Pathfinder Tales: The Crusader Road

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Around and around the goblin danced. He took to hopping whenever the rhythm doubled back, then spinning when sounds hissed like steam escaping wet wood on a fire. His hands came up as the volume increased, then came down again, twisting on wrists, stirring the music into its darker tones.

  Nelsa reached over and clutched his hand. A tiny tremor ran through her grip. Jerrad squeezed her hand in return and gave her a brave smile. She didn't see it, so riveted was her gaze on the mat and the dancing goblin.

  Then Jerrad saw what she'd seen. The bones had begun to rattle and bounce, as if they'd been set on a drumhead. They crashed into each other, usually flying away, but not always. Some of them stuck. Tail pieces came together. Legs assembled themselves. Ribs leaped into place between spine and breastbone. Tiny teeth shivered into jaws and skulls popped themselves into place.

  Four skeletal mice began to dance, aping the goblin's every move. They raced around the mat, leaping, spinning, jumping forward and back. Watching them, Jerrad wanted to laugh, and would have, had the cacophony not raked his mind with cold thorns.

  Then the goblin spun one last time and slammed his hand down on the mat's heart. The mice exploded into a blizzard of ivory. The goblin pulled his hand back, and sat abruptly at the mat's western edge. He hunched forward and began mumbling to himself.

  The jangling noise of the magic began to fade. Not entirely, but to the same sort of hushed echoes Jerrad had heard before. The goblin's mumbling rose above it, but made no sense at all, and didn't appear to betoken another spell.

  Jerrad smiled and constructed his own magic, using the spell that had allowed him to read the Brevic history. A shiver ran down through him. Nelsa squeezed his hand as it passed.

  The goblin peered closely at the scattered bones. "Little mices tell me true, what will we be going through?" He repeated that same rhyme over and over—so much so that Jerrad felt he'd understand it even without the use of magic.

  The goblin got up and circled the mat, pausing to look at the array from each of the cardinal points. As nearly as Jerrad could make out, he seemed overly concerned with where all four of the skulls had rolled together, right on top of the three-headed jackal symbol for Lamashtu. Worship of the Mother of Monsters was hardly unknown in Ustalav, as she often featured as the patron of villains in fairy tales and bards' stories, and Jerrad recognized the mark easily.

  That all four skulls had landed on that symbol clearly shocked the goblin. Several times a hand would creep slowly toward the quartet, then he'd yank it back and suck at his fingers.

  Nothing shifted on the mat, so the mice remained mute on the matter, or so it appeared to Jerrad. The goblin apparently got no satisfaction. He circled the mat once more, then reached for one of the smaller bones. His hand hovered as if the bones radiated molten heat. He sat back for a moment, then came around to the western side again. He grabbed the mat by its corners and shook it, much as a servant might shake dust out of a rug. The bones flew off. No fires ignited, nothing even smoldered, but the goblin circled far from where they'd landed. He rolled up the mat, then retrieved the satchel. Without casting a glance back, he headed south, toward the Dismal Caverns.

  Jerrad and Nelsa watched him go. Jerrad realized that he was still holding her hand. He wanted to let go, but she hung on. She wasn't squeezing it tight, as she had before, just maintaining a reassuringly firm grip. He found himself smiling, and when she finally looked at him, she wore a similar grin.

  They had to let their hands go to retreat back down the hill. Jerrad did so reluctantly, then closed his fist to retain the last hint of her warmth. They slid down the hill as quietly as possible, then retraced their steps to the next hill. After that, though they were heading north back toward Silverlake, they swung west. They used a new path for their return, frustrating anything that might have been waiting to ambush them on the path they'd taken south.

  About a mile on they stopped, fairly confident they had reached a safe distance. There wasn't any logic behind that decision—Jerrad just knew he felt safe. And he felt he would burst if he didn't say something.

  "When you said you wanted to show me something, I couldn't have even guessed. What was that?"

  Nelsa shrugged. "I mean to tell you, I ain't exactly sure. Now, plenty of folks know the Bonedancer goblins live in the Dismal Caverns. Won't be long before you'll hear plenty of tall tales about folks adventuring down in there, pulling out treasure as if them caverns was a warehouse in Mosswater. And from what you said about the attack, a passel of them goblins was Bonedancers. I was only meaning to maybe show you some goblin tracks, but that was..."

  "What was he? Was he a wizard?"

  "Priest, most like. Goblins don't have much truck with magic what ain't got a god's-mark on it, or so I'm given to believe." She frowned, and Jerrad thought she looked cute the way she concentrated. "I been to Thornkeep a time or three. I seen people cast bones that way and read fortunes."

  "That way? With the dance?"

  "No, and they weren't starkers neither." She shook her head. "Not sure that's something I ever want to see again."

  "Me, neither." Jerrad's flesh tightened at the nape of his neck. The echoes of that discord would be enough to give him nightmares. "If he was casting a fortune, he didn't seem very happy with the result."

  "I don't expect so. I don't know about all that, but four skulls together can't be a good thing. You know, my pa does a bit of trading with the goblins, mostly to keep them from deciding to rob us blind. I learned some words. I could teach you."

  Jerrad almost told her he didn't need any lessons, but two things stopped him. He had no idea how Nelsa would react to his learning to be a wizard. More importantly, if he said no, she might not come around as much. "I would like that. It would be very helpful, you know, with Silverlake."

  "I reckon we can commence lessons inside the week. I have to tell pa what I'll be doing."

  "Good. Good." Jerrad glanced back toward the Dismal Caverns. "What are you going to tell your father about what we just saw? I don't know what I should tell my mother. If she knew, she might worry."

  Nelsa nodded solemnly. "We didn't much learn anything, anyway. A goblin cast some bones, didn't like the way they fell, then pitched the whole lot of them away. All in all, not much to be worrying about, is it?"

  "Nope."

  She grabbed his hands. "Okay, so we agree. We don't tell about this unless we both figure someone needs to know, right?"

  "Right."

  They both fell silent, holding hands. Jerrad's heart began to pound a little faster. He felt awkward saying nothing, but was sure that if he said something—anything—it would break the magic of the moment. He would have been content to stand there forever.

  He looked up at her, and caught her, just for an instant, looking at him the way his sister looked at Ranall. Then she blushed and dropped one of his hands, and turned away. His heart caught in his throat, and he couldn't get rid of the stupid grin on his face.

  He looked down. "I guess we should be getting back to Silverlake."

  "I'm of a mind that you're right."

  They started walking, still holding hands. They kept holding them until the flatter land got bumpy. They needed both hands to scramble up the hill. Neither reached for the other's hand after that, which settled some cold in Jerrad's belly where there had been warmth.

  "I can walk you back to your family's compound."

  "No need. Mulish is at Silverlake. He'll take me back."

  "Right. Of course. I should have... Um, what does he think of Ranall? I mean, your father suggested that he could marry my sister, but she seems to have her heart set on Ranall."

  She laughed lightly. "I'm going to trust you with a secret."

  "I'll keep it."

  "I know." Nelsa smiled. "Won't be for long. I reckon that by the time Silverlake has its harvest feast, the news will be out. Mulish might even save it for announcing then. Since everyone will be there."

  "Right." Baron Creelisk had sugges
ted to Jerrad's mother that they use a portion of the supplies he brought for a welcoming feast. She'd thought about it, then put the matter to a vote of the settlers. She asked if they would prefer to feast now, in the summer, or save those treats for a more traditional harvest feast. Included in that latter idea, though never explicitly stated, was the possibility of canceling the feast if it looked like Silverlake would need the supplies to see it through the winter.

  "Mulish, he's pretty stubborn on many things. Long about when he was all of five, maybe seven—he keeps getting younger when this is brought up, you see—he announced to the family that he was going to take himself a wife from Katapesh. Don't no one recall where he learned that name." She shook her head. "One time a bonecaster in Thornkeep said Mulish was an old soul born in a young body, and that his last life had probably been down in Katapesh. I don't know that's true or not. Pa thinks the fortune-teller heard the story about Mulish and thought she could earn some coin telling us all about his past."

  "So he never really was interested in my sister."

  "Well, I'll tell you this, he's allowed as how she's easy on the eyes."

  "I won't tell her he said that."

  "That ain't the secret." Nelsa lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "Mulish, he's going to up and head down to Katapesh come the spring. Now, while he's here, he'll give Ranall a bit of competition. He thinks its funny and it keeps Pa from suspecting."

  Jerrad smiled. "I promise, I won't say a word."

  "I trust you." She winked and Jerrad felt heat rise to his cheeks. "And just so you don't go thinking I hide things regular from my folks, it's my ma that told me about Mulish's plan. She wanted me to distract my pa if he started getting ideas."

  "A wise woman, your mother."

  "Yours is sharper than new-honed knife. My pa's said that and ain't nobody found no reason to disagree." As they emerged from the woods, Nelsa nodded toward the settlement. "Lots of people have dreams, but not many of them can make them come true."

  "She's got the help of a lot of friends, like you and your family."

  Nelsa smiled, then squeezed his hand and kissed him on the cheek. "Helps she has a smart son with a honeyed tongue."

  Jerrad wanted to say something, but his mind completely blanked.

  She released his hand, but pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't need to say nothing, Jerrad Vishov. Times no words at all is better than the best words. I'm content with this being one of them times."

  paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas , Aug 10, 2014

  Chapter Eighteen

  Forging Alliances

  Mother, we have a problem."

  The urgency in her daughter's voice made Tyressa look up from the map table. "Is someone dead? Is someone bleeding?"

  "Not yet. You better come." Serrana pointed at the hatchet. "You'll want to be wearing that, too."

  Tyressa grabbed the belt from which the hatchet hung and looped it over her shoulder, then threaded her way to the second longhouse's door. Everyone living there appeared to be going about their afternoon duties—consisting largely of childcare and meal preparation. Outside, the two women headed for the gate, and people drifted with them.

  More of them were armed than Tyressa found comfortable. Not because she didn't like them carrying weapons, but because they were milling about. We may have taught them to shoot, but we've not taught them to be warriors. That will have to change.

  Through the gates, she followed her daughter along the winding track heading west, eventually leading to the road that ran near the Murdoon estate. Slightly south of where the road disappeared into the forest, a crowd of Kellids had gathered. The Wolfmane tribesfolk weren't arrayed as warriors any more than her people had been, but given their history and training, any battle between them would be short, swift, and bloody. And not decided in our favor.

  "Wait, Serra. What's happening? Why is Aneska standing there with Lekar?"

  "That's the problem. She went hunting with Lekar. About the time I expected them back, so Lekar could continue training people this afternoon, Selka said the other Kellid wouldn't be returning to instruct anymore, and that Aneska would go with him to be his wife."

  "Is she with him willingly?"

  The girl wouldn't meet her mother's gaze. "I don't know."

  "How can you not know? She's your servant and—I thought—your friend."

  "I've been spending much of my time with Ranall. Aneska and I don't talk as much as we used to. Hardly at all now."

  An angry spark flashed through Tyressa. "I'm not asking if you're still friends, I'm asking what you observed. You have a role here, and not just because you're my daughter. We all have to be responsible for each other. Was she complicit in this? Is she consenting, or is she under duress?"

  "Like I said, I don't know."

  "You and I are going to have a long talk, young lady."

  "Mother."

  Tyressa had expected defiance from a child trying to be an adult. Instead, she got pain and fear from a young woman who clearly felt as helpless as a child. "I'll do what I can," she told Serrana. "You go back to town and don't let anyone do anything stupid."

  "Yes, I understand."

  Tyressa continued toward the Wolfmanes, taking some heart in the fact that a carpet had been rolled out, flattening grasses. Darioth sat on one end with her back to her people. Tyressa also recognized the crone from their first meeting, and both Lekar and Selka, the two hunters who had been helping train the Silverlakers. Aneska stood next to Lekar, the Kellid's arm draped possessively around her shoulders. Darioth had added a gold bracelet and a bejeweled cloak clasp to her clothing, making Tyressa feel somewhat underdressed.

  If they meant to kidnap the girl, they would just have taken her. Their ways are not our ways.

  Tyressa paused at the carpet's edge. "Greetings, Darioth of the Wolfmanes. To what do I owe this honor?"

  "I would trade with you, Tyressa of Silverlake." She waved Tyressa to the other end of the carpet. "My nephew will take this woman to wife. We shall agree upon a bride price."

  Not our ways, but not wholly foreign. Tyressa sat crosslegged, matching Darioth. "I'm honored that you come to negotiate. You have me at a disadvantage. You have the girl. Knowing of Lekar's strong will, I don't imagine he will surrender her if we cannot reach a settlement."

  "It might seem that way to you, Tyressa; but I would remind you that you have gotten much labor from him and Selka. Your people have gained skills which they will not forget. Those skills guarantee their survival, and that of their children. Your people will have a future because of what Lekar has done. Would you deny him and his bloodline the same future?"

  "I would never denigrate his efforts on our behalf." Tyressa glanced back at the town and momentarily ignored the small knot of people heading toward the meeting. "I was under the impression that we had generously demonstrated our gratitude. If we have not, then the fault is mine. We can negotiate recompense for that slight."

  Darioth smiled. "Your generosity has been without fault. It is that nature of your people which shows through this girl, and what has made us value her greatly. You will find that we will be generous, honoring any reasonable request."

  Tyressa smiled easily. The Kellids had the girl and weren't going to give her back. The invitation to trade for her, while honestly offered, was not fairly offered. The Kellids could just steal Aneska away, and the Silverlakers couldn't stop them. Moreover, if the compensation Tyressa asked for fell outside of reason, she'd insult Darioth and might provoke the Wolfmanes to attack.

  And that's all immaterial because I cannot sell one of my citizens.

  Lord Creelisk's voice came softly urgent. "Lady Tyressa, may I have a word?"

  Tyressa bowed to Darioth, then stood. "I would seek counsel."

  "I will wait here."

  Tyressa walked back down the hill, past where Baron Creelisk waited, forcing him to follow her. His son and the captain of his guards, Ellic, came along with the baron.
She stopped with her back to the Kellids. "This is not a good time, my lord."

  "I know, but what I have to say is important." He straightened up. "Everyone in Silverlake is agreed. We will not let them take her."

  Ellic nodded. "My troops are arming themselves and ready to strike."

  "You, Captain, will return to Silverlake and tell your men to stand down."

  "My lady—"

  "Captain, what part of what I just said gave you any indication this was a matter open to negotiation? Go. Now."

  Creelisk stayed the man's departure. "Lady Tyressa, as I said, Silverlake has agreed."

  "This is not a matter to be decided by the town."

  Creelisk arched an eyebrow. "I was under the impression all major issues were decided by the town. In the matter of the feast, the town voted..."

  "This is different. When you say the town has decided, how do you know that? Did you poll everyone—save me—and reach a consensus? Or did you just tell them ‘we must' this and ‘can't allow' that? In a moment of fear, did you ask them to think, or did you offer them a plan which meant they didn't need to think?"

  "This is not the first time I've been in this sort of situation, Tyressa."

  "You could have been in it a thousand times before, my lord, but it would not mean you're right in this situation." Her nostrils flared. "Why are you still here, Captain Ellic?"

  "Sorry, my lady."

  Creelisk's face darkened. "This would establish a horrible precedent, Tyressa. If we don't fight to defend our citizens, then bandits, Broken Men, and anyone else wandering through will take them. We need to send the Wolfmanes a message, and through them, a message to everyone else."

  "You'll perhaps someday forgive me for saying this, my lord, but when the only tool you possess is a dagger, then every problem you face appears to need bloodletting."

  "You can't seriously be telling me that I'm wrong about this."

  "Your analysis of the problem is crystal clear, and accurate." Tyressa shook her head. "Your choice of solutions is foolish. Fighting the Wolfmanes will do one thing only: start a blood feud with the Kellids. The killing will never end."