Astrid held up her hand to Harvey and scowled. Harvey shut up. “Why were you on the Toll Road with your family, Pleth?” Astrid asked.
Pleth hung his head. “I was dispossessed for lying to the Commissioner. Do you think Argan will take my family in when I’m gone?”
Astrid smiled and put her hand on Pleth’s shoulder. “Nobody is going to kill you,” she said. “Even though it could be very satisfying.”
Pleth stood there trembling. Tears streamed down his dirt-caked face. “Wha-what?” he blubbered.
“Bull-fucking-shit!” Harvey yelled. “After they hung Alisa from a fucking lamp post, we deserve to take this fucker out! I want revenge!”
“No,” Astrid said, moving over to Harvey. She spoke to him in the same, calm, even tones she used on Pleth. “I know your anger, believe me. You don’t have to take every chance at revenge. That’s what makes evil. That’s not who the bandits are. I know that now. I’d die before I’d see the woods people turn evil.”
“You don’t know us at all if you think we’re going to let this shit stain walk away,” Harvey sneered. The other bandits stepped forward and placed their hands on their weapons.
“My husband is a good man,” Pleth’s wife spoke for the first time.
“No, I’m not, my love. Not by a long shot, but I love you, I—” Pleth said.
“Listen to your husband,” Janet said. “He’s right about that. Loving you and his kids doesn’t make him a ‘good man.’”
“Maybe not,” Astrid said. “But it’s a start. And believe me, he will not go unpunished. He will pay for how he’s treated Argan. If you kill him, he can only pay once for what he’s done. Let him live, and he can keep making up for his crimes.”
Pleth stood there, weeping with his double chin tucked into his chest.
Harvey spat on the ground. Astrid could tell she had almost won him over, but he had to save face. “If he doesn’t pay, I’ll kill him myself. You hear that, you fat turd?”
Pleth just muttered “Yes,” while Astrid untied him.
“Untie the woman,” Astrid said. “You are?” she asked.
“I am Karla,” she said.
“Things won’t be easy for you, Karla,” Astrid said. “You will be treated fairly. That is my guarantee. So will your husband, but that means something very different for him.”
Astrid squatted down on her hams in front of the two terrified children and smiled. “Don’t you two worry about a thing. You’re safe now. My friends and I will make sure you stay that way.”
“Don’t hurt my daddy,” the little girl said, crossing her arms. The boy tried to make his toughest face.
“You are good kids, I can tell,” Astrid said. “Nobody’s going to hurt your daddy. He’s just got a lot of work to do.”
Astrid stood and pulled Pleth over to his wife and children. “You and your husband can earn your keep by helping with the harvest.”
Pleth shook his head. “Harvest.” He looked confused. “Harvest is over.”
“There was another one,” Astrid said.
“A second harvest? I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Astrid said.
They marched the Pleth family up the hill to Argan. Harvey, Janet, and Dooley grumbled the whole way.
They came out of the woods and marched into the village square. Word traveled quickly that Pleth and his family had returned to Argan Village. The people came to see him with tools held in white-knuckled hands.
Pleth forgot his situation for a moment and marveled at the piles of unprocessed beets, rye, and oats. “The crops grew again?” he marveled.
Astrid grabbed the first young boy she could find. “Go find Popova and tell her to come to me fast. Hurry!”
The boy took off running.
“What is this, Astrid!” Dominic the shepherd shouted. “Dooley here tells me you invited him to stay? What is wrong with you!”
“Dominic, I can explain,” Astrid tried to say, but the shouting drowned her out. The crowd closed in.
Harvey laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He grinned at Astrid. “I should have told you,” he shouted above the voices. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Astrid’s blood went cold. Vinnie came up beside her, followed by Tarkon, Moxy, and Gormer. They formed a line. Pleth pulled his family behind the line. To his credit, he stepped out in front of Astrid and hung his head as he trembled.
“Stop it!” A shrill voice pierced the din. “You should be ashamed of yourselves!” As quickly as the sea of voices rose, it fell again. “Nobody is angrier than me at this person!” Popova said.
She touched the scar on her forehead and shoved Dominic back. She pushed back several more people before the crowd backed off.
“It doesn’t matter who he is. This village does not turn away people in need. Especially not children! We are not like him.”
Many people looked convinced, and nobody had the gumption to question their Elder.
“Thank you, Elder Popova,” Astrid said.
“You’ve brought me a challenge, Astrid,” Popova whispered. “Lucky for you, I like challenges.”
Astrid breathed a sigh of relief.
“This woman and these children are our guests and you will treat them as such. As for this man,” Popova said with no small amount of contempt. “You will work for your place here. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Elder. I understand. Thank you… ” Pleth blubbered.
“Don’t thank me yet, Pleth,” Popova said. “I suspect you’re not a man who knows hard work.”
“I grew up in a village,” Pleth blurted out.
“And here I thought you’d never surprise me,” Popova said. She grabbed his hands. And examined them. “Soft as a baby’s bum. You’re going to have blisters again. It might do you some good.” Popova pointed to the outside kitchen that was set up to feed the harvest workers. “You and your family go get yourselves something to eat, then you get to work.”
“I—I’ll work now—” Pleth said.
“Nonsense,” Popova said. “You can hardly stand. When’s the last time you ate?”
“Two days ago,” Karla said. “Some travelers on the road took pity on us, but Julius refused to eat so the children could get another meal.”
“Ha!” Gormer laughed. “Pleth’s name is ‘Julius.’ Who’d of thought… ”
“Is that supposed to impress me?” Dooley sneered. “He loves his kids, but doesn’t care if ours starve.”
“It does impress me,” Popova said. Turning to Pleth and his family, she said, “I’ll take you to eat. You’ll need your strength.” She took Pleth by the arm and pulled him through the crowd.
Some of the villagers glared at Astrid, who stared back and said, “You better not cause trouble. Do what Popova told you, or you’ll have to answer to me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” one woman said as she walked by. “I’ll make sure they’ll be OK here. Everybody deserves a second chance.”
“The rest will come around,” Astrid said. “I’ll make sure of that.”
Charlie ambled out of the fields with two bushel-baskets of hot peppers under his arms. They had saved harvesting the peppers for last because with all the crops gathered, they still had nowhere to store everything.
The barrel maker and his family had already built all the containers they could. They were busy crafting more of the raw materials that would let them build more.
“The extra crops are great,” Gormer said. “But what the hell are we going to do with sixteen bushels of hot peppers?”
“That’s the least of our worries,” Astrid said. “They can let the hot peppers rot. Even with the extra labor from the bandits and the trade with Blue Creek and Torvina, we can’t get rid of the crops we already have. We’ve already given George’s tribe a year’s supply of rye and oats.”
“Maybe we should haul them down south,” Tarkon said. “If it’s as bad as Sally said, I’m sure some of the villages would be grateful for ex
tra grains.”
“Vicious circle,” Gormer observed. “They have to separate the oats and rye first and there are no more barrels to carry the stuff down there.”
“Just load it on the wagons,” Tarkon said. “Just like it is.”
Gormer fixed Tarkon with an annoyed stare. “You haven’t spent much time on a farm, have you? See that big pile over there?” Gormer pointed to a mound of unprocessed oats twice as tall as Astrid.
Tarkon nodded.
“About a quarter of that pile is shit you can eat. The rest is stalk and husk. It needs to be threshed. We’d have to take twenty wagons to get the equivalent of one barrel of oats. The villages just aren’t prepared to store the food they grow. The whole system is designed for the villages to ship most of their production to the keeps, then the fortress. The keeps have silos and warehouses. But now, we’re keeping the profits for ourselves.”
“I didn’t know all that. I’m a warrior, not a farmer,” he said, defensively.
“We’ll ask around,” Astrid said. “Maybe some of the other villages have empty barrels. What we really need is a silo.”
“Maybe down south they have barrels to spare,” Gormer said. “One thing’s for sure. If those oats aren’t processed in the next few days, they’ll go bad.”
Vinnie had been silent throughout the whole conversation. Astrid noticed he had stepped away from the others and stared at the piles of hot peppers with his hands on his hips.
“You hungry for those hot peppers, fat boy?” Gormer asked.
Vinnie casually flipped Gormer the middle finger. Still staring at the peppers, he said. “I have something better in mind. I’m staying here. Good luck on the raid.” He walked off fast toward the scribe’s workshop.
“He’s bailing on us?” Gormer asked. “That’s weird.”
Astrid shook her head. “Who knows what goes on in that brain of his.”
After a quick noon meal, Astrid and the rest—minus Vinnie—pitched in with threshing the rye and oats. The village had resorted to storing the grains in a sort of corral built out of fence posts and sackcloth. They would lose a bit this way to exposure to the elements and mice, but it was better than leaving the grains on the ground.
Astrid was amused that Pleth and his wife made a point to work beside her. The other villagers didn’t exactly treat the couple cordially. They backed off when they saw Astrid was perfectly willing to work with them.
What surprised Astrid most was that Pleth literally kept his head down and on his work. He wasn’t nearly as productive as the rest, but he worked as hard as he could, even when blisters appeared on his hands. By the time they were done, Astrid saw his hands were red and raw.
At the end of the workday, Astrid skipped dinner and ended up crawling into her sleeping loft above Popova’s kitchen early. She always slept well after a full day of work.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
On The Road to the Southern District
Astrid woke before dawn and met Gormer, Moxy, and Tarkon at the stables. They prepared the horses without words. She had asked Harvey, Dooley, and Janet to ride with them. The bandits showed up looking bleary-eyed and sluggish.
Astrid wanted the bandits along because they made excellent guides, and she didn’t want them in Argan where they could stir up trouble. They were still very vocal about having Pleth and his family in town.
As they rode out, Astrid noticed that someone was already at work at the barrel-maker shop.
They rode hard through the forest and got to the camp an hour or two after dawn. There, they found a sizable party waiting for them.
Sally rode next to George, who divided his amorous stares evenly between Astrid and Sally. She had never been anything like a cupid, but she hoped to find ways to shift the balance of George’s stares completely over to Sally.
It was decided that Woody would stay behind and manage the mixed patrols they had organized to monitor movements of Jank’s men. So far, they hadn’t ventured too far into the forest. But with the steady buildup of men at Keep 52, they had a feeling that might change soon. Astrid felt the risk of going down south while a raid on Argan occured was a growing possibility.
“This is taking forever,” Sally complained. “These hunting trails will take twice as long to get to the Southern District.”
“Are you seriously suggesting we take the Toll Road?” George asked.
“Yes,” Sally replied. “We have twenty-five fighters with us. We can take whatever guards we see.”
“We don’t know that,” Astrid stated. “And anyway, we’re not set up for that kind of fighting. We’ll lose some people and so will they.”
Sally looked around, then shrugged her shoulders. “My people don’t mind the risk.”
“Mine do,” George said flatly.
They stuck to the back paths and reached the Southern District by mid-morning. The Toll Road followed the river where the land was lower, but aside from that, it was much the same. The ancient Carpathian Mountains rose all around them, and the forest was thick.
“Now what?” Astrid asked.
“Now, we wait,” George said. He ordered his bandits to scout the road while Astrid and the rest surveyed the immediate area.
“We’re above the road here,” Astrid observed.
“The high ground is good for an ambush,” Tarkon observed.
Gormer slipped off his horse and wandered away, mumbling over his shoulder, “I gotta piss.”
He came back a few minutes later walking like his knees were made of rubber. Astrid knew he went off to get high.
“The sightlines are fucked here,” George observed. “Can’t see around that bend.” He pointed west where the Toll Road followed the turning river.
As they watched, two of the scouts came tearing around the corner.
“What the hell… ” Astrid said.
“That doesn’t look good,” Gormer observed, almost casually. He climbed back on his horse with glassy eyes and a stupid grin on his face.
The scouts drove their horses at suicidal speed up the tiny uphill trail they had taken earlier. They reached the ridge where the bulk of the party waited for their report.
“I don’t think they spotted us,” one of the scouts said, jumping off his horse. He climbed a tree for better visibility.
“Where are the others?” George asked in alarm.
“They ran the other way. I told them to meet us back at Brown Creek,” the first scout said.
“Brown creek?” Tarkon exclaimed. “That’s ten miles back the way we came.”
“I figured you’d want to be leaving,” the scout said.
The one up the tree hollered back down. “They’re coming!”
“Who?” Astrid shot barked out in frustration.
“All of them,” the tree scout said as he scrambled down.
That’s when they heard the rumbling of many hooves. Their horses galloped in tight formation, four in a row. The lead horse carried a black pendant flag with the coins and daggers symbol of Jank’s Compliance Company.
Astrid counted a hundred-twenty riders in all. They wore heavier armor than the rest of Jank’s troops and carried long swords, and every one of them carried a crossbow.
“Elite troops,” Tarkon said. “They’re on a mission.”
“No shit; that’s not good,” Sally said. ”Those are his highest-paid mercenaries. They usually guard the borders and do wetwork outside the Protectorate.”
“Wetwork?” Astrid asked.
“Assassinations, sabotage, kidnapping,” George answered. “The kind of fuckery even bandits don’t do.”
“They’re heading north,” Astrid said. “Do you think they’re heading to Argan?”
“Not straight away,” George said. “But I bet that’s their final stop.”
“But where are they coming from? Jank’s main operation is on the other side of the District.”
“They looked fresh,” George said.
“Where’s the nearest village?” Astrid
said with chills running down her spine.”
Sally looked at George. They both shook their heads in unison, then turned to Astrid with hard faces.
“Fuck you,” Sally said flatly. She wasn’t joking.
“What? What’s up your ass?” Astrid said, setting her jaw.
“You made me give a shit what happens to these villages,” Sally said.
“That’s on you,” Astrid said. “Your fault for realizing what’s right. Also, you know you have the skillset to do something about it. So, shut the fuck up and lead the way.”
“Bitch,” Sally said. She cursed more, but Astrid knew it was just a vent. She was scared for what they might find.
George turned to the tree scout. “Go meet the other scouts. They’ll be better-rested while waiting for you. Tell them both to ride like their assholes are on fire. One goes to the hideaway, the other to Argan. Tell them to be ready for trouble. Once you send them off, I want you to meet them there and stay safe. No sense sending three on a dangerous errand. Go!”
Sally tossed the scout another water skin and more food for his horse. The skinny man took off over the ridge.
“What about me?” the other scout said.
“Sorry, Wally,” George said. “You’re our crossbow fodder. We need you to ride up ahead and warn us if anyone’s coming.”
“Warn you by not coming back, you mean,” Wally said.
Astrid looked shocked before she realized it was a game between the two.
“No,” George replied. “You’ll come back. Annoying little fucksticks like you always do. Get on it, then.”
The worried look on George’s face contrasted with the ‘don’t give a shit’ tone.
Tarkon moved his horse closer to Astrid. “Gormer is high,” he growled. “We should leave him.”
“I thought about it,” Astrid said. “But we still need him.”
Moxy listened in on the conversation closely and eyed Gormer with interest. “I may have something for him when we get back to camp,” she said.
They set off down the trail to the Toll Road. They had no choice but to ride the main thoroughfare for a while until they found a side trail on the other side of the river. They crossed a rickety rope bridge one at a time. It slowed them down.
Knight's Creed: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Tales of the Wellspring Knight Book 1) Page 17
