Zornhut: Chapter 2
Author's note: Zornhut, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark. Furthermore, while the game never mentions of any armour for most of the characters, I simply cannot imagine anyone walking into battle without wearing armour of any sort, so I've given some of the characters specific armour for this fic.
Raven was glad to leave the inn. While he had adjusted to the idea that he and Hector of Ostia would be fighting on the same side for this campaign, to have Hector in his presence--specifically, within his sword arm's reach--was a great test on his self-control. He was relieved when Hector's remark that Mark needed some company offered him a good excuse to leave the table at that instant.
And he had not lied either, for he really did need to replace some of the straps and buckles on his brigandine that had gotten loose and worn.
A soft cough reminded him that he was not alone; Mark was lagging somewhat behind. He slowed his pace slightly to allow the tactician to catch up to him. Once they were a good distance away from the inn, Mark asked, "Shall we attend to my errands first, or yours?"
Raven shrugged. "Up to you."
"Yours first, then, since there's the smithy," Mark said, pointing to a small building nearby. There was a faint, but unmistakable clanging of hammer on anvil eminating from within the structure.
A youth stepped out of the doorway to greet them as they approached the smithy. The smith's son, or more likely his apprentice, Raven guessed. "Good morning, sirs," said the youth. "What can I do for you?"
"Do you do armouring work?" Raven asked.
"Yes, but you will have to speak to the master about it," the youth replied before he turned around to look at someone inside the smithy. "Master!" he called.
Some moments passed before a burly, middle-aged man wearing a smith's leather apron stepped out of the building. "Armour, eh?" he said. "Come in then, good sirs, and I'll see what I can do."
"How long will it take for you to replace some straps and buckles on a brigandine? And a few metal plates?" Raven asked when they were indoors, at the same time removing the cuirbouilli shoulder guard he wore.
"The straps and buckles will not take long, but as for the plates... I will have to see what needs to be done."
Raven shrugged off his coat, tossed the item of clothing to Mark and deftly unfastened the straps to his brigandine. Done, he handed it to the smith, who examined the rows of small metal plates lining the close-fitting light leather armour.
"Ah, only two plates missing, and a few loose... How soon do you want this done, sir?"
"As fast as you are able." He did not like having to go around unarmoured; it made him feel vulnerable, almost naked.
The smith frowned in thought. "Will an hour past noon be all right?"
"That's good enough for me." Raven put on his coat and strapped his shoulder guard back on before he gave the smith a handful of coins. "The rest will be paid when I return."
"Very well, good sir."
The two young men left the smithy and went around the village to take care of Mark's few tasks. It did not take them long; some time later they were finished and Raven decided that it was best to head back to the smithy to check on the work on his brigandine.
"It's already noon. No harm in checking up on the smith, he might have finished earlier than expected," Raven said when Mark asked him why they were not going back to the inn.
They were not far from the smithy when Raven halted his steps, frowning. His hearing was as sharp as a hare's and he thought he heard a low, murmuring sound--a sound he has heard before and does not particularly like.
"Trouble?" Mark asked.
Raven nodded. "Stay close," he ordered, and loosened his sword in its scabbard before resuming the walk back to the smithy. The faint sound grew louder and louder, and soon both of them were running towards their destination, alarmed.
It was the sound of a mob.
---
Hector sighed and stretched in his chair. The innkeeper had furnished them with the best room in the inn; while rather small, it was warm and comfortable. However, the cozy room he shared with Eliwood did not alleviate his current predicament.
He was bored.
The Ostian lordling turned to look at his close friend, who was sitting in bed, reading a book. "Eliwood, let's go and see the rest of the village."
Eliwood looked up from his book. "Hector," he said, "it's only a small farm village, there's not exactly much to see."
"Yes, but at least it's a nice change from just rotting in this small room."
"Well..." Eliwood hesitated, but Hector knew that his friend was far too good-natured to say no. "I suppose the fresh air would do me some good. Do you think Lyn would like to join us? Her room is across the hall--we can just knock on her door and ask."
"I think we're the only ones who are still in our rooms. Everyone else has gone out with their own business, or out sparring in the courtyard." Hector got up from his seat and brushed his clothes. "Shall we?"
"Let's." Eliwood led the way out of the room, down the stairway and out the front door.
The two lordlings had not gone far when they heard the sound of a rider approaching them from behind. They turned around and found Marcus riding at a canter towards them. "Is something amiss, Marcus?" Eliwood asked in concern when the older man caught up with them.
"Not at all, Lord Eliwood," Marcus answered, dismounting his horse, "I merely wanted to know where you are headed."
"Hector and I thought that we'd walk around and see what the rest of this place is like."
"I see. I will accompany you to the square at least, then. My horse needs to be re-shod; he's worn a shoe thin."
Hector smiled, seeing the resigned look on Eliwood's face.
"Ah... right. Uh, very well, Marcus."
"Come on then," Hector said, "let's hurry. If we linger here, Oswin will show up and will insist on following me around with the same excuse."
"Hector, Oswin doesn't have a horse."
"I know."
Eliwood chuckled.
They had walked for perhaps a quarter of an hour, passing by a few dwellings here and there; the owners were surprised by the sight of strangers, and noble ones, at that, in their village. "Peaceful," Marcus observed.
"Yes, and I am thankful for that. I'm not quite in the mood to bash heads," Hector said.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Hector," Eliwood said, "look." He pointed at a crowd of twenty, perhaps thirty men not too far ahead. "From all the shouting that crowd is making, I doubt it's anything good."
Several boys ran past them, heading for the crowd. Hector grabbed one of the boys on the arm and asked him, "What's going on over there?"
"They're saying that Jerome, the smith's apprentice, stole from two men at the local tavern, sir," the boy replied hastily.
"A thief, then. No concern to us."
"Jerome's no thief! He wouldn't have done such a thing!" the boy protested, startling Hector. Hector loosened his hold; the boy squirmed away and ran off to join his companions, who could only watch in horror at the fate of their friend.
The crowd had apparently surrounded their quarry, and from all the clamour it was obvious they had started to hack away at the unfortunate soul with their fists and feet. The three men rushed immediately towards the rabble, intent on stopping the ugly scene when suddenly, a loud roar stunned everyone into silence.
---
"What in blazes is going on here?"
The loud babble from the crowd subsided to a few soft murmurs here and there, and the rabble parted to allow Raven to approach the young smith's apprentice. The boy crouched on his knees, bruised and battered, shivering in fright. "What's going on here, lad?" Raven asked, but the apprentice was far too shaken to give him an answer.
Two men stepped forward; Raven recognised them as the ones whom appeared to be leading the rabble. Both men had sullen, sly faces earlier when they were at the head of the crowd, but now the sly expressions were gone and they eyed him warily, unsure how to approach this interruption, one that was armed, no less. The taller of the two hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Milord--" he began.
"I'm no lord," Raven snapped, "so forget the pleasantries and get on with it."
"Ah... the boy there has stolen from my brother and I, milord--I mean, sir."
Raven turned to the apprentice. "Is this true?"
The boy shook his head. "No, I swear it! I have done no such thing!"
"He denies the deed." Raven looked at the boy's accusers. "Well?"
"He lies!" said the other man angrily. "My purse still had some brass coins when we were at the tavern, but when I reached for it I found it empty, and I saw the boy running out the door! It had to be him!"
"A few brass pieces lost and you are ready to kill the first poor wretch you come across," said Raven, "and without any proof, no less."
"We still demand justice!"
Raven snorted. "You can demand nothing, you have no proof. And you're drunk. It's more likely you spent your coin and forgot," he snapped.
The two men stepped back and looked around for support of any kind from the crowd, but most of the rabble had slipped away in the heated exchange, thinking better of their actions. Only a few remained to stand their ground, and even those few looked as if they wished they had snuck away earlier with the rest.
"But what of our money?" asked the taller man stubbornly.
Raven drew a few coins from his own pouch and threw them to the ground in disgust. "There, that should be more than enough to replace your loss. Now leave."
"But--" the man began, but was interrupted when Raven struck him in the face. He stumbled backwards and drew his hand over his bleeding lip, at the same time staring at the mercenary in shock.
"Leave!"
The two men scrabbled frantically for the coins on the ground and fled in panic.
Raven turned back to the smith's apprentice and offered a hand to help the boy up. The boy stammered his thanks, but Raven hushed him and asked, "Is my armour ready?"
The boy nodded. "Yes, kind sir! Shall I go and fetch it for you?"
"No, there is no need for that. Run ahead to your master and tell him I will be along in a moment. And take care of those wounds of yours." The boy nodded and hobbled off.
Wait, where's Mark?
The mercenary looked at where he had left his companion and was relieved to find Mark standing there. However, his relief rapidly dissipated and was replaced with annoyance when he realised that Mark had some new company; Eliwood, Marcus and that wretched Hector of Ostia stood near the tactician.
Raven took a long, deep breath, summoned all his self-control and walked to greet them.
"Nicely done there, Raven," said Hector.
"Thank you, milord."
"Did you have to hit that man, though?" Eliwood asked.
The mercenary grunted. "What would you have done in my place, milord?"
Hector grinned. "He has a point. I know I would have done the same."
Raven gave him a peculiar--no, not peculiar--a look that was more akin to puzzlement, or perhaps, disbelief.
Wonderful. Nobody seems to believe that I'm a nice person.
"You could have gotten into serious trouble in there. They did outnumber you."
"I am armed. They are not. As for the rabble, they're only brave when their victim is unable to fight back." The look on the mercenary's face changed for a fleeting instant, to an expression that Hector could not name before the cool, impassive mask he wore returned. "Besides, I... It just seemed to me that even if the boy was guilty, the punishment for the crime was far too excessive." Raven shrugged.
"True," Marcus agreed, "a slight chastisement would have been enough, but that rabble was about to severely hurt the child, perhaps even kill him."
"May I have your leave to go, milord?"
"Go ahead, Raven," said Hector, "and please, drop all that 'milord' business. Our names will be fine."
"Thank you... milord." The mercenary shuffled back a pace and nodded at them all before he walked away in the direction of the smithy.
Hector blinked. "Well... that was interesting."
"Perhaps he's just one of those people who simply insist on formality," Eliwood suggested, "like Marcus here."
"It is the proper thing to do, milords," Marcus said in protest, "for we must show our respect to you at all times."
"I suppose that's it," Hector said, shrugging it off. "Come on, Eliwood, let's go and see what the rest of this place is like." He picked a general direction and walked off, expecting Eliwood to follow him.
"Marcus," said Eliwood, "you and Mark go back to the inn. Hector and I will return later."
"Yes, Lord Eliwood."
"Thank you, Marcus. Hector? Ah, Hector, wait for me!"
