Turn6

Retribution

The land about the eastern side of Buhr Criocha slopes gently away in unruffled heather and large grassy plots for grazing animals. Beyond lie the fir woods that surround the settlement on two sides and even now, a dawn mist curls up from around their feet. Behind them, the
hills rise steeply, the highest peaks crowned with wide patches of snow. Around towards the southern facing side of the village are the narrow fields where the locals grow produce for the market sheltered somewhat by a sudden drop in the land onto the narrow floodplain by
the burn of Minden - a shallow but fairly wide stream that joins its two neighbours in a fork to the southwest before running down the valley towards distant Dail; the southern road follows this river for part of its journey.

Towards this more southerly side, Meraina can vaguely make out people, congregating in a group, somewhere near the river but its hard to see for the rising ground mist. Nearby there is no-one and the woodlands beckon to safety.

Meraina thinks to herself as she brings her horse to a stop..."Well I am not going South, I think a ride in the hills sounds like fun!"

"Come on boy!" she yells as she digs her heels into the flanks of the horse and with her cloak and hair streaming out behind her, Meraina rides for the protection of the Forest and the Hills beyond them.

***********

Relg and Coru head towards the inn and the nearby stables. Moving to the junction of two cobbled streets, Coru detects some folk coming towards them. The two Gargath melt into the shadows of the street and wait.
A moment later, three Szreldor come round the corner, herding a group of women clutching hastily assembled belongings. Some of the women are crying but one resolutely refuses to give in to the grief of her situation even though her hands are tied at the wrists with stout cord.
One Szreldor warrior is at the front of the group and it is he that pulls her roughly along the street, while the others bring up the rear. All have weapons drawn, the two at the rear with shortbows. They are heading for the postern door.

***********

In the Inn, the two Dwarves are congratulating each other on their skill with the crossbow while Gwalchmai sits atop a side table while the wound across his belly is bound tight with cloth.
..."Well, I must say. A single shot like that could win you a silver or so, at any contest."
"Aye. A fair one was that. Still, its the heat of the moment that does it though you know."
"Yes, but fair's fair Froin. It was a good shot nonetheless and that great Northman surely has to admit it was a fine time to do it. I would be willing to bet good coin that..."

"Yes, yes. Alright Dwarf! You've made your point," growls the mercenary, standing to test the bandage. "Just keep your crossbows trained on this one in case he moves." He thanks the local man for his aid and retakes his axe from atop the table. "Now, we have us a prisoner, so perhaps you two could quit gabbering and we might find something out! Besides, where has everyone got to?"

...Heladil turns the corner with bow in hand. Seeing the milling scene with the two raiders, horses and Arekhel, he draws back, hoping not to be seen. Heladil draws his bow and sights along the shaft, trying to get a clean shot at the raiders. As he tries to find a decent target before harm befalls Arekhel, a low trill escapes his lips.

<Anyone near enough to hear would wonder why he would whistle at a time like this. But the answer is clear enough in a moment as a white owl descends on silent wings from over the roof and alights in a nearby tree. It bobs its head.>

The Szreldor run forward, spying the Elven woman close by. They force the horses to turn and the panicky beasts surge back into the main yard scattering. Arekhel's horse lifts its hooves and paws the air as she yanks its head around, but the beast obeys and she lies across its back as she sends it after the others. An arrow from one of the Szreldor zips over her shoulder but Heladil answers with a shot that hits the enemy bowman. He dives and rolls into the grass while the other leans flat against the wall where Heladil cannot see him. The two are just a brief sprint away from the yard, but for now they wait.

***********

Valdo takes a moment to stop the bleeding from his leg wound with a bandage; the wound is not deep but refuses to stop oozing and soon stains the bandage red. At least he does not detect any suggestion of poison. He curses the Goblins. Getting to his feet slowly, the gaurdcaptain tests his damaged tendons, then hobbles over to inspect the rest of the party.

Looking about the grassy slope, Valdo surmises that the Goblin's have truly fled.

The body of one of the militia-men lies close to where Lochan is kneeling, tending the wounds of another man. This one however is most definitely dead, with a vicious slash to the side of his head. The other in the firepit is also dead, slumped with an iron dagger jutting from his chest and his hands clasping the blade that killed him. This one had time to be properly slain. He must have choked to death on his own blood.

The last soldier was the nearest to the woods from where the Goblins attacked and this one has also sadly succumbed. He lies still and pale as if all blood has drained away from his features. The deep wound in his side testifies to a swift death.
Valdo hangs his head for a moment. "Four out of six of us, dead! Well, nearly. Will this one make it Lochan?"

Lochan finishes binding a poultice of crushed herbs about the unconscious crossbowman and looks up.
"He seems to be out of immediate danger now but he is still very weak."
He makes the man as comfortable as possible with a bedroll.
"Sir we must decide what our next move should be. It may be too long before another traveller passes this way. We are both injured but should one of us ride back, or should I track these wretched scum as best I can while the trail is still fresh?"
"Who's coffin were we carrying again?" he adds.

"A well respected Lord from Buhr Copar by the name of Kedrrun. He was lost when that Szreldor warband attacked the town three months ago."

Valdo takes a slip of tatty vellum from inside his tunic and holds it up to the light. "Apparently we are to take it to a private house in Dail and leave it there. I suppose his relations will then pick it up. It was the same when we picked it up yesterday evening."

As Valdo is speaking, Lochan gets food and water from their packs on the cart and starts to lay a fire close to the injured gaurd.

"Those damned Goblin's have also stolen all the spare equipment from the cart. At least we had our packs with us and the oxen are still alive."

Valdo looks to the north as the day brightens. "By my reckoning, we are five hours hard ride from Buhr Criocha; more to Diona Dail. Do you believe those Goblin's will be back?"

"Hmm. Unlikely. They have booty so they will probably fight over it for a while. The day is too bright for them now anyway but who knows if a storm arrises. I would like to know where their base is. If it's close, we are most likely done for if we don't leave soon." The Ranger shrugs.

"Well, we cannot move this man so one of us must go for help. If the Goblins return, you will most likely be able to hide from them. If you cannot move him, make sure his death is swift. I don't want him to suffer at the hands of the Greenskins, damn them. If the horses are fit, I will ride for aid from the village."

**********

Meanwhile, somewhere in the village...

The Szreldor warrior quivers in fear, not wishing to look at the man before him. All thoughts of remaining true to his warriors' code are forgotten when faced with immenent execution.

"Prisoners?" spits Saelvach, "more like a slave raiding party to me" - a momentary expression of displeasure sweeping across his face. "And death to all who stand in your way, I suppose".
Turning to Boldor, he enquires: "Recognise any of these names? Loruss, Uldor? Seen his sort round these parts before?"

The Dwarf stops grinding his teeth for a moment and stands up fully.
"No, I have not heard these names. It is highly unusual that Szreldor dogs come this far north. Normally they live south and to the east, between the Iron Hills and the Inland Sea. There have been raids on the towns of Buhr Lusraig and Buhr Copar in recent months also."

"Very well." he addresses the still trembling warrior before him, "I've decided to be lenient. You're coming with us to the inn. I'm sure someone there will know of who you speak".

With the grimacing dwarf still standing threateningly behind him, Saelvach sheaths his sword and gestures with a gauntleted hand for the man to move down the alley.
The prisoner, breathing a sigh of relief, rises to his feet and turns but before he can take a couple of faltering steps down the narrow cobbled alley, Saelvach swiftly draws his long hunting knife from beneath his coat. Taking a swift pace forward he thrusts the blade violently into the young man's kidneys, driving the blade upwards to tear into his internal organs. His other hand encircles the young man's face, covering his mouth as his dying breath chokes and froths from his body. Holding him firmly as he kicks out convulsively in the taller man's grip, the Szreldor twitches once more then slumps lifeless to the stone pavings.
Saelvach lowers the corpse, cradling it for a few seconds longer and gently kisses it on the forehead whispering "forgive me...." in lilting Elvish. He conceals the body amongst some wooden refuse, wipes his bloodied blade on the dead man's cloak and then, straightening his hat, he returns the knife to its hiding place and re-enters the village square.

Perhaps it is just the first rays of the morning sun that cause the reflection, but Boldor sees the tall man's eyes shine as if they were moistened by tears...

End of Turn 6.