This V’Adami, dressed in leather armor with a longsword at his side, stood with his hands empty, open and slightly outstretched, showing he was unarmed and non-hostile. The V’rassi were a high-elven race, most of whom lived in the Ketarynne Forest north of Paryn’s Gate. They were servants of the One Lord and Azadriel, the leader of the Malakim. Gideon knew the race well as his family, as well as many noble families of Parynland, had a degree of V’rassi blood in their bloodlines. Marriages between Parynlanders and the Ketarynne V’rassi were common, and relations between Parynland and the Ketarynne elves were solid. This young man looked like no V’Adami any of them, save Thatcher, had seen before.
The young chats-enash had the sides of his head shaved skin-close, leaving only a single, wide raised strip of hair down the center of his head. The V’rassi of Ketarynne were mostly fair-skinned and fair-haired, but this chats-enash had jet-black hair. His face, arms, and the area of his upper chest visible above his leather jerkin were heavily tattooed with thin, bluish lines, swirling, twirling and spanning every visible part of his well-tanned skin.
His features and pointed ears clearly marked him as some manner of elf, but his markings and skin tone more resembled the sailors from the islands off the southwestern coast of Ya-Erets. These men were called the Somamu, a branch race of Adami, and were great fishermen and whalers but even more renowned warriors. They occasionally brought ships as far north as Parynland trading fish, whale oil, and wood or bone handicrafts for the metalwork of the Parynlanders. Likely, one of this young man’s parents was Somamu.
The youth spoke in a solemn monotone and with forced effort to converse in heavily accented Adami. Despite Thatcher hiding behind the door, the chats-enash addressed the young rogue by name.
“Thatcher, Magar wants see you. You back one day, no check in. Magar also say bring guild share of booty from journey.”
Thatcher, with an indignant look and raised voice leapt from behind the door with daggers still in his hands.
“Thannos, you know better than to disturb the guild rooms during a council. And what I make on guild business inside the walls of Aton-Ri rightly is subject to guild share, but what I earned on this journey was neither guild business nor within the bounds of Aton-Ri, so by all rights, it is mine to keep.”
The others, not sure exactly what the proper protocol for rogues was and seeing Thatcher doing all right defending himself, chose to merely observe unless things got physical, at which point they would defend their companion.
“No tell me, tell Magar. Me no care. Just messenger, but boss say I no leave without you. You come now.”
The half-blood clearly did not intend to allow them to continue their discussion. They all looked to Thatcher to see his reaction to the ultimatum from his guild leader. Thatcher flushed red, whether from embarrassment at being summoned like a child or anger at being so defaced in front of his new companions, only Thatcher knew. After a few seconds of obvious consternation, he addressed his cohorts.
“Good fellows, I need to sort this right away. Don’t worry. I will see you all in the morning at the assembly. I will also make sure Mok knows you all are not to be disturbed again, and that your tab is covered. Enjoy yourselves, my friends, and don’t make too merry and miss the council in the morning.”
With that, Thatcher sheathed his daggers and left the room headed for the tavern exit. His strange, tattooed guildmate was right on his heels.
After Thatcher had departed, Goldain looked concerned.
“I hope the kid will be okay. I guess he knows what he is doing. I can’t help but feel we shouldn’t let him go off alone when he obviously is crosswise with some pretty grim types.”
“Don’t worry,” said Duncan placing a comforting hand on the warrior’s back. “The lad has grown up in this world and is better equipped to face it than all of us together. If we had pressed the issue, it likely would have caused the boy more trouble than it would solve. If he needed our aid, he would have asked us for it. We will see him in the morning, and he can tell us all about it.”
“I hope so for the sake of all our consciences,” added Gideon.
They closed the door and polished off the rest of the keg of ale with the lion’s share being poured into Goldain and Duncan. The Durgak gave his huge companion a mug for mug run.
Durgak were beings of stout constitutions and appetites for ale in great disproportion to their stature. Despite the privacy of the room being conducive to deeper conversation, the rest of the evening passed in mostly quiet contemplation of the day’s events and the disposition of their young rogue’s situation. As they left Mok’s tavern and proceeded northward, they were unaware of the shadowy escort provided by Thannos who had returned at the guildmaster’s orders to ensure both the safe exodus of Thatcher’s companions from the southwest quarter as well as confirmation that they were making no unscheduled stops along the way.
A Bold Plan
Duncan, who himself had not yet secured long term housing in the city, also chose to let a room at the Silver Shamrock. Goldain and Melizar had parted ways near the inn, with Goldain heading north toward the military district and Melizar heading east toward the neighborhood known as the Magisterium. The Magisterium, home to the Mages Guild, housed the majority of the city’s practitioners of kashaph arts.
Early the next morning, Duncan and Gideon broke fast in the common room of the Shamrock. Neither had slept well, between the unanswered questions after the council meeting and the sudden, duress-ridden exit of their young rogue. After breakfast, they left the Shamrock headed for the council meeting, hoping to reunite with their compatriots, including Thatcher.
As the pair approached the town hall, Gideon spotted Melizar approaching from the east. Exchanging brief greetings en route, they drew near the entrance to the city hall. Outside the entrance, a messenger wearing an official sash of the city greeted them.
“Captain Gideon, good morning.”
“Good morning to you, squire. What news?”
“Sir, I have been instructed to inform the council attendees that the meeting will be larger than anticipated. Mayor Farnsworth changed the venue to the muster fields of the city guard just north of the Warriors Guild. The start has been delayed one hour to allow everyone sufficient time to arrive.” Gideon thanked the messenger, and the trio proceeded toward the revised meeting place.
The three were among the last to arrive at the muster grounds. Goldain was already there and greeted them with a boisterous bellow that drew looks from all standing nearby. Xyer Garan, Arreya, Captain Tropham, and most of those from the previous day’s meeting were already milling about. Also present were a number of mounted troops from the Aton-Ri standing army and several other rugged-looking mercenary types. Two individuals still conspicuously missing were Mayor Farnsworth and their companion Thatcher.
As Gideon scoured the crowd searching for their young cohort, he spotted Thatcher ambling slowly from the south toward the meeting area. The lad, who usually moved with such grace and control, had a strange stiffness to his gait, sporting a perceptible limp. As Thatcher drew near, Gideon saw the boy’s face riddled with bruises. Below his right eye the young thief sported a nasty gash running down half the height of his cheek.
“Wow, kid!” said Goldain, shaking his head. “It looks like we should have started your fighting lessons a bit sooner. Lesson one is don’t block with your face.”
“Nah, “Thatcher replied through a grin that was more than half grimace, “just a little too much ale. I fell out of bed…repeatedly.”
His appearance testified that things had not gone smoothly with his guild. His diversion of the topic clearly communicated he had no intention of talking about it at this point. Duncan could not resist one final quip.
“Laddie, you need to find a room with more forgiving floors.”
This drew tension-relieving grins from all the friends. The question of Thatcher’s condition faded from the forefront as Mayor Farnsworth’s procession approached the mu
ster grounds. The crowd grew quiet as the mayor ascended the platform and addressed those assembled.
“Dear friends and allies, after considerable deliberation with ambassadors and military advisors of Rajik, Darkmoor, Aton-Ri, and Stonehold, it is clear to us there exists a critical threat to our caravans traveling west. Someone or something is ambushing caravans between the western gate of Stonehold and the western mouth of Dragon Pass.
“While no irrefutable link has been established between the increased organization, frequency, and intensity of raids by roving humanoid bands on our southern borders and the missing caravans, the presence of artifacts from either caravans or directly from some of the western nations has established a strong likelihood of some connection. It is therefore the intent of the allied nations to send a large military force comprised of both regular army troops, as well as experienced mercenary adventurers, to find and eliminate the threat attacking our caravans. By this, we intend to reestablish safe trade between the nations to the east and west of Dragon Pass.”
As the mayor spoke, Thatcher shook his head and mumbled to his companions, “It will never work.”
Gideon turned to the young rogue and inquired, “Why not? A large enough force will be able to deal with anything we find short of a full army. Why so skeptical?”
All the company listened attentively as well for the answer.
“I am skeptical,” Thatcher continued, “because we are trying to catch thieves. I know thieves; I am one. Thieves are like flies. We buzz around out of sight until nobody is looking then land, grab a bite, and are gone before anyone notices. You can’t kill a fly with a war hammer. These bandits, whoever they are, will see this cavalcade coming five miles off and will sit in their hole, snickering under their breath while your mighty war force traipses by. Then once you have passed, and declared no threat, the next caravan who comes though, wham-o!” The rogue emphasized this thought by pounding his right fist into his left palm. “To catch a thief, you need to think like a thief.”
His companions nodded at his logic and bid him continue.
“To catch a fly you must bait the trap. You don’t send an army marching in all its sparkling glory. You send a caravan all fat and ready for the filching. The surprise is, instead of merchants, fat, lazy, and ready for fleecing, they will be disguised warriors, grim and severe. The wagons promising tempting booty will instead be filled to the brim with crack troops waiting to pounce. That’s how you catch a thief, my friends. Take it from a thief!”
“Great thinking, lad,” Gideon answered. “Let me see if I can get these men, who are wise in their own eyes, to see the wisdom in your plan.”
Gideon, knew if Thatcher was the one to voice his plan it would be rejected out of hand by those who would dismiss him either for his youth or his background. When the mayor asked if there were any questions, Captain Gideon answered. He polished Thatcher’s plan with military terminology and presented it as a better way to go if they truly wanted the best chance to catch the thieves. Nods of approval from many military advisors approving Gideon’s voicing of Thatcher’s plan were cut off prematurely by an objection from Xyer Garan.
“This is foolishness! Following this plan would require dispatching a minimal company of troops, lightly armed, to lure the bandits into attacking the caravan. It would be sending the whole contingent to their deaths. I say we meet longer with more experienced soldiers at the table and discuss a better alternative than choosing which of our troops to sacrifice on this fool’s errand.”
While it was understandable that Garan would offer opposition to any plan by the Parynlander, his words were convincing. What looked only moments before to be a consensus on executing Thatcher’s idea now dissolved into a chaos of disagreement and dissention. Factions emerged gravitating into those who had proposed the initial plan, those who backed Gideon and Thatcher’s approach, and those who fell in with Xyer Garan. This gathering would be locked in indecision for the foreseeable future. Xyer Garan grinned at the cacophonic bedlam the assembly had become, pleased as a stray cat surveying a fish market. Suddenly Goldain bellowed a war cry that chilled the blood and stilled the tongues of everyone assembled.
“As a prince of the Wolf Clan Qarahni and ambassador to Aton-Ri and the peaceful nations to the south of the Clan Lands, I am just as concerned as all of you with the disruption of trade. I came to secure trade agreements with those who would peacefully approach the Wolf Clan in commerce. Therefore, in an effort to further secure the charge I have been given, being independent of the command of the assembled nations, it is my intent to lead a caravan westward filled with those adventurers and crack troops from any nation who would accompany me in execution of the plan presented by Captain Gideon. Those who would willingly join me in this, come to the southeast corner of the muster field. The rest of you are welcome to stay and debate the situation, locked in indecision until we return in victory.”
His companions gazed at Goldain with new eyes. They knew he was a prince and an excellent warrior, but they had never seen him step forward and take charge. Their jovial, ale-guzzling companion had quite a bit more to him than they had seen before.
Gideon, being under contract to serve Aton-Ri and the mayor as an auxiliary captain could not have done what Goldain just accomplished. Neither could most of the captains and commanders present, as they all were under the authority of their respective leaders and forced to await orders before stepping out. Goldain had done the only thing possible to assure Thatcher’s plan saw the light of day. Unfortunately, most of those assembled were still under authority, so aside from his companions and a few scruffy-looking adventurer types, few moved to join Goldain.
“My brother,” Duncan announced, apparently attempting to shine a ray of hope upon the sinking countenance of the northern prince, “is a commander of a company of Durgak berserkers. They are our crack-fighting troops, and my brother being a decorated warrior has the favor of the high council. I am certain that once we reach Stonehold, we can get at least twenty to thirty top Durgak berserkers commanded by my brother, Donovan, to help fill the wagons of the caravan.”
Turning to Thatcher, Duncan added, “It is a fine plan, laddie. By the gates of the mountains I tell you we will see it done.”
Thatcher smiled through the obvious pain, which had not left his battered body. His companions being willing to put their reputations and lives on the line to follow his plan was enough to bring a smile to his pain filled face.
“Fellows,” the youth said, choking back emotion threatening to overcome him. “I have never experienced such support and confidence in my plans, even from my guildmates.”
Duncan laughed and Goldain gripped Thatcher’s shoulder in a gesture of support.
Thatcher added, “I could get used to this.”
“Well, Thatcher,” Gideon said, “let me see if I can add to our number.”
Thatcher nodded as Gideon excused himself from the group and went to speak to Captain Tropham. After a brief commiseration between these two captains, they went together to the mayor and spoke privately with him. Thatcher could only wonder what his captain was up to. He supposed he would find out soon enough.
While Gideon was speaking with the mayor, another familiar face wandered over. The black-furred Zaffir chats-enash approached the group. She spoke to Goldain directly, taking little notice of the others.
“So sword-wielder, I think you might have use for a tracker in this little hunting party. I will gladly lend my skills and my spear to this effort. It is much the way we hunt predators in the Djarmangara. If we go in force, the predators will simply slink away to safety. We instead send a single Zafirr scout ahead and the rest of the group stealthing behind. When the predator sees a target they feel will make a good dinner, then we spring the trap and hang their pelts on the walls of our homes. It is a good plan.”
Thatcher could restrain himself no longer and piped up before Goldain could respond, hoping to impress the beautiful huntress.
“T
hat is exactly what I was telling them. This, you see, is my plan, and I am a great hunter in the city as you are a great huntress in the jungle.”
Arreya flashed a patronizing feline smile as if amused, like a mother watching her cub bear its fangs and practice its growl for the first time. Her expression changed to wide-eyed surprise, however, when Goldain added to Thatcher’s testimony.
“The kid is right, it was his idea. We are lucky to have two such hunters with us on this. The boy in fact kept all of us safe yester-eve as we sought succor from a tavern in a part of town we should not have visited. Why the lot of us would have lost our lives had this lad not jumped in and fought off a whole pack of bandits single-handedly while the rest of us made our escape. As you can see, he paid dearly for his bravery, but such is the way of the greatest warriors, is it not?”
Arreya looked incredulously at the Qarahni as if weighing the truth in his words. The nodding agreement of the Durgak and even, to the surprise of everyone, the hooded wizard lent weight to Goldain’s words.
Thatcher turned a fair shade of red, but Arreya looked as if she were trying to decide if this was a normal reaction for an Adami when being praised by his compatriots. She clearly looked as if something was amiss.
“Zaffir do not even have a word in our language for lie,” she said. “But if you all are willing to testify in unison to this tale is enough reason to accept your genuine respect for the youngling.”
Thatcher wasn’t sure how he felt about being referred to as a youngling, but he was quite pleased at the support from his companions, even though Goldain’s embellishments might prove difficult to live up to in the future.
After what seemed like an eternity to the waiting companions, Gideon and Tropham returned with twenty Aton-Ri duelists in tow, just in time to observe the very end of the exchange with Arreya. He wasn’t quite sure what everyone was up to, but with Thatcher blushing as though the youth had stumbled into a brothel and the rest, including Melizar nodding in agreement, the captain knew enough to not interrupt whatever was happening. He would get the true account later from Goldain in private. Regardless of the topic under discussion, both captains were very pleased that Arreya would be coming along.
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