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Wild Card 17
🕑 Added 2024-12-17 01:59:38 +0000 UTC... Apologies for the earlier mispost. I reposted old content by mistake and erased it once I noticed. Here's the ACTUAL next part.
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Sparhawk glared at the sky as the clouds overhead spat a spiteful sprinkling accompanied by gusty winds that made oiling his armor difficult and time-consuming. Finally, though, the onerous task was finished.
The group of them made a formidable display, in his estimation - He and Kalten in Pandion black, complete with silver surcoat and formal black capes. Bevier's armor contrasted most sharply, burnished to a gleaming shine despite the weather, with a surcoat and cape in a brilliant white only slightly marred by rain spotting. Tynian, as an Alcione, naturally wore the heaviest armor among them, adorned by a brilliant sky blue surcoat and cape. And alongside him, Ulath's mail shirt had been changed out for a pair of mail trousers and a full mail coat that stretched to mid thigh. His simple conical helmet and traveling cloak were replaced by a green surcoat, and a helm surmounted with great curled and twisted horns that Ulath identified as coming from an Ogre.
"Well? How do we look?" Sparhawk asked Sephrenia when they had finished putting on their finery.
"Very impressive," she complimented them.
Talen, however, was apparently less impressed. "The sort of look like an ironworks with legs, don't they?" he observed to Berit.
"Be polite," Berit said evasively, suppressing his smile with a visible effort of will.
"That's depressing," Kalten complained to Sparhawk. "You think we really look that ridiculous to the common people?"
"Probably."
Kurik and Berit cut lances from a nearby yew grove and affixed them with steel points. "Pennons?" Kurik asked Sparhawk as the lances were distributed.
"What do you think?" Sparhawk asked Tynian.
"It couldn't hurt. We should probably go for maximum effect, I suppose, even if the rain will streak them a little. Our visual display balances out with our obvious determination to soldier through the weather."
They mounted with some difficulty, adjusted their shields, and moved their pennon-flagged lances into positions where they were prominently displayed before riding out. Faran, ever vain, immediately began to prance. "Oh, stop that," Sparhawk told him disgustedly.
They crossed the border into Lamorkand by mid-morning; the border guards watched them with suspicion but reflexively gave way to Knights of the Church in formal armor wearing expressions of inexorable resolve.
Two days ride beyond the border, across the Cammoria River, Kadach loomed like a shadow to the northeast. Sparhawk pulled their procession to a halt at the bridge across the river. "Do we bypass it?" Sparhawk mused with a frown.
"We [i]are[/i] running short of supplies," Kurik noted solemnly. "Much as I'm aware of the press of time, perhaps we should stop here long enough to restock. The horses could use some rest after the extended ride in our formal armor, and with the weather necessitating extra care, we're running short on oil."
"And my undersuit padding is wearing a hole on my inner thighs," complained Kalten.
"It WOULD be nice if we could acquire some more tea," Sephrenia volunteered.
"Alright, message received," Sparhawk ceded. "We'll stop for supplies."
They crossed the river, paying a toll less than half that charged by the doomed man at the crossing in Pelosia, and trotted their procession steadily and soberly into Kadach.
The city was every bit as bleak as Kalten had described. Everywhere, serfs went about their business with averted eyes and burdened demeanor, while hard eyed merchants and freemen tended to the grim business of earning enough coin to not default into serfs themselves. They were in luck, Sparhawk noted to himself. Today was evidently an early market day, and there was plenty to be purchased from spring crops, including oats, barley, endive, and chicory.
The group split up; Berit and Bevier went with Sephrenia and Flute in search of soft wool fabric, tea, and herbs, while Tynian, Ulath, and Kalten elected to find a general goods merchant and blacksmith for small sundries. Kurik grunted as he watched the three of them depart. "Any bets on whether they get everything on the list I gave them?"
"My purse is light enough," Sparhawk said with a small smile. "We can double check each other's purchases when we all get back together."
With Talen's assistance in bartering, they'd needed barely an hour to secure several more weeks of supply, the cost partially subsidized by the cured deer hide and about half the remaining venison. A good chunk of their supplies had included turnips, a necessary tribulation given they were among the cheapest of the produce on offer and while unpleasant, were filling and endured travel well.
The delay's necessity notwithstanding, the need for action chafed at him. Not for the first time this trip, Sparhawk found himself wishing they had brought Anthony along, if only for access to free food.
His morose maunderings were disrupted as he overheard a merchant speaking to a customer. "-foul business, that. Truly a heinous animal, Baron Alstrom," the merchant commented, spitting to the side after saying the baron's name.
"You know not the half of it," the customer said with a malicious verve that bordered on gleeful. "When his bid to steal Count Gerrich's daughter and through her, his holdings for the benefit of Alstrom's son failed, his son murdered Gerrich's daughter before she could be rescued from the kidnapper. And yet that doesn't even touch the depths of his depravity; Alstrom thereafter sent a band of his blackguards to the house of Count Gerrich's sister, who put the men of the house to the sword and then repeatedly violated the Count's sister before sending her naked to Count Gerrich's keep with nary so much as a blanket to cover her shame or a horse to carry her."
Sparhawk felt a surge of anger as he heard the tale, and his gauntlets creaked ominously as he clenched his fist on Faran's reins. The warhorse, sensing his master's darkening mood, tensed, looking about for whatever enemies that had triggered Sparhawk's ire, and the Pandion forced himself to relax and pat Faran's neck. "Steady," he murmured, and Faran tossed his head in agitation.
Shortly, Sephrenia, Berit, Bevier, and Flute returned from their excursion. Sephrenia had selected a variety of herbs in addition to a block of compressed oven dried tea leaves - but also, a pair of small barrels and a glazed, sealed ceramic jug. "Pitch and naphtha," she answered his unspoken question. "In this wartorn kingdom, it seems they're a common commodity."
Tynian, Kalten, and Ulath were the last to arrive, all wearing sober expressions of discontent. "Things have certainly degraded since I was here last," Kalten observed sourly.
"I'm going to guess you mean the brewing conflict we've overheard of between Baron Alstrom and Count Gerrich?" Sparhawk asked.
"Conflict?" asked Bevier, nonplused.
"We overheard something similar," Sephrenia noted, "when we were at the apothecary. If half of what Baron Alstrom is accused of is true, his actions are indeed despicable. But I must emphasize, this is not our mission."
"Sparhawk," Talen said quietly but intently. "This is wrong. People shouldn't do this to each other - and if they do, they shouldn't be given the chance to do it again later."
Sparhawk didn't answer him, although he noted a certain measure of pride and agreement from his squire. He made a note to have a word with the two of them privately later.
When pressed for details, Talen related verbatim the conversation between the merchant and his customer. Bevier, in particular, was incensed. "We can hardly can ourselves knights if we leave an injustice like this unaddressed," he said through clenched teeth.
"As terrible as this business is," Sephrenia said gently, "we can't afford to delay here, gentlemen. This is ultimately a small, local affair. The consequences of failing to achieve our goal are far more dire."
Ulath rubbed his chin. "It sounds like someone is going to a lot of trouble to spread this tale of Baron Alstrom's misdeeds."
"I can surmise that Count Gerrich would have both adequate cause and resources," Bevier declared flatly.
"As would anyone that wanted to stir up trouble between the Count and the Baron," pointed out Ulath.
"Ulath, this is Lamorkand." Kalten had an expression of tired resignation. "An offense on this scale wouldn't be needed to start a feud here - and no aggrieved party here would go to the expense of paying people to spread rumors with gold that could be better spent on steel."
"This [i]is[/i] a noteworthy level of insult even in Lamorkand, isn't it Kalten?" Tynian asked.
"It's certainly a bit extreme," Kalten agreed. "This sort of gossip rarely crops up here without some basis in reality. Blood feuds and 'mortal insults' are relatively commonplace, but this is enough of an outlier to draw attention."
"Despite this, the fact remains that that we can't afford a detour here," Sephrenia insisted. "We should be on our way before this becomes our problem."
Sparhawk felt his blood chill as, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the merchant's customer speaking to a familiar figure in an alleyway - one with pure white hair. "I think this may well have become our problem anyway, Little Mother," Sparhawk announced, swinging up into Faran's saddle. His eyes were locked on the alleyway where, as he gained mounted height above the bodies and stalls, Martel inevitably saw him. There was a flash of wide eyes before Martel bolted for the depths of the alleyway, his conversation with the freeman forgotten. "Kalten! Come on!" he snapped out. Faran whinnied loud and shrill, halting conversation and drawing the attention of all in the marketplace, and the crowd parted for Sparhawk as he urged Faran into a trot, then a canter as he bore down on the alley.
"Dammit, Sparhawk!" Kalten yelled behind Sparhawk. "Berit! Stand guard!"
Before Sparhawk was halfway down the alley, he could hear Kalten riding to catch up to him. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he saw a dangling scrap of leather caught in the gaps of Kalten's left vambrace; Kalten's shield was nowhere to be seen, and his sword was in hand. "Not that I mind the exercise," Kalten called out to him, "but who are we chas-"
That was as far as Kalten got before Sparhawk reached the end of the alleyway, slowing Faran enough to turn the corner, where he saw Martel scrambling as fast as he could manage, less than thirty eet from him. "Run him down!" Sparhawk shouted, and Faran surged forward, ready to trample Martel into the cobbles. Trodded by iron horseshoe into the refuse and latrine defiled gutters of probably the bleakest city in Eosia. It was a fitting end for his traitorous former brother, Sparhawk mused.
Then, all hell broke loose as Sparhawk found himself tackled from an upstairs window of a nearby cottage by a hulking, stinking mass of savagery that acted - and smelled - more like a diseased animal than a man. Adus's stinking breath wafted against Sparhawk's face for a split second of weightlessness before he impacted against the street with the combined weight of himself, his armor, and Adus atop him. Sparhawk felt something pop in his ribcage accompanied with a stabbing pain, and his next breath was agony that he studiously ignored. Faran, wheeling and nearly skidding to a fall, immediately broke off his pursuit of Martel in an attempt to come to Sparhawk's aid.
Martel gave out a shrill whistle, and from the neighboring buildings blank eyed people with wooden expressions came swrming out, and Faran was surrounded, lashing out around himself as the press of bodies began trying to grab his reins and pull him down.
Sparhawk had his own concerns to worry about; Adus had his knee on the inside of Sparhawk's shield arm, pinning it down as he raised his axe two-handed overhead, a graceless, artless stance that functioned solely for the purpose of bringing down his axe with as much force as possible. Sparhawk's own sword came up, deflecting the ugly strike into the cobbles with a spray of sparks that flashed briefly across Sparhawk's visor.
Then, as Adus awkwardly brought his axe back up for another stroke, Kalten was there, and Adus' right forearm spun away, hand still grasping the haft of his axe. The brutish man screamed, but Sparhawk ignored the splash of blood that narrowly missed his eyes and poured across the front of his armor as he drove his heavy sword up at Adus, who narrowly avoided the thrust by roling sideways off Sparhawk's chest; Sparhawk helped him on his way with a vicious kick. His full armor worked against him, as Adus had gotten to his feet and fled before Sparhawk could finish rolling over.
Faran and Kalten were beset on all sides. Sparhawk couldn't guess why the Seeker thralls were focused on them and ignoring him, but he had no intentions of leaving them to be swarmed under. He forced himself to his feet as his chest stabbed knives in his side, and he wobbled a bit. Past the press of bodies, he saw Martel, Adus, and next to them, the Seeker, slipping away, Adus holding his maimed arm tightly to himself. There was no chance to go after them as he went about the methodical, messy business of cutting down the Seeker's thralls, even as Tynian, Bevier, and Ulath rounded the alley corner to join the fighting.
From there, it was all over but the screaming. Of which, as always with the Seeker's thralls, there wasn't any.
A meaty thunk accompanied Ulath cutting down the last of the thralls, and Sparhawk leaned against Faran's flank, noting a heavy dent in Faran's barding that hadn't been there this morning. The angle and depth of the dent told Sparhawk the strike probably would have torn out his old warhorse's belly, and he said a silent prayer of thanks that they were in full armor today.
"As much as I enjoy a spirited fight in the morning," Tynian said jovially, prodding one of the bodies with his boot, "I'd appreciate some planning in advance."
"You had to have guessed it'd be an ambush, Sparhawk," chided Kalten. "And you don't look good."
"Adus landed on my ribcage," Sparhawk said breathlessly, his voice wetly betraying his pain despite his best efforts.
"City guard is on its way," Bevier said, looking down the alley to the market.
Sparhawk's head was swimming, but at least his side wasn't hurting quite so bad. "Think I'm okay, just.. need to get my balance." The alleyway swayed.
Kalten swore. "Get Sephrenia, and tell her to bring the bottle."
Sparhawk's legs were threatening to buckle, and he dimly noted the taste of iron. Clarity fell on him as memory paralleled, an alleyway ten years ago, blood leaking from his side. The sound of bells. "Probably... good idea," he agreed. He coughed wetly, and bright blood spattered against Faran's barding.
It took all of what was left of the elixir to heal his rib, Sephrenia diagnosing it as having punctured his lung when he'd been tackled from his saddle. Sparhawk didn't much care beyond the fact that it had worked. The ache in his side lingered a bit, but it was the ache of warning not to strain himself, not the pain of a recent and dangerous wound.
"It doesn't appear to be as potent as it was before," Sephrenia commented as she supervised the elixir's knitting Sparhawk's ribs back together.
"Not as fresh?" Kurik suggested, disgruntled.
"Perhaps. It is working, mind you, but slower. If so, it's just as well that this happened now and not a few weeks hence; it may not have been strong enough to heal him by then."
"What on earth were you thinking?" Kalten demanded angrily.
"I saw an opportunity," Sparhawk said ruefully.
"To get yourself killed?" Kurik sniped angrily. "Sparhawk, you're too old to go charging off like that. [i]I'm[/i] too old for you to go charging off like that; are you trying to stop my heart?"
"I, too, would like to know what you were thinking," Sephrenia added as she walked over to start packing the horses. "Martel is a problem, but a known one. And we were fairly certain he was working with the Seeker, so what did we actually gain here?"
"Well, Adus is down a hand," Kalten observed with grim humor. "If nothing else, Martel's going to have to find his right hand thug a new right hand of his own."
"We know something else," Sparhawk said thoughtfully. "When I saw Martel, he was speaking with one of the gossip mongers who were spreading tales in the market about Baron Alstrom and Count Gerrich's dispute."
"And?" Sephrenia asked.
"So we can also guess that Martel is trying to incite a larger conflict in the region," Sparhawk explained. "Large scale unrest here complicates our mission, makes it harder for us to travel about and conduct our business. On the outside edge of supposition, wide scale conscription reduces the number of people we can question."
"It also reduces the number of potential thralls the Seeker can use against us," Sephrenia pointed out.
"The thralls haven't helped them much so far," Sparhawk said with a shrug. "Maybe the Seeker is changing tactics."
Flute was playing her pipes quietly off to the side, an almost drowsy tune that Sparhawk found slightly distracting. Kalten was the one who chose to comment on it. "This is a strange time for a song."
"She is distracting attention away from us," Sephrenia replied quietly, "putting the awareness of the marketplace to sleep for a time. And it would help her greatly if you didn't make matters more difficult by being so loud."
Ulath looked around with a critical eye. "Only a temporary measure. There's at least twenty bodies here. And a lot of blood even if we managed to hide those."
"Can the seeker still feed on these?" Sparhawk asked. "If so, it'd be a good idea to render the bodies no longer usable for it."
"No." Sephrenia shook her head. "It feeds by drawing out all the fluids of the body while the victim is still alive. What fluids are left in a dead body suppurate quickly, and become unconsumable." She looked more than a little revolted.
Sparhawk could sympathize. It sounded like a revolting thing. "How long will it take to mix that bug killing concoction of yours? I have a powerful need to see it dead."
"Perhaps ten minutes, given a secure place to work undisturbed."
"Best to do that sooner than later. The next time we encounter the Seeker, I want to be ready."
