Chapter 6 – Brigands! Beware!

The venison provided by Merchant Villicent was on the stringy side, but tasty. After eating, Garlt pulled a bottle from his rucksack, uncorked it, and took a long swig. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand he held the bottle out to the elf, who declined it. Stefane accepted the offer of a drink, tentatively raised the bottle to his lips and sipped carefully from it.

The dwarf rolled his eyes. "Lad, drink or don't, I dunno care. But by the Bearded One, don't insult a fine ale by bein' so dainty about it! Grab the damn bottle like it's yer girl's left breast and take a pull! Or, if boys be yer pleasure, then grab it firmly like it's his-"

"Thank you, Master Gemfinder", interrupted the elf. "I think we get the idea of how Dwarven Stout is to be drunk."

Blushing, Stefane took a tot of sufficient volume and in a manner manly enough to appease the dwarf.

Returning the bottle to Garlt, he nodded his thanks, pulled a leather and wood bound book from his gear and moved several yards away from his two travelling companions. Seating himself with this back to the elf and dwarf, Stefane started to read, stopping occasionally to mumble some words and move his arms, hands and fingers in intricate patterns.

The elf and dwarf exchanged worried glances.

Several uneventful minutes passed. Stefane's gestures and words now came faster. Rainbow sparks flashed around the young man. A popping sound followed, but nothing sinister or fire-related appeared.

Sighing in evident frustration, Stefane closed his book, stood, and returned to his place by the campfire. He pulled out a piece of folded parchment from the book, opened it, and sat gazing pensively at it.

"I noticed ye lookin' at thet last night, too", stated the dwarf. "What's it? More magic-y stuff?"

"Hmm? Oh, no. It's… Well, it's just a picture of my... ah, friend."

Before Stefane could protest, Garlt reached over and plucked the drawing from the man's hand.

"Hmm. I'm no expert on human females but even I ken see this one's a looker."

Garlt passed the drawing to the elf, ignoring Stefane's protests. "What'd ye think, Herald?"

Daelynn perused the sketch.

"Excellent detail. Her hair alone must have taken days to draw. I can even make out the stitching on her blouse's shoulder. Drawn by a talented hand. A striking looking young woman."

"Is it a true likeness", she asked Stefane?

Stefane smiled and nodded eagerly. "Aye. Corrina is a beautiful girl. Blue eyes, blond of hair, and a smile that lights up any room. And if I can find that magical tome for my Master…"

The elf and dwarf waited but Stefane had stopped speaking and was staring at the picture of the fair Corrina, which the elf had returned to him.

"An' if ye find that book… Then, what?" Asked Garlt.

Stefane looked up.

"What? Oh, if I can return to Capitol with the Tome of Mysteries, then Master Brilliane will favour my request for Corrina's hand in marriage. My Master is her uncle and guardian."

"The Tome of Mysteries?" Asked Daelynn, skeptically. "Are you certain that is what your Master tasked you to find? If so, then Corrina's hand will not be yours. There is no such thing, Stefane. It is a myth!"

Stefane smiled and shook his head. "You're wrong, Herald. I have heard those rumours. But my Master would not send me on a fool's errand. He has special knowledge, as do many powerful magic-users. No, my research hints that the Tome is to be found in ancient dwarven ruins long lost in an Eastern Barony, not far off the Borsa road."

"Dwarven ruins, ye say, lad?" Garlt's intense gaze discomfited the mage. "Interestin'. I'd heard rumour o' dwarven mines in this kingdom but I'd figured thems to be a long ways more northward. Past Silver Tree."

"Well, er, that was suggested by a text I found in the Academy's library."

Stefane appeared ill at ease with any further discussion about his quest.

"Ah, the text could've referred to a Hin settlement. Not really sure", he concluded, lamely.

"Of course", Garlt nodded, giving the mage an odd look.

The dwarf turned to the elf. "An ye, Herald? Ye says this book is a myth?"

Daelynn looked up from the mending she was carrying out on her clothing.

"Every few decades, maybe more, a map or text or some hidden 'clue' to the location of the Tome of Mysteries pops up. Men and women go scampering about the countryside searching for it. No one finds it. Some of the would-be treasure-seekers do not return, and the stories fade. But several decades later they start up again and more fools chase off after fortune and glory."

The elf raised a hand towards the mage.

"My apologies, Stefane. I do not mean to call you, your Corinna, or your master, fools. It is simply with the advantage of a long life, I have seen and heard of this fiddle or others similar to it, many times. The only ones who make any coin are outfitters and undertakers. If you seek this item, be careful. There are dark stories associated with the Tome of Mysteries."

A troubled look crossed Stefane's face.

"Ooh, now this sounds more interestin'", declared the dwarf. "Do tell, elf. No, no. Let me guess! It's guarded by a dragon!"

The elf had stopped her repairs. She leaned forward, the firelight giving her already thin face a gaunt look. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"A dragon? That would be a better end than what I have heard tell. No, Master Gemfinder. The stories say the Tome lies in the middle of a graveyard guarded by the spirits of those who died trying to claim it. They are now cursed to watch over what they once desired. Another tale tells of a beautiful enchantress, some say a succubus, who keeps the book in her bed. She will gift it to a brave adventurer only if he, or she, survives her embrace. None ever have."

The elf's words, combined with the darkening night and flickering fire, had a mesmerizing effect on the two listeners. The eerie sound of a snipe in flight startled the dwarf and mage.

Chuckling, Daelynn returned to her repairs.

A crisp, sunny autumn morning followed an uneventful night. Stefane, the elf, and dwarf were finishing their morning wash-up by the stream when the nickering of Daelynn's horse, Pick, alerted them to visitors.

Two horses pulling a dray entered the clearing. The low cart was near empty, holding only a few large bales and a cask. Two men sat on a bench at the front of the cart. Another four men followed behind the cart on foot.

Garlt, squinting against the bright blue morning sky, raised a hand to shade his eyes. Scratching at his eyepatch, he cautioned the others.

"Rough lookin' bunch."

The three collected their belongings and started walking back to the firepit where their gear and weapons lay.

Upon seeing the three travellers, the driver of the cart guided the horses to his left and was now steering towards the firepit. The second man on the cart turned back and addressed the men behind him. They fanned out behind the wagon and picked up their pace. Cart, men and the three travellers, arrived at the firepit at the same time.

The driver of the cart stood up and eyed the trio. Like his confreres, he dressed in rough homespun but unlike the others, who also sported leather smocks, jackets and vests, he wore a battered and much mended mail shirt. A cutlass hung at his side. He quickly scanned the meadow then turned his attention to the three people standing before him.

Daelynn opined that if a wolf could grin it would look very much like the smile offered to her and her two companions.

"We be members of the Brotherhood o' the Road", stated the man in a loud voice. "There's a tax to be paid for travel on these here roads an' youse hasn't paid it."

"Pile", the speaker, and apparent leader of the pack, addressed a sallow fellow standing to his right. "Let's check their gear. Lumber, you an' Slumber watch 'em."

"Hold on there"', thundered the dwarf! "No one's touchin' me stuff!"

The second man on the cart, a skinny fellow with a thin, blond beard, jumped up and pointed what appeared to be a long black stick at the dwarf. In the space of a one quick breath Garlt Gemfinder found himself wrapped tight in living, green vines.

Jumping off the cart, the group's leader chuckled at the dwarf's predicament. He nodded to the man on the cart. "Slumber, best you tie up the other guy, too."

With a laugh, the blond man made an odd waving motion with his black stick, pointing it at Stefane. Like a striking snake, vines jumped from the end of the rod.

Stefane's hands were half-raised with a spell just forming, when heavy vines coiled about his body from neck to waist. Only his right arm from elbow to fingers was free of them.

Daelynn had not moved. The dwarf, to her right, stood cursing and struggling with the vines that held him. Stefane, similarly bound, was a yard or two to the dwarf's right. The young mage stood still, a bewildered look on his face.

The man addressed as 'Lumber' slowly walked over to stand in front of the elf. He was large, heavy limbed, with a beer belly. His grubby tunic and vest were sleeveless, exposing powerful arms. A stout wooden club hung from his belt.

The two remaining men ambled over to stand near Lumber. Like their larger friend they too were badly in need of a shave and bath. They carried swords at their hips.

Daelynn called out to the brigand's leader.

"You are making a grave error, sir. I am a Herald. By both law and custom no one may interfere with a Herald's right to free passage."

The leader, half hidden by the wagon, looked up from pawing through Stefane's belongings. "Hear that, boys? Another Herald! Lumber, tell her an' her friends what's in store for 'em."

Lumber looked down at the elf, crossed his arms, and offered a gap-toothed smile.

"The lad looks dumb an' strong. He comes wif us. He'll cook and clean, and if heez a good boy he can join us. If not," Lumber shrugged. "Well, no one leaves the Brotherhood, alive. As fer the dwarf, we don'ts like dwarves, too stingy. So, we takes his gold and gives him a good beatin'. He looks tough - he might survive it. As fer youse, if you pleases all six of us good, then youse can go. But you won't be walkin' too well fer a bit!"

Lumber's fellow-brigands laughed at the ribald joke.

"Ah. Let me see if I understand you", said Daelynn, sombrely. "Robbery, kidnapping, rape, beatings, and possibly murder."

Daelynn turned her head to the dwarf.

"Do you need help with your bindings?" She asked him in passable Dwarvish.

Garlt replied in poor Elvish. "I'll be fine, lass."

The elf turned back to Lumber, a sad look on her face.

The large man held up a hand, palm facing the elf. "No beggin', girl. It won't help."

"Oh, I am not the one who will be begging", replied the Herald.

Daelynn's right foot lashed out, connecting with the inside of Lumber's right knee. He shouted in surprise and pain. Stumbling, he reached for his club. Daelynn spun around and threw another kick to the same knee. Grasping his damaged joint and screaming in pain, Lumber toppled over.

Roaring like a berserker, Garlt Gemfinder charged the man closest to him. Before the villain could raise his sword, the dwarf, with lowered head, rammed him in his gut. The brigand doubled over, badly winded. Straightening quickly, the dwarf slammed his head up into the man's chin. A sharp crack and muffled scream accompanied the man's head snapping up and backward. Spitting teeth, tongue and blood, the brigand slumped to the ground.

The second robber, yelling and cursing, raised his blade and slashed at the dwarf. The weapon cut vines and bit into Garlt's left shoulder. Bellowing in pain, the dwarf staggered back.

Slumber jumped off the cart and ran up to Stefane, pointing the black stick at the young man, ordering him to stand still. Casting a quick glance rear-ward he saw Old Bill was jabbing at the trussed dwarf with his sword.

Lumber was rolling on the ground cursing the elf, who was striding towards Pile and the Boss, who were hidden from view by the wagon. The elf might have got a few lucky kicks in, thought Slumber, but she'd soon be sorry.

Slumber poked at Stefane with the stick. "Cause me any trouble bucko, and ye'll be dead!"

Stefane glared at Slumber. He had to do something. But what? Another poke. Then another. Stefane grabbed the stick with his partly free arm. It was metal, not wood. He could see a faint tracing of vines and leaves etched along its length. There was a pattern… Stefane's eyes glazed over.

Slumber tried wresting his Rod of Vines away from the tall prisoner, but to no avail. Even tied up with only one arm partly free, the younger man was the stronger.

"Fine. It's yers", said Slumber, releasing the rod. "Not much use if you don't know how to use it! I'll jess cut yer throat then!"

The ruffian stepped back, drawing a long, sinister looking knife from behind his back.

Still grasping the rod, Stefane stood with glazed eyes. Mumbling he shook his head and spoke the Words of Command he had divined from his brief contact with the weapon.

"Shan Ha!" *

The vines encircling Stefane fell away.

"Wha…? How do ye know that Word", asked a very surprised Slumber? The brigand was unsure what to do. He started to back away from Stefane.

Stefane, his eye still unfocussed, looked outwardly calm, but his mind was awhirl. How did he know that word? He felt as if he were in a dream - floating, weightless. There was a shimmering mist around him. Not again! It wasn't a mist. He looked closer. It was woven strands of… light? Threads? A web.

There! He saw it. A single silver strand. One amid thousands, but he knew it was the right one. In his dream-state he plucked at it. He'd found the second command. The Weave shifted.

Stefane no longer floated. The threads were gone. His vision cleared.

Pointing the rod at Slumber, Stefane invoked the second Command.

"Kar Jharran!" *

A vine shot out of the rod, looping itself tightly around Slumber's neck.

Stefane moved towards the wagon where, from its far side, came the clash of metal mixed with human curses and elvish oaths.

The large man called Lumber was trying to stand, badly hampered by a broken knee. He lurched at Stefane, grabbing for the young man as he passed him by. Stefane raised the black rod and struck him across the head. Falling back, Lumber shook himself, rolled over and tried to rise again.

Stefane strode past him.

The dwarf kept dancing away from Old Bill's jabs. The grizzled brigand decided it was time to run him through and end it.

Garlt stopped moving, his one good eye glaring at Old Bill.

The dwarf's face was turning red. The poor fool was straining against Slumber's vines. Let him. No one had ever broken out of them. Raising his sword, Old Bill stepped forward.

"Nuughhh…Ahhh!" The dwarf exhaled explosively as the vines snapped.

Staggering forward, the dwarf came in under Old Bill's sword and slammed a clenched fist into the human's chest. Ribs cracked. Wheezing, the man slumped to the ground.

Garlt tore the sword from the bandit's hand.

The weapon had not been well-cared for after coming into Old Bill's possession. But any dullness of blade was inconsequential when wielded by someone as strong as Garlt Gemfinder. If the blade had been sharper, it would have cut through Old Bill's neck. But half-way through was almost as good. Yanking the sword out of the dying brigand's body, Garlt turned to see what had happened to the elf and the mage.

The one called Slumber lay still, stretched out on the meadow's grasses, a vine wrapped around his neck. His face a ghastly blue colour, his neck marked by long, deep bloody scratches where his own hands had clawed at the vine in a futile attempt to break free.

Garlt walked over to Lumber.

"About thet beatin' yer were talkin' about. Shall we have a go at thet now?"

Daelynn easily parried the cutlass that slashed at her. Her riposte cut the brigand leader's arm. The man sported several such wounds on his arms, legs and face. The elf did not bother striking at the mail shirt, even though it appeared to be in such a poor state that she would likely have driven her blade through it if she had tried.

Daelynn stepped back, allowing her foe a moment to catch his breath.

"One last time, you feckless fool!" Daelynn's violet eyes shone bright "When I identified myself, you said "another Herald". What other Herald have you met? When? Who was it?"

The mail-shirted brigand gulped in air. Damn! She was too fast! The elf-bitch had come out of nowhere and snapped Pile's neck in an instant. She'd drawn a silver short sword from the gear that they'd strewn about the campsite and come at him, firing questions with each blow.

But he still had a few tricks he could use. He could feel the small vial beneath his shirt. That potion was never far from him. A quick gulp and he'd be the faster one.

Stefane came around the far corner of the wagon.

On seeing the tall youth stride towards him, carrying Slumber's magic rod, the bandit leader knew that Mask, God of Thievery, has deserted him.

The appearance of the young man also caught the elf's attention. In the instant that her gaze shifted to Stefane, the bandit leader quickly fished the small vial out from beneath his mail shirt, bit off the wax seal, and downed the fiery liquid.

Moving at an astonishing speed, the bandit ran around the far end of the wagon. Three of his men were down. They lay still. Lumber was moving, slowly crawling through the dirt, trying to get away from the dwarf. He did not look long for this world. Damn, and damn, and damn! Even a Potion of Speed would not let him win against three opponents!

The elf and the young man were running towards him. The dwarf looked up, one blue eye glaring at him.

Time to go. The bandit leader started to run across the meadow. Dwarf, elf and mage stopped, mouths agape, watching the man race away at a pace almost equal to that of a galloping horse.

Almost equal.

Daelynn raised fingers to her mouth and sent a shrill whistle echoing across the meadow. Her horse, standing twenty yards away, looked up.

The elf pointed to the running thief and shouted.

"Pick! Elgg!"**

The Herald's horse took off after the bandit, who had reached the edge of the meadow. Without slowing the horse ran over the fleeing man. The animal wheeled about and ran over the bandit a second time. Grasses and distance hid the downed figure from those standing by the wagon. The tall horse stopped, turned, and slowly approached its prey. Rearing up, the Herald's mount brought its front hooves down hard.

Tossing its mane, and flicking its tail, the horse trotted back to Daelynn.

Stefane and Garlt backed away as the horse neared them.

Speaking soothing words in a low tone, the elf stroked her horse's muzzle. The tail flicking stopped. After a moment, the beast calmed. With a soft whinny, she wandered off in search of fresh grass.

"Well, I'll state the obvious", said Garlt. "Yer horse is trained to kill."

"A Herald's work can be dangerous", said Daelynn, defensively.

Garlt pointed to the bodies laying in the grass around them. "Dangerous? I'd say deadly. For them."

"Pick and I killed two. The rest were yours Master Dwarf."

Lumber had stopped moving.

"Jest two", answered the dwarf. "We each got a piece of the big one. An' the lad took out their hedge wizard."

The dwarf eyed Stefane.

"Here now, laddie. Steady. Ye look a bit green. Don't ye dare faint on us!"

Instead of fainting at the sight and smell of the broken bodies, Stefane bent over and lost his breakfast.

The man reached out and leaned against the wagon. Now pale and shaking, he turned his gaze away from the carnage next to him and tried to focus on distant trees and blue sky.

Garlt's voice softened. "I'm a guessin' ye never killed before, lad? Or seen death like this, so close an' violent?"

Garlt sighed. "It were their choice. I know what yer thinkin'. But this weren't no duel where quarter is asked and given. Ye don't fight fair with strangers, boy. That's jest a sure way to die."

Daelynn walked over to Stefane, reached up and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Master Gemfinder is correct, Stefane. These men were so far from the Path of Light that nothing could dissuade them from doing evil. We not only protected ourselves but avenged what I am certain were many victims."

"Come", ordered the Herald. "Go and gather your belongings. They made a mess of things."

Garlt led Stefane around the wagon to where their gear lay strewn about.

Instead of following them, Daelynn carefully went through the pockets, belts and purses of each of the bandits. Rising from her ghoulish task, she strode across the meadow to where the bandit leader had fallen. Searching him, she found the item she feared she would, tucked away in a small leather bag secreted under the bandit's mail shirt.

Standing, Daelynn held the small object so it caught the sun. Turning it over, she read a name etched in fine Common script.

It was a name she knew.

* Elvish terms

Shan Ha(set free)

Kar Jharran (make rope)

** Drow terms

Elgg(kill)