It was early morning at the camp, the weather no less overcast than any other time of day, but with air cool and crisp enough to see one’s breath hang in the air. Abor’s broad frame was perched upon a large stone protruding from the gravelly soil, and he chewed on a stick for its sap, his mean gaze unusually distant. In his mind a dozen scenarios had played out in which his crew of brigands cut down their few remaining guards in order to snatch up the Noble woman for her bounty. But now, even in the familiar terrain of his own mind, some odd feeling of dread came upon him as he approached her huge and domineering figure. It was as if some animalistic instinct was warning him of the presence of a more dangerous predator than he, and urging to run away as quickly as he could!
The man looked down then at the chain between his ankles and he grunted out a bemused “Hah!” Not that he could do much running in a state like this.
“It might be most efficient to slit their throats as they sleep… No, no, if they hid the key then we’re all done for–me in particular.” He muttered to himself.
Again, he imagined himself approaching the towering figure of that woman with cruel intent, menacing her with his blade And once again his mind’s eye showed him the same horrible result: she lifted him by his neck with one massive, black-gloved hand and strangled him until he was dead, all while his companions cowered in terror on the sidelines.
“Even in my head, they’re all useless!” He growled, tussling the greasy mop of his hair in exasperation.
I’ve got to get over this! He thought to himself. She may be large, but she’s only one woman! Even if I cannot easily picture her weak and afraid, I’ve well seen that even the strongest brutes cry out in terror when they’re in true danger. More importantly, if I cannot even imagine my victory then there is no way I’ll survive! But even as he rationalized it, that strange anxiety continued to twist in his stomach.
Then the sound of feet sprinting in his direction caught his attention. He turned to see a familiar, bony young lad approaching with a worried expression.
“Abor!” He called. “That Noble Lady–she’s gone!”
“What?!”
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The swarthy brigand marched back into the camp like he owned it, and as they saw him coming the other criminal conscripts parted before his stormy expression like water around a stone. Finally coming upon the tents occupied by the small contingent of soldiers, the Sergeant also turned to face him. As Abor advanced on him with as wide a gait as the chains bound between his ankles would allow, the Sergeant drew a sword from his side. He swiftly held the blade aloft and pointed towards the convict, who stopped just before its tip.
“What’s goin’ on?” Abor angrily demanded.
The Sergeant only narrowed his eyes at him in response. He did his best not to betray his true feelings, though he could not help but glance about at the crowd of ruffians that had gathered around his lone squad.
“I thought that Noble bitch was gonna come with us an’ that we were gonna attack those Lengar bastards today! Where’d she go?” Abor continued.
Truthfully he did not care one whit about the mission, or about Lengar, but he needed a reason to be upset about her disappearance beyond the ransom that he hoped to pry out of her County for her safe return.
“Stand back!” The Sergeant finally commanded him, but Abor merely glared at him in reply and did not move. The men around them looked nervously betwixt themselves but continued slowly closing in around the pair.
“The Countess said she would go alone to the Road. She departed at dawn.” The Soldier replied, his tone brusque with the effort of repressing his nerves.
“... By herself?” Abor asked, taking another step forward then so that the tip of the man’s sword was pressed against the broad, bare expanse of his hairy chest.
“I-I said stay back!” The Sergeant stammered, his words catching in his throat at the rage simmering in the brigand’s eyes.
Now she’s gone and got herself killed or captured by those Lengar bastards?! Abor fumed internally. Was she dull in the head? She was supposed to be my payday, dammit! If even one part of this plan goes foul, these boys might mutiny. This fool soldier might have killed me!
He let out a long exhale, his hot breath curling around his face like steam in the cold air, and as he reigned in his boiling anger his expression became sharp and stern.
“I think I’ve had enough of this ruse.” Abor said, and all of the soldiers glanced around fearfully then, taking in the men that had now fully surrounded them. The conscripts were still chained but they were many, and their expressions were twisted with desperate ire, and they had armed themselves with crude, scavenged wooden clubs and heavy stones.
“Take ‘em down, boys! Before they mess anything else up for us!” Abor roared to the assembled crowd.
At his call, the throng of prisoners swiftly fell upon the small group of soldiers, and the sounds of combat rang loud throughout the camp.
“--And you!” Abor turned and snatched up his weaselly companion by his collar, drawing him close. “Take some lads to the road and see if you can’t get that Noble woman back before Lengar gets her, if they haven’t snatched her up already!”
Then he roughly shoved the frailer man from him, who stumbled, toppling onto his back in the dirt below. Abor didn’t shoot him so much as a second glance as he left to join the fray, only growling his final order out over his shoulder.
“Go!”
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Thomas wore his usual persistent grin as he peered out over the horizon, his hand cupped over his brow to shield it from what little sunlight still trickled through the clouds. The evening had become somewhat foggy, and through the haze the gray, silhouetted forms of small buildings peeking out from behind the protection of a ring of walls could just be seen.
“I believe Thuud is close at hand now, my Lord!” Thomas cheerfully declared.
Niklas did not reply to his companion aloud, but nodded in acknowledgement.
The road to the village, having not been used often, was quite uneven and bumpy. Niklas felt the need to lead Missy, the stalwart Mule, along by her reins slowly and with more care than usual. so that she would not trip or roll an ankle, or worse, while bearing the weight of their luggage upon her back.
As they neared the village and it came better into view Niklas was greeted by a now-familiar sight, as a young lass stood at the front of the small gate evidently awaiting their arrival. She was tall and thin, with long, wavy brunette hair, and she was young enough that she had either just come of age or would do so very soon. As she laid eyes on them she startled briefly before putting up one hand in a small and timid wave.
“W-welcome, my Lords, to Thuud! I am to be your guide.”
Thomas approached first, and his broad grin and handsome features brought a small flush to her face. “Just one Lord here, I’m afraid!” He said, gesturing back towards Niklas and the Mule at his side. “This is Count Niklas, and I am his… hmm, companion? Bodyguard? Well, no matter! I am Thomas.”
“R-right.” She stammered in reply, clearly slightly stunned, and she momentarily glanced over at Niklas in disbelief, for with his stature and size he did not look like a man older than she. “Well then, please f-follow me.”
With that she turned on her heel and led them inside, beckoning for them to follow. As they passed under the wooden awning of the small gate, Niklas observed the stark difference that this village held from the others he had visited, despite their obvious similarities. The houses and halls of gathering were small and shoddy, made mostly from cut wood and packed clay. It was very rare that his eyes fell upon a hut made of stacked stones, let alone fine houses like he had seen in the Capital and more wealthy territories. And while all of these villages consisted of roughly built homes encircling a central open area, there were noticeable small differences between the distances and angling of each individual home.
Having visited so many of these hamlets in such quick succession gave Niklas a dream-like sort of feeling, as if he thought he’d recognized a path to a destination, but he knew that following it would lead him somewhere entirely unfamiliar.
This time their young guide did not lead them to some community hall, as they had become accustomed to, but rather towards a more well-built and modern building than they had seen before–in this village, or indeed in any of the previous ones. It was a tall and rectangular-shaped structure, with wood that appeared freshly cut. The girl pulled aside the long cloth that hung over the doorway, and the two men ducked inside after her, leaving Missy to chew upon the grass outside.
At least at the prior villages to which they had been allowed entry, this was where the Head or Elder would be waiting for them, and they could then begin to discuss their business. But there was nobody else here, and they watched in bemusement as this young girl plodded past them and knelt down onto a cushion in the center of the room. She then gestured to the two to follow her example, and shortly enough all three of them were sat.
Niklas looked about the strange room from his kneeling seat. It was dark and smelled strongly of incense and spices. Bushels of dried leaves, berries and animal bones hung from various hooks and hangers about the walls, along with numerous intricately weaved blankets and tapestries. Strewn about the room were various instruments of alchemy, large clay jars, and a cauldron of some blackened metal.
“I’m sorry, are we awaiting the Village Head now?” Niklas asked as he glanced about. “Will they arrive soon?”.
The girl took in a slow breath, as if steeling herself, before she answered. “The Elder…yes. Well, uh, you see…” She stammered, fidgeting nervously where she knelt. The two men could only look on quizzically. “Th-the thing is…you see my Lord…”
“Out with it, already!” Niklas snapped, clearly exasperated, to which she flinched and finally broke her news.
“The village Elder right now… is me.”
Thomas and Niklas both shared a surprised look with each other, as the girl silently stared at the floor and trembled with anxiety.
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A handful of diverse, but uniformly rough, men slunk carefully through the brush of the forest towards the infamous Road of Benedict. At their head was that small and weaselly confidant of Abor, who looked about himself nervously, as if he expected some great and hungry creature to leap out from the growing darkness of the evening at any given moment.
All was quiet in the forest besides the occasional rustle of small creatures in the nearby branches, or the loud caws of flocks of birds which erupted from the trees above whenever a man stepped loudly on a particularly dry twig or cursed while tripping over a stone.
This motley group had been traveling for a few hours now; much longer than they would have taken normally, but those damnable chains between each of their cuffed ankles hindered their progress, jangled as they moved, and occasionally caught and tangled on tall grasses or roots. As this train of men shuffled along, the quiet was broken by the sound of conflict, which started as a distant clamor but steadily became louder as they neared the main Road.
“What do you suppose is happenin’? One man whispered to another.
“Perhaps the Lengar soldiers came upon some bandits..?” Another replied.
It was not normal for such disturbing sounds of battle–desperate shouts and called orders and the occasional clanging clash of metal upon metal–to go on for so long. The weaselly convict wore a gleaming bead of sweat on his brow the closer they approached, an anxious dread turning his stomach sour and skin clammy. Some instinct whispered to him that it was no coincidence that this was happening not even a full day after that the huge and dreadful Noblewoman had arrived.
Finally, the trees and bushes before them broke apart and the criminals could see up the short but steep incline which led to the road proper. And the first sight that greeted them there was the body of a man. He wore the standards of Lengar, a lion’s head above two crossed axes, though it had been badly bloodied and slashed clean through. He lay upon his back, which was bent in an awkward and inhuman way, and his milky, lightless eyes were staring straight at them.
As their troupe crested the incline they found many more men who were strewn about the road in the same way. Scattered amongst them were weapons, arrows and shields–some of which had been cleaved through with what must have been a sharp blade wielded with unnatural strength.
“What in the Hells..?” Came whispers from the other chained men, who were pale with fright, clearly disturbed.
Only the fear of retribution from Abor himself compelled the weaselly man to go past this carnage-which went on for quite a ways-and continue further down the road.
Finally, something came into view through the evening fog that blanketed the Road: a tall, dark silhouette. As they crept forward she finally became clear: it was the Countess Uldred of Petrice who stood at the center of the littered corpses, breathing heavily beneath that unsettling silver mask, which had been spattered with some poor man’s viscera. She then slowly turned to look upon them with her violet eyes, which appeared to glow with a malice as deadly as her enormous, bloodstained sword.