by AC Cobble
Saala, poorly hiding his amusement at Rhys’ frustration, heaped on, “I think it will be nice having some more able bodies with us.”
Rhys stumbled out of his Ohm stance and glared at Saala. “Able bodies my ass. Any hunter spending his days on Foley’s payroll is either unofficially retired or feeble.”
Early the next day, with morning dew still clinging to the stone walls of the keep, they departed Eastside and Ben got a clear picture of why Rhys was so upset with their new companions.
“Ah, Rhys! Never thought I’d see you again looking so healthy!” boomed a large man.
“Yeah, Ferg. Nice to see you again too,” muttered Rhys.
“Oh, ho ho,” chortled the man. “I see you are no longer wearing the sigil? Got a little uncomfortable?”
The man could only be described as pompous. He was wearing a flashing silver breastplate and had a massive two-handed sword strapped to his back. His long, raven-black hair was accented by a silver mustache that drooped from around his mouth and down past his chin. His hair was bound by a silver circlet that matched both the mustache and breastplate.
Surely that could not be intentional, thought Ben.
The man continued, “I earned my sigil a year later, no thanks to you.” He patted the hilt of his sword and turned to show a large, brightly gilded blademaster’s sigil. “I understand of course, it’s an honor and a responsibility. Old Nemil didn’t give it up easy, mind you. It was a tough fight. I almost feel sorry for the old chap. Died a couple moons later. A lot of hungry challengers once I beat him. He wouldn’t give it up. By the by, it’s Ferguson now. I dropped Ferg once I signed Lord Foley’s contract. He was paying good gold then because he wanted a man with a proper blademaster’s sigil. He’d pay good for a second sigil, I suppose. It’s a shame you don’t have yours anymore.”
Saala had tucked his own scabbard behind his travel pack where his subtler sigil was hidden. He picked up his pace to walk beside Rhys and asked Ferguson, “You earned your blademaster sigil by beating a man named Old Nemil? I can only assume he was, ah, old?”
“Aye, that he was. Did you know him?” Ferguson continued without waiting for a response, “He was cunning, that is for sure. Comes from the wisdom, you know? He’d seen it all. Took some creative blade work to get through that guard. Wasn’t my first choice, of course. Good ole Rhys here was carrying a sigil back when we were at Northport together. He disappeared the day after I challenged him. You heard me earlier, right? That’s why I said I was surprised to see him. Figured a man who can’t protect his sigil is going to get nothing but trouble. Just like Old Nemil did.”
“This is going to be delightful traveling with you, Blademaster Ferguson!” Saala slapped Rhys on the back then dropped back, grinning, to walk beside Meghan and Ben.
That evening they dropped the normal routine of working through Rhys’ Ohms and just did sword practice, mostly in an effort to ignore Blademaster Ferguson. The man was an unending fountain of stories about his own bravery. Through the verbal onslaught, Ben determined that he had been in Lord Foley’s service the last half decade. Before that, he had been stationed in Northport guarding some lord’s household. That’s where he had met Rhys.
“The Lord of Northport, is that Lord Rhymer?” asked Ben. “Why did you leave his service? I hear he is quite wealthy and I’m sure would pay better than these valley lords.”
“Oh, no, not Rhymer. You’re right, Rhymer is the Lord of Northport, but we guarded a lord of Northport. You understand the difference, I am sure.” Ferguson gave Ben a knowing wink.
Ben wasn’t sure he really did know the difference.
“Lord Allimach got around, that’s not secret. He was worried about, well, you know,” Ferguson continued. Ben really thought he didn’t know.
Amelie saved him the breath and broke in facetiously, “Oh, I have not heard! What was this Lord Allimach so worried about?”
“Jealously, my Lady,” answered Ferguson with a serious expression. “He was worried about jealous husbands. He hired a group of us to keep his estate safe, and we did keep it safe. Many tried, but none made it past our guard. Pity him dying of a shellfish allergy. Such a strange way to go, eating shellfish in Northport and with so many willing to pay good coin to put a knife in him. Anyway, it was a couple days after when a lot of us were looking for new employment that I challenged your friend Rhys here. He skipped town that night and I haven’t seen him since.”
Rhys grinned back at Ferguson. “That’s true. I did leave right after you challenged me. I figured with Lord Allimach dead, my work there was done.”
Ben saw Renfro looking at him with questioning eyes.
Rhys continued while tapping his longsword, “If it’s been bothering you so much these last five years, maybe we can pick up where we left off?”
Lady Towaal interrupted, “I don’t think that’s necessary. The man has his sigil now and we need to keep moving. We can’t risk someone getting hurt during the contest.”
Rhys smiled at her. “That is true. An injury is certainly possible. Oh well, maybe another time, Ferg.”
The history with Rhys did little to stem Ferguson’s loquaciousness. Throughout the length of the valley he regaled them with tales of his exploits. Occasionally, Rhys’ sword hand would get a little twitchy, but the rest of them were able to treat it as pure, presumably fictional, theatre. If nothing else, the man had an imagination.
Rishram, the second hunter Lord Foley sent, was Ferguson’s opposite. Where Ferguson was big and boisterous, Rishram was small and reserved. He rarely spoke. When he did, it was in quiet tones. Not the silky, slow drawl that Saala had. Just quiet. The one attribute he shared with Ferguson was his bushy mustache. It seemed to take over his small face. Renfro and Ben joked that there must have been some wager involved.
His armaments were also different. He had light leather armor and carried a recurved horn bow, a quiver of arrows, and two hunting knives. When Meghan asked him about a sword, he curtly responded, “We’re in the valley. What do I need a sword for?”
Most of the time he spent ranging ahead of them. He said for scouting, but Ben suspected just for the peace and quiet. He was decently skilled with his bow, though. One time when he was back with them, a covey of quail burst out of a nearby field and took flight over the road. Rishram swung his bow off his shoulder and started firing arrows at the flock. In heartbeats, he’d downed two of the birds.
Amelie and Meghan both clapped and cheered for him as he scuttled forward to retrieve the birds.
Rhys snickered while Rishram collected the birds. “Five arrows and he shoots down two of them.”
The next three weeks were like that. They travelled down the broad, well-maintained roads of Sineook Valley with little concern for safety and little interaction with the residents. Both Towaal and Amelie preferred to avoid the small keeps of the local lords. In the valley, every town had a lord and every lord was looking to impress passersby with his court. They didn’t have time to stop and let each lord try to outdo each other.
The towns were scattered about a half day apart from each other and were well spaced to support the agricultural commerce in the area. There were fields running from side to side across the wide valley and when there weren’t natural streams, irrigation ditches had been dug into an interconnected network. It was well organized and peaceful. These people were intent on minding their own business and tending to their fields.
It wasn’t so different from Farview, mused Ben. You could replace any one of these small town lords with Alistair Pinewood and it wouldn’t make a difference to the residents of the town. From the little they saw when they paused for supplies, it looked like people ignored the men sitting behind the walls of the keeps and proceeded with their lives with little need or want for the protection that the lord offered.
After a few weeks of easy travel through the bucolic pastures and fields, they were passing through a plot of radishes on one side and some sort of small fruit-bearing bush on the other. Ben shared
his thoughts with Saala. “It doesn’t feel like these people need the lords as badly as the lords need the people. I mean, it doesn’t seem like there is risk from bandits, invading armies, or other dangers that you need a lord to face.”
“You could make an argument that you don’t need a lord for those situations either,” replied Saala. “How did Lord Foley handle the demon attack on Snowmar any different than what Farview did? Foley sent word to Whitehall and Farview sent word to Murdoch’s. Those types of threats, you either organize or you send for specialists. By the time the lord arrives with all of his arms men, the situation has probably been resolved, for good or for bad. I’ve spent a lot of time in the company of lords and ladies and I’m not sure there’s ever a time the common man really needs them.”
“Well, I was thinking that these people don’t need standing armies because of the geography, but some areas do,” Ben replied after thinking. “What about invading armies? You need more than a couple of hunters to put a stop to that. Without the strength of the Alliance, for example, the Coalition could run rampant. The people here need that protection, don’t they?”
“Ah, now for that situation I’ll take a different argument,” responded Saala. “Yes, a little band like us has no chance of stopping the might of the Coalition, but in that case, are the lords of Alcott helping to solve the problem or are they creating it? Without lords and their like, there wouldn’t be a Coalition, and there wouldn’t be an army that you needed protection from.”
Ben frowned. “Maybe I’m missing something since I grew up without a Lord. If they don’t provide protection, why do people put up with them? What value are they adding?”
Saala gestured to the road they were walking on.
“Wait,” said Ben. “You are saying that the only reason people put up with these lords is so that they can build roads?”
“I’m saying that is the value they add,” replied Saala. “Building a road like this is a massive undertaking and no individual could do it. People can benefit from organization in society, and sometimes that takes the form of swearing fealty to a lord. Sometimes it takes the form of your town council.”
“Why do they raise armies then, if it’s not something the people need?”
“Fear,” responded Saala.
“Fear? What do you mean?” asked Ben.
“There are two ways a lord can stay in power,” explained Saala. “They can take the tax revenue they collect and provide services their people need. They can invest it back into infrastructure and building opportunities for their people. This road, for example, allows the farmers of the valley to transport their goods to markets where they can get a good price for their production. The irrigation ditches we’ve been passing allow water to the fields during a dry spell. These things require upkeep which people see the lord doing. They are projects that the lord spends taxes on, and if it is a good investment, the people will support that lord. But those projects are difficult and take a long time to complete. Inevitably, someone will not be happy with it even when it is for the common good. The farmer on the one side of the road who gets the water is happy, but the one on the other side who didn’t get it that year is unhappy with the way his money has been spent.”
Saala continued talking as they passed a radish field and started by one full of turnips. “Even though it is difficult and sometimes unpopular, a good lord will do these things for his people. When done right, over time, the people will see that the lord has their best interest at heart and they will trust and support him. Like I said, though, that is difficult and takes years to achieve. Sometimes it is easier for the lord to gain support by inciting fear in the population. Building this road the length of the valley must have taken decades to finish. In a few days, a clever lord could place rumors in the streets and point to signs of how aggressive a neighbor is becoming. Before long, the people are seeing the signs themselves and begging that lord for protection. He has a mandate now to raise taxes, build his army, and collect more power for himself. If one was not concerned with the moral implications, one could argue that is the quicker way to a solid power base.”
“Hold on,” Ben said. “Do you think that is what Argren has done with this Alliance of his?”
Saala shrugged. “I’m not a lord in Alcott, so it is not my place to say. Argren has gained fealty from Issen, the disconnected cities on the Blood Bay, Northport, and Venmoor. That is certainly not something I think he could have achieved in one generation of public service projects.”
That night, they stopped a few days out from Kirksbane, a city on the Venmoor River and the official end of the Sineook Valley. They had been camping outside, away from the small towns scattered around this end of the valley. It was late spring and the weather was perfect for being outdoors.
Ben settled next to Meghan, who was stirring a rich-smelling stew over the small campfire. Everyone except Towaal took turns on cooking duty. Meghan favored hearty vegetable soups. Ferguson was already ensconced by her and was regaling Meghan with another one of his encounters.
“It was a brutal fight, miss. There were three of them coming at us like an avalanche. My mates and I, we spread out to meet them and braced for the charge. I drew Panther and made sure I had plenty of room to swing. A girl like Panther needs room to growl.”
“Panther?” inquired Meghan innocently.
Ferguson let off stroking his thick mustache for a moment to caress the hilt of his huge two-handed sword. “Aye, my girl Panther.”
“Your sword is named Panther?” Meghan quickly wiped at her mouth to cover her grin.
“All blademaster’s swords are named, miss. It can seem a bit silly, I am sure, but it is part of the legend we build around ourselves. You can charge more if your sword has a name.”
“Oh, of course,” agreed Meghan. “Go on.”
“Well, like I was saying,” he went back to talking and slowly stroking his whiskers, “there were three of them, all coming down on us at once. We met them with fury and steel. I chopped one of the bastards nearly in two with Panther. The other two got cut up by my mates. But before we finished them, they left eight of my friends face down. Horrible scene. You know how it is with demons, they leave a bloody mess behind. You folks were lucky you had a mage with you to take care of it. I don’t think we’d be talking now if you didn’t. I’m sorry to say it, but it’s true. We just had twenty good men and our steel. It nearly wasn’t enough.”
“You have experience fighting demons?” Ben interrupted.
Ferguson shot him a look.
He was on a mission to impress Meghan, but he knew she was close to Ben, so he didn’t want to be rude. “Yes. You see them a lot in the Wilds beyond Northport. It’s demon country up there, and worse. It’s a good living for a hunter, though. The mines need protecting and there are the artifacts that people find from time to time. Old stuff and worth a bundle.”
“Demon country? Is that where they are from? I had never really thought about where they came from,” replied Ben.
“Well, I don’t know that they’re really from anywhere,” answered the mustachioed hunter.
“They’re just kind of there, you know? I mean, no one’s found some place that they all leave from, like a demon village. No one even knows how they’re born, if they even are. There isn’t any male and female like us, but there are little ones. Probably grow like plants. That’s what I think at least, and no one’s proved me wrong.”
“But,” Ben asked, “there are more of them near Northport?”
“Aye,” replied Ferguson nodding his head, “they still roam free in the Wilds. Every year the hunting parties go out and try to thin ’em out. They haven’t finished ’em yet. It’s tough and dangerous work. I was happy to do it when I was up there. If it wasn’t for people like me hunting for demon horns, well, people like you wouldn’t be safe.”
Rhys was dramatically rolling his eyes behind Ferguson’s back but didn’t speak up.
“I just don’t understand,” said
Meghan. “Someone has to know where they come from and what they want, right?”
Ferguson responded grimly, “The one thing we know for sure, when you see ’em, you kill ’em. Otherwise, they’re going to kill you. That’s a fact. That’s all you really need to understand about it.”
12
Kirksbane
Two days later, they made it to the low-lying town of Kirksbane. It was situated on the open western end of the Sineook Valley and the bank of the Venmoor River. It marked the border between the fiefdoms of the valley and the territory of Venmoor. The town spread out from a wide oxbow curve that caused a shallow point on the river.
Kirksbane, like the towns of the Sineook Valley, did not have a wall for defense. Ben remarked on it and Saala explained, “Kirksbane is strategically located, but it’s not a source of political power in the region. It lives and dies on trade from the river and out of the valley. Kirksbane only facilitates that trade. If someone wanted to cut it off, it’d be easy to do without overrunning the town.”
“Well,” Ben replied, “it looks comfortable enough to spend a night.”
“Right,” grumbled Rhys. “I understand why we’ve been doing it, but I’m ready to get out from under the stars and into a clean bed.”
“Ha!” shouted Amelie. “I think we’ve been travelling together long enough for you to be honest with us, Master Rhys. I’ve heard Venmoor’s taverns are legendary, and I’m certain you have some favorites in Kirksbane you’d like to show us.”
Rhys mock bowed deeply toward Amelie. “I can see why the Sanctuary is so interested in you, miss. A deep thinker like you is certain to go far in this world.”
“I’ll accept your false praise,” she chirped, “in exchange for you showing us to a place that actually does have clean beds in addition to the cold ale.”
“As you wish,” he answered with a wink.