by Krpoun, RW
“It would have been worse if the cultists had been able to carry out their plan,” the Threll reminded him. “We must do what we must do.”
“That is so,” Sleiger nodded. “And let us do it now.”
Two militia men covered each of the Forst house’s sides and back as the Mayor marched up to the front door, followed by Halabarian, the Doctor, and the remaining four militiamen. “There should be six inside: the four Forsts, and two servants,” Sleiger remarked after hammering on the door. He was reaching up to knock again when the bolt shot back and a sleepy maid looked out at them from the depths of a blanket wrapped about her shoulders.
“Stand aside, girl,” the Mayor pushed the maid to one side and entered, followed by the rest of the section; two of the militiamen and the Doctor carried lanterns which filled the foyer with light. “Right, you, guard this door. Doctor, examine this girl, and then the other maid, their room is back off the kitchen, Kahn go with him.” The Mayor gestured to the Town Clerk. “The rest of you follow me, wait, you with the lantern, light a couple of those candles in that holder so the foyer guard has light. Good, now let’s go.”
A few minutes later the section gathered in the foyer again, accompanied by Jolla, Edmund, and Hansine Forst. The two young people were silent but Jolla Forst, the brewer’s wife, was somewhat alarmed, and very vocal about it.
“Neither of the maids,” Drewes announced as the Forsts filed down the stairs.
“Neither of the maids what, Rudolf? Really, what is going on, sir?” Jolla was a large woman, tall enough so that she could look most of the men in the room in the eye.
“We have discovered that there is a proscribed cult in and around Hohenfels, Jolla,” Sleiger began wearily. “We have killed five and captured six so far. The cultists are identifiable by tattoos required by their faith. The Doctor shall examine you and your daughter while one of my men sees to Edmund.”
“You can’t really believe that we could be involved in such a thing?”
“I have my doubts, Jolla, but we have to check, as Friedrich’s name keeps coming up in connection with this entire debacle. By the way, where is your husband tonight?”
Jolla’s face was calm, even serene. “I wouldn’t know, exactly; no doubt about an honest man’s business, which is far more than I could say about the rest of you. You always were an upstart, Rudolf Sleiger, and I’ll be damned before I let your weasel of an herb-crusher see me naked, nor my daughter either.”
The mayor shook his head tiredly. “Put them in chains. Kill any who resist.”
Jolla opened her mouth, then closed it as crossbows were carefully aimed. She stood in stony silence as manacles were fastened to her wrists and ankles.
“Right, Kahn, lift up young Edmund’s night shirt, that’ll do. No doubt as to which side of the line you stand upon, lad; it’ll be a shame to see you hang for it. Doctor, if you would, we’ve fetched their shawls, so just slice through the back of the night dresses.”
As Drewes repacked the scalpel into his bag, Sleiger faced Jolla. “No more bold talk, goodwife? Perhaps a few threats about the power your husband wields in this town? No? Enjoy your stroll through Hohenfels wearing irons, Jolla. When the sun’s up we’ll see about erecting gallows, and by nightfall you can join the rest of your tattooed brethren on the other side.”
The Mayor turned away, fatigue etched in his face. “Damn this for an awful business; who would have ever guessed? Halabarian, you and the Doctor remain here and search this place, see what you can uncover about the cult. We’ll take these three to the cells and then start rounding up the brewery workers; no doubt a number of them will belong to the Assembly.” The Mayor suddenly turned and brought the back of his hand across Jolla’s face, knocking her back against the wall. “What in blazes were you thinking, Jolla? Why did Lang’s children have to die? What possible gain could make that necessary?” The store-keeper shuddered and visibly took control of himself as the glaring woman climbed back onto her feet. “Right, enough talk. Get them moving.”
The Master Guide trudged through the predawn grayness with Hanns Ehrler, the First Knotsmaster in charge of the primary storage site, at his side, followed by the Knotsmaster’s two brothers, all heavily armed. “We need to move the supply of the special product at once to the old storage site near the blasted oak,” he instructed. “Delays are intolerable at this point.”
“That place will need some work, or the stuff will be damaged by the weather,” Hanns observed as the clearing near the old farm house came into view.
“Take care of it as soon as the items are transferred; I’ll see to it that you are reimbursed for any expenses. By the way, Theodore was slain last night so you’ll need to find another hand.”
The Knotsmaster staggered and gurgled, a crossbow bolt jutting from his chest while behind the Master Guide were the fleshy impact sounds of arrows hitting home and a sudden piecing scream. Amazed, the head cultist watched as Hergar the smith trotted past him with a war hammer at the ready; turning, he watched the Dwarf catch up with Hermann Ehrler, who was crawling down the path with an arrow jutting from his side, and kill him with a single sharp blow to the temple. Hector Ehrler was dead where he fell, an arrow having struck him under the arm, transfixing both lungs and the heart. Turning towards movement caught out of the corner of his eye, the Master Guide saw the Lanthrell Badger stand up from a bush which shouldn’t have been able to hide a chipmunk, an arrow nocked, drawn, and aimed squarely at his chest.
“I believe we’ve met, at the Mayor’s dinner party, if I’m not mistaken: you are Friedrich Forst, master brewer.”
“Yes, I am. Thank you for rescuing me from these bandits.”
A smile darted across the Threll’s face. “Not hardly.”
A shout from the attic was followed quickly by running steps. “I’ve found it,” Drewes called as he burst into the store room where Halabarian had been rummaging through chests. “This appears to be his records and other materials.”
The Doctor set down what at first appeared to be an ordinary traveler’s case, perhaps two feet long, one-and-a half wide and tall. Opening it, he turned it to face the Threll, who saw that fastened to the lid was a neat rack holding several daggers, dirks, and garrotes; the storage area was divided into two parts, one holding tomes covering the rituals and practices of the cult, and the other three ledgers and writing materials.
“These ledgers (I’ve glanced through them) seem to cover killings they’ve done, the revenues of the cult (from robbing the dead and trading with the Goblins) and a roster of the Assembly. The latter uses code names and runic symbols for entries, but perhaps someone who is familiar with the locals can deduce the persons from the code names.”
“Or maybe one of the captive cultists can be persuaded to translate,” the minstrel observed, standing and brushing off his trousers.
“You would think one or more would talk, but they're a stolid group, aren’t they? I’ve done a count; it appears that the Assembly is broken down into the Inner Assembly, which is made up of persons who live in town, and the Outer Assembly, which are those cultists who live outside of town. The Assembly seems to have forty-one members, twenty-three Inner, and eighteen Outer.”
“Good. Figure four Outer died in the attack on the cottage, and when Slieger left us here one Inner was dead and nine were in the cells, which means we’ve got nearly half of them under control. Add in the fact that we know the identities of three more cultists who are still at large, and things are beginning to look a good deal better. Let’s go to the Watch House and wait for the Mayor there, I’m sure he could use some good news.”
Starr thoughtfully tapped the side of her boot with a twig; twisting around on her stump, she waved Kroh over. “Master Forst says he is willing to help us,” she informed the Waybrother.
“Help us into our graves, if we believe him,” the Dwarf grunted, eyeing the cultist, who sat on the ground in front of Starr, wrists bound in front of him. “Ought to just lop off his head and
be done with it.”
“That may be, but he says he will lead us to the main storage point for the arms they trade to the Goblins; if we wait, other officers within the cult who escape the Mayor’s actions will arrange for them to be moved and traded in order to get a stake with which to begin again.”
“True enough, but what can we do with several hundredweight of arms? We can’t destroy them or move ‘em any great distance in the time we’ve got,” Kroh shrugged.
“No, but we could locate them, and if they’re still where they were hidden, we can leave a couple people there in ambush, to pick off any cultists who come looking for them.”
The Waybrother nodded. “That could work, but what does he get out of this?”
The little Badger waved a hand. “A friendly voice at his trial; for that matter, he’ll get a trial, instead of a summary execution. Maybe he’ll get lucky and dodge the hangman. A decade building Imperial roads and maintaining the Ward would be preferable to a noose.”
“Can’t argue with that.” The Dwarf glowered at the brewer, who was trying to look both helpful and cowed, as he drew forth his book of notes. “But that’s just a promise; I want to see a little good faith up front. Tell me the names of the entire Assembly, and mind you we know a number of them already, so lying will only serve to put you right back to where you were before you started talking.”
“With all respect, I’d like to keep something in reserve for the Imperial Magistrate,” Forst suggested diffidently.
“Right, it’s a beheading, then,” Kroh tossed his book to Starr and drew out his axe.
“But perhaps not,” Forst interjected. “I don’t know all the names, you understand, but I do know some.”
“That’s the spirit,” the Dwarf grinned, reclaiming his book. “Start with the four who killed Emil.”
Felix Kahn studied another line of entries, brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally jotting a note on a sheet of parchment, pausing only when the Mayor tapped him on the shoulder. “I hate to disturb you in your investigation, Felix, but I need facts, and soon. The sun is fully up and the people are getting very restless; we have to locate the Inner Assembly members before they can flee or organize.”
“There are fifty-seven coded symbols used in their roster and individual records, as well as sixty-one code words, not counting the false names the cultists use.” The clerk pulled a fresh sheet of paper to him and began writing swiftly and in a clear hand. “I have deciphered twenty-five symbols and thirteen words so far, much aided by master Halabarian’s knowledge of cults and by studying the tattoos on those cultists we have in possession. I concur with Doctor Drewes in his count of the Assembly...”
“All right, all right, kudos and credits later,” Sleiger interrupted impatiently. “Do you have any names of cultists whom we don’t have in custody?”
“Five, so far,” Kahn handed the sheet to the Mayor. “Inspect these households, and if you would, sir, bring any prisoners to me at once so I may compare their tattoos to this ledger. I feel I am not far from cracking the core code...” The clerk was once again alone in Meyer’s office. Shrugging, he turned back to the ledger.
Halabarian trotted up as the Mayor was issuing orders to his squad leaders; when Sleiger was finished the Lanthrell tossed him a salute. “No one has left Hohenfels since we’ve started this business, and the wall-guards are reasonably alert. I can’t vouch for the river front, but it would seem that we’ve kept most of the Inner Assembly assembled within.”
“Kilner sent two of his lads to count boats; if we’ve lost any on the river (and we’ve guards watching the docks), it hasn’t been many. We’ve taken two more men alive, and shot a female cultist after she wounded two militiamen, bringing our count of the Inner Assembly to eleven captured, two killed, and three believed to be outside of Hohenfels, sixteen out of twenty-three. And now Kahn has come up with five names out of that ledger. Providing none of the Outer Assembly are in town, we should have them to heel shortly.”
“You believe that Forst, Meyer, and the third Watch officer have left town?”
“It seems very likely, either that or they’re damned well hidden. While we’ve been waiting for Kahn to crack the codes I’ve had squads of Militia searching the warehouses and checking all members of the Militia not under arms (and then calling them to duty), and anyone who has had close dealings with any known cultists, but it’s damned slow going by that route: between Forst and Meyer, everyone in this town’s had some dealings with cultists.”
“It is a formidable task,” Halabarian nodded. “At least we’ve the upper hand.”
“For the moment,” the Mayor nodded glumly. “But there are twenty-seven cultists unaccounted for, including that bastard Forst, their leader. I would give a year’s profits to know where that conniving bastard is right now.”
Starr’s little command was marching east, further away from Hohenfels with every step and the growing distance was beginning to make the little Badger uneasy, but the idea seemed valid and in any case she doubted that any cultist could surprise her in a woods. Both captive cultists had been carefully searched, and had their wrists bound in front of them and tied to their belts
The little Threll stayed sixty yards ahead of her force, scouting, rejoining them every twenty minutes to make sure everything was all right. At noon they halted on the bank of a stream and ate their noonday meal, while the cultists had to make do with water.
The weight of command and the sneaking suspicion that she was being played for a fool by Forst kept nagging at Starr. She knew from lectures that Durek gave around the campfire at night that the most dangerous time in a campaign was when you were winning fight after fight, as the danger lay in that you could confuse winning with won. It wasn’t over, Kroh liked to say, until the last blow is swung.
Chewing a chunk of hard sausage, the little Threll studied Forst; she had seen that his torso was covered with an intricate net of tattoos that surely marked him as a high officer of the cult, probably the Master Guide, and thought that it was unlikely that such a man would try and trade his way out of trouble. But she could see no advantage in sending them on a wild goose chase out here: they had killed or captured eight of the cultists who lived outside of Hohenfels, and she doubted there were enough left to seriously threaten five warriors such as made up her little squad. What else could the brewer be planning?
The noise wouldn’t have attracted anyone’s attention but a nervous Lanthrell’s; Starr took a slow bite of trail bread and held the piece in her mouth so the noise of her chewing would not diminish her hearing. There, she heard it again: the sound of someone very good slipping through the brush behind her, twenty yards away and closing. Causally tapping the biscuit against her bow, she glanced across the shallow stream bed; yes, there were more: Goblins closing in on at least two sides, Tribal Goblin scouts, called yasama, as good in their woodcraft as the best Human woodsmen or a young Threll.
Catching Rolf’s eye, Starr made a hand gesture meaning ‘ambush imminent’, and moved her thumb, held close to her body to hide it from watchers, in the direction of the nearest yasama. Yawning, Rolf stretched, tapping Kroh as he did so, and when the Waybrother looked up the big Badger passed on the signals.
Moving her jaw to make it appear that she was chewing, the little Badger stroked her bow and looked about the snowy stream bank, measuring, picking her spots; the other two would act on her lead, and hopefully Hergar and Gremheld would catch on fast. She looked at Forst, who was watching her, and realized the cultist knew what was going on. He must have known that there would be a Goblin force in this area, and had guided her into them in the hopes of escaping in the confusion, right into the arms of his allies. She had to restrain herself from raising her bow and killing him there and now, enraged that his plan might very well work.
Forcing down the emotions with an archer’s trained concentration, she shifted her legs, glanced at her two Badgers, winked, and in one fluid motion spat the hardtack from her mouth, dr
opped the biscuit, swept up her bow, nocked, aimed, released a shaft, and darted behind a stump. Across the stream a yasama shrieked in hopeless agony, but Starr was past that, focusing on the next arrow as she nocked and drew.
The cold winter air was shattered by Goblin howls, the whipping noise of arrows slashing past, and the sounds of bodies racing through the brush as the enemy closed. Kroh dropped a charging yasama with a bullet to the chest, slung his crossbow as he rolled to his feet, and met the blurring leap of a Titan spider the size of a large hound with the edge of his axe, the force of his stroke knocking the dying creature a dozen feet from him. An arrow struck Rolf’s crossbow just as he took aim, the impact both knocking the weapon aside and jarring the catch loose so that the quarrel plowed into the dirt of the stream bank. Discarding the weapon, the big half-Orc sprang to his feet with his axe in hand, noticing in passing that Hajo Ehrler lay on his back, three Goblin arrows jutting from his chest.
Her second arrow dropped a Goblin archer as he completed his draw, and her third slew a Pa as he directed his section to flank the little group. Realizing that their position was hopeless, Starr made her piercing finger-whistle. “Pull back, run south,” she shouted, hating the high, girlish pitch of her voice. Janna Maidenwalk could bark an order in a voice that made veterans snap to, but no matter what she said or how she said it her own voice still invited a smile and a wink.
Rolling out from behind her arrow-studded stump, she killed a charging jugata with a snap shot that punched through his cord-armor tunic as if it were made of dandelion fluff, and raced away through the trees, hoping the others could follow. Skipping through a thicket, she slid to a stop behind a thick-trunked oak and nocked another arrow; seconds later Rolf, Kroh, and Gremheld thundered into view, moving fast, bloody weapons at the ready. “Over here,” she called, keeping her voice low. “Where’s Hergar?”
