A New Dawn Coming

Chapter Ten

The three companions left the rundown church, heading towards the center of the town. A gentle breeze stirred, handing out tender caresses. A cool bite to the air suggested autumn wouldn’t be long in coming.

“Any idea what this is about?” Faux looked up the giant next to him.

“Not for sure,” Guy answered. “If I had to guess, I’d say last night’s incident at the tavern might come up.”

“Aye,” Aboleth chipped in. “Not many village councillors are pleased with tavern brawls that end up with so many dead. Or tavern brawls in general for that matter.”

“No, they usually aren’t,” Guy agreed. “And Staler can be pricklier than most I’ve met.”

“You know him well then?” Faux asked.

“Not really,” Guy shrugged. “Had a few pints of fire water with him over some cards while I’ve been stuck here. Decent enough kind of guy. I’ve certainly known worse.”

They came upon a building that Guy pointed out as being the councillor’s residence. It’s superior condition on the outside was noticeable compared to the church. The sawn planks that made up its outer walls were well fitted, with generous amounts of daub and mortar wedged along the seams. A fresh looking, thin coat of tar was spread over the outer walls, giving the house an extra layer of defence against the winds and rains. The thatch was thick and fluffy, lacking the misty coating of moss that had invaded the church roof. Curling tendrils of wispy smoke spiralled from the top of a solid stone chimney, carried away by the weak breeze. The solid oaken door stood slightly ajar. Angry voices could be heard buzzing from inside as if a hornets nest had been kicked over.

The three paused and glanced at each other, all wearing matching curious expressions. With a shrug, Faux lead the way and walked through the open door.

Inside was complete bedlam. Angry villagers were talking over one another like a flock of hens who had just discovered a fox among them. The poor town councillor, at least that’s who Faux thought it was, stood behind a large table with his hands raised, trying to placate the crowd; a lone rock trying to dam a river. Whatever he was saying was lost in the din. It was next to impossible to make sense of what anyone was saying. A dozen different conversations were happening at once creating an incoherent babble.

As they walked towards the crowd, people began to notice they were there. A hush settled over the mob as more and more of the angry rabble realized they weren’t alone anymore. They huddled together, and without noticing what they were doing, inched their way to the other side of the room.

The councillor looked over at them, a not so sincere smile splitting his flat lips. It looked more like a dagger s***h across his face than a human smile. His grey eyes sat atop dark, sagging bags and were flinty hard as he sized up the newcomers. He was a large, heavy set man, with a shock of thick hair more steely grey than any other colour, despite stubborn patches of dark brown. His well-made clothes were caked in an army of wrinkles, hinting that he’d either slept in them, or at least worn them yesterday.

“Well now,” his strained voice struggled in the small space, “It looks as though our guests have arrived. Welcome. Come in, be welcome. We’re all glad you’re here.”

As they shuffled further into the room Faux doubted his sincerity. Along with some stifled muttering, there were faces in the crowd that were anything but glad.

“Aye. Welcome indeed.” Aboleth said, his eyes scanning the hushed crowd. “To what do we owe the pleasure.”

“Straight to business then, I can appreciate that. But first some introductions are in order. I’m Staler Genlon, the village councillor for Arbordale. These are the village advisors.” He motioned with a casual wave to the gaggle of men, now noticeably huddled together, as if afraid the three companions would pull their weapons and slaughter them all. “Guythalamew, it’s nice to see you again. Too bad we keep meeting under pressing circumstances.” He shook his head as if recalling a troubling moment in his life. “But you two are new, arrived last night didn’t you?”

“Aye, just after the rain. Aboleth Stormsplinter. I carry the word of Jahlenea and seek to protect her children wherever I find them.”

“Faux,” The half-elf added after a moment. “Nothing as grand as either of these two I’m afraid, just a traveller. Looking to make my fortunes in the world.”

“Mmm hmm...” The Staler’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Faux. His head c****d to one side the way a curious hound’s would. “Interesting,” he muttered. Shaking his head, he affixed them all with the same steely stare. “Well it seems as if we are all in a rather precarious position, thanks to you, travelers.” His eyes once again lingered on Faux.

“How do you mean?” Guy asked.

“Ye’ve cursed us all is what he means!” An angry villager spat.

“Aye! None of us is safe now,” confirmed another.

“Please!” Staler’s voice boomed, cutting off another round of angry muttering. He stared the mass of people down before turning to the companions. “Please forgive them masters. They’re a bit worried about what might happen next.”

“And what might that be?” Guy prompted.

“Well, retribution from Thomin and his gang to begin with.”

“Excuse me, who?” Faux asked.

“Thomin, Snakebit he calls himself.” Staler slumped into the high back chair resting against the wall behind him. His shoulders fell forward, his downcast eyes studying the floor.

“He’s a local bandit. Was nothing more than a town drunk and nuisance before, but he’s built up quite a following over the past few weeks. They’ve gotten bolder, more violent, as more men join them. They have a camp a few miles west of the village. The men you killed last night, belong to him.” Staler wrung his hands in frustration and lifted his head to stare at the three foreign visitors. “We’re all very grateful of what you did, don’t mistake my meaning. Even though Prisaine, and the two lads from down yonder were killed, if you hadn’t been here, many more could have been killed.”

“Or none at all, if you’d just let them have what they wanted!” snarled one of the villagers.

“Peace Dromin, please.” Staler pleaded with a lanky, bean pole of a man with a robust reddish beard. “We’ve talked this over enough that the bloody table knows what you’re thinking by now.”

“Ye think if ye’d just handed over all yer purses they’d have left ye alone?” Aboleth asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” growled the man Staler called Dromin, spittle flying from his mouth. “If we’d just given them what they wanted, they’d have left us alone. No one would have died. Not Prisaine, and none of them others neither. But no! The big world travelers, with their shiny swords,” he gestured to the twin hilts peeking over Faux’s shoulders, “couldn’t possibly do that. So here we are. Burying our own, worrying about what they’ll do next! Do you think Snakebit is going to leave us alone after you butchered a half dozen of his men? No! He’ll come here with the rest of them and demand some sort of retribution. And where will you be? Long gone I says!”

“PEACE DROMIN!” Staler’s closed fist cracked off the table in front of him. Faux was sure it must have hurt, but the councillor never flinched. “You’ve had your say, now be silent!” He stared hard at the man who matched him glare for glare. Dromin sucked on his teeth and spit a fat wad of saliva on the floor, his body quivering with rage, before stepping back into the muttering throng.

“Dromin has little control over his emotions,” Staler said, turning his attention back to the party. “But what he says rings true. Thomin has become a dirty, evil bastard, and he will not take the deaths of his men lightly, circumstances be damned.”

“Groups of thieves don’t usually stay together long, especially in one spot like you describe. Why haven’t you banded together to drive them off?” Faux stared at the shuddering rabble.

“Aren’t there any king’s men in the area?” Aboleth rubbed a hand through his beard. “Why hasn’t the local magistrate taken care of them?”

“Where have you been hiding?” Staler gawped at them. “Every king’s man in existence is busy trying to find that cursed relic.”

“Relic?”

“Yes, that damned fool quest the king has issued! Every nobleman in the kingdom has his men poking into every nook, cranny, and hidey hole in the damned world, while the kingdom falls to s**t around their ears. But that’s not what matters. What matters here, is what we’re going to do about Thomin and his men.” Staler stood from the chair and turned to the companions. “Or more specifically, what you’re going to do!”

“What do you mean?” Guy asked.

“What I mean is, since your swords have put this entire village at risk it will be up you to put it right, and make sure Thomin leaves us alone.”

“You want us to go and kill a group of bandits for you?” Faux snickered.

“I don’t care if you kill them, pay them off, scare them away, or anything else, as long as they’re gone.”

“It’s not Jahlenea’s nature to hunt men.” Aboleth said, his voice low.

“No,” Staler replied, “but it is in her nature to ‘protect’ the innocent. A job I’m sure you’re particularly suited to.” Genlon stared hard at the Aboleth. The meaning wasn’t lost on the dwarf. “This village has had no quarrel with those men. Have we lived in fear of them? Yes. But we’ve been trying to pay them off when we could, bowing and scraping for weeks doing what we can to keep the peace. Your, intervention, will make things worse for us.” He paused, looking once at the herd of sullen village advisors, before turning back to them.

“We’re willing to pay a sum for the work.” A few of the advisors spat on the floor in imitation of Dromin, shuffled their feet and crossed their arms as they glared at the councillor. ‘Willing’, maybe wasn’t the right word to describe how the villagers thought about buying their services, thought Faux. Staler tossed a worn leather pouch on the table. It landed with a jingle.

“It isn’t much I know, but it’s all we could pool together. Some gold and a few silver pieces.”

“I don’t need to be paid to do the Blessed One’s work.” Aboleth said in response to the purse. “But I will help. Ye speak a ring of truth about the persecution of the innocent.”

“I’ll put in too,” Faux’s hands itched at the sight of the coin purse. “But I have no qualms about being paid.”

“Nor do I,” Guy said.

“How much is in there?” Faux pointed to the purse, his old habits dying hard.

“Thirty or so gold marks, a handful of silver pieces. It’s all we can spare.”

Faux glanced over at Guy who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Okay, I guess we’re all in.” He stepped forward to collect the purse, only to have Staler snatch it away.

“Not that I don’t trust your word, but, well, it’s all we have, and if you don’t mind, we’ll pay after the work’s been done.”

Faux’s extended hand hung in the air. “Fair enough. So where can we find Thomin Snakebit?”

“A couple of miles to the northwest, just past the fields in a small copse of trees. They’ve set up a few tents and look like they mean to be there a while.”

“Numbers? How many men does he have with him?”

“Not entirely sure. Dromin says he’s seen more than a dozen but he was hiding in the bushes at dusk.” Faux glanced up at the surly townsman who nodded firmly.

“If they’re such a fearsome lot why don’t they just move into the town?” Guy asked. “Why camp in the woods when there are beds here?”

“We’d fight them!” Dromin said, back straight and arms crossed, but with a nervous edge to his voice.

“We can tolerate them mostly,” Staler explained. “They usually just make a ruckus and are nuisances. They steal a little and we’re happy to let them have it, as long as it keeps them satisfied. If they ever came in force, threatening our homes, we’d fight. But we’re not soldiers and we’d die. But so would most of them, and they know that. It was best for everyone if we just went along with them.”

“Till you came and kicked over the ants nest,” Dromin growled, ducking to the back of the crowd.

“Rabid dogs always turn,” Guy’s icy blue eyes burned through the group. “It’s always just a matter of time.”

“Well, let’s go have a look shall we?” Faux said. Guy and Aboleth both nodded, the three companions turned and headed for the door. Stepping outside, they could hear the advisors exploding at Genlon again, a leaky dam that had just ruptured, allowing the angry water to run free.

* * * * *

The companions walked along a narrow and twisty cart path that passed for a road. The leaves of the poplar and birch trees stirred, some were starting to show the first signs of the impending autumn. The bright green canopy was speckled with an occasional yellow, orange, or violent, red splash. Mighty pines or massive spruce stood at irregular intervals, watching as they passed. Squirrels chittered at them and scurried away, continuing their winter preparations, while scattered bird song echoed from among the waving leaves.

“Either of you guys have any experience in this kind of work?” Faux broke the silence after they’d walked a short way in companionable silence.

“Nah. Lots of work fighting off these kinds of thieves when they attack my employers.” Guy stroked his sword hilt. “Haven’t taken the fight to them before though, it’ll be an interesting change.”

Aboleth glanced first to Guy then Faux. “Nay, not like this. And I don’t intend for this to be a killin’ fight either. I’ll avoid the bloodshed if I can.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” Faux asked.

“Remember lad. The threat of the hammer, before the hammer itself. We agreed to make them leave the village folk alone, that doesn’t have to be by killin’ them. We give them the choice, and encourage they leave. If they’re as stubborn as the group in the inn, and decide they’d rather fight, well, we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

“If you say so cleric,” Guy adjusted his scabbard. “But if I were you, I’d start praying. I doubt this group will just pick up and leave because we ask them to. No matter how nice we are.”

“I always pray. For the just and the wicked alike.” Aboleth turned to Faux. “And you lad? You seem experienced in this line of work.”

Faux shrugged. “I’ve done similar work before. On a smaller scale, but much the same. I’ve mostly given it up these days, but this seems like the right thing to do.”

“Aye, and a little extra coin to yer purse doesn’t hurt either.”

Faux gave a sheepish grin. “Nothing’s free, right?”

“Shhh, there’s something up ahead.” Guy came to a halt, holding out a hand to stop Aboleth and Faux.

Sunlight danced through the swaying leaves, accompanied by their rustling music. Shadows shifted across the ground in haphazard patterns, making it difficult to see anything more than a few feet off the cart path. Faux strained his eyes and ears, trying to make out anything that might alert him to the bandit’s camp. With his senses close to bursting, he finally caught a whiff of wood smoke. Just the barest, tantalizing scent, tickling his nostrils.

“Camp fire.” He whispered. “We’re getting close.”

“So how do you want to do this dwarf?” Guy asked bluntly. “Walk up and ask ‘em to leave? Please?”

“Well, it’s kind of what I had in mind. No sense spookin’ them into a fight if we don’t have to.”

“Maybe it’s best if we don’t all walk into the lion’s den together,” Faux suggested. “Let me go through the trees and scout out the camp a bit. I’ll be there, hiding, to cover you with my bow.” He patted the unstrung short bow Ahanna had given him. “If they decide they’re not leaving and pick a fight, I can take care of any bowmen they might have, or at the very least help even the odds on your part.”

“Sounds good lad,” Aboleth nodded. “Ye know how to use that do ye? I don’t want to be pullin’ one of yer shafts from my arse later.”

“I’m a fair enough shot. Just give me a few minutes head start, to find the camp and get set up, before you keep on.” With that he was gone, darting into the trees.

* * * * *

He slipped through the dense foliage, sure footed and confident. The afternoon sunlight traced a multitude of paths, dappling the forest floor in vibrant patterns. The day was warm but had the distinct feel of fall, an earthy taste on the nose.

He darted around spruce and fir trees, ducked under birch branches and skipped from poplar to poplar, the scent of wood smoke growing stronger. Muffled voices, laughter, and the jingle and scrape of metal on metal, reached his ears. He slowed his approach and crept through the trees with extra care, trying to avoid snapping any of the dried and brittle twigs underfoot.

He settled on a comfortable spot along the top of a rocky outcrop, wrapping around the back edge of the camp. Tents and camp gear were strewn around the forest floor in such a random array as to be almost orderly again. He counted five men gathered around two different cook fires. Four of them sat clustered around one small, smoky fire, roasting what looked to be a small rabbit, chatting and laughing. Another man sat apart, running a whet stone along the edge of the sword resting on his knee.

The tents were dirty scraps of canvas stretched taut over tired poles and staked to the ground. Stained and thin, they offered scant protection from the chill that permeated the air in the evenings. Odd sacks and bundles lay scattered around the tents, remnants of what they’d taken from passing merchants or traders.

They appeared well armed for a group of drunks. A tall, slender bow stood propped against the stump the loner was sitting on, while a handful of swords lay clumped together on the ground before the other four bandits. A large war axe, with a wicked half-moon blade, lay wedged into a stump next to one of the tents.

Faux pulled his bow from where it was strapped to his back pack and strung it. He gave a gentle pull on the string, feeling the bow flex in his grip. Satisfied that it was in good working order, he slid four arrows from his quiver. He jabbed three into the soft forest soil, standing in front of him like a miniature palisade. The other he laid across the bow, nocking its end but not drawing it. Settling in, he waited.

* * * * *

Aboleth and Guy watched Faux slip into the trees, the lithe half-elf vanished without a trace within seconds. A ghost, flicking among the dappling shadows.

“So, you trust him?” Guy said, his rough voice like two rocks being scraped along each other.

“Tis a funny situation for three men who only met the day before isn’t it?” Aboleth replied. “I believe Jahlenea brought us together for a reason. Maybe this is it; to help liberate this small village from the evil lurkin’ at their doorstep.”

Guy nodded. “You didn’t answer my question though.”

Aboleth looked up at the large man. “Aye, I trust him. Why do ye ask?”

“I’m pretty sure I can trust you. Haven’t met a cleric yet who didn’t do what he said he’d do. Him? I don’t know? He seemed a little too comfortable asking for the money, and taking on a job where he might have to kill someone. His being a ‘traveler’, carrying a pair of rapiers that he obviously knows how to use, willingly if this little jaunt is any indication, just gives me a bad feeling. What if he’s a part of them? Setting us up?”

“Ye’ve only known him a day. I think the lad has good intentions. I’ve only known yerself that long too ye know.” The dwarf looked up at the big man frowning down at him. “Ye didn’t seem all that squeamish yerself about takin’ the money for this errand.”

Guy met the dwarf’s stare and swallowed, the meaning not lost on him. “Strange times for strange company.”

“Indeed.” Aboleth glanced up at the sky and tried to judge how long it’d been since Faux had disappeared. “We should probably get movin’. That’s enough of a head start for him to be in position.”

“Just as well to get this over with.” Guy pulled his sword out of the scabbard a few inches, rattling it around to make sure it wouldn’t stick if he had to draw it quickly. “Let’s go then.”

They continued along the road as it slithered through the trees. It wasn’t very long before they could pick out the sounds, people moving around, a scattered curse here or there, a sudden burst of laughter. The swaying of the trees kept them from getting a clear view, just glimpses of colour and movement that played tricks on the eyes.

“You two lost or what?” A sharp, dry voice called out from behind them. Aboleth and Guy spun to see a skinny man holding a bow, arrow nocked and pointed straight at Guy, staring back at them. He had a dark patchy growth of beard sticking out from his face, lank, greasy hair hung from his head. “Well? I asked a question.”

“Peace of Jahlenea be on ye,” Aboleth said, his arms spread wide. “I believe we may have found what we’re lookin’ for.”

“Is that so? And what the hell is that? An arrow up your ass?”

“A group of men, set up in a camp, just outside of the village.” Aboleth jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the town. “We’re looking for Thomin Snakebit.”

“The Snake eh? And just what do you be wanting with Snakebit?”

“That’s between us and him.” Guy stepped forward. “Just want to have a discussion is all.”

The man peered through the trees, eyes darting to every shifting shadow before settling back on the two travelers.

“Got anyone else with ya?”

“Surely if we had anyone else with us, ye would have seen them, the way ye spotted us.”

“Fine. Keep your damn hands away from your weapons, and walk in front of me. Through the trees there, nice and steady. You so much as twitch those hands, you’ll get the arrow first, the questions after.”

“Easy lad, we’ll follow yer rules.” Aboleth nodded to Guy. The two men turned their back to the sentry, stomping their way through the thin undergrowth and gnarly branches laying between the road and the camp.

Aboleth’s cloak caught and snagged on every branch, his heavy booted feet crunching and snapping through dry and dead twigs. It sounded as though an army of dwarves were marching through the woods, rather than the two companions and their escort. By the time they’d escaped from the grasping foliage into the small clearing, a number of armed men stood facing them, expressions ranging from surprise to amusement. As their escort stepped from the trees behind them, a big brutish man with bulging arms and a wild tuft of red hair, stepped forward.

“Found some more shite on the road did ya Ruben?” He growled. He was holding a massive war axe by the haft in one hand, idly tapping the half-moon blade against his open palm as if it weighed no more than a cudgel.

“Aye, from the village. Says they’re looking for Snakebit.”

“Har, har,” He roared. “Lookin’ for Snakebit. As if every piss ant arsehole can just walk up to our camp and demand to see the boss.”

“I think he’ll want to see us,” Aboleth sized up the rest of the party.

Five of them, not including the bowman who escorted them from the road, all armed and spread out, facing them. The burly lad with the axe looked to be the biggest threat. Two men flanked either side of him, each holding a slender short sword while another stood slightly off to one side, a long sword hanging loosely from his hand. The blade gleamed in the thin, setting sunlight. Another bowman stood back from the rest of them, an arrow on the string, but he hadn’t drawn it yet. Not the best odds he’d ever seen. He peered over the shoulders of the men arrayed in front of him, looking to the silent trees beyond them. If the lad isn’t out there, this could be dicey.

“We have a proposition for him.” The cleric focused on the men in front of him.

“Is that so?” The Brute hacked up a wad of phlegm, and spit it at the dwarf’s feet. “And just what the hell might that be? You come to suck him off? Or is that what the big lad is for?” He broke out into a large grin, chuckling at his own joke with the rest of the group.

“We’re here to give you a chance to leave.” Guy’s eyes locked on to the Brute.

“Oh really! And what makes you think we’d be so willing to just up and leave this cozy spot?” He held his arms out, showing off the small clearing they occupied.

“That’s what we wanted to talk to Thomin about,” Aboleth said, cutting Guy off before he could provoke the big man into a fight.

“It’s a fair question you see.” An unseen man’s voice drawled. The flap belonging to one of the threadbare tents was thrown back, a man slid from its shadowy depths, like a snake uncoiling from its den. He stood with his face towards the dying sun, stretching his arms behind his back, before making his way towards the conversation.

He was bare chested beneath a thin leather vest, hanging over his lean, wiry frame. His dark hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail, giving his face a severe, angular look. Two long knives were sheathed on either thigh. A massive tattoo of a snake started on his chest, ducked under the vest, and slithered across one shoulder before coiling around the length of one of his arms. The head and fangs of the snake appeared on the back of his hand, where two angry, swollen welts stood out, one at the end of each fang. He sauntered over to the Brute, tucking his thumbs behind the belt holding his trousers up. His green eyes were like chips of dark emerald as he surveyed the two intruders to his camp.

“A dwarf and a big lad. I don’t suppose you happen to be the same that helped cut my men down last night in Arbordale? Of course you are.” He answered his own question before either could respond. “We’re missing the elf though, aren’t we? Zerin, Dazos; search the woods, find the elf.” The man standing off slightly to himself immediately darted into the trees followed by one of the men holding a short sword.

“There ain’t no one else out there Thomin, these two come alone,” the sentry who had brought Aboleth and Guy in, pointed his arrow at them.

“Why’s that? Because you didn’t see anyone else? You think these two’d just waltz in here without anyone else looking out for them? Especially after what those bastards told us earlier. I don’t think so. The elf is out there, and we’ll find him too.”

Thomin turned back to Aboleth and Guy, “So you come from the village and want us to leave huh? Wouldn’t have anything to do with the little episode at that tavern last night, would it?”

Aboleth tried to cover his surprise at how well informed the bandit leader seemed to be. “Aye. The poor folks back there are done living in fear. Asked us to ask ye to move on. Best for everyone.”

“Well except for the men you butchered last night. Not so good for them, eh? I heard how you cut them down, just because they was trying to have a bit of fun.” He jerked his thumb towards a cart that was half hidden in the trees.

It was vaguely familiar to the dwarf. Earlier that morning, a cart containing the corpses of the two dead men from the tavern had left Arbordale. Two volunteers were returning the bodies to their own village, a few more miles along the road. He could see a third body now, tossed on top of the other two. A pair of legs were poking out from underneath the cart. The two drivers, and Thomin’s source of information. Aboleth’s brows furrowed; another pair of innocent murders.

“Unfortunate,” Aboleth replied, trying to keep his rising anger in check, “They were given a chance to leave, without a fight. They chose their fate as the Blessed One allows for us all. Just as ye are being given a choice. Let’s put an end to the bloodshed and thievery.”

“Please!” Thomin snorted. “Spare me your religious rhetoric. You’re no different than the rest of us. Hiding behind your holier-than-thou bullshit like it gives you rights the rest of us poor sods can only dream of aspiring to.”

“We’re here to ask ye to leave. So, I’m askin. Please.”

Thomin looked at the ground for a moment before bringing his head back up to stare at the dwarf and his bulging companion. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. He glanced at his own retinue, then looked over his shoulder, sizing up their dishevelled tents and scattered belongings.

“f**k it. Kill ‘em!”