Pathfinder Tales: The Crusader Road

by Michael A. Stackpole

  By the end of two weeks his patience had been tattered beyond recovery. Walking over level ground, he tripped and sprawled face-first in the loam. He tried to heave himself up, but the earth gave way beneath his left hand and knee. He rolled down a hill, snapping deadwood branches and getting whipped in the face by ferns.

  And somewhere in there, in a whooshing of wings, something stuffed a bramble down his back.

  At the bottom of a muddy depression, reeking of rotted leaves, needles, and mud, he reared up and shrieked. Cold muck oozed into his shoes. He ripped off his tunic, then tore away the bramble. He went to flick it away, but the needles stuck in his fingers.

  "Stop it, stop it, stop it, damn it, stop it!" He swatted at the bramble with his shirt, catching it in the cloth again, and tearing it free of his flesh. Most of it, anyway. He could feel the needles still there, but they remained hidden in the dark mud coating his hands. "Just stop it!"

  "Got a problem?"

  Jerrad spun at the sound, but his feet remained mired. His legs twisted around and he sat abruptly in the mud. He pulled the shirt up to cover himself, sticking the bramble into his chest.

  Nelsa arched an eyebrow at him. "Ain't the best mud for sitting in, is it?"

  "You going to laugh at me, too?"

  "Maybe, if you do something funny." Nelsa dropped to a knee and grabbed a stick of wood which was taller than she was and mostly straight. "You might find this handy."

  Jerrad caught it when she tossed it. He shifted around, hating the squelching sound the mud made, untangling his legs. He pulled one foot free, but the mud kept his shoe. The foot's coming up fast caused him to lose what little balance he had, and he splashed down again.

  He looked up at Nelsa Murdoon, hoping the mud would just drag him down completely. "It's okay, you can laugh."

  She gave him a half-smile. "You meaning to tell me you ain't down there on purpose?"

  "Why would I be down here deliberately?"

  "The way I hear it told, you work at finding the best mud around. As I said, that ain't the best mud for sitting or caulking. That's a sprite bog."

  "A spite bog, more like." Jerrad chucked his muddied tunic in her direction. It didn't make it, landing shy of the hill in a bubbling puddle. "Great."

  "Been called a spite bog more than once." Nelsa found another stick and fished around for his tunic. "The sprites, they gather the stinkiest weeds they can find come fall—soured berries, other things, too—and just mush it all around. Hollow like this fills with snow and melts slow. If it were spring, you'd be wishing you was a fish long about now."

  "And they just chase people into these things for fun, right?"

  "I've heard that opinion before. My aunt's husband Yarnin, he's in these bogs more than he's out of them. But I tell you what..."

  "Yes?"

  "See that green leaf plant there, with the purple edging?"

  Jerrad reached over and lifted up a trio of leaves. "This one?"

  "Yeah. You don't want to be touching that."

  Jerrad's hand recoiled. "What is it?"

  "We call it roast-weed. Makes your hand feel like it's on fire."

  The youth stared at his hand. "What do I do?"

  "See, like I was telling you, the mud there in the sprite bog, it's good for quenching that fire. You won't so much as get an itch. None of them pustules, cuz they ain't pretty, and when they bust open and run... well, that stink, you'll be thinking this mud is flowers by comparison."

  Jerrad immediately plunged his hand deep into the mud. "What did your uncle do to make the sprites mad at him? I mean, they hate me."

  "Oh, this don't mean they hate you." She started wringing his tunic out. "See, sprites, they have a wicked sense of humor, and they like someone can make them laugh. Now, they got you in here to show you this sprite mud. It's obvious to them you're learning the wood, and as far as they're concerned, sprite bogs is the most important thing to know about because of roast-weed."

  Jerrad fished around for his shoe and pulled it free with a great sucking sound. "Really? The sprites like me?"

  "Well, that's what my uncle says." Nelsa stood. "Of course, he ain't been right in the head since the horse kicked him."

  "If this is liking me, I don't want to see hate."

  "Ain't any that do." She came halfway down the hill and anchored her foot on a stone. "Give me the dry end of that pole and I can help you out."

  He did as she requested and shortly thereafter, soaking wet and smelling like something which had spent a long time composting, Jerrad cleared mud from his shoes. "Thank you."

  "I wouldn't thank me. Seems like the only time I come around you, mud up and puts you at a disadvantage."

  "Maybe someday I'll be smarter than mud."

  "Be a big help if that comes sooner rather than later."

  Jerrad stood. "I guess I should go wash myself off."

  "Lye soap and a brush. Clothes you'll have to boil." She smiled. "I can fetch you back a quick way."

  "I'm pretty sure I know how I got here."

  "I don't doubt it. I cut your track three-four times coming along."

  "Ah, not the quick way."

  "Not exactly."

  Jerrad frowned. "What are you doing out here? Not that I'm not glad to see you—sprite bog or no."

  "I was sent to fetch you." She started trudging through the wood and he followed. "My pa, couple of my brothers, an aunt, and some cousins came to see your Silverlake. Word got around you weren't washed away, so pa figured it was right to visit."

  "Word got around?"

  "It does in the wood."

  "Was it Kiiryth?"

  Nelsa glanced back over her shoulder. "Don't believe I know that name."

  "Half-elf, good with a bow, white hair worn long." Jerrad clapped his shoes together, knocking mud off them. "He killed some wolves that were after me."

  "Can't say he's known to me." She shrugged her broad shoulders. "But there's all kinds come through the wood. 'Nother uncle named Qant says he's found another Broken Man camp up north. That would make for four in the wood. Could be your Kiiryth was one of them, or something else entirely."

  "He didn't seem friendly with Ellesaara."

  "That don't narrow it down much."

  "Not really a surprise." Jerrad scraped more mud off his shoes and was about to ask Nelsa another question when he looked up and found himself at Silverlake. "Quick way I guess."

  "Ain't so much about knowing where you want to go, as avoiding where you don't want to be." She winked at him. "Those there are my people."

  At the settlement's heart stood a tall, beefy man, florid of face, with a bulbous nose and thick mane of wavy white hair. Two men flanked him, clearly his sons, with one looking twenty years younger and the other looking barely twenty years old. A woman and three children hung back near a small goat cart piled high with things hidden beneath a shroud.

  "The big one, he's my pa, Tunk. Then my brother, Five, and my brother, Mulish. He got that name on account of he's always been a bit stubborn. Mind you, among the Murdoons, for us to take note of that means he's real stubborn."

  Tunk Murdoon stood opposite Tyressa. "And again, Mister Murdoon, I can't thank you enough for your daughter's intercession on Jerrad's behalf in town. In fact, it looks as if she may have rescued him again."

  Tunk sniffed the air. "Gots boggy, did he?"

  "Sprites was engaged learning him things."

  Jerrad shrugged and remained downwind. "I'm just soggy, Mother."

  Tunk nodded once, solemnly. "Well, now that the man of the clan is here, we can commence our parlay."

  Jerrad's mother smiled. "While it is true that my son is the eldest male in our family, Ustalav allows for women to head up a clan."

  "I be aware of that, Lady Vishov, but I ain't gonna have it be said that Tunk Murdoon done bullied a woman into anything." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the cart. "Now, we done brung along some things, cheeses and bacon, some cloth bolts and skins, and a basket o
f apples from the cellar as crisp as the day they was picked last year. And if your folks here don't mind it, I can be bringing by a cask of hard cider."

  "Your generosity is appreciated." Tyressa spread her arms. "As you can see, I'm afraid we don't have anything to trade."

  Tunk ran a big hand over his jaw. "Mayhap you don't, not right now. Didn't really expect you would have anything. But us Murdoons, we don't mind thinking further down the road. See, we do think you have something of value here, and I'll pay a fair price. Three goats and a milk cow. Ain't going to get a better offer around here."

  Tyressa's eyebrows arrowed down. "I'm sure that's a fair price. Generous, even. What would it be for?"

  The Murdoon patriarch slapped his younger son on the back. "This here is my boy Mulish. He needs himself a wife, and I figure your daughter will suit him just fine."

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

  Chapter Eight

  Forging Alliances

  Jerrad looked from Tunk Murdoon's earnest face to his mother's expression. It approached placidity, but only after a flash of widened eyes and flared nostrils. Jerrad managed not to gasp, and closed his throat against a laugh—though a bit of it escaped in a snort.

  Mostly, though, he listened. His sister's screams could be sharper than a dagger, and her words could shatter shields and rend mail. If she heard this offer....

  His mother glanced back toward the lake, then smiled. "Mister Murdoon, that's an incredible offer. I can truthfully say that I never imagined Serrana fetching that much. And while I'm happy to consider your offer, I have to tell you, I'm not certain my daughter is worth that much. Not here in Echo Wood. Not yet, anyway."

  "As I allowed, Lady Vishov, it's something to be considered for the future. I know you're all still settling in. Mulish—the map." Tunk walked over to a small table upon which Jerrad's mother had laid out a map of what would become Silverlake. Tunk only grunted as his younger son handed him a scrolled map, then he unrolled it and let his sons hold the corners down.

  Jerrad approached the table and stood opposite his mother and Tunk, which put him beside Nelsa. The Murdoon map showed Echo Wood in greater detail than the maps they'd gotten in Ustalav. In addition to landmarks and towns appearing on the parchment, areas had been shaded different colors. Blue marked the area around the Murdoon compound and sent tendrils off within the wood.

  Tunk tapped the heart of the blue area with a thick finger. His nail had split, but had much less dirt under it than either of his sons had under theirs. "This here is our land. These bits here, those are our traplines. You can get fox, hare, muskrat, and beaver. You'll see we don't have anything down by the lake here. You can get good fish: cutthroat, bighead, gnawfish. Some of the gnawfish run long as your arm, and have teeth sharp enough to take a finger. Take as much as you want, but don't be netting. Nixies hate nets. Leave them some of the fish heads and a half-share of the gnawfish, they'll leave you be."

  Tyressa nodded. "We'd thought to set up a smokehouse..."

  "You'll be wanting to set up two. The one for fish down to the shore. I'll have Mulish show you the high point of spring floods. The other you'll put over toward the west. Winds come from the north in winter, south in summer. Don't want hungry beasts wandering through Silverlake to get what you're smoking."

  "Excellent point, thank you." Jerrad's mother ran a finger down the stream leading to the lake. "The storms eroded the bed. We were thinking of putting a mill here. Baron Blackshield suggested we make it a lumber mill."

  "Short term likely a wise idea, being as how finished lumber has to come from Thornkeep."

  Jerrad's brow knotted. "Why would he suggest we do something that will cost Thornkeep money?"

  "Sharp mind in that skull." Tunk gave Jerrad a nod. "Belike he's having a squabble with some of the lumbermen. More like if you were to make it a grain mill, you'll open some pastures, start raising corn and wheat, and the money he makes off that trade would collapse. Us Murdoons, we do for ourselves and a bit more, but a sack of meal coming out of Thornkeep might as well be gold-sand."

  "Mister Murdoon, do you run sheep on your land?"

  "Two dozen. We do for ourselves, as I said."

  "And Mother Oreena." Tyressa smiled. "She was spinning thread when I met her."

  "Could have been our wool. Or spider silk. Never know with her." Tunk folded his arms over his chest. "Wool can go dear in Thornkeep. I'll allow as how we sell a bit here and there, mostly for nails and hinges, that kind of thing."

  "Of course. I've brought a smith and I understand there are iron deposits in the area."

  "We know where one or two are." The Murdoon patriarch gave Tyressa an appraising stare. "You're asking the right questions, seems to me. Your boy 'pears to be bright when he ain't bog-bound, so I'm going to be making you this offer: I'll give you the lend of a couple of my boys, and some nephews and some cousins what have sense. They'll make some things apparent to you. Winter will be blowing in here faster than anyone wants. You'll be wanting to be ready for it."

  "Again, Mister Murdoon, you're being very generous. I don't know that I can repay you."

  "Well now, here's the thing: you'll repay me in kind. Come fall, we'll be clearing some space for Mulish and he's going to need a barn raised and a house built. You have strong backs here, and folks what know the hitting end of a hammer from the grabbing. I've a feeling you'll be around then, so I'll wager my sweat now against yours later."

  "I appreciate your confidence in us. And value your help." Tyressa smiled. "I also suspect that we'll have smoked fish to barter before we have much of anything else."

  "We'll talk about that. And as fall comes, maybe we'll we wanting some folks to be picking apples in our orchards, and gathering nuts in the forest. Won't pay in gold, but in shares."

  "I believe, Mister Murdoon, we have a working agreement." Tyressa extended her hand to the man.

  Tunk stared at it for a moment, then took it delicately before dropping to a knee before her. "Honored, my Lady."

  Jerrad's mother closed her hand on Tunk's and tugged, compelling the man to rise. "No, sir, no titles. This is not Ustalav, and I'm no longer ennobled. Here we are equals, and it pleases me to imagine I've earned that status."

  The older man's eyes tightened, then he nodded. "Well now, Lady Vishov, I'll be proud to be your equal, but I must be mannerly. My wife would cut my throat while I snored if I didn't address you as proper. You may not be in Ustalav, and some foolishness might have stripped you of your title, but we Murdoons are brought up right. Just as owning a castle don't make Tervin Blackshield a baron, don't living in a tent make you less than a lady."

  "You're very kind."

  "That ain't often said of me." Tunk smiled. "And my wife, she done told me that when it's convenient, she would be calling on you."

  "It will be my pleasure to meet her. Any time is convenient."

  "We'll be taking our leave, then." Tunk patted the goat on the head. "I'll be sending the girl to bring the cart back. No hurry. Goat might need some milking until then."

  "Thank you, Mr. Murdoon."

  Jerrad smiled at Nelsa. "Thanks for helping me out of the bog."

  "Better I acquainted you with roast-weed and the cure." She winked at him, then turned to follow her family home.

  Tyressa slid her arm over his shoulders, warming him despite the wet. "Curious people, but good people. There is nobility in Echo Wood."

  "It's good to have friends." He glanced up at his mother. "Are you going to tell Serra, or can I do it?"

  "Why would a mouse want to anger a cat?"

  Jerrad's guts flip-flopped. "So, when are you going to tell her?"

  Tyressa laughed. "Does it matter? You'll hear her reaction no matter how far away you get."

  "Yeah, but with warning I can get further than she can throw."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The moment of reckoning became delayed when Serrana returned from the lakeshore. She'd not liked g
athering firewood, but had located some very pretty stones. Jerrad didn't think much of them, but he'd seen their like in streams or on shores back in Ustalav. Granted these might glitter a bit more, but they'd been worn smooth by the endless washing of waves. That they amused her was more than enough reason for him to keep his mouth shut.

  And while he washed himself off in the lake, he found a few more pretty stones to distract her in the future.

  The next morning he got up early, finished his chores as quickly as he could, and headed back into the wood. His previous journeys had been meant for exploration, but the Murdoon intervention pointed out that general exploration wasn't going to be of much use to Silverlake. The things he dug up would be valuable later, but the settlement had more pressing needs.

  Jerrad started south of the camp and noted all the stands of hard woods and straight trees. He located beeches and chestnuts, as well as the overgrown remnant of an orchard. The apples might be a bit mealy, but they'd do just fine feeding the pigs. He also found deer scat, which made sense since they'd come to eat the apples, too. The settlement's huntsmen or the Murdoons could make good use of that information.

  He also looked around for signs of rabbits and other varmints that could be taken for meat and fur. He found some tracks in mud, but they changed as he followed them. Either this creature shifted shape, or the sprites are having fun with me again.

  "You started with a marten's track, but lost it on the other side of that log."

  Jerrad whipped around. "Kiiryth?"

  The half-elf took a bite of an apple, then got a sour look on his face as he chewed. "Horrible, but beggars can't be choosers."

  "My mother said you didn't want to join us."

  "Want is different from ability, Jerrad. You have obligations. So do I." The archer smiled. "Silverlake has made strides."

  "We could be further along if you joined us."

  Kiiryth swallowed another bite of apple. "You're persistent. That's good."

  "But not convincing?" Jerrad sighed. "We need someone like you. Someone with your experience. A hero."