Inside was a pouch of gold coins, stamped with a different mark than the lion that adorned their own currency. A folded piece of paper turned out to be a crude map, with the northern end of the great Central Valley marked out, as well as the path through the mountains the scouts had taken. The bays of Jetty and Fairhaven were circled, with a strange script jotted next to them. The roads to Pine River and Rockhill were marked in red, and led down to Castle Lonwick.
A second piece of paper was folded around an iron medallion. The paper was covered in writing that nobody there recognized, though only Elias, Jonas and Geoff could read. The medallion itself had no chain to it, and was blackened iron, still covered in firescale from when it had been forged. The outer edge of the piece was a raised ring, with an eight-pointed black star touching it at its points. In the center of the star was a deep red stone with a crack in it, the color of fresh arterial blood.
Elias turned the medallion over in his hands. “The knight that attacked me on the road from Pine River has this on his breastplate.”
Jonas nodded, considering the information. “Well, that definitely means that he was a part of the Felle Army, and they're making their way north. If this map means anything at all, it looks like they were scouting out bays. See, here, they circled Jetty and Fairhaven, though they ignored Greatport... too heavily guarded, perhaps?”
Elias drummed his fingers on his knee, pondering the indecipherable writing. “I wonder if this has clues to what it is they were looking for, and why.”
Martin tossed a soiled rag into the fire. “What does it matter? We're not here to stop them, we're here to kill this lot, and this lot only, and we did. The rest of it is no concern. Let the soldiers from Lonwick deal with them.”
Geoff threw a stick at Martin, which bounced off his leg. “What good will an elven army be for us, when they are three thousand miles away and fighting their own war?”
Martin spat and scowled. “They're not three thousand miles away, ya damn fool, they're three hundred miles away, and that's if you take the long route through Greatport and up the coast.”
Geoff frowned. “May as well be three thousand for all the good it would do us. The only thing they send up here is tax collectors. I'd wager we're on our own.”
Martin shook his head. “Fact remains, we're no army, and it ain't our job.”
Elias sat quietly, looking into the fire, rolling the medallion in his hand. What did that knight want from him? Why travel all the way to the north, attacking just him, when the armies were still far to the south?
~ ~ ~
Once the flames had died down to a level where they no longer had to be monitored, the men made their way back over the western ridge, and down towards the bay. The bodies of the Felle scouts were surprisingly flammable; there was hardly anything but bones left as they crossed back to the sea side of the ridge.
Elias paused there, taking one last look into the valley. The bonfires kept it well lit, though the sun was making its slow journey towards the sea. He could see the six cairns in the trampled grass, arranged in an arc at the edge of the clearing. It would not be hard for the families of the fallen men to find them.
The usual banter of the mercenaries was nonexistent, with most of them keeping to themselves. The only conversations were those of necessity as they cut through the forest towards the bay. They made camp at the treeline near the fields as the sun sank below the water. The walk was taking a bit longer than usual, as there were some men with wounds that slowed them down.
The sea breeze was a little more pronounced here, so the night was cool but clear. They sat around the fire, perched on fallen logs or on the ground. The sounds of the forest were broken only by the crackle of the flames.
One of the men started tapping out a slow rhythm on one of the pieces of firewood, the sound having a nearly musical tone to it, clear and sharp. Another man joined in, tapping the butt of his walking stick against the hollow log he was sitting on. The deep, echoing bass accompanied the other rhythm nicely. Before long, Geoff removed a small flute from his pack, and joined in, a simple melody floating out as his fingers worked over the precisely drilled holes.
At first, Elias was worried that the sound would attract anyone who happened to be near the road, perhaps more scouts, but soon, the soothing, simple music settled his nerves. Every man, himself included, was soon tapping a foot or nodding their head in rhythm. Even Martin, as dour as he could be at times, joined in by tapping a short, thick stick against the blade of his dagger, making a high, musical ringing.
Some of the men took turns singing songs, various tales of heroism, comedy, or loss. Elias wished that Timothy was there, to tell a story to lighten their hearts.
After a while, Jonas started humming a tune that Elias had never heard before, and the rhythm of the impromptu music changed to follow his. He started singing, his roguish accent fitting well to the tune. Elias hadn't figured Jonas to be much of a singer, but he did quite well.
Of all the gold that e'er I lost
I've spent it in good company
And all the harm that e'er was done
At least it ne'er was to me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Farewell and peace be with you all
Oh, all the comrades that e'er I had
They're sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had
They'd wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and softly call
Farewell and peace be with you all
No more men sang after Jonas, but the rhythms continued for a short while afterwards. Elias fell asleep listening to them, his dreams dark, clouded by the face of the knight that had tried to kill him on the road barely a week before. Now, they had found a medallion that matched the insignia on his armor. Elias still had no idea what the knight wanted from him, but he resolved to find out. He had a feeling his life depended on it.
~ ~ ~
They approached the gate of Jetty around noon. It stood open, as it had the first time, with several guards posted in front of it. They drew up to the gate, and Jonas stepped forward. The same guard that had greeted him before stepped forward from the shade of the gate.
“Hello, Jonas. Welcome back. I take it you've met the Mayor's terms?”
Jonas nodded, and tossed the tied bundle of ears and hands on the ground at the guard's feet. “Eighteen. Thirteen orcs, three trolls, and two ogres. Your mayor promised us fifty lions a head for them.”
The guardsman stared at the bundle. “... eighteen? By the gods, Jonas.”
Jonas waved the words away. “To hell with that. Just fetch him, that we may complete out business. We have wounded men that could use some rest and comfort.”
The guard gestured to another man, who hurried into the town. It was nearly half an hour before the mayor arrived, flanked again by a squadron of militiamen. He stopped again just short of Jonas and his crew.
“You have returned, victorious I hear?”
Jonas nodded. “The job's done. We're here for what we are owed.”
The mayor looked over the group. “I seem to remember a greater number of men stood before me three days ago.”
Jonas clenched a fist. “You know what you sent us into. Six of our number are buried on that hill.”
The mayor nodded, his bravado faltering for a moment. “For that, you have my condolences.”
Jonas spat on the ground between them. “I don't want your condolences, I want what is owed, and I want you to get out of my way.“
The mayor frowned, setting his jaw. “You should remember who you're talking to, sellsword.“ The militiamen around him stepped forward, hands on their hilts. “You might have done this city a service, but I am still its mayor.“
The mercenaries stepped forw
ard, hands on their weapons as well. Elias stood next to Jonas, towering over everyone present, the grip of his sword feeling minuscule in his hand. After their battle on the hill, was there to be more bloodshed? He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone present.
“I am sure that the mayor means no disrespect, and means only to honor our fallen comrades with his words. It would be best, I think, to conclude our dealings quickly, that we might all get out of the sun, and attend to our business.” He nodded towards the mayor. “You, undoubtedly, have much ahead of you this day, running a port of this size, and we have arrangements to make for the families of our dead.”
Jonas looked up at Elias strangely, as if he was debating an objection, before patting him on the arm. “The elf speaks wisdom. This heat does nobody any favors, least of all my humour.”
“Agreed. He does speak with the wisdom of his kind.“ The mayor turned to the men behind him and gestured for them to come forward. Two men carried a small, ornate, iron banded chest, setting it down in front of the mayor. Pulling a key from his finery, he unlocked it and drew out nine pouches.
“Fifty gold lions a head, as agreed. I'll leave the sorting to you, but rest assured, it's all there.” He dropped them into a burlap sack and handed it to the guardsman who had greeted them. As the guardsman delivered the gold to Jonas, the mayor gestured to the ears and hands on the road. “Take those and burn them. Scatter the ashes into the sea at the south end of the city. Don't walk them through town, the smell is bad enough out here. Take a boat along the bay, and for the love of the gods, don't let the troll blood get on you. That stink never goes away.“
He looked up at Elias as Jonas divided the coin amongst the men. “You speak with the mind of an elf, and yet you dress like a man of the north and keep company with brigands. Praytell, where are you from?”
Jonas snorted behind Elias at being called a brigand and handed him a pouch of coins. Elias crossed his arms, dropping the pouch into the front of his tunic. “I was born in Silva Aestas but was sent to live amongst the men of the north many years ago. It was time for me to move on and make something of myself, so I set out three weeks ago.“
The mayor nodded, regarding Elias closely. “An interesting tale, indeed. Perhaps someday I'll invite you to my manor, and you can relay it to me.”
Elias did not respond, and the mayor nodded. “Right then. Our gates are open to you now. Thank you for your services, and remember the first part of our agreement. Try not to make a mess. I'd hate for there to be a repeat of last time.” He turned and waved to his armed entourage, and strode back into the town, The guardsmen stood aside, leaving the path through the gate open.
Elias watched them go, and was startled when Jonas patted him on the back. “A regular negotiator, are you? We should make you our ambassador.” He turned back to the men. “Come on, lads, there's ale to drink and lonely women in this town in need of our company. Our brothers are overdue for their wake. Let's not disappoint them!”
~ ~ ~
The city was set up in a fairly efficient manner. A broad road led from the gate to a wide, open area where townsfolk bustled about their daily business. In the middle of the square was a low stone structure covering a wide stone ring, likely the town's well. Wooden buildings surrounded the open area, with wide streets leading off to the east, west, and south. On the east side of town, two large buildings dominated the shore of the bay; one was taller than the other, at least four stories high. Ornately carved pillars decorated the front, and there seemed to be an obscene amount of balconies. This one was most likely the mayor's mansion, judging by the gaily colored pennant flying from a spire on the tallest part of the building.
The other was an enormous square structure, wider than the mansion, but not as tall. Regularly spaced windows broke the monotony of the darkened redwood boards that made up the exterior; this was most likely the inn.
Elias followed the road south through into the large square, townsfolk giving him a wide berth as he walked past them. Men and elves of both genders bustled about, as well as short, stocky dwarves. Elias couldn't tell the men from the women from behind; they were roughly the same size, about half as tall as he was, and dressed in fairly similar clothing. From the front, however, the primary difference was that the men sported long, thick beards, often growing down to their belts or farther.
Jonas chuckled as he walked with Elias. “Never seen a dwarf before?”
Elias looked down at Jonas. “Of course I have, but here? By the sea? I thought they only lived in the mountains.”
Jonas shook his head. “Nah, they only work mines and quarries as much as they do because that's what they're told to do. Working with metal and stone is a skill their kind have in abundance, yes, but just as many work wood or grow vegetables or fruit trees.” He pointed towards the docks at the bay. “Many of those ships were made by dwarven craftsmen. They do a bit more work away from the hills this far north.”
Elias furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, told to do? Told by whom?”
Jonas snorted. “You have been away from your own kind for a while, haven't you? Told by the elves. Farther south, that's all there is, and the dwarves have been told to keep themselves and dig if they know what's good for them. They apparently don't get on very well with the forest folk, and the sentiment is returned.”
Jonas stood by Elias as they came up to the well in the center of the first square. “I've got some business to attend to... I'll need to hire couriers to deliver the weapons of the fallen to their kin, and that won't be cheap. I'll see if they will take the coins we found in the cave... if not, I'll have them melted down and re-cast into lions.“
Elias looked down at Jonas, surprised. “You can do that?”
Jonas shrugged. “Not me, personally, no, but Jetty has a master of coin. The hills here and inland have gold in them, and it's fairly useless unless it's turned into coins or wares. I can't buy a courier with a necklace, so lions it is.”
“What, they just melt them down and recast them right there?”
Jonas laughed. “No, that takes time and a certain amount of gold, which we don't have. They'll trade it out for an equal weight, minus their cut. Everyone is in the business of lining their pockets.”
Elias nodded. “That makes sense. Business is business.”
Jonas patted Elias's shoulder. He seemed to have a habit of doing that; at first, it had seemed a little patronizing, but over time Elias came to realize it was just a part of the man's friendly nature. “It is at that.“ He looked up, putting a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. “You still set on that sword, Redwood? You handled the one you have well enough.“
Elias nodded. “I am.”
Jonas shrugged “Do what works for you, I guess. The blacksmith is at the south end of town. See what he has, but mind you, we don't have time to have one made. We've lost three days, and we're due to meet Lord Woodsetter here tomorrow at noon.”
“Lord Woodsetter?”
Jonas nodded. “Our next customer. I'd meant to have a bit more time to rest up, but this is the way of it. We'll take our rest in Pine River, once we've escorted him to where he's going. You'll need to take some time to resupply here; your pack comes out of your pay, and you have more than enough of it to make it last. Keep it close, though. These streets are known for their pickpockets. Meet us at the inn when you're done. I'll have a room for us.” He lifted his pack up onto his shoulder. “One more thing; try to keep the questions to others to a minimum. There are those who would see that as an opportunity to take advantage.”
With that, Jonas turned and walked away, leaving Elias to his own devices. He looked about and caught several children staring at him. They turned and ran as soon as he looked in their direction. With a sigh, he headed down the main road.
Shops and booths lined the road, offering different products and services. One such shop was open to the air, a small forge belching smoke into the clear air. A farrier, it seemed, making horseshoes and
parts for wagons. A wagon stood nearby, blocks supporting an axle that had no wheels.
Some of the townsfolk stared at him unabashedly as he walked past, others pointedly didn't notice him. The shopkeepers, however, called out to him as he passed, offering various goods. One of the merchants was a hunter, it seemed, and had stacks of jerky, pork, beef, and venison. A coin later, and he had a leather-wrapped bundle that should last him for most of the trip stowed in his pack.
Another merchant was selling leather goods, and Elias purchased a larger pack from him, to wear on his back. The one he had brought with him from the north was smaller, designed for shorter trips, and insufficient for his needs.
At the southern end of the town, nearest to where the peninsula ended in the channel that connected the bay to the sea, there was the blacksmith's forge. On racks set out in the sun was a broad selection of tools and weapons, suits of armor on stands; chainmaille, leather breastplates studded with small iron plates, and steel helmets of varying designs. Several men were polishing and cleaning the swords on the racks, replacing them when they were oiled and sharpened.
One man held a sword that was longer than he was tall. The sun glinted off of the massive weapon's edge in a way that caught Elias's eye, instantly drawing his attention. From a distance, he couldn't tell the workmanship, of course, but it was exactly what he was looking for, in terms of size.
He approached the man polishing it.
“How much for that sword?”
The man looked up, then up again. “Bloody hell!“ he said, not bothering to hide his reaction to Elias's presence. “You're a great whopping elf, aren't you?“
Elias set his jaw, ignoring the man's comment. “That sword. How much.”
The man looked down at the sword he was polishing, seeming like he was seeing it again for the first time. “This one? I don't know that it's for sale. You'll have to talk to Darby.” The man hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating a short, square man in the forge. “He can set the price, if any at all.”
Elias nodded, picking his way past the racks of tools and weapons. The short man was busy at the forge, smoke rolling about in the still air. Sparks flew from red hot steel, the dull cherry of the glow shining through the haze like a small beacon. The strikes of the hammer beat a steady rhythm against the anvil, gripped in a fist almost as large as Elias's own. Elias cleared his throat, to draw the man's attention.
Rising Thunder (Dynasty of Storms Book 1) Page 6