Seven Silver Hawks clustered together away from the rest of the party and townsfolk to decide what to do. Gregor looked at them and decided sitting on the wagon seat while waiting was preferable to standing there staring. He’d find out what they’d do soon enough.

The sun was almost down to the tree line, when at last, the Hawks made their decision. Okston the Maul was the Hawk who came to his wagon. Standing almost seven feet tall and four broad in his full armor, he carried two, one hand mauls hanging from his wide belt. No one stood in his way and survived, ever. “Gregor. We stay night. Find place for wagon, horses. Eat in tavern,” and pointed to a nearby building. He always talked like he had a limit on the number of words he could say each day, and never used more than he needed. He fought the same way. When he swung either of his heavy mauls, they almost always killed something or someone.

Gregor nodded to him. “I’ll see what they have and join you as soon as I can.” He wished he had someone who could handle the wagon team for him, but there wasn’t anyone else as good. It meant he missed most of what went on among the others. That bothered him, but there was nothing worth him saying that would make a difference. It was what it was and he was used to it.

“If this sorcerer has as much treasure as the tales told, I’ll be rich enough to stop being a soldier and find a place to live and start a family.” After almost twenty years of being in someone’s army, Gregor dreamed about a place where he could settle down and rest. His only problem was, the only thing he knew was fighting. Fighting and handling horses and wagons, and he wanted to rid himself of both.

An hour later, Gregor had taken care of the wagon and stabled, curried, and fed the party’s horses for the night. Heading back to the town’s only tavern, he looked forward to food and something to wash it down. Both of which might help him forget the day. As he strolled his way down the hard-packed dirt street, the town’s condition bothered him. It was small, but the solidly built stone and wood buildings looked well cared for. The houses and shops around the town square had lower floors which were faced with stone. Dark timber framed their second story. The town’s headman didn’t seem rich, but no one looked very poor either. For a town under the heel of an evil sorcerer, they didn’t seem very oppressed, or frightened. Something didn’t feel right.

Entering the tavern, he stopped and savored the smell of roasting meat, hops from the beer, and the smell of leather and metal from the party. There were a few locals, but the Hawks’ party occupied a third of the common room. As usual, the Silver Hawks had a table to themselves and the rest of the party sat scattered around the room. There were close to a dozen locals raptly listening to the Hawks tell tales of their various exploits and victories over men and monsters. The tavern had room for everyone plus some to spare. Deciding to see what would happen, Gregor took the space no one else wanted, close to the door with his back to it. The rest of his party members occupied all the wall seats, and the seven Hawks chosen table sat closest to the fireplace.

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All that happened besides his back itching, was a decent sized bowl of venison stew, half a loaf of that morning’s bread and a moderate sized tankard of beer. The woman serving it looked old enough to be the tavern owner’s wife, not his daughter. His beer reminded him of something he’d drunk before in a larger city. It would be easy to get drunk on it because it went down easy. It wasn’t thick like the swill usually found in cheap taverns or the watered-down stuff they served in the army. At least the Hawks paid for everyone’s food and drink. He’d heard tales of parties where everyone had to buy their own.

The lull in conversation and tale-telling Gregor had been waiting for came. Getting up, he made his way to Okston and whispered, “I need to talk to you about the wagon.” Okston gave him an odd look, then nodded. Getting Tanadon’s attention, he pointed at Gregor and said, “Wagon,” then rose and followed Gregor outside.

“What wrong with wagon?” Okston asked when they stopped.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong, and it’s bothering me. How big is this town? How many people do you think live here?”

“Hundred, maybe two, with close farms if count children, dogs. Why?”

“The stable’s big enough for all our horses, the wagon, plus a few horses already there. You could stable at least three dozen horses in it. It would be a prosperous stable in Nardellia or Bachmount, Maybe even Ashvale, but not here. It’s too big and too clean. The tavern too. Too big for the town, but it looks little used other than around the fireplace and that end of the room.”

“You think trap? Nice trap.” Okston studied the surrounding town. Night had fallen, but a few houses still had a light inside. Except for the tavern, all the shops around the town center were closed and dark. He nodded. “You right. Town not on main road. Not shortcut.” He sniffed the night air. “Town almost not stink. You right. It stinks.”

Gregor sighed. At least Okston believed him. “What do we do about it?”

“Okston looked at him. “You sleep in wagon. I send extra man guard horses. We watch tavern. If poison, too late. Good tasting poison. We die with full belly.” He said, patting his. “Think nothing happen tonight. Why bother if swamp, sorcerer kill us?”

Nodding in agreement, Gregor answered, “I thought of that, too. The stories made their plight seem terrible, but this doesn’t seem like a bad place to live. I could settle down in a town like this.”

“Maybe you do with stone over head? Kill sorcerer, take treasure, find out why.”