The Second Servant

"...and she came like a Fury, down from the north, and the land quailed at her coming" - Tome VII "The Legends of the Ironfists", Azanulimbar-dum II 2805

Turn9

The village survives.

As Meraina creeps forward beneath the dripping fir trees she slips her favourite dagger from its sheath and stealthily moves toward the bushes, drawing on all her skill, to be as silent as possible. Her keen eyes searching the underbrush for anything and everything.

After perhaps 30m she hears a faint sound ahead. It sounds like low whispering voices. It is difficult to hear from her position what they say because of the faint breeze that blows beneath the trees making the branches rattle.

Meraina carefully circles towards the area scanning the ground for tell-tale wood that might crack and give her away. After a few stealthy moments she can just about make out the words being spoken in the common speech:

"...exactly what did you do?"
"Well, I just got my own back on him. On them all. I'm allowed aren't I?"
"I just don't think it was the best course of action, thats all. We may have to return - in fact, we probably will if the place still survives and then what? What will they say if they find out? Hmm?
answer me that."
"Well I don't care! And stop bugging me about it. You've been dying for a reason to get revenge too and tonight was your chance. Did you do anything about it? No, of course not!"

The second voice continues...
"I just took the opportunity when it presented itself and...there we are."
"Well, here we are, actually and it's mighty damp where I'm sitting."
"Ah, stop grumbling. It's not as if we could have stayed. Things were getting a bit hectic back there."

Both voices trail off into silence.

Very, very carefully Meraina moves forward to a location where she can hopefully see who is talking.

The voices suddenly begin again.

"So, which way were we heading?"
"After that other man with the horses but he's gone I don't know where and the Szreldor must have retrieved them."
"Well, it's not good us just sitting here in the damp with our stomach's grumbling without any further plan."
"So what do you suggest, Mr Ambassador? Hm?"

As Meraina peaks through the fronds of some high ferns ahead she spies two small people, almost like children but taller and barefooted, sitting upon a fallen log in a low depression amongst the trees. They seem oblivious of her at present and one, who has his back to her is absently prodding the ground with a stick.

Responding with blinding speed, she leaps through the thicket.
The Hobbit across from her yelps and flings himself backwards off the log. The second is not so fast, not having seen the woman until too late.

Meraina grabs him around the throat with her left hand and pokes her dagger against his neck and hisses at the other one...

*********

In short order the wheel of the cart is slid back onto its hub and a wooden wedge is forced in to hold it. The two men straighten up, backs acheing.

Lochan is the first to speak: "I'm glad that is done. We must not forsake the fallen and we must take care not to allow the injured man to see them. The distress may have an ill effect upon his recovery. Also we need to secure him well so that he is not thrown around as we travel. As soon as we get help at the settlement I'll check our wounds and see if there's anything more I can do".
He starts to walk to the closest body and says over his shoulder, "Is that ok, sir?".

"Yes. You speak true, Lochan. We should take the bodies to that farmstead back-aways and there we can take stock of our situation. I'd damn like to know where those Goblins are from."

Within fifteen minutes, the bodies of the militia-men are piled into the cart and covered by cloaks and equipment. Lochan confirms that the wounded man, Targon is still unconscious but has more colour in his cheeks and the Ranger fixes him a harness of rope that holds him in place and facing to the rear. With the spare horses, Valdo retakes the saddle and leads the way back up the road even as the first black birds settle among the goblin corpses.

...
The farmstead ahead lies behind a sloping rise by the road, revealing itself by a thin whisp of woodsmoke. A faint rut runs away at a tangent over the grassy field and then descends into a sheltered dell with a small stream and copse of silver birch.
The farm buildings are surrounded by a brick wall and before the cart gets too close, four men appear out of various buildings armed with bows. As they warily target the two men, another appears from the darkened doorway of the main building. This one is taller and has huge arms that grip a high quarterstaff as he stares at the newcomers through bushy brows.

"Hail friend!" shouts Valdo, rising from his stirrups to see the man clearly.

The tall man steps up to the wide gate of the compound and looks the guard-captain up and down. His eyes also flick over the Ranger upon the cart and their horses before returning to Valdo. He looks extremely wary but makes no move against the outsiders.

"You call me Friend, and I see from your attire that you hail from Buhr Criocha; but why do you seek our homestead?"

*******

Meanwhile, in the village ...

Saelvach looks at the man before him.
"So, they came here too, eh? Well, just as long as they didn't take what is not theirs."

He looks over to the right where the office door of the guard-captain has evidently been forced, presumably by the Szreldor as they searched for captives. A chair has been overturned and some of the papers are scattered from the desk and litter the stone floor. Behind on the wall are a line of wood pegs and from them hang various assorted keys. Saelvach strides into the room and hefts one from its peg. It is large and made of cast iron and the Gambler easily recognises it from an earlier visit.

"Hey!" shouts the young militiaman, striding into the room himself. "You can't take that. Put it down."

"I have a rather special belonging hidden behind that armoury door out there, and I intend to retrieve it," says the Gambler smoothly, stepping past the man's half raised hand. The young man, who Saelvach now remembers is called Brannd, seems undecided so the Gambler waves him forward.
"It's a very nice bow, which I have had for many years. It is very dear to me and I prefer from now on to keep it with me. Is that not a good plan?" he says with an ironic and almost sarcastic hint.
"Um, yes. I think so," stumbles Brannd, clearly unsure of this foreigner.

With a click, the large oak door swings inward revealing a narrow space that goes back about twelve feet. All walls have stacked shelves nearly to the ceiling and almost all are filled with various useful items such as spare clothes, bits of armour and assorted weapons.
Saelvach stands momentarily gazing at the contents, then slowly, almost hesitantly, withdraws the bow and quiver of arrows that rest on the highest shelf. A brief gasp of surprise is heard from behind as he brings the item out into the dawn light that filters through the open front door.

<The bow is of carved ash, standing nearly as tall as a normal man, plain in design yet beautiful in its workmanship. The quiver contains no less than a score of leaf-headed hunting arrows, fletched with grey goose feathers and each as long a man's arm.>

Saelvach closes his eyes as he runs his hand along the length of the bow, feeling its weight, caressing the slightly curved wood, remembering how, many years ago, his proud father had presented the weapon to him and watched him win his first contest with it. A smile plays across his lips briefly before his features darken as he remembers other, less savoury times. The name, Githanotar, is whispered before he spits on the floor. Then, grasping the bow firmly in his gauntleted right hand, Saelvach slings the quiver onto his back with his left. "Death will walk the streets once more today," he murmurs, tossing the large key to Brannd and striding from the building.

The young militiaman watches the stranger go, wondering at his strange last words and the fearful look the man carries with him. He shudders despite the thick cloth of his militia corslet.

*******

The wounded Szreldor looks slowly up from the wound in his arm that is leeking through his fingers, and fixes the Gargath War-seeker with a steady gaze. Relg stares back waiting to see what the man is going to do. There is no anger in his eyes - only a cold finality. Relg is not even scratched and the Szreldor stands erect facing his inevitable death. With a desperate cry, he leaps forward swinging his blade but Relg sees the move early and crouches beneath it, coming up behind his opponent. His own blade swings back then swipes down diagonally, connecting with the side of the man's unshielded neck. The strike is slightly too wide but still slices off the Szreldor's right ear and part of his scalp, knocking the man sharply against the wall. His cry turns to a bloody scream as he rebounds and falls to the street, his scimitar skittering away across the cobbles. Knowing the man's days are over, Relg turns swiftly and dashes towards the defending group of women, blade held high.

In the brief respite given by the women's sudden retaliation, Coru draws out his spear and gives it hurriedly to the woman next to him. It's the woman who's hands are tied. Another woman grabs the ashwood shaft and turns to cut the other woman's bonds. At that moment, one of the other women screams as the Szreldor step forward, angrily slashing with their curved blades. With another cry of challenge, Coru steps in-between to shield the women with his body. he luckily gets in the first strike but doesn't make contact as both Szreldor step back to make their attacks simultaneously. The first concerted strike yields nothing as Coru deflects one blow and the other is off-guard but the Gargath tracker's wound is dragging at his strength and his movements are slowing. Blinking, the warrior yet again defends against both and avoids getting hit but succeeds in scoring a minor blow to one opponent's chest. Suddenly, from the side, a spear point is driven into the side of one of the Szreldor but it doesn't bite deep. The man turns from Coru towards his new assailant and chops down as Coru hears a cry from behind that changes from a shout to a gargle of pain and despair. His heart goes cold but his body fights on.
Making a desperate lunge, Coru can't help but look over his shoulder towards Relg, fearing that his leader has somehow, impossibly succumbed. His relief in seeing him still standing is short lived however as his opponent breaks through Coru's guard and finally knocks him to the ground. He goes sprawling onto the cobblestones and as his sight fades into blackness, Coru sees the War-seeker leap in a rage at the first man, thrusting sharply with his spinning blade. Coru smiles into oblivion...

<In two blows, Relg defeats the already wounded Szreldor, with the aid of the woman with the spear. The other man watches and weighs his chances against this newcomer. Before Relg can reach him, the man's will gives out and he turns to flee as rapidly down the alleyway as he can. The Gargath warrior doesn't follow but kneels by his fallen comrade and feels his pulse...
-it still beats strongly, but blood slowly soaks into his clothing from multiple cuts.>

********

Arekhel looks again at Gwalchmai's wound and seems puzzled.
"Gwalchmai, you are extremely lucky not too have your guts hanging out right now! This wound is quite deep, I don't know how you managed to run out of the Inn and fight like that, with such a cut! But, do not worry, you're in good hands with me!"
She smiles, for the first time!

"The only trouble is that I cannot decently sew up that wound here in the grass and mud. We need to go somewhere else, where you can lie down, where I can prepare my needles and my herbal remedies. Let's go back inside the Inn, I think those bastards have left the village now!"

She stands up cautiously, looks around and up at the roof of the nearby building. Apart from a lot of smoke, the flames seem to have died down and the beams, although jutting out where the roof has caved in to the upper floor, appear still upright and solid.

"I think we should be OK in the Inn still," she adds, turning to Heladil.

"Heladil, are you all right? I heard some arrows going your way! If you're OK, could you come and help me to take Gwalchmai inside the Inn?"

Heladil comes over to help the Elven woman get Gwalchmai to his feet.
"Well fought friend. I think they are gone from here, so let's get you back to the Inn. I do not like it out here in the open."

Gwalchmai waves them away but has to finally admit that the wound is rather painful. He lets them help him into the Inn saying:
"By the way, Heladil - Nice shots! Hopefully this is a safer place for us to introduce ourselves. Oh, and is this charming lady with you?" <He gestures at Arekhel with a finger>

Arekhel mutters to herself in Elvish:
"if you're wounded, well, come inside - I think I should become a nurse!"

Gwalchmai, not understanding, continues:
"We can't save the whole village from Szreldor destruction by ourselves, but we at least have a revenge to take - and especially me!" <He points at his injury>
"Maybe we can find some allies, or at least get more information about what happened. I am not sure that Szreldor prisoner in the inn will be able to help us a lot."

Strangely, the Northman's words are not far from the truth for at that very moment in the main room of the tavern...

Tewo's knock is answered by a muffled voice from beneath the trapdoor. As the old Dwarf takes a hold of its handle, a bolt is heard sliding back and the lid starts to lift. Below is framed the wide face of Galgwen holding a small candle. "Is...is everything allright? Have they gone? But...but the tavern has not burnt down!"

"Yes, my dear," says Tewo offering her his arm to help her up. "As you can see, we are quite lucky. The morning air seems to have smothered the fires a bit and this building is made of solid stuff. No-one has been upstairs to check on the damage, but I will in a moment, if you wish lady. Where is your husband?"

"Um, he's still asleep. I don't know what that big man did but my Balneg is sleeping more soundly than a newborn babe. It's quite remarkeable." After a moment she adds: "So, we're not all dead then?"

Suddenly seeing the obvious stupidity of her question she hurriedly adds:
"Well, it's so dark down there and a cold wind was blowing around me fit to make the candle go out and I heard all the noise upstairs and then it went quiet and..." she trails off as Tewo shakes his head gently. The other local man says: "No, we are not all dead. You can thank that big Mercenary and his friends that the Szreldor did not kill every one of us. We even caught one! He's in the other room."

Galgwen gasps, her eyes wide with fear and excitement.

Froin meanwhile, stands up from his seat and, keeping his eye on the Szreldor, walks over to a nearby window to see what he can see outside. He calls out:
"Tewo...I think you are right about things. Hurry and find out whether or not Balneg is down there. If not then let's get out of here with the Szreldor with us."

The Dwarf turns back to check on the prisoner only to see him on his feet and stealing across the room towards the front door. As Froin lets out a shout, the Szreldor leaps behind the partition as simultaneously, the Dwarf fires his crossbow. The bolt thunks into the ceiling above the man as he yanks open the front door and runs into the street.
"Damn!!" shouts Froin, running to the door after the man, trying to reload at the same time. "We never damn well tied him up did we?" he shouts angrily at himself as he fumbles with the lever that cocks the weapon, but at present it is somehow stuck. "And that dunderhead mercenary defeated him, then walked off leaving us to cover the prisoner. And then Tewo decided to walk off leaving only me, and I'm not even a warrior! Damn it and... bloody hell!"

Just at the moment the Szreldor runs into the road, Boldor is making his way down the street towards the tavern. He sees a man turning away from him and running towards the main gates that stand open at the end of the street. By the look of him, he's one of the Szreldor dogs but Boldor is unconcerned, his grief-stricken mind hardly even acknowledging the fact that when he arrives at the tavern door, he almost bumps into another Dwarf standing and swearing at the retreating figure of the Szreldor.

"Did you see that? I can't believe we've just let him go. He was our prisoner and we didn't even tie him!"
"Let him go," replies Boldor wearily, pushing past the furious Dwarf. "There has been enough killing already this night. Don't bring any more unneccessary death on to this village."

Froin turns to swiftly rebuke the newcomer, then suddenly recognises him. "Boldor? Where have you been?"

A crowd spills into the room from the rear of the building as Boldor takes a seat by the bar, letting his trusty Mattock fall to the stone floor.
"What under heaven is going on here?" shouts Arekhel, then seems to realise suddenly why she's inside and goes over to a window, throwing the shutters wide. Heladil follows her into the room, supporting Gwalchmai while Tewo and Galgwen bring up the rear. Froin turns away from the street and after closing the door, comes back into the commonroom as Gwalchmai is told to lie upon a table by the window.

Arekhel stoops behind the bar to retrieve some strong alcohol and some water. She also grabs a lit candle. Calling for Galgwen to get a fire going to heat some water, she goes back to Gwalchmai. Handing him the sealed bottle she says softly:
"You drink some of that, so you won't feel too much of the pain. Please, try not to move too much, otherwise, I won't be able to stitch up your belly."

When Galgwen returns with hot water, Arekhel fills a smaller bowl with some of it, then drops in her mossy herbs to soak. She mops up some of the congealed blood from the wound with some damp cloth and passes a curved needle above the candle flame, disinfecting it before feeding through some fine black thread. Taking a glug of the firey spirit, she hands the rest back to Gwalchmai. Then, bending close, she starts her stitching.

End of Turn 9.