23 – Nooses Tighten
"Tis the sweetest of scents,
The gathering storm." – Talanthe Truesilver, Cycle of Thunder
"I'll tell you everything, I swear!" the prisoner pleaded, looking away from the suspended body of his companion as it twitched its last. The dead man on the rope had been the least cooperative, kicking and cursing at the Flaming Fist soldiers the moment they began asking questions. Once he had been made an example of and hanged from the sycamore tree the five remaining bandits all wanted to talk -none of Xan's magical coercion necessary- and soon a chaotic stream of stories, information and pleas pouring from their lips.
Lieutenant Vai had the prisoners separated a bit and spoke with them one at a time from there. They were all happy and eager to offer the location of Tazok's camp and the trail signs that led to it, along with everything they knew about the forces that were arrayed there. Along with the information came their stories, many of the prisoners claiming that they came from poverty on the streets of Iraebor and would never have signed up to buttress the Black Talon forces in the west if they had known banditry would be involved. Two of the prisoners even claimed to have been caravan guards, pressed into service when they were captured months ago.
That was a story that gave Imoen some hope, but Vai was dismissive. "And that's truly all you know," she finally asked, facing the first prisoner who had offered to spill his guts.
"Truly miss," he said with an enthusiastic nod. "And if there's anything else I can do to help I'll be happy to."
"Of course." Lieutenant Vai turned to her soldiers. "Hang him."
There was already a second noose tied to one of the numerous low branches of the sycamore tree, and the barrel they had used to suspend the first man was set up beneath it. The second man had to be dragged, kicking and struggling to the spot while the remaining prisoners looked on in horror. A Flaming Fist soldier had remained in the branches during the interrogation, and quickly went to work tying more ropes up. "But I told you the truth!" the prisoner protested before a blow to the stomach ended his struggles and they managed to stand him up on the barrel.
"You did," Vai stated coldly. "And we thank you. But justice must be done. Try to face it with some dignity will you?" With that they unceremoniously kicked the bucket out from under the man's feet and went to work setting up the next prisoner.
"Seems like a waste of rope," Shar-Teel muttered, scowling and looking away from the growing collection of corpses beneath the branches and the terrified men and women who were next in line. "A quick chop would do."
Vai shook her head, eyes fixed on the grim work. "We have to show that the law has finally come to these woods. Nothing demonstrates that quite like a tree full of highwaymen." She looked askance at Shar-Teel. "Judging by your expression Dosan, I think the message gets across. Contemplating your future up there?" Shar-Teel's hand shot to the hilt of her sword and the two women shared a glare. "Give me a reason," Vai went on, "and I'll be happy to add you to the tree. Your family name can only save you from so much."
"But I will not be added?" the dark elven woman asked nearby, voice stiff. She was unbound and had pulled the hood of her tan cloak up over her head. Vai's soldiers lingered near her, tense and ready.
"No, you will not, drow," Vai replied. "Questionable as your presence is in these woods you did heal me and several of my troops. Maybe even saved my life." There was no trust or apology in her tone, but it was enough for the drow. She gave Vai a curt little nod.
"My name is Viconia DeVir, not 'drow'," the dark elf said. She looked over at Imoen. "And as this girl guessed I am simply a traveler in these strange lands."
"An exile, you mean," Xan ventured.
"Well, that means she's no harm to us," Imoen interjected. "She's not going to call bandits or drow raiders or spider queens or any of that down on us."
"No harm?" Kivan snarled. "This is a treacherous and deadly creature, even without a pack of her kind nearby."
Imoen rolled her eyes. "Just looks like a woman to me. And one in sore need of protection, since sods everywhere seem intent on gutting her just cause of how she looks."
Viconia nodded, stepping a bit closer to Imoen. "An accurate description abban. I would offer my services to you, since you rescued me and there is safety in numbers, but it seems your males do not approve."
"Well I'd certainly approve," Kagain spoke up. "We're in damn sore need of a healer." He gave Shar-Teel a meaningful look and she rolled her eyes.
"And I wouldn't mind her traveling with us either," Imoen added. "Dun care what stodgy elves think."
Xan and Kivan shared a brief look, and Kivan gave the slightest shrug. "She has much to prove I suppose," Xan noted.
"Yep," Kagain said, "and she'll get to the proving soon enough long as no one objects." He turned to Lieutenant Vai, who had finished overseeing the last execution. "Seems we have similar goals, strange as our meeting's been. What's our next step?"
Vai gave the motley band that had come to her rescue a brief inspection, biting her lip. "I'll certainly keep an eye on the drow, but I'd be a fool to turn away help from your little mercenary group if we're to truly take the fight to Tazok. We should work together."
"My thought exactly," Kagain agreed, offering Vai his hand. "We team up and take it to the buggers. A nice afternoon all told, having a small army fall into your lap."
'Small' was an understatement as Imoen figured it. Besides Vai and Ajantis there were eleven Flaming Fist soldiers left alive, a hearty little unit but they'd be far outnumbered by the forces the bandit prisoners had described. Still, between the Fists and their odd little band Imoen hoped it would be enough to rescue Ashura and Garrick if nothing else. And they knew the trailsigns that would lead to Tazok's camp now. They could at least scout it out and think of something.
Soon the small force of lawmen and mercenaries formed up and began to head north and west, leaving behind a desolate battlefield and six corpses in the uniform leathers of the Sharp Teeth bandits hanging from the branches of a sycamore tree. A warning and a sign of things to come, perhaps. Still, Imoen couldn't convince her stomach to stop churning.
"I couldn't really do the story justice," Ashura admitted. "It was something about Krognar being lost in the desert and stumbling on this city with crystal towers and walls of golden marble. And when he approached the city there was no one manning the gates. But…oh, and he had gone into the desert because of a witch's vision. That's kind of important because the witch comes back into the story later." She laughed a little against Garrick's chest. "See, I'd make a terrible bard."
He chuckled. "Maybe not terrible, but you certainly need some work. One thing about storytelling: if you forget something crucial you should never admit it to the audience. Instead just make stuff up as you go along and hope it fits."
They had found a cozy spot to lie back beneath the stars after the evening meal and the rounds of drink and song that followed, Garrick's back propped up against a smooth oak trunk and Ashura propped up against him, wrapped in their cloaks and little else. It was strange how peaceful the camp could seem this time of night if you weren't on duty. Well, peaceful might not have been the right word, since there seemed to be at least one drunken brawl every evening, and the piercing barks and yelps of gnolls fighting for dominance was a common sound.
There was always loud chatter and song by the mess tent, an ongoing party really, complete with couples sneaking off into the dark after a few rounds of rum the way Ashura and Garrick had. Around them the towering trees gently swayed, crickets chirped, and the gruesome totems that decorated some of the tents were cloaked in shadow. It was easy to forget that the rollicking celebration went on the way it did because any of them could be sent off to kill and die the next morning, and peaceful as the forest seemed there would be gnolls and worgs fresh on the scent of any recruit if they dared go beyond the treeline.
When Ashura tipped her chin back and looked up at the bard she noticed that his soft blue eyes were tilted up and far away, his soft gaze upon the stars. Damn if the boy wasn't pretty, dreaming eyes and kissable lips and square jaw and all, though it kept vexing her that despite Garrick being about her age if not older the word 'boy' still kept coming to mind.
He was naive, hapless and easily led, though she had discovered rolling in the grass with him that he had some unexpected skills. His mouth was certainly good for far more than singing, for one thing. She guessed that Silke had taught him those tricks, though she didn't want to ask.
Ashura's handfull of adventures with boys were things she looked back on more as misadventures, and she couldn't shake the feeling that this little tryst might end up the same, especially if Imoen ever found out. In the Keep everyone had known everyone's business, and she hadn't been able to smile at a guy without tongues wagging and gossip swirling. It had gotten really bad after she spent a night with Hull and he turned into an obnoxious braggart about the whole thing.
Then there was Shistal, who had gotten annoyingly clingy the moment she'd shown any interest in him. She'd lost interest right after that, but everyone had treated them like a couple anyway, and Imoen had been annoyingly jealous. Letting Shistal know that she wasn't interested hadn't worked until she got very, very blunt. At least Garrick seemed too easygoing to get like that.
Eager and easygoing. The combination made for a nice comfort on warm nights like this, out on the grass and away from prying eyes, when tomorrow they both could die. No reason to think on it any more than that.
"It's a shame you never read any Krognar the Uthgardt stories," Ashura finally said, shaking off the moment of uncomfortable introspection. "I'm sure you could tell 'em better. And use that 'making stuff up' trick, since some of the stories get a little repetitive."
"I don't know," Garrick mused. "Honestly I've never been good at that."
"What? You're a fantastic bard. And hey, I've seen a few. They come through Candlekeep all the time."
"Nice of you to say. But what I mean is I dunno about making stuff up. My grandpa Nalen was famous for that, but I never got the hang of it. See, he wrote plays and a few operas that were big in Waterdeep back in his day. Me and my brother got trained in the theater, and I think mom hoped one of us would compose something famous the way grandpa did, but..." He tapped his head. "I ended up with a lot of other people's songs and stories up here, but when I try to think of my own it's a blank.
"Grandpa Nalen said he got inspired by going out and seeing the wide world. I thought if I wandered around with theater troupes long enough I'd get inspired too, but mostly I just learned more of other people's stories."
"An opera huh?"
"Yeah. It was about some heroes saving Tentowns from...a bunch of stuff. The Saga of Icewind Dale. Supposedly based on a true story. Truth be told the opera didn't have much of a plot, but there's a lot of amazing music and grand melodrama."
Ashura was silent against Garrick's chest for a moment, before giving his shoulder a squeeze and speaking softly. "You've already got a story though."
"Huh?"
"'The Tale of Garrick the Reluctant Bandit'."
"Ha! That's true. I could tell the story of our adventures. But do they really count as adventures?"
"Trying to survive out in the wilderness surrounded by dangerous people and creatures? Yeah, that's the definition of adventure." A pause, then she added: "You might want to embellish a bit to make us sound more heroic though."
With something between a snarl and a growl Ashura stumbled forward, clumsy feet tromping in the dirt. Before she could recover from the blow Knott had delivered to her back and whirl there was a streak of glinting steel before her eyes. Her opponent's sword was pointing at her throat.
"Ha!" the Calishite bandit barked out. "Knew you were nothing but bluster."
Ashura shrugged slightly, lowering her weighted practice sword to the dirt of the training ring. "You're pretty quick. Beat me fairly."
"Beat your cute little ass soundly, you mean."
Ashura's lower lip twitched. "Don't think you raised any bruises."
"We'll have to go a third time then," he said with a chuckle, spinning his sword dramatically. "Make sure you go to bed black and blue tonight and-"
"Learn my place in our little hierarchy, yeah yeah yeah," Ashura growled, her knuckles going white as she gripped her sword. Well this isn't bloody working.
Safana had suggested using 'honey' to deal with Knott (Blech!) and Crush had told them to settle their differences in the training ring. Still, the two suggestions had given Ashura the idea of mollifying Knott by letting him win a few sparring matches. Maybe he'd see her as less of a threat to his manhood or whatever was going on in that pea-brain of his and leave her alone after that, or so the thinking went. It seemed like a better notion than cracking the teeth of a man she was supposed to be working with, and with the way he wielded a sword it was easy enough to dance around and take a few blows without any real pain or injury. He moved fast enough, but some of the kobolds she had faced had put more power behind their swings than he did.
The trouble was that Knott was the most insufferable winner Ashura had ever met, and the fact that she could easily lash out and wipe the smug grin off his face just made it worse. It was all she could do to hold her sword-arm back and simply glare.
"Well, you're certainly making it clear you have lessons to learn," Knott replied. "Especially when it comes to swordplay. It's not the same as playing with dollies, you see."
Alright, that's it!
"Aww, Knott?" a silky-smooth voice chimed in from the edge of the circle. "Haven't you put the poor girl through enough?" Safana was perched on one of the log barriers that ringed the training yard, her legs crossed and hands braced on the wood. "You've certainly showed off enough for me."
"Enjoy the show?" Knott asked with a chuckle.
Hopping down from the barrier Safana sashayed towards them, half-shrugging and half stretching her bare shoulders like a cat. "Enjoyable enough, though seeing you beat on a clumsy little girl leaves something to be desired." She stretched her arms above her head and tossed her hair back. "Wouldn't a big strong man much like yourself make a better opponent? A better show. I know seeing two-rough-and tumble-men vying to prove who's the toughest gets my blood pumping more than bruises on a little girl."
"Heh, you're right." Knott pointed his sword at Garrick, who had been reclining against a log nearby. "Been meaning to beat the crap out of him for a while anyway."
Garrick gave the other man a little 'who me?' look and then shrugged, stepping into the yard. "I suppose I'm due huh?" the minstrel asked, a self-effacing smile on his face.
"Yeah. And shouldn't you be avenging your girl's honor or whatever rot? Then again I figure you're...what is it they say? 'A lover, not a fighter.' Thought I heard ya making her sing earlier this morning, but I doubt you can make that sword sing the same way."
The taunt made Garrick blush a bit, though Ashura just chuckled. The bandits had teased them about being a couple from the start, and you can't keep a secret in a place like this. Let 'em talk. She didn't care.
The training yard offered a wide variety of blunted, weighted weapons, and Garrick had picked out one that resembled the sort of rapier he favored. He was no master fencer but he wielded it well enough, and when Knott stopped taunting and actually started swinging at Garrick they made a surprisingly even match, much to the bandit's frustration.
Beside Ashura a nasal voice piped up. "How's about I show you what's what?" he asked her. "Looks like I'm not the lowest one on the ladder anymore."
Turning, Ashura glared at Credus, then shrugged and hefted her sword. "Sure. Come at me."
The junior bandit seemed pleased to finally have someone to beat up on, but in the space of a few breaths that changed. The next thing he knew Credus was sprawled out on the ground and pressing his palm against a bleeding lip, his other hand clutching his stomach and wincing.
"Seems you're still the lowest on the ladder," Ashura noted.
"Damn," Credus moaned. "How did you…damn. Knott's never going to let me live this down."
"Ha!" Knott shouted, breathlessly, his sword still clanging with Garrick's. "That's for damn sure. Can't even beat up the little girl."
Shaking her head Ashura walked over to a nearby bucket and drew a little water with a wooden ladle. She felt Safana's presence nearby, casually hovering the way she tended to do. "Thanks," Ashura whispered to the other woman.
"Knott should be the one thanking me, poor fool," Safana noted. "You looked ready to chop his head off, which wouldn't do us any good. Seems I have to keep saving you from yourself."
"Why?" Ashura asked. It was something that had truly puzzled her for a while, since she wasn't exactly the sort of 'big strong man' that Safana seemed intent on surrounding herself with.
"Exactly because you could break Knott in half without sweating. I'm proud enough of the little band I've collected; they make for a good crew of obedient little dogs, but there's little teeth between them. You two are different. The minstrel has magic and the wit to use it well, and you have bite."
"Eh." Ashura shrugged. "I appreciate the flattery but-"
"I mean it. When you had your little proving match with Raemon you reminded me of someone I once knew. Vashala was her name, one of the deadliest sword-arms we ever had on the Exzesus. She could climb and dance the rigging as well as I or any of the others, and dance around swords just the same. But when she swung a blade there was real muscle and fury behind it, as well as grace. Quite a combination."
"Yeah, still sounds like you're buttering me up." In the ring Garrick and Knott's swords were clashing and clanging, a lot of parries but no decisive action.
The pirate-woman chuckled. "I try, but it seems I just can't charm my way into your good graces the way I can with the men. Glad we have our little deal at least."
"Yeah. And I'll fulfill my part. No need for flattery." Pulling off her quilted training coat, Ashura dismissed herself from the yard and set out for a storage shed. She had a long list of chores to complete before the day was out. Soon she was lost in them, carrying armfuls of goods from hut to hut, the usual dreamy fugue that came with drudgery descending upon her.
Sometime later, a half hour perhaps, she was shocked out of that fugue by a voice she had never thought to hear again.
"Shura!" the voice hissed, whispering and close by. "Thank the gods! So so glad to see you in one piece."
Ashura nearly dropped the armful of rugs she had been carrying and looked around frantically, but the source of the voice was nowhere in sight. "Um."
"I'd hug you but I'm afraid that'd break the spell," the voice went on.
"Ims?" Ashura whispered. "Where are you?" There were people milling about in front of nearby huts, but no one within earshot. And hopefully none of them would notice that she was talking to herself.
"Yeah. I'm not a ghost and you're not going bonkers. Xan made me invisible to scout out the camp."
"Then you might go visible at any moment? Uh…"
"Yeah," the whispering voice admitted. "That's true."
Ashura glanced about quickly and then set the rugs down, gesturing with her head towards an open stretch of grass nearby as she did. As she made her way towards the edge of the woods and away from the crowd Imoen seemed to follow, judging by the faint whisper of the grass behind her. A few paces later she turned towards the invisible presence. "If the spell wears off you can slip into the woods right? This a good place to talk?"
All was silent for a moment.
"You nodded didn't you?" Ashura asked.
"Oh," Imoen replied in an embarrassed whisper. "Sorry. Ya, this is a good place to talk."
Ashura nodded and a relieved smile finally creased her lips. Imoen. It's really her. "So glad you're alive Ims. Knew you had to be but…" She shook her head briefly. "Boy do I have some stories to tell you."
"Knew you had to be alive too. I mean heck, a few bandits couldn't put you down right? Although…was worried 'bout what they might do to you. They didn't hurt you did they?"
Ashura shrugged. "A death-match and then some drudge-work. It wasn't too bad."
"Ack!" the disembodied voice gasped. "What do you mean by 'death-match'? And what about Garrick? Is he…is he still alive?"
An uncomfortable look crossed Ashura's face and she glanced away.
"Oh gods! What happened to him? Is it…is it something you don't think I wanna know? Just tell me."
"Uh…" Ashura quickly shook her head. "He's alive, and he's fine." She tried to make her face as blank as possible.
"Really?"
"Yeah. It was a little rough but we stuck together and…"
"Then what was that look about?"
Ugh. There was a sort of prying suspicion in Imoen's voice that Ashura knew all too well. Maybe if she changed the subject. Or-
"Oh!" And there it was: realization. At least to her credit Imoen managed to keep her voice down to a hissing whisper. "Gods damn it! You boffed the guy didn't you? I so so so knew this would happen!"
So much for the subject never coming up with Imoen. She should have known better. Not like she'd ever been able to keep anything from her friend before, even for a few seconds.
"And after you promised me," Imoen went on. "It's just like with Shistal all over again."
"Hey! I never slept with Shistal."
"Ah-ha!" Ashura thought she felt a gust of air. Imoen pointing an accusing finger perhaps. "So you did sleep with Garrick?"
"Well, not exactly…" Ashura began, then cut herself off and sighed. Pointing out that as lowly bandit recruits her and Garrick hadn't had access to potions or preventative herbs and had ended up doing about everything short of 'boffing' was not going to win any points with Imoen. The last thing Ashura needed to do was talk details. "Not exactly but…kind of. Look, I'm sorry Imoen. We were in a tense situation. And is this really the time for-"
"Damn right it's the time!" Imoen cut her off with a harsh whisper. "You want to talk tense? Here I am worried sick about you, thinking the bandits might be torturing you or…or worse. We go hunting and tracking an army of them through woods full of goblins and giant spiders and basilisks and crazy hermit-women, and when I finally find you you're partying away with the cute bard."
"It's not like that…" Well, maybe a little like that. "Look, I'm sorry. Didn't know you were coming to rescue us, and I thought we might die out here and…" She thought of a few things to add but silence seemed like a better idea.
"It's okay," Imoen sighed, apparently done with the tongue-lashing. "Like I said, I just knew this would happen. I'm still going to rescue you two doofuses, don't worry." After a moment she added, in a faux-stern voice: "But one day I will get my revenge. You will know not the time nor the place."
Ashura nodded. "That's fair enough." Imoen's forgiving nature had never let her down before, though she hated watching it get tested. And in the past she had tested it more times than she wanted to count…
"And speaking of rescuing you two," Imoen went on, "how best to do that?"
"Well, you said Xan was with you?" Ashura asked, relieved to change the subject. "What happened to the caravan exactly?"
Imoen told Ashura the brief version of that, including Branwen's death. She then explained how she had gone on to gather a strange sort of rescue party, starting with the survivors of the caravan and then a duel-happy mercenary, a squire, Flaming Fist soldiers and a rogue dark elf. Ashura's eyebrows gradually rose as the tale went on.
"So you have a small army waiting out there?"
"A teensy one. But it's gotta be enough to smuggle you and Garrick out of the camp."
For a time Ashura's eyes were fixed on the forest, then she looked back at the sprawling domes in the great clearing. Finally she shook her head. "No."
"Uh…what?" After a pause Imoen added: "I wander through the woods for nearly a tenday trying to find you and you don't want to be rescued?"
Turning towards where she guessed her friend was standing Ashura nodded. "Imoen, these people killed our friends, sacked our caravan, enslaved me and Garrick and forced us to fight for our lives in a gladiatorial death-match. And they took my stuff." She turned back towards the camp and scowled at it. "I'm not running after all of that. I'm right where I need to be. We all are."
Safana had asked for a distraction, and damned if she wasn't going to get a big one.
With a metallic whisper Ashura slipped one of her newly acquired swords into a wolfskin sheath, and then patted the hilt of the weapon with a satisfied smile. It was good to have sharpened steel on her hip again. She adjusted her armor as well, regretting that she had nothing more solid than the simple bandit-leathers. Nearby Garrick was also securing his weapons: a rapier on his belt and a light crossbow at the small of his back. He turned and gave Ashura a nervous look.
Reaching out she took his hand squeezed it firmly. Much of the camp was lightless, just a torch and a smoldering cookfire here and there. It was well into Middark. "Will we-" Garrick began.
"Of course we will," Ashura cut him off. "Always do." She glanced towards the edge of the woods. Somewhere out there Imoen and her ragtag little army were preparing as well. Over the past two days they had relayed messages back and forth, Ashura or Garrick going to a spot at the edge of the woods where Imoen or Xan could use a simple spell to talk with them over a modest distance. As the communications went back and forth a plan had formed.
Now they were lurking in the shadow of a hut that gave them a good view of Tazok's great tent. Knott had provided them with the weapons before marching over to take up guard duty at the dome, and for the moment Safana was off taking care of last minute preparations.
"Well just in case I wanna say…" The bard's words trailed off and he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly bashful and at a loss for words.
Since her little chat with Imoen Ashura had kept Garrick at arm's length. Maybe she was entertaining the notion that things with the bard and her friend would patch themselves up after this. Or she just felt guilty. Bah!
She leaned in and planted a firm kiss on Garrick's lips. When she pulled back he seemed to be smiling in the darkness, all the fluster gone. Nice when that happens. "For good luck," she whispered. "Glad Kagain made us partners. We've made it through a lot." She clasped his arm and added. "We'll make it through this too."
Movement caught Ashura's eye and she turned to watch Safana approach from the shadows. Good. She was sick of all this waiting and planning. Well past time to unsheathe her blade.
Author's Note: Up next: a big freaking battle!
[Charname] jumping Garrick's bones wasn't exactly something I planned but it just seemed to be where things were heading at that point, so much like Ashura in that actual scene I figured "Oh, what the hell!"
In reply to Kyn's latest review: Glad Imoen comes across as the reader's anchor. She's really meant to be the co-protagonist of this story, especially during this stretch where she's (sort of) leading an adventuring party.