CHAPTER TWO
"Fear not the evil that approaches with the blade and bowl of death, but the evil that approaches with a smile and sweet promises."
Elder Patron Soan the Second. The Sermon at Meraldin.
The two travelers in white entered the outskirts of the next village before the break of dusk. It was with some relief that they saw living humans for the first time in two weeks. The fertile fields on the outskirts were thick with fields of amber-bearded wheat and lush vineyards. Amongst the fields, figures of Illianer farmers hunched in their lifelong backbreaking toil, rushing to finish their work before the disappearance of the last light.
There were the villagers in plain wool moving slowly through the crude dirt packed road that led into the heart of the village of a half-dozen wooden structures with neat thatched roofing. It was a typical quaint farming village of obvious prosperity, but of little other consequence to the affairs of the world. But it was a start to unraveling the Illian conundrum.
As they entered, the dark haired Illianer denizens parted for them readily, glancing up briefly at their approach. Each one gave the horsemen a smile. Despite the humid hot weather, each of them wore long wool shirts with sleeves down past their wrists and leggings down to their clay-stained shoes. There was a faint vaguely familiar smell in the air that Halfhand could not quite place.
"These seem to be a friendly bunch. " Child Halfhand commented, as he inclined his head politely to a pair of villagers that moved aside for them.
"Yes, fradis, but a smile is not always friendly." Viellain murmured. Halfhand studied the villagers as they rode past. The people smiled and bowed, but their unblinking eyes matched their gaze without any deference. Their smiling lips creased to their cheeks but left their eyes untouched.
"Lo citizen, do you have an Inn or a Tavern here?" Halfhand called out to one of the villagers standing at the side of the road, watching them. Without breaking eye contact or speaking, the man raised one arm to point at the tallest building in the center of the village. He gave them a silent grin of pale teeth.
"Illianers have gotten a lot stranger than I seem to remember." Viellain muttered. "Don't seem quite right in the head."
"It has been a while. It must have been five years since the Koloi hunt in Akantus." Halfhand furrowed his brows to recall the pair's last visit to Illian. It seemed like ancient history since they were wading hip deep through swamp land in search of the bloodsucker.
"Ah, fradis, in the easten Illian bogs. I think I swore to never return to that blasted pighole." Viellain laughed in retort, and then fondly, "But they did brew the loveliest vin reds."
The simple rustic buildings in the village square appear to be well maintained with clean walls with faded blue trim. Villagers here halted their evening activities to stand and stare at the strangers entering.
Eyes still lingered on the two Children as they reigned their horses to the front of the supposed Inn, a nondescript two-story building. A picture window facing the street seems to be dark and there was no marking or signage outside. But there was a full trough and a post for horse hitching.
As the Children dismounted their steeds and tied their line to the post, more and more villagers appeared in the square to watch the strangers. The Children were used to being the center of attention in backwards villages, especially in their pressed white cloaks and shining armor.
But the slowly growing number of villagers standing here silently watching them filled Halfhand with some unease. He was used to seeing curiosity, suspicion, or even fear. But, these men and women seem to radiate a troubling intensity in their faces. The villagers appear well fed and healthy and the local stalls filled with produce. Not one appeared to have a stigmata of scurvy or marasmus. Yet, to Halfhand's eyes, these villagers had a hungry eager look that he had only seen during major famines.
"Matese, behave yourself today." Viellain commanded to his horse, loudly for the benefit of their audience. "We don't want any more people with broken legs or necks." The two trained horses were certainly capable of defending themselves, but those few choice words were usually enough to remind most people with an itchy palm to stay away.
They ignored their watchers as best as they could and entered the Inn. It was a dank drinking hole appropriate for the town, yet not a single drunk lay here in their ale. All the lamps were dark and the room was lit only by the gray twilight filtering in through the front window. Only one man stood here in the gloom behind the long bar, facing the shelf of glassware. He was tall and slender, wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, with an upturned collar around his neck in the normal Illian style. His gangly arms and legs seem too long for his frame. He was humming to himself a foreign discordant tune.
He turned to the opening of the door and gave them a wide smile that stretched his face, "Mmmmm, visitors, welcome. Mmmmm."
"Would you be able to set some light, Master Barkeep? It seems the night has caught up to you." Halfhand gestured to the oil lamp gathering dust on the bar counter.
"Mmmmm. Yes. Oh yes, of course." The man stepped to the counter, still humming, but just hovered over the lamp, staring as if he was slightly confused.
Finally, Viellain gave a grunt of impatience and reached over the bar. He gave a snap of his left hand, and a bright white flash sparked into the lamp's wick. The kindled lamp began to scatter its radius of anemic light over the bartop, casting flickering shadows across the room. Viellain's left hand was equipped with the Manus, finger-armor of his own design. The matching ebony filigree finger-armor wrapped the full length of the Questioner's thumb and ring finger like an articulating carapace, tapering to a clawed end with feromagut ridges that allowed him to spark fire with a fingersnap of convenience.
"Let there be Light. Two of your best." The Hand of Light pulls up a seat to the bar, a copper coin clinking onto the old rotting bartop.
The innkeeper blinked at the sudden light, took a step away from the radius of the lamplight, still smiling. He began to fill the tankards behind the bar, yet his eyes stayed unwavering from his new guests. His gaze drifted between their armor and cloaks and faces. "Mmmmmm. Welcome to Tefike. Rare do be travelers now."
"The crowd certainly turned out for our arrival." Halfhand commented as he took his seat at the bar. The barstool felt like it could disintegrate at any time.
"Mmmmmm. Oh we do love visitors here. Very much." The innkeeper's smile split wider. He set a filled tankard each in front of the guests.
Viellain intercepted both tankards, downing one quickly and began to nurse the second without a complaint. Anything is likely to be better than the rotgut he keeps in his flask.
"Water for me." Halfhand said simply.
The Innkeeper eyed him. He found a chipped pitcher on a shelf behind him and poured out the request. The Child of Light looked at the glass of gray water. There was a tiny spider floating in the filmy water. Halfhand looked around the dim common room. There were two tables with thick cobwebs wrapped around their legs. The common room did not seem to be used for months. It was this time that he identified the scent that hung in the air. It was the semisweet scent of lingering decay, like faint creeping black mold festering under a thin layer of fresh paint. Did this strange bartender man just stand in the dark humming night after night waiting?
He looked out through the picture window to see their horses drinking undisturbed, but now there are smiling villagers standing just outside the window looking in at them.
"Mmmmmm. Will you be staying long?" The Innkeeper wiped the bartop, but did not break his stare as if the two guests would vanish if he were to blink.
"We do seek information. We may stay as long as we need for our search." The Hand of Light sipped from the second tankard. His piercing gaze matched that of their server. "We have passed by many villages, all empty. Have you any news from your neighbors or the capital?"
The Innkeeper replied without pause or reflection. "Mmmmmm. That may be. That may be. It has been quiet. Not much villagers indeed. Perhaps they have gone to the King's Reverie. You two would love the Reverie."
Before they could speak more, the front door opened once more with a heavy creek. Halfhand turned slightly to watch the group of seven townspeople file in. They each bore a bludgeon or spear. They formed a half circle around the pair in the soon crowded common area.
A sweaty fat man with a medallion of a balance around his high collared neck stepped up, a cudgel wielded in hand. "You two be whitecloaks." It was not a statement, not a question.
Viellain continue to drink his tankard without pause, although his right hand disappeared into his cloak, likely fingering a hidden knife or poisoned flechette.
Halfhand turned in his seat to face the man. "We are Children of the Light. Pray tell me, do you walk in the Light, citizen?"
The fat man spoke again, "I am Master Toz, the lawful mayor of Tefike. You should be aware that Whitecloaks are banished from Illian on the Council of Nine's orders. Your kind are not welcome. I will not have you disturb the peace."
"It is of concern on how you treat the servants of light. We are but peaceful travelers. If you would answer some questions, we would be happy to move on." Halfhand replied curtly. As he spoke, he studied the small mob. Like the local militia of most backwards villages, it was likely comprised of local thugs and the most functional drunks that could be roused. In most circumstances, the odds would favor the two experienced soldiers, but in the scrum of close quarters, it may be difficult to escape unscathed. Additionally, like the villagers they have encountered outside, these men seem to emanate wrongness. Though they clutched their weapon in inexperienced hands, there was no fear or hesitation in their eyes. Halfhand glanced at Viellain who continued to nurse his tankard, who appeared annoyed at the interruption of his drink, gesturing at the bartender quickly for a refill.
"By the laws of Illian, we are placing you two under arrest." Major Toz proclaimed. "You will be taken to meet a representative of the Council of Nine for judgement. Will you come peacefully?"
Halfhand traded looks with Viellain. Tefike has been the first true clue in their investigation. Escape here would be possible but not without violence and force. This source of information would be burned. It may be of more benefit to go along with this charade for now. Viellain seems to agree, as he gave a slight nod and gulped down the last of his tankard. He removed his right hand from his cloak unarmed.
"Very well then. We shall comply with your request. " Halfhand stood and flung his white cloak back. The villagers stiffened when he reached towards his sword, but the Child merely unclipped the scabbard and placed it into the hands of the nearest villager. "Watch it well, for I expect it back in the same condition". As the villager accepted the sword, Halfhand caught a glimpse of the serpiginous scars on the man's forearm peeking out the edge of his long wool sleeves.
A second villager pulled the Child's gauntleted hands behind him, and tied it with coarse rope. Viellain acquiesced to this as well. He gave a wink to his guard, "Nice knots. My compliments to your Mistress."
They were escorted out of the Inn by their new entourage. The day's light was nearly gone, but the dirt road was lined with a surprising amount of villagers watching their arrest. It was possible that the arrest of the two strangers was the event of their year. The people watching them seem to have a hungry look on their faces, their thirsting eyes watching in anticipation.
The two were marched down the central street, now lined with more waiting villagers as if it was a feast parade. As they passed, the townspeople swarmed around to tag along, a large mob just walking and scrambling behind them. Instead of taking them to any official building, they were marched to the outskirts of town and towards a nearby grove of ancient trees with a towering entwined canopy that blotted out the rest of the dying light.
"So I take it we're going to camp with the Illian rep tonight? Or is this a pitstop with the sheep welcoming committee?" Viellain asked, and received a shove and resounding silence. None of their escorts seemed to rise to Viellain's provocations, and only increased their pace.
As they were led into the thick grove, Halfhand watched their escorts from the corner of his eyes. There were now over fifty townspeople here alongside their militia entourage. A few young women skipped around them as if this was Bel Tine or Sunday. He kept a mental tracker on the villager that carried his sword.
Sputtering torches flared up as the crowd now moved deeper into the woods. It was clear that they were not being taken to a diplomat skulking into the woods. But what perverse idea of justice did these hayseeds have in mind? Halfhand tested his binding, stretching the ropes but finding little yield. The nearby guards also now had tight grips on both of his arms to curtail any escape attempt.
After ten minutes of walking and unrequited insults from Viellain, they came into a clearing now in the grove, ringed in oil-soaked torches. A hunter's moon struggled to break through the thick cloud cover in the night sky.
A group of three hooded men waited in the center of the clearing next to an ominous man-sized stone structure. The tallest man held a long wicked appearing black sword in his hand. The crowd around the two Children surged forward, dragging the two forward.
The sacrificial lambs were delivered.