The Sampler Platter: A Little Bit of Everything

by Susan Skylark

  Chapter 5

  Another two weeks passed without Tristan able to make much more of a note in his logbook than the various exercises and practice sessions through which he led his men. It was a very peaceful interlude in their nearly three-month journey, but it would not last. Peace never lasted in these unquiet lands especially during troubled times. One evening, as they were scouting for a campsite they came upon a caravan of gypsies with their wagons parked in the middle of the path. The mare gave a shrill cry of battle and before Tristan knew what had happened she was charging into the fray. Vicious creatures (resembling apes but with a leathery hide and hideous faces) were ransacking the wagons and terrorizing the hapless gypsies.

  “Goblins,” snarled Tristan, “Bristol’s group, use your bows, the rest of you draw your swords and follow me. Have no mercy on these fiendish things.” The men did as they were told and half of them used their arrows to kill the things on the wagons while the rest slew or chased off the foul creatures near the prisoners. The mare wanted to chase after those that had fled but Tristan checked her; she hated goblins with a passion, she had run afoul of them as a foal. The freed gypsies quickly clumped together, hugging and crying, through mingled tears and laughter they found that everyone was all right. Tristan’s men had come upon them in time; if they could, goblins liked nothing better than to terrorize their victims before they killed them. They had only just attacked the caravan and had been surprised by the sudden onslaught of the soldiers.

  After retrieving what arrows they could in the failing light, Tristan’s men assembled around their leader. “Well done, all of you,” said Tristan, “you kept your heads and did your jobs during an unexpected encounter. This is what you have been training for. I am very proud of each of you. Though we did surprise and overwhelm them, it was very well done for a first battle.” The men smiled appreciatively. It had been good to see their leader in battle, though they had hardly had time to do anything but pay attention to what they were doing themselves, but the glimpses they had seen of him showed that he really did know what he was talking about. They were all glad he was on their side.

  The gypsies were delighted with their rescuers and insisted they spend at least a night with them. Tristan agreed. There is nothing more boisterous than a caravan of excited gypsies and this was no exception; they received quite a thank you for their assistance. The next morning, Tristan opted to travel with the caravan which was headed in vaguely the same direction as they and a little practice riding escort would not hurt his men. For nearly a week, they traveled with the gypsies and as the goblins had been driven off and left far behind he felt it safe to leave their new friends. It was also time they headed back upon their original course. The gypsies bid them farewell as fondly as they had received them. There was no sadness for them in parting, only the joy of having met and the hope of future meetings. Tristan would miss these open and joyous people. Reluctantly he turned his mare and followed his retreating men.

  They rode on for another few days without incident and camped that night by a small waterfall that babbled gaily off into the darkness over a bed of colorful stones. Here he meant to stay for a day to rest and check their equipment and supplies. If he remembered correctly, there was a village a day’s ride from here where they could restock. As they did not have to leave immediately in the morning, Tristan felt he could stay up a little later than usual tonight. It was time he got to know his men a little better. Until now, he wanted to remain simply their leader and did not want them feeling all warm and friendly until he had established himself as such. Even now, he did not want them to feel that he was their friend and equal, but he did want them to know that he cared for them and was interested in them as people. They were equally as interested in knowing more of Tristan. They had seen and heard much on this journey and had many questions. They had never met one so seemingly young with so much knowledge, confidence, and skill. His tale to them was simple: he was orphaned as a boy and turned to theft to survive. He had been caught and sentenced to work to death in a mining camp, but a man had taken pity upon him and took him into his service and the service of his Lady. Under the tutelage of that man, his Lady, and others of their acquaintance, he had learned much, traveled many places, and fought many battles. He had joined the Order in a hope to pass on the kindness, knowledge, and leadership he had received at the hands of strangers.

  His men were mostly farmers’ sons, often the second or third son who stood to inherit little upon their father’s death and so had chosen to find employment elsewhere rather than spend a lifetime working for an older brother. They had come from all parts of the known world and most had hired themselves out as guards for traveling merchant caravans or as bully boys at raucous inns, and had come to learn a little of fighting and warfare, or at least enough to be of interest to the Order. They had signed up in hopes of gaining riches and renown; something they never would have found on their own. They were far from indoctrinated in the main tenets of the Order, but knew enough to wonder at certain things they had observed on their journey.

  “Sir,” asked Bristol, “how is it that you do not seem to live up to the better known doctrines of the Order? No offense, it is not a bad thing, I am just wondering.”

  “Which particular doctrine are you speaking of?” asked Tristan gently.

  “All that about the peasants being poor because the Master looks upon them with disdain, and the rich being rich because they are better than everyone else and that justifies them taking advantage where they will,” answered Bristol.

  “One reason I am here is to change that sort of thinking from the bottom up,” said Tristan, “that sort of thinking only leads one group to oppress another. The Master created everyone to be worthy of love, respect, and honor. He does not love the rich above the poor. He loves all the same, though he has a special place in his heart for the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed. He gave his own blood to stop the suffering and oppression that would engulf his people if he had stood by and done nothing. It is man who inflicts pain and suffering on his fellow men. The Master hates it, but it is up to us to stop or prevent it. I think the strong should protect the weak, not prey upon them. The Order can be a phenomenal force for good if it is directed upon the right course. It is people like me and each of you that can change their way of thinking if we stay true to our ideals.” The men looked at him in some surprise, as if he were speaking of fairy tales as realities. They had spent their entire lives under the assumption that the Master was a myth, absent, unloving, or uninterested in them.

  “You really believe all that about the Master?” asked Bristol in a quavering voice. He felt as if the man he secretly respected as much as his father had just said he was taking orders from a talking tree.

  “I do,” answered Tristan, “it took much time and thought on my part, but eventually I realized the truth of it. Think about it. The Order says that the common people are unworthy of respect or love, yet in all of our adventures what have you discovered about these villagers, farmers, and gypsies? You have discovered that they are people just like you with dreams and fears, laughter and tears, triumphs and trials. You are the sons of farmers, you are also considered ‘the common people’ by the elite of the Order, but by joining this outfit you may one day become elite yourselves. Although you are still of the common stock, they will not view you as such, though you are still the same people. The view that all people are worth something is more supportive of the Master’s point of view than that of the Order, but you need to make your own decisions about that sort of thing. I only hope my actions give you something else to think about than the mindless doctrine the Order will throw at you and expects you to take unquestioned. Weigh the facts and then decide.” A long silence followed and then all sought their beds. There were no more questions that night.

  The next morning was spent checking equipment and supplies, washing clothes, and repairing what could
be mended on the trail. The next day’s ride would bring them to a village that had a blacksmith (at least in previous days) who could attend to their horses’ needs as well as a chance to stock up on much-needed supplies and news. There was little conversation about the other night’s chat but there was much thinking and rethinking going on in the minds of Tristan’s men. He hoped he had not completely lost their confidence or distracted them; they still had a very long way to go. That afternoon they rode to the edge of the village but an aura of fear hung about the place and no one stirred out of doors.

  Curious, Tristan motioned for his men to hide themselves in a copse of trees on the edge of town. Taking one of the younger men, both exchanged their uniforms for plain clothing and covered their swords with their cloaks. Leaving Bristol in charge, they headed into town leading their horses. They secured their horses at the hitching post outside the inn and went inside. Inside, the nervous-looking innkeeper appeared busy wiping down mugs except that he seemed to be wiping the same few mugs repeatedly. He glanced up in surprise when the two strangers entered, glanced furtively at four men at a corner table in quiet discussion, and went back to his wiping.

  “Good day to you sir,” said Tristan approaching the bar.

  “Goo…good…day,” said the very nervous innkeeper. “I am sorry to trouble you but we are closed,” he continued.

  “Closed?” asked Tristan in mock dismay, “but why?”

  “We have had a rough time lately and have been rescued from it by those fine gentlemen over there and their friends,” said the innkeeper, “and to protect us from further troubles they have asked that no one do business except through them. To protect us and all that sort of thing. They do not want us to be taken advantage of again.”

  “I see,” said Tristan, “so if one is to get a mug of wine or a loaf of bread I must talk to the gentlemen in the corner?” The innkeeper nodded in horror as Tristan approached the seated men.

  “Good day gentlemen,” said Tristan. “I am sorry to interrupt your conversation, but my friend and I are hungry and tired and wish to do a bit of business in this fine hamlet of yours but apparently we must bother you to be about it.” The men looked at Tristan in amazement as if they could not believe his audacity or stupidity in confronting them.

  “Be on your way,” snarled one badly scarred man. “This is our town and if you know what is best for you, you will be on your way immediately.” He returned to his conversation. Tristan cued the young soldier with him to make as if they would go out the back door and he eyed the innkeeper, hoping he would take the hint and follow when he could. Tristan headed for the back door, opened it, slipped out, and waited patiently until the innkeeper could follow without raising suspicion.

  “Tristan said, “what is going on in this town?”

  The innkeeper eyed the two strangers nervously, and hoped he was not making a terrible mistake. “About two weeks ago a band of brigands rode in and declared our town belonged to them and they would be taking by force (if necessary) anything they claimed belonged to them. For the most part, things have been peaceful, but no one dares go outside unless absolutely necessary and the bandits take whatever they want without paying. There have even been rumors that a few of the local girls have had ‘encounters’ with these brutes. We are not soldiers and there is no local authority we can turn to for help. They will kill us as soon as look at us, but for now we seem to be supplying them with what they want, but I fear what will happen when our supplies of food, ale, and wine run out.”

  “Where are the rest of these louts?” asked Tristan.

  “They are holed up around and within the village,” said the innkeeper, “half sleep in my inn; the rest sleep in twos and threes in various homes around town.”

  “Is there a time they are ever all together?” asked Tristan.

  “They get together each evening at the inn for supper and drinking,” said the innkeeper.

  “Do they have any sort of watch or patrol?” asked Tristan.

  “Two or three walk around the village and surrounding farms a couple times a day, usually at dawn, noon, and dusk. Mostly they just hassle people who are trying to go about their business. I do not think they would see anything coming unless it sat in their laps. They are quite happy and content and feel quite unthreatened. They should, we hardly ever see outsiders and if we do they are never willing to give us a hand,” finished the innkeeper.

  “We may be able to help you but you need to get the bandits as drunk as possible tonight. Around midnight we will see what we can do with two dozen drunk brigands,” said Tristan. The innkeeper nodded his reluctant but hopeful agreement.

  As he went back in the door he yelled, “you were told to leave and you would leave now if you knew what is good for you. Do not come looking for handouts at my inn again.” The four men looked at the innkeeper and smirked at his trivial show of hostility. It was the bravest thing they had ever seen him do. They returned to their conversation.

  Tristan and Bristol scouted around the village and surrounding farms but found no sign of a watch or sentry being kept. As evening approached, two bandits were seen making a minimal round of the area and then quickly ducking into the inn for supper and ale. A careful count was taken and fifteen bandits were confirmed to be inside the inn. After several hours of feasting, drinking, and bawdy singing the bandits began to think fondly of their beds. It was at this point that Tristan and his men appeared at the doors, windows, and the upstairs balcony. The innkeeper and serving maids had retreated at the appointed time and left no one but Tristan’s men and the bandits in the inn’s common room. The bandits could see seven men, each armed with bow and sword. Every bow had an arrow nocked and ready to fly.

  “You are surrounded,” said Tristan, “lay down your weapons and put your hands on your heads. Failure to comply will result in the use of lethal force. You are hereby accused of robbery, piracy, hostage taking, and threatening murder. Surrender and each of you will be judged fairly, according to your crimes. Resist and your survival is not guaranteed.”

  Half the bandits complied immediately; the rest scrambled for cover or tried to find a usable weapon. Four fell as they ran with arrows in their backs. Seven stood with hands on their heads looking anxiously for rescue from the surrounding madness. Four hid themselves in various corners, under tables, or behind the bar.

  “You are surrounded,” said Tristan, “you must surrender now or you will not walk away from this.” He counted to thirty but the hiding men remained hidden. He nodded towards the three men in the balcony; they would cover the other four as they tried to root out the hidden thieves. Two of his men covered the front door and windows; Bristol watched the back door and Tristan cautiously began to move among the overturned tables and chairs. A short, ugly man jumped out from behind an overturned table with a dagger and tried to plunge it into Tristan’s heart but his sword was out and stopped the bandit in mid-flight. An arrow from above took a second bandit who tried to jump Tristan from behind while facing the ugly man with the dagger. A third bandit, armed with a table leg tried to club down Bristol as he fled towards the backdoor; Bristol’s sword stopped his headlong flight. The fourth and final bandit crept out from behind the bar with his hands on his head begging for mercy; he was allowed to join the seven others who had given up.

  A trial was set for the next morning. The villagers confirmed that all had been captured or killed. They were tied up and locked in the wine cellar for the night; guards were posted at the only door. The next morning the surviving bandits, the villagers, and Tristan’s men gathered on the village green for the trial. Tristan, the mayor, and the blacksmith formed the tribunal. Each thief was brought forward individually and none was allowed to listen to the trial of any other thief though they watched mournfully from a distance. As it turned out, the worst of the thieves had died the previous night; the surviving eight were the younger and less harden
ed men in the group. Tristan hoped fervently that there was still a future for these misguided young men. Each was accused in turn of theft, piracy, and taking the village hostage, but in light of their surrender and cooperation the tribunal did not feel death was warranted. But what to do with eight bandits? If left in the village to work off their crimes they could rise-up together and revolt against the villagers. The nearest city with a proper prison or work camp was too far away. Prison or a work camp would kill them or harden them into real criminals. In his conversations with them during the trial, Tristan discovered them to be as he once was: misguided and desperate. He longed to send them back to Astoria where they could be given a second chance if they were willing to take it, and there they could be safely watched and kept away from innocent bystanders if they chose otherwise. A black shadow passed over the village. A woman screamed and fainted dead away. Several people fled into their homes and barred the door behind them. Confusion ensued on the green.

  A small green dragon landed in the middle of the village and looked curiously at the people running about like ants in a scattered hill. “Tristan?” hissed the young dragon.

  “That is my name,” said Tristan.

  “Nargath flew by the other day and mentioned he had talked with you. It has been long since any man has interacted so freely with my kind; most simply wish to kill us as monsters or flee before us as terrors. I was curious, so I sought you out. I am called Fleet”

  “Nice to meet you, but you seem to have startled quite a few people,” said Tristan, “would you mind flying off momentarily while I try to restore order?”

  “Of course,” said Fleet. He took off and Tristan quickly explained things to the panicked villagers. Fleet returned soon after and again landed on the green where he was introduced to the Mayor and the Blacksmith.

  “We have a strange request to make of you sir,” stuttered the mayor. The dragon cocked his head in interest.

  “Would you mind ferrying these men to Astoria?” asked Tristan, “I know your kind does not usually carry men on their backs, but these men have caused much trouble and we have vital business elsewhere that will not allow us to escort them ourselves. We would be forced to put them to death, though warranted by their crimes we feel they deserve another chance. The Lady will see that they get it. It would be a great favor to us.”

  “For any other I might hesitate, but I would like to meet this Lady of yours and Nargath speaks highly of you. I will do as you ask,” said Fleet.

  Fleet could carry four terrified men at a time and it took half a day to fly to Astoria and back thus it was well past dark by the time he returned from his final journey.

  “Thank you my friend,” said Tristan, “we are greatly in your debt.”

  “It was an honor for me to meet you and the Lady. I look forward to speaking with her tomorrow; she sends her greetings and wishes you well on your quest. Though for some reason she found your idea to send her such guests highly amusing.” That night they had a celebratory feast with enough food to sate even the dragon’s monstrous appetite. In the morning, Tristan spent a great deal of time talking with Fleet while his men restocked their supplies. In the early afternoon, they parted. The dragon left for his meeting with the Lady, and the villagers began to reassemble their lives. Tristan’s company headed towards their final destination. It had been a long, strange journey but their greatest test lay at its end: the Challenge.