler... (Copyright 2020 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr)

[swordmeetssorcery]

Getting Out Of Town

“I hear you’re the one to see for getting things out of the city gates without mayor or baron being the wiser.”

The man had approached literally hat in hand. Middle aged and thick in the middle, sweating through his coarsely woven clothes, he stood by the table, wringing his hands in his cap. The one he addressed occupied a corner table along with a handful of well dressed but rough looking folk. Their conversation stopped and they turned as one to glare at the newcomer who realized he’d apparently made some breach of etiquette.

A woman with scars on her face as well as her knuckles reached for her dagger as she growled “You have a loose tongue, baker. Yes, I know who you are; I’ve seen you. Aefsheen, would you like me to remove that tongue before it does any damage?”

“No, Danniven. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Well… yet, anyway. Friends, give me the table, please. Danniven, do please keep an eye pointed this way, though.” As the others left the table, the mustachioed and goateed half elf with the purple eyes and shoulder length blonde hair motioned to the chair recently vacated by the sullen Danniven.

“First things first. Never talk openly about any business that can get a person thrown into gaol or dungeon. Danniven’s less friendly than I, but more friendly than some. You’ll save yourself a lot of grief to remember that. As to my business, it’s mine to know. I don’t know where you get your information, but for argument’s sake let’s say you’ve heard correctly. Who are you, aside from a baker, and why are you trying to move pastries out of the city gates under the noses of our fine watchmen?”

“Oh, sir! I do apologize – I swear upon my life I meant no harm. I’m Orthis Greenleaf, and it’s just that I’m quite desperate, you see. It’s not my baked goods I’m looking to sneak out of the city. Have you ever smuggled people?”

Aefsheen’s hand dropped to the dagger on his belt. “Fuck off. I don’t work with slavers. Leave now, and be quick about it lest I let Danniven have her way after all – she hasn’t spilled blood in so long she’s antsy. Or I may skewer you myself.”

“Sir, no. Nononono…

It’s my own son, sir.”

“I’m intrigued. Continue, but stop calling me ‘sir’. I’m no lord.”

Greenleaf stammered on “Of course, Mr. Aefsheen. My boy, he meant no harm, y’see. There was a youth; barely begun to have a peach’s worth of fuzz on his chin, and he was stuffing sweet rolls in his pockets and ran from the shop. Well, of course my boy Errod ran after him – we can’t afford to feed thieves; we barely support ourselves most days. Well, he caught up with the kid and gave him a sound whopping about the ears and retrieved our merchandise, what hadn’t been smashed flat in the pursuit and scuffle.”

“Completely understandable. What’s the problem?” Aefsheen interjected.

“Yeah, well. Turns out the young rascal’s noble born. Was just out stealing sweets for a lark. Found out what happens when you get caught with another man’s property down in our part of town, eh? Well, by the time he gets home, he has the story all twisted to say that he’d merely complained about the flatness of the rolls and that my boy thrashed him over the insult. Of course he had his squashed ‘evidence’ in hand to back up his case, so his lordship father talked to his friend the judge, and they’ve sentenced my boy to a year in the dungeon, but they say they’ll send him to the headsman’s block if he doesn’t show himself within two days.

Mr. Aefsheen, he’s only fifteen himself, and no thug nor thief. He’s only ever played children’s games and worked in the family bakery. He won’t survive a year there, especially knowing he did nothing wrong.

I’ve heard tell of sanctuary settlements where one can pay an entry fee and hide away until matters like this are either settled or forgotten about. Is this true? Do you know where one is? Could you get my boy there?”

Aefsheen took a long draught of his mead, thinking it over. The story sounded plausible. True, the man could be a spy sent by the guard. But that seemed an excessive amount of trouble to catch one smuggler in a city full of larger threats. Plus the man didn’t seem like a spy – he’d nearly shit himself when confronted by Danniven, and still seemed nervous. The half elf was inclined to believe the story. Plus, he hadn’t had a job in a while, and his resources were dwindling. He had a lifestyle and image to maintain, after all. He was inclined to take the gamble. Then again, as the man had said, he had limited resources. How would he be able to pay both Aefsheen and the Sanctuary Guild?

“Alright, Orthis. Again, purely for the sake of conversation, let’s say I’m the kind of man to do the job you need. You do realize it’s not charity work, don’t you? And, hypothetically speaking of course, if these sanctuaries were to be more than rumor, well, they’d definitely cost money as well. You yourself stated you do well to support your family most days. How would you propose to pay?”

“I was hoping to work out a sort of barter arrangement, to be honest. Mr. Aefsheen, I could provide you food for free. If you can save my boy from the chopping block or the dungeon, I’d feed you for life if that’s what you demand. As for those that would hide Errod, I do have a bit of coin saved aside. I’ll send it with him and hope that it’s enough.”

Aefsheen took another pull on his goblet, and motioned the serving girl to bring him another and one for Orthis. Free food for life seemed a good deal if the baker and his family could live up to it. Sure, he traveled most of the time, but having food provided for his mother would surely ease his expenses quite a bit.

“Orthis, I can’t speak for the Sanctuary Guild, but as for my payment, I believe we can work something out. Now, before we get into the particulars, I want to warn you that although I travel and am away most of the time, if at any time you inform on me to the guard, or to anyone, or in any way try to renege on our arrangement, Danniven will pay a midnight visit to you and your family. Now, let’s put aside that serious bit and enjoy a drink while we iron out the details.”

It took a couple of days’ worth of inquiries and bribes, but Aefsheen was able to confirm the baker’s story. A local minor nobleman apparently wanted the boy’s head on a stick. Upon obtaining that information, he met with Danniven to put a plan in motion.

  Orthis and Errod walked out of the bakery in the dim, predawn light, Errod carrying a small bindle of clothing under his arm and Orthis pushing a cart full of various loaves of bread and sweets. Aefsheen stood by a large covered wagon, wearing a traveler’s cloak over simple and rugged clothing, looking much more like a wagoner than he had when Orthis last saw him. “All right, gentlemen, if you’ll follow me to the back here. There we go, young lad. Up into the wagon with you.”

Orthis and Errod looked inside the wagon and took in its contents: assorted cookware hanging from hooks on the framework of the cover, a couple of rolls of bedding tucked into a corner, a bundle of what looked to be flatware and drinking vessels in another corner. Sturdily built floor with broad benches along the sides. “What if the guards happen to look inside for him? Are you just going to cover him with this load of bread?” Orthis seemed dubious.

Aefsheen laughed “Well, in a manner of speaking, yes.” He climbed up past Errod, and fidgeted with a nail in the floor by the bedrolls. Very subtly, a trapdoor lifted ever so slightly in the floor. Aefsheen caught the edge of it with his fingertips and lifted it, revealing a hidden cargo space just big enough that two adults could lie down inside it and almost be comfortable. “Errod will be just fine in here for an hour or so. We’ll load the bread into the wagon and no one will give it a second glance. Once we’re out of sight of the gates, I’ll let him out and he can ride in the back until I’m sure I wasn’t followed, then he can move up front with me and ride in the open air.”

“What if you are stopped and questioned, though?” “Orthis, this is far from my first time passing through those gates with contraband. I have a legitimate cargo for them to see, so there’s really no worry about me being detained. Just in case, however, I will have an unseen escort to the gates. You haven’t even noticed your old pal Danniven in the shadows across the street, have you? Or the friends accompanying her, for that matter. It’ll be fine. Also…” He lifted the driver’s seat bench to reveal the storage space underneath it, and pulled up the hilt of his rapier. “I’ll wear this along with my dagger once we’re outside the city and free from legal restraint. I also have a bow and a quiver of arrows in there which ride in the holder you can see beside the seat, so I’m not worried about bandits, either. Now, just remember to deliver the fee to this address.” Aefsheen handed him a slip of paper. “I’ll rarely be there, but that’s where the food is to go every morning. Avoid being seen or talking to the lady who lives there, but if you’re ever asked about payment, just say it’s been taken care of. And remember, she’s watched, so keep your bargain.

“Now, Errod, into the box with you, while your father and I bury you in bread.” Aefsheen laughed, but neither Orthis nor Errod seemed to appreciate the use of the word “bury”. Father and son said their goodbyes and embraced before the younger climbed into the hidden hold, clutching his bindle. Orthis handed him a small bag of coins. “Hopefully this will be enough to buy you lodging for a bit, son.” Once the trapdoor was back in place, Orthis could no longer make out its outline, despite knowing where to look.

Within a few minutes, the wagon was loaded with baskets of bread and sweet rolls. Aefsheen shook Orthis’ hand and reassured him that the boy would be fine. He climbed up to the driver’s seat and shook the reins, and off they went down the cobblestone street, as the morning sky reddened into dawn. Orthis just barely saw the movement in the shadows across the street, moving off in the same direction as the wagon.

As he expected, at the gate, the guardsmen merely waved him through – just another traveler leaving the city.  They didn’t even bat an eye when he stopped to drape the baldric holding his sword over his shoulder – it was a perfectly routine sight to them. Once past a rise in the road, he pulled over and moved enough of the bread to open the trapdoor and let the boy out of hiding. Aside from frazzled nerves and minor bruising from the rough cobblestone streets, Errod was fine. Once they passed the first crossroad, Aefsheen invited the boy to move up front and get some air along with his first glimpse of the world beyond the gates of Oakyard.

Errod marveled at the sights of the land: wide open farmland, as far as he could see on either side of the road, being tilled by men behind donkeys or mules pulling plows, dotted here and there with small thickets of forest. He saw various animals from his perch on the driver’s seat - various birds, both game and predators, as well as deer and rabbits, none of which he had ever seen outside a butcher’s shop.  Once they saw a small group of men hunkered by a fire along the side of the road. Aefsheen took the bow out of its holder and laid it across his lap as a precaution, and handed his dagger to Errod. They kept a wary eye on the ragtag group, who turned out to merely be travelers stopping for a rest, or at least bandits who’d decided the modest looking wagon wasn’t worth the risk the bow presented. At any rate, the pair rolled on past without incident and shortly returned the bow to its holder and the dagger to its sheath on Aefsheen’s belt.

As the sun began to set on the western horizon, Aefsheen pulled the wagon off the road and behind a small stand of trees so as not to be noticed from the highway. They built a small fire and Aefsheen handed a bedroll to Errod. They ate a supper made from preserved meats that Aefsheen had stored away, augmented by bread baked early that morning. The night passed without incident, and they broke their fast with some of the sweet pastries.

The Great Road they traveled was part of the vast network of such highways commissioned by the ancient King Rothnik to connect the capitals of the five baronies after conquering neighboring kings and making them barons under his rule. His idea was to make the transportation of trade goods and troops easier and quicker, and it worked fairly well. At least when it was maintained and patrolled. Both of which fluctuated from barony to barony and generation to generation. At any rate, the large flat stones used to pave it made for much easier going than a regular dirt road. By the end of the second day, they came to the North River.

As they approached the North River crossing, they saw the village of Stickbridge on the southern bank. Stickbridge was not much more than a way stop for travelers and a supply point for local farmers and craftsmen. It was getting late, and Errod was afraid Aefsheen might stop in town for the night, and voiced his concern over being noticed as a fugitive.

“Relax. It’s some local man with money who wants you, not the Baron. That nobleman is unknown here, and his reach doesn’t extend this far. Nobody here would even know about you. And with no reward, they wouldn’t care, either. But don’t fret – I plan to drive on through this town anyway. But if all goes well, we won’t have to camp another night, though.”

The Great Road served as Stickbridge’s main street, and Aefsheen hardly slowed the wagon as they rolled through town ignoring both the gawking stares of farmers and the hawking calls of tavern keepers trying to draw business.

The sun was setting as they exited the village, and in the waning light, they could just make out the edge of a lake off to the east. As they came upon a flat section of ground that looked hardened and rutted from frequent use, Aefsheen turned off toward the lake. Errod wanted to ask him about the turn, but a look at Aefsheen’s tensed jaw told him the question was likely best left unasked.

“There’s said to be a safehouse near the lake. I’ll be honest with you – I believe it’s here, but I’ve never visited it myself, and I don’t know how welcoming they are. However, providing sanctuary is their business, so they’ll talk to us at least. I just don’t know if that small sack of coin your father gave you will meet their fee. We’ll find out.” A glance over at the boy showed he was spooked at the thought of not being allowed in. “It’ll work out one way or another, Errod. I made a deal with your father to get you to safe hiding, and if it’s not here, I’ll find a place for you elsewhere. You don’t get far in my business by not honoring agreements."

They were making their way along a path that was barely more than earth packed hard from hooves and boots between two wagon ruts. Errod could barely see twenty feet in front of them in the gloom, but Aefsheen’s elf-descended eyes could make out some sort of fortification ahead, just past the trees and before the lakeshore.

Even as prepared as he thought he was, Aefsheen’s sharp eyes didn’t see the man until he stepped out into the road. At the sight of the chainmail clad dwarf, Aefsheen instinctively reached for his rapier. When an arrow from an unseen bow struck the side of the wagon, he released the hilt before drawing the blade. The dwarf stood steady, war pick hanging loosely in his relaxed grip. “Who are you, and what do you want here?” demanded the bearded warrior blocking their progress and taking a step closer to them.

“I’m called Aefsheen Silverthorn of Oakyard, and my traveling companion would prefer to remain nameless for the moment, if that suffices.” Aefsheen answered, then continued speaking in a sort of language Errod couldn’t make out. It was odd to him, because he knew about half the words coming out of Aefsheen’s mouth, but the phrasing and context made no sense to him whatsoever. It was very confusing and a bit dizzying to try to decipher. The dwarf answered, and they went back and forth for a few minutes before he stepped forward and retrieved the arrow from the wagon and slipped back into the cover of the foliage.

 “What was that all about?” Errod inquired. Aefsheen explained: “There’s a secret tongue, nearly universal throughout the kingdom of Pentalohr among folk of certain professions. It’s based on the Common language, but it uses misdirection and invented words so that the uninitiated can’t eavesdrop on private discussions. Had I spoken plainly, we may very well have been buried in these woods or sunk in that lake by morning. As it is, I’ve gained us progress to the gates at least. Let’s see what awaits us there.”

 As they exited the wood, they saw a massive, walled estate ahead of them, against the backdrop of the lake beyond. They could make out the rooftop of a large central mansion along with several other buildings. There seemed to be room within the fortification for more buildings that perhaps just weren’t tall enough to be seen above the wall. And fortification seemed to be the right word for it. It was no fortress to withstand a military siege, by any means, but it had high walls, at least fifteen feet tall, with arrow slits flanking the massive front gate. The tops of the wall had broken glass set into the stone to prevent scalers from easily climbing over, and at the base of the wall was a trench filled with sharp brambles.

 Aefsheen’s sharp eyes just caught a glint of reflected light off the edge of an arrowhead being aimed from inside one of the archer’s posts as a lone man, finely dressed and unarmed, strode out to the middle of the bridge that spanned the trench.  

Speaking plainly, this newcomer said “State your business, and be quick. I was about to have my dinner.” “I don’t need sanctuary for myself – I’m merely transporting the lad here. Although if you’d allow me, I’d gladly pay you for a night’s lodging and a meal rather than go back and have something surely inferior in Stickbridge. “ “We aren’t an inn or pub here. We provide sanctuary from hunters, whether it be for a night or a year. I’m sure you know our fee. No? Well, then: half of your valuables, and you help with day to day labor while here. Open your wagon and let me see the contents.” Aefsheen led the man to the back of the wagon, careful not to let his hands stray too close to sword or dagger. He opened the flap to display the baskets of bread and pastries.

“In addition to a meager amount of coins, the lad works for his father as a baker, and brings this load of loaves, rolls, and pastries to supplement payment.”

The man addressed Errod “And why do you seek sanctuary, boy? What have you done that’s so bad? Tell me the truth, and hold nothing back – I’ll know if you lie. I ask because those who come here are usually a bit more hardened and weathered than you appear to be.”

“Sir, my name is Errod and I beat a boy who was stealing our wares. He turned out to be the son of a noble in my city and lied to his father about the circumstances of the fight. The nobleman has a judge friend who has sentenced me to a year in the dungeon, or beheading if I didn’t turn myself in by dawn two days ago.  My father scraped together all the coin our family had that wasn’t owed to suppliers for the bakery and sent me with Mr. Aefsheen here to find safety away from Oakyard.”

 “Aesfsheen, is it? How did you get the boy past the gates? If they wanted his head on a pike, surely they guards were told to look for him. Did you just pile baked goods on top of him and get lucky?”

“I don’t think they expected Errod to have the means to leave the city. They didn’t bat an eye at me at the gate. Besides, I have ways of moving things from place to place unseen “. Aefsheen replied with a crooked grin.

 “Show me. Now, before the sun is all the way down. Don’t waste my time, traveler.”

 Aefsheen, thinking about the arrowhead he’d spied earlier, felt he had no option, so he moved the bread aside and flipped the catch to reveal the hidden compartment. He explained that since the space didn’t extend to the edges of the wagon, one would practically have to crawl underneath to notice it, and gate guards rarely were motivated enough to get their uniforms muddy. He also pointed out that the benches along the sides of the interior were hollow and that most people didn’t even think to check them. “For particularly valuable cargo, I’ll cover the floor of the wagon with something distasteful and sometimes smelly. Like leaking barrels of fish, or manure. And for those that do insist on checking, well…” He patted his scabbard. “I haven’t lost a cargo yet. I may have had to find a different route, but I’ve always delivered.”

The man held out his hand “Aefsheen, my name is Celigg. I’m the Senior Guildmaster at this house. I’m impressed with your ingenuity and I’d like to invite you to be my dinner guest and to stay the night after all.

Young Errod, do you bake, or do you just help haul dough?”

“Oh, I’m no apprentice, sir. I’ve been working in the family bakery since I could walk. I didn’t serve a formal apprenticeship, but I know enough to run a bakery myself. Pa’s even started teaching me the accounting part a bit. I know my way around a kitchen, too. Can’t stuff a roll with sausage or bacon if you don’t know how to cook those, eh?” “Errod, this may be your lucky day. For one thing, we’ll take all this bread as your payment. If you stay on as our guest, your work will start the day after tomorrow. However, as it happens, our old cook died last week. Nothing sinister; he was an old man. But it does leave us shorthanded in the kitchen. If you’re interested, and if you cook as well as you say, we may take you on. Curb your excitement, boy. You don’t even know what this offer means yet. It’s no job you can wander away from in a few months’ time. It will require a longstanding commitment to the Guild. Don’t worry yourself over it tonight, though. Eat and relax. One of my guild brothers will explain everything to you tomorrow and you’ll have plenty of time to think it over.

 As they ate a hot dinner of freshly hunted pheasant and vegetables grown on guild grounds, Aefsheen took in the richly appointed dining room and furnishings. “Benefits of the station” according to Celigg and his two co-guildmasters. They explained to Aefsheen that each house of the Sanctuary Guild was governed by a triumvirate of masters: a spell caster, a man with strong ties to the criminal underground, and a warrior. This provided each house with connections to a local network as well as coordination of both physical and magical defense. They seemed very interested in Aefsheen and his wagon. He explained how he’d designed it with the help of the master of his local thieves’ guild in Oakyard, where he’d grown up.

 “Aefsheen, we have a package we need delivered to Seaspray. It needs to be delivered in secret. We’ll provide you with the address and the name of whom to ask for when you arrive. Do you think you can do that?” “Of course I can. In addition to my fee, I’ll need some sort of decoy cargo. I’ll look very suspicious coming into a trade hub with no merchandise. If you don’t have anything, you can pay me extra to cover purchasing something along the way.”

 The guildmasters at first seemed taken aback that he’d ask for extra money, then the obvious warrior of the three threw his head back and laughed. “You have some large stones, boy! I think I like you.”

 And thus began Aefsheen Silverthorn’s association with the Sanctuary Guild.

(Copyright 2020 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr)

[swordmeetssorcery]

(Copyright 2020 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr)

[swordmeetssorcery]

Aefsheen’s Love

The buildings on the outskirts of the city of Oakyard rose into view on the horizon. Excited to be near his destination, the half elven wagoner shook the reins to move his team a bit faster. Aefsheen Silverthorn enjoyed his travels throughout the kingdom of Pentalohr, but it had been too long since he’d returned to this town on the southwestern fringes of Greenwood Forest. There was a special lady there he was pining to visit, and he’d been lucky enough to pick up a cargo destined for the town. The large flat stones that constituted the surface of the centuries-old Great Road made travel much smoother and faster than the other roads, and he’d made good time, even avoiding bandits for once.

 Now that the destination was within sight, the long days of pushing the team and struggling to maintain alertness watching for bandits and other dangers, and sleeping with one eye open caught up to him and fatigue crowded out the initial excitement he’d felt moments before. He was exhausted as he dealt with the city guards at the gate. They informed him (although he already knew) of the ordinances on carrying weapons: defensive weapons only - any blade larger than a dagger had to be surrendered or packed away. No bows or crossbows carried on the street. Any stick or club carried had to be small enough to tuck into a belt. No war hammers or battleaxes. He sighed and made a show of stashing into the compartment underneath his seat the bow he kept at his side while traveling, and followed it with the pair of swords that normally hung at his waist.

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Later, after delivering his cargo and receiving his pay, he visited a nearby pub for a late meal and a goblet of mead. The lady he was so anxious to see would have gladly cooked for him, but it was late and he didn’t want to trouble her with that. He happily looked forward to a hearty breakfast come morning though. Finishing his supper, he walked out to the alley where he’d parked his wagon. His fatigue must have been worse than he realized; otherwise he’d have been quicker to notice the young man approaching him, along with the others clumsily sneaking up behind him. Hells, if he hadn’t been so road weary he would have fully expected something like this. A traveler with a large wagon and two horses obviously meant money, and would be targeted by thieves. He knew full well the tactic of approaching a mark from the front while accomplices snuck up behind. After all, he’d employed it himself often enough growing up on these same streets. That seemed so long ago now.

 He muttered under his breath, swayed in his steps just a touch to appear drunk and hopefully put the three at ease and off guard. He snuck a glance over his shoulder. Two youths, barely out of childhood judging from their size and lack of any fuzz on their chins. That explained their clumsy attempt at stealth: they were likely apprentices to the one now walking past the horses. Aefsheen tried to think of a way to calm the situation with words, but then noticed the glint of steel in the approaching man’s hand. A less furtive second glance back at the two who’d now given up any pretense of stealth showed they’d also stopped bothering to conceal their weapons – one carried a club, and the other a small hatchet. Aefsheen once again cursed the city’s weapons laws. In his younger days, almost every man carried some sort of weapon. Many women did, too. Of course, in those days, there were more frequent skirmishes along the nearby border and the baron thought it wise to allow his citizens to arm themselves, giving him a reserve defense force that he didn’t have to pay. However, the marauding orc hordes had long since been driven away through cooperation between Pentalohr and the elven kingdom in the farther reaches of the Greenwood. That alliance was how Aefsheen’s parents had met. None of that mattered now, however, as the two daggers tucked into the back of his belt gave little comfort in the face of superior numbers. He also knew he’d never be able to vault to the wagon’s seat, open it and pull a sword out before he was cut down from the back. Still acting the drunk, he lurched and stumbled into the side of his wagon, reaching underneath and activating the release lever there. The sidewall dropped open, revealing one of several hidden compartments, from which he hastily snatched a longsword. As he withdrew it from its bracket, he dropped into a squat, narrowly avoiding the swish of the roughhewn log the boy was using as a club. Aefsheen twisted around to face the manchild wielding the hatchet, judging it to be the most dangerous of the weapons he faced. The longsword was heavier and less wieldy than the rapier and saber he normally used, but at the moment, the heft felt good as he swung it to parry and it sent the smallax flying out of the apprentice’s hand and across the alley.

He realized the folly of ignoring the likely experience of the thief with the dagger as he felt the blow from behind. He was quite happy that the city had no problem with his leather armor, which he hadn’t bothered to remove yet. It turned the assailant’s blade, leaving as the only wound a tear in the tunic he wore over the cuirass. He kicked at the now emptyhanded ax wielder who’d turned to flee, catching him behind the knee, and sending him sprawling, then spun, swinging the sword two handed to land a solid blow to the older attacker, who yelped, dropped his knife, and staggered to his knees as Aefsheen spoke. “Fools. Ah, but then, how could you know? I’ve been away a while, and it’s been ages since I lived here. Well, let this be a lesson learned, should you survive: never trust that the staggering man is drunk, and if you lose sight of a mark’s hands, be wary. If an apparent drunkard suddenly moves swiftly, back off and go find an easier mark. I’m sure if you make your way back to the Thieves’ Guild, they’ll help you with that wound, and also agree with my advice.”

The wounded thief retrieved his blade and, looking like he wanted to bring it to bear, started struggling back to his feet. “Curse that coward Matick for fleeing like that. Wait until I get my hands ‘round his throat.”

 “Darrig, he makes a strong argument. Shouldn’t we head to the House?” asked the young man, club now hanging listlessly from his hand.

 “Curse you for a chicken’s turd, too, Kentry! Stand and fight like a man!” At that, the man lunged to his feet, thrusting clumsily with his blade. Aefsheen easily sidestepped the attack, and used the flat of his blade to trip Darrig.

 “Come now, Darrig, don’t expect a boy to be a man. Why, neither of them even has a hair on his chin yet. Seriously, return to the Guildhouse, and tell them you’ve been schooled by Aefsheen Silverthorn. I’m tired, I’m bored of your company, and the next time I swing this blade, it won’t be the flat that connects.”

 As Kentry reached to help Darrig up, the older thief shoved him away and used the back corner of the wagon to pull himself to a stand. He’d apparently come to understand which of his options was the wiser, and, hobbling, led the young apprentice back down the alley.

 Aefsheen wiped the blood off the sword’s blade and returned it to its secret compartment, closing the door so that the portal was unnoticeable once again.

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The wagon clattered along the cobblestones, the horses as tired as the driver, but he was wide awake now after the fight, and also with the knowledge that he’d soon lay eyes on the woman he loved. He began to notice movements in the shadows alongside the wagon; a figure skulking through the darkness along the buildings shuttered for the night. Apparently the gods had seen fit to make up for the lack of highwaymen on the road by throwing an abundance of adversaries at him once he was near his journey's end. He turned off the main boulevard two blocks early, pulled the horses up in front of a random house and dismounted, all while watching the prowler from the corner of his eye. He jumped into the back of the wagon to retrieve his pack, and as he suspected, the shadowy one approached the wagon, bent over, and crouched beneath it, apparently waiting for Aefsheen to exit. He jumped down, hand on dagger hilt, expecting to have his legs grabbed, but the lurker remained still. Aefsheen strode to the front of the vehicle, climbed up to the driver’s seat and withdrew his preferred blades, throwing their belts over one shoulder, but leaving the rapier handle where it could be easily grasped.

As he approached the gate, he sensed more than heard the soft footfalls behind him. At least this one had skill. He pretended to fumble with the lock at the gate, allowing the other to approach. As the man came within reach, he drew the rapier as he turned, and laid the edge against the man’s neck. The man, dressed all in black, was saved by the fact that his hands were empty. Aefsheen dropped his pack and the sword belts, pushing the edge of his thin sword against the other man’s neck and backing him up until he was stopped by the wagon.

 “Please. Please spare me! Forgive me; I was only doing what I was hired to do.” “Who hired you, and why, if not to harm or rob me?”

 “I swear, I don’t even know his name! He approached me just this evening and paid me handsomely to follow you and see where you stopped for the night. Please, you must know that there are many who’d pay well to learn the location of your home or wherever it is you retreat to in Oakyard so frequently. I swear I mean you no harm myself. Allow me to go and you’ll never see me again.” “You’re unarmed and didn’t try to attack me while my back was turned – that says something. And your story makes sense; I’ve made more than a few enemies in my career. I’ll let you go. I’ll even do you the favor of giving you a minor wound to convince your employer you did your best but were caught. That should be believable. “As for never seeing you again, that may be or it may not. Rest assured that if I or any of my spies see you in this neighborhood again, I will find you. I’m not an evil man, but there are things and people I will do horrible things to protect or avenge. You will no longer do business in this quarter. If you live anywhere nearby, I’d suggest moving. Tonight. Now, go!” With the last syllable, Aefsheen pulled the razor edge of the sword along the side of the man’s neck. The cut was shallow, but it would bleed enough to be convincing. He waited until he was sure the man was long gone, then got back in the driver’s seat and set the team in motion, circling a back way around to his original destination.

As he came up to the actual gate he’d been headed for all this time, another figure detached itself from the shadows. This one, however, was a welcome sight.

 “Aefsheen, you’ve taken your sweet time getting here tonight, sir.” The young boy chided. “Davaren, my young friend, you are a sight for sore eyes. I trust all is well at the house?” “Yes, sir”, the urchin replied, “and she still has no idea she’s being watched over. We keep ourselves hidden at night, and unobtrusive in the day. However, I heard a commotion a couple of streets over just now – was that you?” Aefsheen relayed the story of the second attacker and gave a description of his attacker to the young man, telling him to get a message to Aefsheen if the prowler was ever seen within a few blocks of the house, then tossed the kid a small sack of coins and told him to take the night off and to let the others know he’d be on duty himself the next couple of days while he visited.

 After letting himself in the gate and putting the horses away, he was weary, yet excited as he made his way to the back door. He could see a glow from inside – apparently the sounds of the wagon and the team had awakened her and she’d lit a lantern.

 He stepped into the light, and as his eyes adjusted, the only woman he’d ever loved, her hair glowing and face beaming in the lantern’s light, strode to him with arms open, saying “Welcome home; it’s been so long this time.” He opened his arms too, smiled warmly, and enveloped her in his embrace, saying “Hello mum”. (Copyright 2020 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr.)

[swordmeetssorcery]

For all my writers struggling with weaponry of the sword variety.