It was a dilemma. Markus felt they should strike at night, when darkness would provide cover. However, at night the family would be home, and if there was one thing that would bring the King’s Law down on a bunch of respectable thieves, it was murdering families in their homes at night. This was more true of wealthy families, of course, but taking out an entire peasant family was risky as well.
“But why are we even robbing peasants at all?” Neal had asked, not in front of the others, of course. “They don’t have any money.”
“They have what we need,” was Markus’s answer.
That was all Neal was going to get. Markus was proving to be a secretive master. Neal knew he had larger plans that he was keeping to himself. Neal liked to be the one with the secret plans, although his were usually about how to stay in the good graces of whoever was in charge while getting more than his fair share of the loot. He was beginning to regret supporting Markus’s mutiny. He now felt that maybe he should have given more thought to taking him out that first night. The only problem was he still hadn’t figured out how to kill Markus, and it was not something he wanted to get wrong.
So here they were, crouched in the moonlight behind a rise at the edge of a small farm that was nestled in a curve of the River Thwyne. The woods and the mountains, and thus an easy getaway, were at their back. Neal couldn’t see anything on this small farm that was worth anything. Peasants owned nearly nothing, less even than cave-dwelling brigands. When Neal first got into this business he had dreams of riches, but it hadn’t taken long to realize that it was a hand-to-mouth existence. Occasionally there would be a big haul, but inevitably most of that went to the boss, and the share that went to the men was quickly squandered on a trip to the capital.
“We’ll do it now,” Markus said. “There’s a good chance we won’t wake the family. If they do wake, let me handle it.”
Neal rolled his eyes, but Markus stared him down.
“Gotcha, boss,” Neal said. “You handle it.”
“You all are going for that storage barn,” Markus said, pointing at a squat little building behind the sheep pen. “I’ll meet you there.”
“The storage barn,” Neal repeated, incredulous. “What the...never mind. Where will you be?”
“I’ll meet you there,” Markus said. “Now go. Quietly.”
They obeyed. Markus watched them for a few moments, then set off towards the main farm house. He saw what Neal didn’t. Yes, the peasants owned nothing, but this was Lord Westfall’s land, and he was a very rich man. Here on this farm some of his prized sheep were penned every night. Many of the farmers’ sons and brothers in Westfall Valley were herders. Each day they roamed the hills with their dogs and their sheep. Five of Lord Westfall’s dairy cows grazed in the field beside the sheep pen. They were each valuable. The farmer’s family kept a share of the milk and sent the rest to Lord Westfall. For this effort they were given a free share of butter and cheese from the manor’s kitchens. There was wealth on the farm, though not of the kind Neal was looking for. In any case, it was not the farm’s animals Markus had his eye on. He set a brisk pace until he was within a stone’s throw of the house, then stopped in a shadow to study out his next step.
His goal was on the other side of the house, and he was disappointed to see that there was someone moving inside, silhouetted by lamplight against a rear window of the house. He really had hoped everyone would be asleep. Markus knew he had to hurry. The task he had set for himself would be inevitably noisy, and he knew he stood a good chance of being discovered. That was why he wanted no one else with him. If it ended up in a fight he stood the best chance alone.
He made it to the other side of the house without incident and that is where he found what he was looking for: the wagon. Next to it, the family’s old nag stood drowsily in her stall. She didn’t look surprised by Markus’s sudden appearance. If anything, she looked a little bored. Markus gave her a sugar cube and quickly set about hitching her to the wagon. She knew what she was doing better than he did, and the sugar cube had put her in the mood to be helpful. It went much faster than he had hoped, and he was feeling pretty good about himself as he sat down on the wagon’s wide bench.
Cool metal touched his neck, followed by a hoarse whisper in his ear. “Listen carefully. When I let you go, run away as fast as you can, because I’m coming after you. If I catch you, I won’t be introducing myself politely like I am now. I don’t normally like to do it, as I’m a reasonable fellow, but if you make me, I’ll cut you.”
“You won’t cut me,” Markus whispered back. “I guess you haven’t heard of me yet. I’m The Untouchable.” He pushed his weight back against the other man, a move the other certainly wouldn’t have been expecting, since it pushed the blade hard against Markus’s throat...or it would’ve if Markus were an ordinary man. Instead there was a flash of light and a crack as the blade split. The other man, already off balance, fell out of the wagon as Markus urged the horse out of the yard.
~
After the incident in the ally Kiri knew she wanted to do that, or something like it, again. Saving the day was immensely satisfying. However, she needed a better garment for it if she was going to be jumping out of windows and confronting bullies and bandits. Upon sneaking back into the inn, which she’d accomplished by levering open the unlocked kitchen window and ingloriously flopping into the sink, Kiri spotted herself reflected on the glass. She did not look like someone bandits would fear. If she was going to go after them she needed to look intimidating, and memorable. Memorable in a good way, that is, not the way a girl in a ripped nightdress is memorable.
To that end, Kiri suspended her practices and took to using her free time to piece together some of her old clothes into a new garment. Keeping in mind that she might be doing more things like dropping out of windows, she made it snug, with no loose fabric to catch and tear. That meant making trousers. Her mother would have been horrified at the idea of a daughter of hers going about in men’s clothes. To protect her modesty, and to quiet her mother’s voice in the back of her mind, Kiri made a tunic to go with the trousers that hung all the way to mid-thigh. The tunic was also form-fitting, so did it really protect her modesty at all? Especially since, in order to keep her range of motion, she had cut a long slit in each side of the tunic. She used her black mourning dress to make the tunic, and good riddance to it. In a fit of whimsy she embroidered the fabric all over with delicate lightning bolts. The mask finished the look, and it was no longer plain, but painted with red and gold flames over a black background. Kiri modeled the ensemble in front of her mirror for herself.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Hmm,” she said. “It would be better with a cape. I’ll need to find a thin fabric for that.” She turned side to side to assess the full effect. “I look like the Firebrand.”
As soon as it was finished, she took to wearing the outfit under her dress instead of her usual underclothes. If she hoped to engage in any more life-saving heroics she’d have to be ready at a moment’s notice. Such things could hardly be planned for. The tunic and trousers also turned out to be much more comfortable than any shift she’d ever worn.
So it was that she was wearing her new Firebrand...she didn’t want to think of it as a costume but that was probably the best word for it...clothes underneath her dress as she walked down the hill from the Leaning Pillar. As promised to Garon and Mala, she was heading towards the miller’s house for the Equinox.
The miller lived a little outside of town, where the road curved towards the river specifically so that farmers could bring wagons full of grain to the waterwheel-turned mill to be made into flour. Between the last house in the village and the miller’s the road passed through a wide stand of willows. The road was barely wide enough there for one wagon alone, and the willow branches criss-crossed above so that even in daylight it was shadowy and dim. Just as she was entering the willow-stand Kiri saw ahead in the shadows a man who was very clearly being robbed. He stood beside a horse while another, much larger, man stood in front of him with a knife in one hand while his other hand untied the saddlebags from the horse.
Now this was a perfect opportunity! Kiri quickly ducked back into the trees and stripped off her dress down to her tunic and trousers as quickly as she could. She licked her lips, looking up into the trees, and kicked off her shoes.
“Oops,” she muttered. “Almost forgot.” Quickly, she dug into the clothes that were laying among the leaves and came up wearing her mask.
Dressed in what it was now time to admit was the Firebrand costume she found it very easy to scamper up the willow trees and make her way along the limbs, still high aloft, until she was crawling onto one of the overhanging branches behind the robber. He had gotten one of the saddle bags off now, and was rummaging through it one-handed. Kiri carefully checked the distance, then dropped lightly to the road.
His victim’s wide-eyed expression alerted the robber and he had turned the knife on her before she had quite recovered her balance. She had dropped too close, and he managed to nick her arm as she scrambled backwards. Apparently he was the “strike first, ask questions later” type when it came to strange masked women who dropped out of the trees.
There was no time for anything fancier, so Kiri quickly flicked a spark at his face. He howled and stumbled backwards. Kiri was able to put a little more distance between them. Planting her feet wide apart, she tried to strike an intimidating pose and held up her hand. This time she held it open, hoping the shadow under the trees was enough to make the light in her palm obvious.
“What are you?” the man said, rubbing at his cheek.
“I’m the Firebrand,” Kiri said. “Warn your friends I guard these lands. Now go.” She followed the last up with another quick spark to the road at his feet. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
Her wish was granted. He left the saddlebag and ran, headlong into the woods.
Kiri glanced once at the man with the horse. He was staring gape-mouthed at her. It was time to make her exit. Luckily the branches were low enough she was able to smoothly pull herself into the canopy. She ran along the branches back to her clothes.
Once she was dressed again, Kiri realized she would have to pass back through the willow stand, and, assuming the man was heading toward the village, she would be encountering him. With luck, he wouldn’t recognize her. She’d only just finished checking her clothes and hair were smooth and started down the road when she realized she was still wearing her mask.
“Yeesh,” she said as she stuffed it into her apron pocket. “That’s going to be a problem.”
Kiri tried to act as nonchalant as possible, whistling a jaunty tune as she strolled into the willow grove. She even skipped a little. Sure enough, there was the man she had saved from robbery, gathering up his possessions from the ground. They seemed to be mostly books, paper, ink and pens. Most likely he was a scribe or scholar. Lord Westfall did not have a resident scribe, but would usually employ one during a tax year, which this was, to help with the mountains of papers the King required to be prepared. Lord Westfall had his own tax collectors, of course, but they were more suited to enforcement than recordkeeping.
“Oh my,” Kiri said once she was in easy earshot, with what she hoped was genuine sounding surprise. “Are you all right?”
The man jolted upright, looking a little frightened. As soon as he saw Kiri, however, his expression relaxed.
“Sorry,” Kiri said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I just...when I heard your voice, I thought you were someone else.” He gestured to the mess in the road. “I’m a little on edge.”
“Here let me help you.” Kiri bent and straightened a stack of papers. “What happened?”
While they picked up his things and loaded them back onto his horse, Kiri listened to the tale of her own heroism. She tried her best to act surprised at the right moments. Really, she was feeling very pleased with herself. He seemed to be overawed by the strange female rescuer.
“What do you think she was?” Kiri asked when he had finished his story.
“I don’t know.” He fastened the straps on the saddlebag as he spoke. “There’s nothing she could’ve been outside of fairy stories.” He turned to Kiri and shrugged. “So, I will call her The Firebrand, because that is what she called herself. Until I have a better name.”
Kiri nodded, forcing her eyes wide. “Well, that is a pretty good name.”
“I’m headed toward the village, and I gather you are not,” he said. “So this is where we part ways.” He mounted the horse and looked down at her. “Thank you very much, ah...”
“Kiri.”
“Kiri, yes, and I am Gilliam,” he said. “Thank you for your help, Kiri. I will be staying at Lord Westfall’s for a season, so I am likely to see you again. Until then, fare well.”
Kiri gave him a wave, and turned on her way. Her skipping was for real now. This hero business was fun.