by Lee LaCroix
“Silence!” Garreth bellowed as he circled his sword high in the air.
The head poked out of the window to parley with the mob was met with a chorus of flying knives hurled in the general direction. Some knives danced stiff with their blades sunken into the wooden window frame, and others made cracks in the windows like spider webs.
“Cease fire!” Garreth yelled again as he raised both hands in attempts to calm the crowd.
He couldn’t blame them though. He had only used the strong, political rhetoric that he had learned from Berault, and the people of Bouldershade had been riled into a frenzy. When the yells had ceased and the ranged bombardment concluded, the head peeked out of the window again.
“I see you have us surrounded!” the voice called out.
The Blackwoods orator who had visited Vemsdower residence glared at the crowd.
“We withdraw!” the man called out before slamming the window.
The crowd erupted again and began to slam upon the door. Before long, the axes, hatchets, and pickaxes had shattered the barred door, and Garreth, Novas, and Domminal forced their way through with their blades drawn. The inside of the inn was destroyed. Every leg of each chair and each table was broken. Every bench was hewn to pieces. The bar was left with splintering crevices, and the bricking around the fireplace had been chipped and cracked. The painted tapestries had been torn and burnt, and the few animal busts had been notched and sliced in the crudest of manners. There was a great deal of swearing as the village folk withheld the destruction. Yves was found bound and gagged in the cellar, parched and exhausted. As he entered what was left of his inn, he became downcast and fretful.
“Those villains! After everything I did for them. I can’t believe there was a modicum of respect between us or some amount of trust. I was a fool to believe they’d honour their purchases and look!” Yves stammered as he moved over to the bar. “All the coin is gone too!”
With her dark lengths of hair twirling in the gentle breeze, Ilsa stood on the north edge of town as the sky’s overcast covering began to redden and darken with the falling of the sun. Soon, the three men joined her outside as she stared off into the distance.
“I saw a great deal of them take off north after the baldy one quit the window. They obviously fled out the backdoor when they saw us coming. They got in their wagons, whipped their horses and left. Back to Deepshine, I’d presume. I could see the clouds of dust and hear the creaking of wood as they made their escape,” Ilsa said as she pointed north.
“Let’s hope this keeps them out. We’ll have to spread the word and tell the people that the Bouldershine crossing is safe for travelers again,” Garreth stated.
Ilsa turned back to them and wandered back in the direction of the Sundowner.
“They brought all those workers here for a reason. They wanted this land and they wanted what was inside my family’s mine. I doubt they will stay away for long. Next time, they’ll bring enough men to oppress us all. Or worse, they’ll leave this place a ghost town,” Ilsa vowed.
The three men caught up to her and walked in rank. Ilsa still seemed perturbed despite their victory. As they all entered the bar, the townsfolk were helping Yves clean out the rubble from the Blackwoods occupation. Splinters of wood, bundles of torn cloth, and crates of broken glass all began to pile not far from the inn’s entrance. The men continued to haul out the wreckage while the women continued to clean and sweep at the paltry matters.
“At least they left the beds. Those cots were always the most expensive, all that feather and wool,” Yves proclaimed before looking over the ground floor with a sigh.
Although not much remained after all was cleaned out, the fireplace remained usable and filled the inn with inviting warmth.
“I’m assuming they didn’t find my parents here,” Ilsa asked Yves as he polished the remainder of the bar with a rag.
“No, my dear. They were never here, but I heard them once days ago. Your mother’s screams and your father’s barking voice, I heard them very clearly from outside. I tried to go look, but the Blackwoods wouldn’t let me outside. They kept me prisoner here. I remember hearing their voices fade to nothing, and the sounds of horses whipped and carriage wheels creaking,” Yves recollected as he rested his elbows against the bar.
“I see. Thank you for that, Yves, and thank you for staying brave. You deserved much better,” Ilsa told him as she took his hands in her own.
Yves bowed his flushed head and pursed his lips. Ilsa gave his hands one last squeeze and returned to Garreth and company who were standing around the fireplace.
“It has only been a few days, but change has been happening quickly since we overthrew the Blackwoods in Amatharsus. I’d like to borrow a horse for Domminal here, so we can get in contact with the Crown Aegis and hopefully receive some reinforcements and further orders. Could you assist us in this matter, Ilsa?” Garreth explained as he warmed his hands at the fire.
Ilsa nodded, motioned towards the door of the inn, and then left to go speak with what remained of the village folk. After conferring with the crowd for some moments, a man slipped away from the crowd, and Ilsa returned to the three men.
“Greggor has offered a horse to you, he will be along shortly,” Ilsa told them and then pointed to the man who passed through the town center.
Garreth nodded in response and moved to address the remaining crowd.
“For all those with swords or an interest in defending yourself and this town, I will be putting on a training lesson just south of town tomorrow at noon. If any of you have bows or a talent in archery, my son Novas can assist you in furthering your skills. Please, tell your family and your neighbours. I’m not sure when the Blackwoods will be back, but I know this will not be the end of them. If they do return, you should be ready,” Garreth boomed over the entirety of the crowd.
There was a general consensus that this was a good idea, based on the amount of yay’s and nay’s heard, and then the townsfolk returned to conversing or left for their homes. The four waited outside the Sundowner for a spell, and then Greggor appeared coming up the road with a horse and reins. He was the same nervous man who had eyeballed Garreth outside of the stable, but he seemed to be less tense now that the Blackwoods occupation had concluded.
“Here you are, miss. I know it’s important but please take good care of her,” Greggor insisted as he pet the horse and scratched it behind the ears.
“We wouldn’t think of doing anything else, Greggor. Thank you for your kindness,” Ilsa assured him, taking the reins from Greggor and passing them to Domminal.
“Naturally,” Domminal replied with a nod, put his foot in the stirrups, and mounted the horse’s back.
Garreth looked into the sky and saw the rippling openings between the clouds. He slid a torch wrapped in cloth out of his pack and passed it to Domminal.
“Ride through the night and ride hard. I have no doubts you can make the capital before morning. If the moon does not grace you with its light, then let the torch guide you. Send Berault my regards and best of luck to you, ranger,” Garreth spoke.
“Very well,” Domminal said as he kicked the horse into motion with his heel, took off with a galloping speed through town, and then vanished beyond a bend in the road.
Luckily for Domminal, the murky sky was dragged to the other end of the world when the sun had gone down, so only smoky wisps remained in the sky. The worn stones sunken into the Great North Road shone with a polished reflection as the moonlight beamed upon them. Everywhere, the ridges of grasses, branches, and rock faces gleamed with an illuminated edge. Domminal had traveled in the dark before and was comfortable with his silent stealthing through the graveled plains and grassy hills, but the clopping of beating hooves kept him focused and alert. He knew no place in the kingdom was completely safe yet, and he sped the horse through the blackness of night.
Ilsa, Novas, and Garreth sat around the fireplace in the Sundowner, supped on some of the local brew from the Rusty Pickax
e, and finished off a bread and cheese platter offered up by some thankful citizens. Alongside a barrel of mead, the townsfolk had donated some chairs, serving tables, cloth ware for the main room and some bedside tables and fresh linens for the guest rooms. Yves spent the rest of his evening carving wooden pieces with a knife and fitting them into the notches of the vandalized bar. He left the pieces a bit oversized, giving them a lasting snugness. Perhaps the mismatched wood was peculiar, but the bar would take on a character of its own in due time.
“You’re all welcome to stay as long as you need. You’re all heroes to me. There’s a suite and a nice, soft bed for each of you. Just make sure you lock up before you head up,” Yves informed them with a nod, and he placed the inn key on the bar and began to ascend the stairs to his room.
“Goodnight Yves. Thank you again,” Ilsa called out as the innkeeper continued up the stairs.
“He seems to have settled down some. He was quite frantic when he was found,” Novas proclaimed as he stared around the inn.
“Yes, he seems to be doing better. He lost a lot in the last few days, but the people of this town will see him through. They have hardly ever been this united,” Ilsa added.
“It seems the people have this land have been so afraid to reach out to each other. Everyone has fallen upon hard times, and many are either too proud to ask for help or too scared. The Blackwoods have thrived off the division of our people for too long. Like their threats and their strong-arming, and how they pit the poor against the rich and the working against the wanderer. I can see why the hopeless and the isolated would join the ranks of the Blackwoods, with their morality set aside for personal survival,” Garreth recollected as he supped at his brew.
“While the footmen are the claws and fangs of their organization, it is truly their leaders who have created this air of desperation and have evoked fear and mistrust amongst their soldiers as well as their victims. Once, I am sure, these threats were all a tactic to safeguard their wealth and their position to make people believe they could not survive without the King and to make people give into the last resort. But the threat is now real for an army stands beyond the horizon and waits for our moment of absolute weakness,” Garreth continued as he weaved his hands together.
“But let me tell you. That moment of absolute weakness has passed. And every person we raise from the tyranny of Lord Vyse and his men is a person who will stand beside us in this coming conflict. Because every person has a burning hatred in their heart for the ones who have profited from the death of the King and those who use it to their advantage to lord unfairly over others. I know it, and you know it, and we’re beginning to show the people they don’t have to be victims to that any longer. When the persecuted people of this nation unite, we will have nothing to fear from the villains of this land or any place beyond the sea,” Garreth concluded and washed down the remainder of his drink.
Garreth felt he was talking to himself as much as he was talking to Ilsa and his son or even the fire perhaps. He felt something rise within his chest. Something both hot and empowering, and he needed words to make sense of that feeling in order to use it to its fullest potential. When he took his eyes off the flame, he noticed Ilsa gazing at him and Novas drifting into sleep. A peace came over him, and he settled back into his chair for a time.
“Humph, mhpm, hmmph…” Novas mumbled as he awoke from his brief sleep.
Garreth looked over and shook his son’s knee with his hand. Novas bobbed his head and rubbed at his eyes.
“I’m off to retire. See you on the morrow. Goodnight,” Novas said after he rose from the seat, clapping his hands on his father’s shoulder.
Ilsa gave Novas a short wave, and Garreth nodded at him.
“I’ll be along shortly. Sleep well,” Garreth spoke as his son trudged up the stairs.
Garreth spun the flagon of ale as if there was a sip in the bottom. He looked over at Ilsa, who met his gaze for a moment and then returned it to the fire.
“I suppose I could use some rest too. Inciting revolution often makes me quite keen for some deep rest,” Garreth explained with a grin.
“I can imagine. I will see you to your room,” Ilsa said with a smile.
Garreth rose stiff from his chair and threw some water upon the fire, letting the flames hiss and sputter in protest. When the fire had died, a faint light painted the room from the stairwell above and lit a path towards the door. Garreth set his mug upon the bar. Ilsa snatched the key upon the bar, walked over to the door to the inn, slid the key into its slot, and then turned it inside the lock. The loud lock slid into its place, and Ilsa pulled at the door handle just to be sure. Garreth waited at the stairway and watched her return from the door. They ascended the stairs together and turned into the hallway.
“Well. This is me,” Garreth whispered with a hand upon the door frame.
He opened the door to see a spacious room with a large bed and dresser with sitting and bedside tables. Ilsa passed by him and stopped at the doorway to the room across the hall.
“Well then. I’ll see you tomorrow, traveler,” Ilsa replied as she stared into his eyes, the faint light of the hallway lamp flashing in hers.
“See you,” Garreth concluded before entering the room and closing the door.
Garreth sighed as he put his pack in the corner of the room and lit the lantern next to his bed. He splashed some water from his canteen upon his face, through his hair, and on his body. He felt the raised ridges of scars along his arms that were completely healed but never forgotten. As he pulled himself into the linens of the bed, the mattress comforted him and embraced his form. This was indeed a suite, Garreth thought to himself. He was just about to turn out the light and retire when there was a creaking at the door. Garreth reached to his sword propped against the bedframe, but a familiar shadow entered the room before he had time to unsheathe it. As Garreth sat up in the bed, his bare muscles and the shaded ripples of his abdomen were revealed from the falling of linens.
“Garreth, I need your help,” Ilsa whispered as she stood in the corner of the dark room.
Garreth met her eyes with searching look, and she continued.
“I need your help to save my family. I know they’ve gone north. I know Vyse will be holding them to the north. In the Gold Acres or in Deepshine. I need them back so badly. They are all I have,” Ilsa pleaded in the dim light of the tiny flame.
“I see you are a great man. I saw it at my home, I saw it today in the streets, and I saw it today when I saw the flames in your eyes. Your words only assured me that you were the man to deliver my family, and all families, from hardship,” she continued.
“Please, join me with me. Tonight, we’ll make a fire in that bed that rivals even the great flame of the sky,” Ilsa offered.
Her calm and delicate voice uttered the words that turned Garreth’s heart alight. She ran her hands down the side of her fitting cloth of black, undoing the buckles and the strings with gentle motions. Her clothing fell away like shadow fleeing from new light. The stripes of moonlight beamed through the window and fell upon her pearlescent, white body. Her sleek curves reminded Garreth of the covering of snow on the rolling hilltops. As she approached the bed, Garreth blew out the light. No more intelligible words were uttered that night. There were only the gasps of excitement and the moans of their mutual pleasure.
Act Two
Chapter Six
The next day, Novas awoke sometime after sunrise. His head was sunken between the downy pillows, and the blankets were pulled up to his ears. He could not recall a time in his life when he had slept in a bed so soft, for the ones in the cabin or above the Salty Dog were of no comparison. Definitely, it had beaten sleeping on a sparsely clothed floor the night before. So, Novas soaked the comfort in. He extended his arms into the air and threw his legs over the side of the bed. When he was dressed, Novas had a look outside the window. The clouds had stayed fixed to the yesterday sun, the air around the earth was crisp without bite, and the sky was as
blue as one could ask for. The dancing leaves played in the street and were kicked up by a timid wind. Novas left the room with his canteen, quiver, and bow. He sauntered down the stairs with lightness in his step and was waved to the bar by Yves, who was conversing with two other men.
“Your father has left you some breakfast to mull over if you desire, young ranger,” Yves explained as he went behind the counter and pulled out a tray of bread, berries, and cheese.
Novas nodded to him and pulled the tray towards him, pocketing the assortment of berries and taking the wedge of cheese in one hand and the block of bread in the other.
“Thank you kindly, Yves. Be well,” Novas replied as he raised the bread in salutations and turned towards the door.
Hands full, he opened the door with his elbow, swung it open, and passed through.
The town seemed to be much more alive today to Novas. He could hear a din of conversation and activity as opposed to the idle silence and whistling winds of yesterday. Many villagers had taken to the street, walked in pairs or in groups, and were lost in conversation. Novas headed south towards the Rusty Pickaxe, eating at his bread and cheese with a true hunger, and made his way through the intersection at the center of the town. There was a group of workmen lifting squares of glass off a nearby wagon and fitting them into the window lattice of the Rusty Pickaxe, replacing the damage that had been done in the adventurers’ hurried escape. A pair of enthusiastic merchants had arrived in the town earlier that morning, a curio vendor and a game hunter, and they were hocking their wares to the interested villagers. While the game hunter’s wares were a necessity to some folks of the town, the curio vendor approached his customers like a bombast showman, enticing the crowd with clever remarks and flattery.
