Fates Choice
Page 24
*******************************************
The party were told, by the hosteller’s family the next morning, to take the left fork in the road by the copse of ash trees at the bottom of the next gorge. The road to Buxtor was apparently unsigned otherwise.
They reached the fork around midday and had been told they would get to Buxtor a few hours later.
As they journeyed through the morning they could see from the road, where they reached the crest of hills, wagons on tramlines on the tops of hills running adjacent to the road. Large wooden tower structures could be seen at the steepest parts of the line. They were close enough to see pulley ropes being lassoed to large wheels slung under the towers, onto smaller pulleys on the wagons to help the loads up the hills, and slow their descent down them.
“A larger scale version of the wagon system that runs down to your docks young man”. Torr turned with a start, having become engrossed watching the wagons full of cut and dressed stone as the rhythm of a new days riding had set in. Bernhart had ridden up beside him. If there was any awkwardness at last night’s fumbling, no one showed any sign. They were getting closer to their destination now anyway. Torr felt less apprehension than when their small army had left Oaks Keep last time. It was not as if they were definitely heading into battle now. If all went well, then there may be no need for bloodshed anyway. Bernhart had ridden up to each of them in turn though, just to ensure their version of events was well rehearsed, but still convincing. There was little dispute that as much of the talking as possible should be left to the master wizard.
They could tell as they approached Buxtor though. For some strange reason, this small mining town and its satellite villages had chosen to use the dark grit stone that permeated the hills, instead of using the lighter coloured limestone. The effect was to give their town a dark and dismal look which appeared to have made its presence felt in the expression of its people. To a man, woman and child, the party was greeted with dour glares even through, what appeared to be, the centre of the town.
There was just one run down tavern, which seemed less than a town of this size should have had. There was no sign of any guild or merchants quarters, let alone anyone to greet them. The Suthrasian crew gained more than their fair share of disapproving looks.
“Gods’, it feels like they’re going to jump us at any moment”. Carodin whispered to Torr as they rode through the town. It was late afternoon by the time they found their way into Buxtor. There were only one or two other people on horseback. Torr gained the distinct impression that not many people from this town travelled further than they needed to.
“Right then, let us introduce ourselves shall we”. Bernhart’s tone appeared to be deliberately light, as if to try and ward off the dark and uninviting presence, which appeared to ooze from the very buildings themselves.
Six of the Suthrasian men remained outside with the horses whilst the rest went in.
The interior of the hostel matched the exterior. Moth eaten animal head trophies lined the minstrel’s gallery. Tables and chairs in the open guests lounge were mismatched, missing legs or backs and the foyer desk looked as if it had been kicked around the entire lower floor.
The fat middle aged man behind the desk appeared to be reading a gazette, almost in the hope that, if he ignored the guests, they would go away.
“Excuse me my good man but we require accommodation for this evening. There are fifteen of us all told plus, of course, an equal number of horse for the stables”. The man had not even looked up by this stage.
“I presume you have stables? In fact, perhaps I am making an assumption sir that you hear and speak at all”.
Even Bernhart was starting to lose his patience and overwhelming civilised disposition. Frankly, he had seemed sunnier when they were on the battlefield. The master wizard finished his sentence with what sounded like a growl which did at least have some effect as the man looked up for the first time and proved that he did have some power of vocabulary.
“Ow many, fifteen. Yer joking aren’t you. Well, awright, but I can only spare a room t’all of you”.
Torr looked around and up. The building looked very big, at least, four storeys tall. They were clearly the only ones in there. Carodin leant forward. “I think we’d be better off camping outside” he whispered again.
They were pointed to, rather than shown, their room which was, at least, clean. There appeared to be several large rooms on each floor but no signs of any other life, apart from their own company.
Perezia agreed she would remain here with the men whilst Bernhart, Carodin and Torr went to try and find the stonemasons guild.
They found it at the end of a small row of shops at a dead end of what appeared to be the market area. At least, they presumed it must be the stonemason’s guild. The uniformly accepted crest of the stonemason’s guild throughout the wealds, a worked stone piece overlaid with a crossed hammer and chisel, was missing. Through the window though, pieces of worked stone could be seen as the only clue to the buildings purpose.
“Gods, how do these people end up with any work at all if they are so uninviting?” mused Torr.
“Normally they work through brokers outside of this town, hence why they generally have no need to deal with outsiders” answered Bernhart.
When they went in, they were met with a large surly man whose power of speech was even less capable than that of the tavern owner. When addressed, he simply disappeared into a door behind him without a word, having just scowled as Bernhart introduced themselves.
“I am starting to see why this place has such a bad reputation”, he said turning to the two young men. “Nevertheless, we will try and stick with the plan, although at this stage, I am seriously considering beating a confession out of all here”. Torr and Carodin grinned at each other as an older but more wiry man came out from the back room. The larger man did not return with him.
“Yes, we got your scroll, Master Alsric isn’t it? And these two?” The man pointed to Torr and Carodin. “These are my associates, Master’s Bartrich and Sigwyrth”.
The wiry man was not, at least, as blunt as the others appeared to be, but Torr still felt he was deeply untrustworthy. His thin smile could be taken as a sneer. There was simply something about him that Torr disliked, even more than everything, and everyone, else here.
“And your Suthrasian guards, where are they?” Torr felt himself gradually, almost subconsciously, reaching for Victory’s Pain, which he was carrying on its leather strap, slung over his back. His bow he had left at the tavern. They had almost come straight here so someone must have hot footed it all the way to this guild, if indeed that’s what it truly was, to warn of the outsider’s approach. No doubt their number and perceived strength as well.
“They are back at the tavern.”
“Ah...I see.” The man appeared to ponder this point before he continued. “Well, we believe we can assist with this new building of yours. Starting tomorrow you will be accompanied to the quarries so you can decide which best suits your needs”.
The man held out his arm, indicating to the door. “For now gentlemen, I am sure you have had an exhausting ride and will wish to rest”. Torr actually felt a surge through the hairs on the back of his neck and swore he caught sight of sparks coming from one of Barnhart’s hands. The master wizard turned on his heel without a good day, or instruction to Torr or Carodin. The two young men looked dumbfounded at each other before they had to half run after their erstwhile leader, who was muttering to himself as they made their way back to the tavern.
“In all my days I have never encountered such a people or place, never!” Bernhart had barely calmed down even after they had returned to their single, but very large, room. Torr and Carodin had gone back downstairs to find there was, at least, a large kettle steaming away on an open hearth in the lounge. Some tea leaves and roasting beans had been put out on a plate on a large, but uneven, old table, together with an assortment of unappetising refreshments.
/> There had been no instruction, no invite for the guests to eat their fill. The Suthrasian men had even had difficulty finding the washroom facilities as there was no sight or sound of the man that had greeted them or any kitchen staff. They had filled a mug and bought it back to Bernhart, but the master wizard remained vexed for some time. Out of curiosity, Torr and Carodin had tried the door handles on each of, what they thought were, the other guestrooms, but each was locked.
“There is clearly no one else here yet they want us all to be in one room. I never thought I would have to say this whilst in a weald tavern, but I believe we would be best served with a night watch.” Bernhart sipped his tea anyway through his agitation. Up until now, Torr had thought that Bernhart Rowe was the most unflappable man in the world. A battle with gaestnips did not appear to faze him but, it would seem, bad manners sent him up the wall!
“Agreed. I do not like this. I fear it is a trap. Are you sure they have not seen through your ruse master wizard?”
“I do not believe so Captain Sala, merely that we are in the presence of the most ignorant town I have had the misfortune to come across”.
“Very well, a guard it is”. Perezia gave instructions to her men on the order of their watch before they settled down. It was agreed that members of their group could wander the tavern, but in groups of no less than four and armed at all times. If Buxtor refused to be civil to them then they would happily remain ready for battle or ambush.
Torr, Carodin and, once he calmed down a little, Bernhart did actually venture into the town later on. There did appear to be a number of inns. They chose the largest, next to the town bandstand and criers pulpit, in the hope this would represent the most accepting of ale house for outsiders to wander into. Some people were too engrossed in their own conversations to notice the three men come in. Those that did greeted them with what, by now, appeared to be the official greeting to Buxtor, a contemptuous scowl.
They found a suitable table at which to sit and found the only positive thing to their visit so far, the ale!
Despite this enjoyable distraction, it seemed clear that they were not going to overhear anything worth listening to, or that anyone would be willing to loosen their lips to three outsiders.
They rejoined Captain Sala and her men, having noted the main streets had become eerily quite, even though it was by no means late still.
Since their absence, the hosteller had apparently made another appearance and lit the fire in the common room they had all been herded into. Even this far south, the change of season was taking hold and the building seemed generally cold.
It was agreed that they would get a good night’s rest and hope that there escorted venture into the hills, over the next few days, would pay more dividend with their investigation.
**************************************
Torr woke and had difficulty reconciling his pounding headache and nausea with the, single, pint that he had enjoyed the night before. He was having difficulty focussing on his surroundings as well. A sense of panic started to creep in as he saw that he was not in the common room of the tavern anymore. His new accommodation was a lot smaller and with sturdy looking metal bars which were padlocked. He could just about see the outline of Carodin shaking the bars. However, Torr’s brain appeared to be reacting slowly to their new found captivity.
He could at least see Bernhart with them but no signs of anyone else. He tried to sit up, focussing a little further past the bars. The only thing in front appeared to be a long corridor but, maybe just at the edge of his vision, the bottom of a flight of stairs. Looking left or right made him feel sick still. He saw Carodin turn and try and help him up. He could hear some echoing. Carodin sounded as if he was speaking to Torr from a long way away.
As Carodin picked him up, Torr was sick, narrowly missing Carodin, who had the good sense to drop his friend quickly. There was not a hard landing, Torr looked around to see they had been lying on thick straw. His head was pounding but he no longer felt nauseous and Carodin’s voice was coming into focus. ”..ing marvellous, just what we wanted. As if being held captive in a small cell wasn’t enough, Paega’s finest has decided to redecorate our new accommodation”.
Bernhart was sitting on, what appeared to be a small chest to one side of the bars, head slightly bowed, looking for all the world like he was praying. He guessed that whatever affected Torr was affecting Bernhart as well. Carodin, as the larger and, probably, fittest of the three may not have been feeling the effects so much now. But what of the others? He tried to speak but realised his mouth was bone dry just as he managed a feeble croak. “Others, where are the others?” he managed with some effort.
Carodin pointed to their right. Torr felt better enough to risk standing again, albeit clutching the stone walls for balance. He could have used his staff at this point. A sudden realisation swept Torr, where was their gear and where were their horses? God’s, if these shits have done anything to Scout I will level Buxtor with fire. He shuffled over and looked to his right. Pressing his head against the bars, he could see what appeared to be all eleven men and Perezia herself, in a cell not much larger than their own. To his left was another cell which appeared empty, except for what looked like all their equipment. It may as well have been on the moons given their own caged status. The bars were solid metal and inches thick, as was the padlock as well. There appeared to be nothing else to the room, save for the long corridor away from them. It had all the appearance of a store room or makeshift brig, or both. The straw appeared fresh and there were a couple of well maintained barrels on the edge of the corridor.
It did not take long for it to dawn on him that their plan, well, Bernhart’s plan, had this time been a complete failure.
“So where are we then? Who took us? How did we get here anyway? I don’t remember a thing but...”
Bernhart held up his customary finger to counter Carodin’s questions. The master wizard still had his head bowed. Torr went over and sat beside him. Having been sick, he was starting to feel more composed as his stomach settled, but he could kill for some water. “How are you feeling sir?”
“Like everyone else I suspect young man, but thank you for asking. I believe Captain Culos here seems to have recovered quicker than most as a mark of his constitution no doubt and the fact that I recall he was sleeping furthest from the fire”.
“Wait, you think, what, somehow they...”
“All very excellent questions young man but, yes, I suspect the logs were hollow and burnt off whatever they were filled with, which is why we now feel the way we do”.
“So do you think we are now in the hands of whoever the smugglers are?”
“I do, yes”. Carodin, let out a low moan. “But, before we despair, we are still alive. If it was their intention to slit our throats, I do not think they would have gone to the trouble of moving us somewhere and giving us the chance to recover. No, I suspect, whoever is behind this wishes to question us, possibly ransom us. Or at least try to anyway”. Bernhart tried to stand but had to be helped up by Torr. The wizard sat back down quickly.
“Let us just pray that we have sufficient time to recover our full facilities as I am hoping that we can turn this to our advantage”.
Torr re-appraised their situation and did not share the wizard’s optimism. They were secured beyond hope of escape or rescue and would possibly be tortured for information before their bodies were dumped, without rites, God knows where.
So the gem will fall back into the hands of the bandits after all. It then occurred to Torr that he hadn’t checked if he still had the gem. He checked the small pouch tucked in his belt and could feel the Elheren artefact underneath the fabric.
“Still there?” Torr turned and saw Bernhart looking at him. He nodded. Carodin still appeared to be paying attention to what he could see of the outside world rather than his fellow captives.
“Be surprised if it wasn’t”. Bernhart stood again and, gingerly made his way over to the bars.
“Well, they clearly feel confident with their prison as all our equipment has kindly been piled up. How are our comrades doing”. Bernhart looked to his right and waved an arm through the bars. Torr couldn’t see from his position but he could hear some voices coming from the cell to their right. “Much the same as us, it seems.” Bernhart turned to the two young men. “Feel like you’ve drunk too much yes?” Both nodded.
“Hmm, yes well, as I say, I suggest we try and rest and let us see what serendipity has in store for us. I still have a trick or two up my proverbial sleeve when we meet our captors. Be prepared gentleman”.
As it was, the prisoners were given some time to focus on their pounding heads and dry throats before they heard a door open. As the hinges creaked, voices could be heard. No specific conversation, but the general clamour of people, men, who sounded as if they were engaged in some labour or other. The door shut and the background noise receded. It was replaced by the sound of footsteps, more than one man, down a small flight of stairs. Their captor’s feet came into vision first.
“Ahh, our hosts.” Bernhart whispered to Torr and Carodin. “Let us see if we can loosen their tongues shall we”. As he said this, Bernhart reached into his jacket pocket, appeared to rummage around for something and then put his right hand behind his back and his left hand resting on the bars just as three men came into sight. The man in the middle was dressed as if he had heard, but never actually seen, how merchants dressed and had tried to conjure up clothing to suit his own imagination. A garish coloured yellow tunic that had stone dust stains down it, together with trousers that, once, had been vivid green but had then been used for manual labour. Long scuffed shoes and a fancy sword scabbard finished off the visage of a smuggler who had struggled to find ways to spend his ill gotten gains. The two men either side appeared equally deluded that their attempts to look like guards of some importance masked them for the sidekick thugs they clearly were. They clattered their spears across the floor, clearly showing they had no training or idea when and where to use such a weapon. Certainly not in a confined space like this.