III: Merchant's Woes

The next day, the party rose early. They headed out into the already bustling town to buy some rations; they would never know when it would be necessary to move on, and it would be unwise to be caught without food. Not much else was bought, although Morgant did more than his share of staring at gilded objects in shop windows.

Eventually they decided to split up into two groups; one to search the town for anything interesting, and another to keep an eye on Caleb’s shop for anything suspicious. Giselle, Lola and Morgant headed off to the shop, leaving Grrth and Özurr to wander the streets of Baerlon. It could be worse, mused Grrth, the sun was shining brightly in the morning sky, and the air was fresh and only a little chilly. If only someone hadn’t tried to kill them the previous night, it’d almost seem a holiday.

Occupied by these thoughts, Grrth jumped slightly when Özurr nudged him in the ribs. “Look down there! Seems like that guy Morgant told us about...”

Down a shady alleyway, they could see the man who had lured their party into an ambush talking to a town guard soldier. And not just talking; Grrth’s sharp eyes caught a money pouch and a slip of paper being passed to the guard. His voice rose slightly when he had counted the coins, apparently not happy with his bribe, but the other man said something quietly which made the guard shut up quickly. He eventually stalked off further down the alley, while the guard stood there, seemingly dazed. Özurr decided this was the moment; he drew his sword quietly, and mimed a blow to the head to Grrth, who nodded.

The last thing the guard saw for some time was a large, pale-skinned Saldaean hurtling down the narrow street towards him, raising his sword and bringing the hilt down with a resounding clang on his helmet. He dropped unconscious immediately. Özurr then fished around in his pockets to extract the note and the money pouch. He unfolded the crumpled note, and read it out loud to Grrth, “Two Saldaeans, one Cairhienin, male, an Ogier and Domani, female, to be arrested as Darkfriends. Currently residing in the White Stallion inn.”

Özurr crushed the note in his fist, and anger at being called a Darkfriend surged through him. He knew he was no such thing, so these people must be trying to get them out of the way for something. And how would they know where they were staying? Unless they had a spy in the inn by pure chance, the only person outside the party who knew their location was Caleb.

His blood turned to ice. If Caleb was a Darkfriend, then the other three had just gone right to the centre of the whole ordeal. He hoped nothing had happened to them. But first, they had to deliver this rogue guard to the authorities. Dragging the snoring guard around the streets could have been less conspicuous, but fortunately there was a guardhouse a few houses away. Heaving him through the door, they explained to the captain in the guardhouse about the man and the bribe, showing the note and the money as evidence. Luckily, the captain accepted their story, although he did demand that he keep the gold coins.

With the delivery completed, the two armsmen ran through the streets of Baerlon until they reached Caleb’s impressive shop, and waiting outside it was... nobody. Özurr’s heart sank; were they too late? Surely they hadn’t been gone that long...

The sound of an extremely heavy object crashing into wood resounded from behind the shop, similar to the noise last night at the inn. Rushing around to the back of the shop, they saw a Lola-shaped hole in the back door, with Giselle and Morgant wiping a few wooden splinters off their clothes. The Ogier’s grinning face peered through the large gap in the shop. “Nobody is in; the way is clear” she rumbled.

“Wait!” said Grrth, and he told the others about the man who bribed the guard. None of them looked particularly concerned with the news, but they did agree that Caleb was most likely the ringleader of a group of Darkfriends. Knowing this, everyone drew their weapons; Özurr was impressed by the size of the huge mace Lola wielded. On the other hand, Giselle had drawn a sling and a few small pebbles; she was not quite as threatening as the others.

As they walked into the shop, this theory was confirmed by two thuggish men waiting for them in the expansive main room. They cracked their knuckles menacingly and drew their swords. Unfortunately for them, Grrth had already launched himself at them, snarling, and his sword passed through the crude leather armour of one of the thugs as if it wasn’t there, leaving a sizeable gash in his left leg. Özurr, only a moment behind, drew his already nocked arrow to his cheek, took a split second to aim, and an arrow whizzed towards the same thug’s shoulder, forcing its way through toughened leather to bury itself in muscle. The man’s face was a picture of pain, yet he managed a wild swing towards Grrth, who effortlessly blocked it. The other thug tried a cunning feint and stab at Grrth, but was deflected. Morgant dashed forwards, rapier raised, and swung at the unharmed thug. Unfortunately the rapier didn’t make it through the leather, although it did gouge out a sizeable chunk.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a blur of wood appeared, heading towards the first thug’s head. If he hadn’t ducked, his head would have parted company with his neck. Despite this, Lola’s massive rolling pin just clipped the man’s unguarded head, and he crumpled to the floor, not dead, but definitely knocked out. Seeing that the giant ball of fur was more of a threat than he’d imagined, the second thug headed towards Lola, but not before a small stone whizzed towards him, hitting his bare hand. Gasping in pain, and momentarily distracted, he nearly dropped his sword. Grrth took this opportunity to aim a vicious stab at his chest, which made the leather protection resemble parchment for all the resistance it showed. The man’s screams were cut off short by an arrow suddenly sprouting from his mouth; he hit the floor, dead.

Leaving the man to gargle helplessly on the floor, they approached the unconscious thug, now sporting a very impressive welt on the top of his head. Morgant propped him up against a nearby barrel of wine, and opened the tap so that a stream of fine wine poured onto his face, waking him up; Giselle looked unimpressed at the waste of such a good beverage.

The first thing the thug saw upon regaining his senses were the steely, unforgiving eyes of Morgant, and the tip of a rapier between his own. He tried to scramble backwards only to find the barrel there, and any other escape routes blocked by the two Saldaeans, the mace-wielding Ogier, and an angry yet beautiful Domani woman.

“You’d better start talking, I’d think” growled Morgant, poking the man’s forehead with his rapier.

“Alright! We... we were ordered to attack anyone resembling you... I don’t know why... we were just serving the Great Lord of the Dark...” the man stammered, eyes cross-eyed, trying to keep the rapier in view.

“What else should we know?” replied Morgant, pressing the rapier ever so slightly harder; a drop of blood started to form around the tip.

“I don’t know... that much... they’re doing something in the cellars... my companion had the key... I don’t know anything else, burn you... the Great Lord will triumph!”

Morgant removed the rapier from the man’s head; a small slit of blood remained. He stood, and as he was turning away, the Darkfriend lunged forwards... right into the blade that Morgant had thrust behind him. He slid to the floor for the last time, blood gushing from a wound in his throat. The others eyed the Cairhienin warily; it seemed that when angered, he enjoyed playing with his prey before the kill.

Taking the key from the other dead Darkfriend’s pocket, the group approached the cellar door. Grrth pressed his ear to the door, and upon hearing nothing, inserted the key and turned it slowly; the lock was well oiled and made little noise. Fortunately the hinges weren’t of the creaky sort either, and the group made its way down into the musty cellar, lit by lanterns hung from the ceiling. Stacks of crates and barrels lined the walls here, with markings for all sorts of goods. It seemed Caleb traded extensively; they saw casks of Taraboner dyes, and crates of Borderlander wool, among other items.

Caleb also seemed to have a large supply of Darkfriend muscle, as four men appeared from behind various crates. They wore less armour than those upstairs, but two of them held morning stars, while the other two wielded longswords. The group hadn’t gone far enough to be surrounded by them, so Grrth, who was leading, was the thug’s target.

Unfortunately for them, Grrth’s superb reflexes kicked in and he leaped at the nearest Darkfriend, bringing his blade to bear upon the man’s exposed neck, leaving a sizeable gash. Lola was next to move; muttering something about ‘tenderising meat’, she brought her mace down upon the shoulder of the furthest Darkfriend, which collapsed downwards by nearly a foot. From the back of the group, Özurr’s arrow whistled above the others to impact squarely in the chest of the thug Grrth was mauling.

By now they had all moved into the centre of the storage room, each battling a separate Darkfriend, with Giselle mostly staying behind the others, while firing off shots from her sling. Morgant overextended himself on one slash, embedding his rapier into the soft wood of a barrel. He attempted to wrench it out again, and would’ve been hit in the head by a morning star if a timely arrow hadn’t intercepted the Darkfriend in the back of his leg. Grrth received a few hits, but his chainmail shirt dampened most of the damage, particularly from the swords. Nevertheless there was some blood evident beneath his shirt, but it only seemed to make him angrier, and deadlier. Lola and Özurr also sustained some injuries, but nothing that would stop them from fighting.

Eventually all the Darkfriends lay on the floor, two resembling pincushions from the amount of arrows it had taken to down them. Panting slightly, Grrth checked the bodies for anything of value, but found nothing. They made their way to the next door, Grrth in the lead again. This time, to surprise any ambush, Grrth flung open the door and charged in, the others hot on his heels.

The room they entered was much larger than the previous one, and had many fewer casks and crates. Four more Darkfriends were there, weapons drawn, and in much better armour than the other thugs. Caleb himself also emerged from the shadows, in his merchant’s clothes but with a dagger. He twirled it expertly, and didn’t seem surprised at the oncoming fighters.

Lola’s giant steps overtook Grrth and, performing a full spin, she slammed her rolling pin into the torso of one of the thugs. His armour crumpled like paper, as did his ribs, and he was flung into the far wall, against which he made a wet ‘thwack’ noise. Giselle and Özurr’s projectiles were both aimed at Caleb, but he dodged them as if walking through a park. A Darkfriend decided to go for an easy kill, and charged, aiming for Giselle, but found his path interrupted by Morgant’s rapier. Nearly running himself straight onto it, the thug snarled angrily and unleashed a flurry of attacks on Morgant, some of which made contact. Out of nowhere the huge mace swept towards the thug’s legs, impacting right on the knees, which made a crunching noise as the Darkfriend was literally swept off his feet. Morgant looked down on the moaning man, and mercilessly drove his rapier through him.

The remaining three Darkfriends had been hanging back slightly, confident that the other two would be enough to finish off this ragtag group. Now they approached, warily, especially watching Lola’s weapon. Caleb was still not engaging fully, preferring to taunt the group by dodging the arrows and pebbles flying towards him. The two thugs, wary of Lola’s mace, weren’t as adept as dodging Grrth’s vicious slashes, accompanied by Morgant’s stabbing rapier. Soon only Caleb was left. Morgant went to his right, Grrth to his left, pinning him in place and leaving him to the mercy of arrows and high-speed pebbles. His dagger was useless since nobody was coming near him, and he was blocked off, so he soon succumbed to the deadly rain.

Finally, with the battle over, Grrth and Morgant slumped to the floor, having sustained several injuries. Morgant was the worst hurt, with cuts all over his body, particularly his arms. Giselle was unhurt, and she was the first to notice the prisoners.

At the foot of one of the pillars, three small bodies were tied. They had been watching the battle wide-eyed and fearful for their lives. Giselle approached them quickly and reassured them that they weren’t going to harm them, and soon, the group of eight emerged into the sunlight from Caleb’s shop. The children gave their thanks to the party, and ran off to their homes.

Back in the White Stallion, Giselle applied poultices and bandages to the numerous wounds. Just before evening, there was a knock on the door. Lola opened it, and three very important-looking people strode in.

“Greetings, friends. We are honoured to meet you. I am the Governor of Baerlon, this is the Guard-Captain, and Servyn Tayn, our most prominent merchant. You saved our children from the clutches of Darkfriends, and you deserve a reward.” Sure enough, the governor gave Lola a pouch with ten gold coins, and told them the rest of their stay in the inn was paid for, as well as anything they might need to recover.

It seemed the word of their adventures had spread, and the next night, eager townspeople gathered around the party in the common room, as Giselle told them their tale. A week later, everyone’s wounds had healed fully, and fresh rumours of a mythical object had reached their ears.