The Return of Cathos (Tales of the Silver Sword Inn, Complete Collection One)

by Wilson Harp

  Horas pulled it off of the bloated corpse’s wrist and stuffed it with the other in his pocket.

  “I think we need to head back now,” he said as he looked at the overcast night.

  Lendin nodded. The wind and rain had eased up right before the fight and had stopped altogether by the time he had gone to clean up by the river, but it was still well past sunset and with both of them injured it would take some time to make it back to town.

  “Will the wolves be out tonight?” Horas asked as they made it across the shallows.

  “I don’t think so,” said Lendin. “At least I hope not.”

  They trudged on in silence, each replaying the battle in his mind. A stumble would make Lendin gasp in pain, and Horas would occasionally become dizzy, and this slowed their progress through the woods. Eventually they made the road to Black Oak and sighed a bit of relief. While they were tired and wet and bloody, they were also almost home.

  As they neared the Silver Sword Inn, both young men were exhausted. The moon had peeked through the thinning clouds on the way, and they knew it was getting close to midnight.

  “I hope those orcs had enough coin for us to stay the night at the inn,” Horas said.

  “I could do with a warm meal as well,” Lendin added.

  The candles in the common room still burned as they opened the door. A couple of farmers were playing a game of nine men’s morris in a corner table, and Croft was making notes in his ledger.

  “Croft, we need a room,” Horas said as they came in.

  “Blast son, you need more than that,” Croft said as he hurried across the common room.

  The two farmers left their game and went over to the young men. They eased Lendin down onto a trestle bench by a long table as Croft took pains to carefully examine the back of Horas’ head.

  “The back of your head is covered in blood, but I don’t feel any break in the bone,” Croft said finally. “How is Lendin?”

  “It’s a nasty cut,” one of the farmers said, “fairly deep and jagged. He will need some help to make sure it doesn’t get rotten.”

  “Magda! Bring your herbs. Cassie! Bring a bucket of water and some clean rags,” Croft called.

  “Thank you Croft,” Horas said simply.

  “Don’t you worry, son. Looks like you found your orcs after all.” Croft helped ease Horas into a chair by a table.

  “We sure did,” Horas said as Magda came into the room holding a leather case. Cassie was right behind her with a bucket of water and gasped when she saw the bloodied men.

  “Don’t stand there gaping, girl; get over here and clean the back of his head,” Croft said as he looked over Horas for any other injuries.

  Horas pulled the burlap sack from his belt and set it on the table. “The orcs had some coin, but we didn’t get a chance to count it,” he said as he untied the sack.

  “Here are the two knives,” said Lendin.

  Croft went over and took them from him. Magda was making a poultice with her herbs, and the farmers were standing around watching what was happening.

  Croft looked over the knives as he came back to the table.

  Horas winced as Cassie started cleaning the back of his head. “Let’s see if they paid us enough to rent a room,” he said as he turned up the sack. A good handful of coins spilled out. Most were copper, as they expected, but more than a dozen silver coins and four gold coins were in the mix.

  “Lendin, we could stay here for a week,” Horas laughed. “We made more tonight than either of us has ever made in a month.”

  Lendin smiled, and then yelped as Magda started filling his wound with her medicine.

  “Well, you men have had your first adventure,” Croft said looking at both of them. “Was it worth it?”

  Lendin’s eyes travelled to his wound, to the back of Horas’ head, and then up to the axe hanging above the bar. He slowly shook his head.

  Horas stared at the small pile of silver and gold coins he was manipulating in front of him. “It was well worth it.”

  The Crimson Toads

  “Hail and well met!”

  The door to the common room swung open, and in stepped a large, rough dressed man. His voice sounded cheerful and sincere, which only made him look more sinister than if he had remained silent. Behind him came a bare shadow of a man in comparison, dressed as finely as a merchant. He quickly looked around the room, eyes pausing only on the large axe hanging above the bar.

  “Croft?” the large man called, squinting as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine outside.

  The room had around a dozen men eating lunch and lounging from their morning’s work. Cassie, the serving girl, was bringing a platter of roast pork to a table of travelers who had arrived the night before and would be leaving to finish their journey the next day.

  “Yes, yes, coming,” Croft called from the kitchen. A few seconds later the innkeeper appeared drying his hands on the towel he normally kept tossed over his shoulder.

  “Martel!” he exclaimed as he saw the large man blocking the door to his establishment. “Come in, come in, take a seat and I’ll have some lunch brought out.”

  Martel and the smaller man moved over to where Croft was quickly wiping off a table. “Good to see you, old friend!” said Martel.

  “You as well. You are looking fit. What has you near Black Oak?” Croft asked as the men embraced.

  “Well, that is a story, and my throat is a little dry,” Martel said, a wide smile splitting his thick beard.

  “Still trying to cheat poor innkeepers out of free drinks?” Croft exclaimed in mock despair as he headed to the bar to get some beer for his dusty guests.

  “Better make sure to bring four mugs, Croft. We have another seeing to the horses outside,” Martel said as he and his friend sat at the table.

  “No, no, I can’t sit and drink with you Martel. I have an inn to run,” said Croft as he started filling a mug.

  “Bring four. Baldric is coming in,” Martel responded with a smile.

  “He’s paying for what he drinks, you know that, right? I can’t afford to fill him up,” Croft said as he grabbed a fourth mug.

  The door to the common room opened again, and in walked a dwarf, dirty and sweaty from the day’s ride. His steel helmet and chain armor, well fitted and worn, stood out in sharp contrast to the clothing of the farmers and woodsmen who sat staring at him.

  “Well, did he agree?” the dwarf asked, staring at Croft.

  “I told you, we are not here to get him to come with us, Baldric. He has hung up his axe and wants to run an inn,” Martel said.

  Baldric looked at the axe hanging above the bar and walked over to where Martel was seated. “I see he hung it up, but he still keeps it in reach. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  Croft came over to the table and put the four mugs down. “You are right Baldric, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. But my answer would be no all the same.” He looked up at his old axe and smiled. “I think it adds character to the place.”

  Baldric sat and picked up a mug. “I would think you would change the sign out front. The Silver Sword Inn should be called the Steel Axe Inn or Croftholm or something clever like that.”

  “The Silver Sword Inn is a well-known name; it wouldn’t serve me changing that,” Croft responded.

  Baldric set down the half empty mug. “At least your beer is as good as old Mancorl’s was.”

  Croft laughed and took a seat at the table. “About five years ago, right after we tried to kill those trolls for that merchant captain… uh… what was his name?”

  “Pelos.” Martel provided.

  “That was it!” Croft slapped the table. “After Captain Pelos hired us to clear out that cave of trolls…”

  “And you took that spear in the leg,” Baldric said as he picked up a second mug.

  “I was getting to that. Anyway, I was laid up for a month here, and Mancorl taught me how he brewed his beer. I took notes, and when I reopened the place, I was able to figure it out.�
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  “You took notes?” Baldric asked

  “Yes,” said Croft. “Some of us know how to read and write.”

  “Never saw a use for it,” Baldric said finishing off his second mug.

  Croft stood and looked at Baldric. “You’re paying for your beer, you know that?”

  Baldric looked hurt and then pulled out a gold coin and set it on the table with a grin. “Keep bringing it.”

  Croft started to turn and then stopped and looked at the third man sitting at the table. “I’m so sorry, I never introduced myself. I’m Croft, the proprietor of the Silver Sword Inn. Welcome.”

  “Thank you, my name is Delacour, and I recently met up with Martel and Baldric,” the thin man said.

  “We needed someone who could watch a building for us for a few days. He certainly has the skills for that,” Martel added.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Let me get some more beer for Baldric, and some roast pork for lunch,” Croft said. He turned from the men and walked into the kitchen.

  The adventurers settled back into their chairs, grateful for this break in their journey.

  “So this is where we turn south?” asked Delacour.

  “Yes,” responded Martel. “There is an old wagon trail that will lead us out into the Willow Bog. That will eventually turn into the Lower Salt Swamp, and we should find plenty of toads down there.”

  “Exactly how big are these frogs?” Delacour asked.

  “Toads, not frogs,” Baldric answered.

  “What?”

  “They are toads, not frogs.”

  Delacour started laughing. “It’s the same thing. Toads and frogs are just two different words for the same animal.”

  “No, frogs are smooth-skinned and live in the water. Toads are warty and live on the land,” Baldric insisted.

  “It doesn’t matter, Baldric,” Martel said, clearly having heard all of this before.

  “What doesn’t matter?” asked Croft as he carried a platter of pork and set it down on the table. Cassie was behind him with a tray laden with mugs of beer and plates.

  “Don’t…,” begged Martel.

  “We are hunting some Crimson Toads,” answered Baldric.

  “Those frogs with the red throats down in the Lower Salt Swamp?” Croft asked as he took three plates from Cassie and set them in front of the adventurers.

  “Toads. They are toads, not frogs,” said Baldric as he cut off a piece of the pork and popped it into his mouth.

  “It’s the same thing,” said Croft as he set down two more mugs of beer in front of Baldric.

  Martel dropped his head and slowly shook it back and forth.

  “It’s not the same thing. Frogs are smooth-skinned and live in the water. Toads are warty and live on the land,” replied Baldric. Delacour kept laughing.

  Croft shrugged. “What are you hunting them for?”

  Martel looked up and sighed. “Do you remember Ermine? Of course you do, who could forget her. Well, she took up with some wizard in Gen named Namos. We were talking the other day over drinks, and he mentioned that he was having some problems with an experiment. Seems he can’t find the right kind of acid for something or another.”

  Croft sat down as Cassie took the empty mugs away.

  “So further on in the evening, he mentions this type of toad that spits a very corrosive acid. Ermine says, ‘That sounds like those toads we ran across that one time!’ and all of a sudden we are in a serious discussion about getting some of this toad acid for Namos,” Martel continued.

  “I’m guessing the pay will be nice?” Croft asked.

  “Yeah, real nice.” Martel pulled a wrapped package from his belt pouch. He untied the leather cord holding it together to reveal a small crystal bottle wrapped in heavy fur. He held the bottle up so Croft could see.

  “That won’t hold much acid, will it? And how will you get the acid in there?” Croft asked.

  Baldric dropped a pair of gloves on the table. “Enchanted. Supposed to protect against any form of acid. Namos wants them back at the end, but he was kind enough to loan them to me.”

  Martel nodded. “We figure if we can kill the toads without rupturing the acid glands we can get enough acid to fill the bottles.”

  Croft thought about it for a few seconds. “How much would you say that holds?”

  Martel shrugged. “Maybe half a pint, maybe a bit less. He gave us six bottles in all.”

  “And the acid won’t eat through it?” Croft asked.

  “No, and the stopper is enchanted to not release unless the word is given. So no spills either,” Martel responded.

  “How much?” Croft asked quietly.

  Baldric looked around the room. “Remember what we got paid for getting those horses back for Arthur?”

  “That much?” Croft asked, clearly impressed.

  “Per bottle,” Martel added.

  Croft whistled low and stared wide eyed at the bottle. They had been paid 500 gold coins by Lord Arthur for the return of his stallions. A split of 3,000 gold coins was almost enough to consider joining them. But he had made a promise.

  “When will you leave?” Croft asked, standing back up.

  “As soon as the horses are rested,” Martel said.

  “If you need anything else, I’m going to be inn keeping,” Croft said as he looked around at his emptying common room.

  “I could use two more beers,” Baldric answered between bites.

  A couple of hours later, the small group of adventurers had finished their lunch and had spread all of their equipment and weapons out across several tables. They had drawn crude maps of where they were going and had consulted Croft at various times about where certain landmarks were along the old south wagon trail.

  Finally, Martel was satisfied with their preparations and they started repacking satchels and pouches. Each would carry two of the bottles, and each would take turns carrying the supply backpack. They didn’t intend to be gone too long, but if they got stuck in the swamp overnight, a tent and some camp supplies would make their stay more comfortable.

  “Reserve us a room, Croft. We should be back early enough to not wake you,” Martel said as they were leaving.

  “Don’t worry about that, Martel, just try not to get into trouble,” Croft said as he watched his friend walk out the door.

  The three adventurers mounted on their horses and started down the old south wagon trail.

  “So, you and Croft go back a ways?” Delacour asked as they settled into a nice riding pace.

  “Almost fourteen years now,” said Martel. “I recruited him into the Blue Badgers. He and I are the only ones left of that mercenary company.”

  “What about you, Baldric? How long have you known him?” Delacour inquired as he shielded his eyes from the bright sun.

  “Almost seven years now, I guess. I was working for Arthur of the Black Marsh at the time, supervising the building of a dam near his new tower. Some local horse thieves stole two of his prized stallions and he posted a reward for their return. Met Martel, Croft and Ermine at the local pub as we were all staring at the reward posting. Went with them and found out it was more fun and profitable than working stone.”

  Delacour looked back at Baldric. “You were staring at the reward posting? I thought you couldn’t read?”

  “I can read money, stupid,” Baldric spat as he continued. “Anyway, took to wearing armor and carrying this here warhammer, and now I guess I have been an adventurer for seven years.”

  Delacour nodded. “How big are these things? I don’t think I ever got an answer to that.”

  “They are about a foot tall, about twice as big around. Almost black in color with a bright red throat,” Martel explained.

  “Do they hunt with their acid?” Delacour asked.

  “No, that wouldn’t work for them. The acid burns too quickly and will dissolve anything they hit with it,” Martel said.

  “Then why do they have it?”

  “Croft has a theor
y. There are these certain worms in the swamp, and they produce this incredibly sticky and nasty goo in pools and gullies. Anything that wanders into this goo gets stuck there and the worms start feasting on them. Nasty things, about a foot long and a good inch to inch and a half thick. They have a mouth like a leech, but burrow into the flesh instead of sucking the blood.”

  Delacour stared at him. “Are you joking me? How do you know this?”

  “Took two of our horses when we were travelling through the swamp.” Martel shrugged uncomfortably at the memory. “So, Croft thinks the toads use this acid to escape from the goo if they get stuck in it. They get stuck, they spit some acid, it dissolves the goo, and they can hop away.”

  “We are leaving the horses somewhere before we go in the swamp, I take it?”

  Martel nodded. “There is a small ruined stone building right near where the bog turns into the swamp. We will leave the horses there and go looking for the toads.”

  The rest of the afternoon the adventurers rode silently down the trail. Eventually the land all around them turned marshy, and small clumps of willow trees were seen in all directions. Finally they came to a ridge. The green and fertile marsh lands suddenly ended in a dark and fetid swamp just ahead of them. Martel turned and looked in both directions up and down the ridge before finally turning to the east and leading them another mile or so.

  “There are the ruins,” Martel said as they made their way through a small stand of willows. He dismounted and led his horse over to the pile of stones.

  “We can let them graze here,” he said, dropping his mare’s reins.

  Delacour and Baldric dismounted as well, and Baldric took the backpack from his horse.

  “We can all take turns, Baldric,” Martel said.

  “If I get tired, then you can take it. But you need to be able to throw the net, and Delacour has his sling,” Baldric said.

  He looked over at Delacour and shook his head. “You are going to ruin your pretty clothes out there.”

  “I’ll be fine­dirt washes out. You might want to experiment with that one day yourself,” Delacour shot back to the dwarf.

  “At least put on some boots. Those soft leather slippers you have are going to come off in this muck,” Baldric insisted.