Death to the Grand Guild

10

There was an old fiddler who married a lass. Thirty years his younger, too lucky perhaps.

She had large bosoms, his face was a haunt. She quickly got bored, a young man she wants.

The pub beckons him, to bring along his bow. They pay him in coppers, he puts on a show.

As he pleases the drunks, long into the night. It’s a time or two with the fiddler’s wife.

He is away, sawing to his heart’s content. While the wife is bent over, she means no offence.

First comes the baker, then comes the smith. Next comes the cobbler, something’s amiss.

They sneak in the front, out the back they go. Back to their homes, before the tavern is closed.

The pub made no coin, not a customer came by. They all had a time or two with the fiddler’s wife.

A time or two with the fiddler’s wife. The town’s dirty secret, they do well to hide.

If the fiddler finds out, he will skin her alive. Mum’s the word, while we all get in line.

For a time or two with the fiddler’s wife.

A Time or Two With the Fiddler’s Wife - Fenswick, the Bawdy Bard

Loreto

They had left Lonoke the prior morning by wagon, Harwin’s legs scrunched in the back of it with Osmond and Julius as the road took them out of the city and into the farmlands.

They had agreed — well, he didn’t — to hire this Mero to guide them through Loreto.

Harwin knew nothing of the land except that it was home to an old people dating back to the time of the gods.

The road went for hours, and he was entertained by boring chatter between Mero and Edmund along the way. The forager had his brother enchanted with tales of the wild adventuring of digging roots and herbs through this mysterious place they were heading.

Even Julius seemed infatuated, looking like a child listening to a mother’s swaddling songs. He’d admit, the scrawny Nuhrish man could spit out a tale, rarely shutting up unless somebody asked him a question.

When the wagon rolled into a village he called Olcott, Harwin jumped out from the back of it, looking for the first tavern he could find.

They turned in early that night. Well, Harwin did, at least. He had two horns and a stew of lamb, turnips, and carrots, then a dull head throb took effect.

Edmund was deep into the scripture of The Gospel of Xarl. His brother had found religion again while lying blinded and Julius wanted to hear all about it.

Mero had brought up the passion he had gotten from it since he left Nuhr eight years ago. It was all he could take.

Nothing was more hopeless in life than mixing fermented spirits with religious talk. He excused himself to his room, then drifted quickly to sleep and awoke surprised about how long he slept.

“You must feel refreshed,” Osmond remarked.

“It was a deflating night,” Harwin groaned. “I wouldn’t have taken this Mero as a pious man, and my brother is as annoying as ever.”

“Look at it from my view,” Osmond said. “At least you know what they’re talking about. As for me, the gospel or whatever book those two call it is only useful for leveling a table to throw dice.”

“I’m curious, how will he get us past this hedge?” Harwin said.

“A wall of thorns. Will it require my axe?” Osmond asked, smiling. “I never knew a bush I couldn’t breach.”

His friend’s ignorance made him laugh as he rose and put on a tunic. Osmond followed him, still dressing and chatting away until they entered the inn’s tavern, breaking their fast on boiled eggs, fried bread, and plums.

“I will miss this good food. Why is everywhere we’ve journeyed so far better than the wards?” Osmond said while peeling an egg.

“I miss the wards, brother,” Harwin said. “I look forward to seeing how much I have climbed up Arlo Withers’s list. I have become homesick. Isn’t that an odd jape?”

“After a month, reality will sit in. You know how I feel about you being a tosser,” Osmond said while downing a horn. “That door job will linger for you, your friend Osmond will see to that.”

Harwin found it amusing, watching how seriously his mate meant this while watching his beard swallow an egg whole, then stuffing it down with a heel of bread.

“You see us as this big family, each having a role in this venture?” Harwin asked him.

“Why yes. I know you are used to wide spaces, being from that bloody farm,” Osmond said. “If your brother makes a fool out of me, finds a place on Old Street the size of Biddy Mulligans, I’d feel like I was living in a lord’s manse.

“I was raised in cramped spaces, Harwin. It would feel empty if I didn’t have the lot of you around me. I may have to find a few more friends, living in a place so vast.”

They finished and ran upstairs to get suited, gathering outside just before Edmund and Julius did. Harwin had taken the time to have a steel breastplate fitted on his leathers back in Lonoke, then traded with a leather worker for new bracers and greaves.

“You are looking like that statue in the Old Street square,” Osmond said to him as Harwin admired his wares. “What do you think?” his bearded friend asked.

“I admire it, that is why I picked it out for you,” he replied as Osmond was feeling snug in his new studded leathers. Harwin made him throw away that old hand axe, replacing it with a dirk and a new scabbard that hung on his hip.

“Well, don’t we look ready to invade,” Mero had commented when he arrived that morning. The mocking tone didn’t sit well with Harwin.

“The centre street turns into a path, then from there, we will follow the river to the forest’s edge. It should be a league from here.” The forager was quick to take charge. “Any questions?” Mero asked.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t have taken the chests. Putting all our stuff in large blankets and strapping it onto our backs feels awkward. You sure these belts strapped around them will hold?”

“It’s a big pack, my friend, Julius, but when you see what we’re going to be walking through, you will understand my reasoning,” Mero replied.

Harwin could see what the forager was talking about when they arrived. The hedge had a narrow entrance, and grew tall, intertwining with the surrounding trees and forming a living wall that had him in awe.

The hedge was clustered with dull purple berries, thorns the length of a hobnail, with leaves covered in black blotches that had an odd fragrance as Edmund approached it in curiosity.

“Don’t get any closer, friend Leland. That wicked hedge is something we have to prepare for,” Mero said.

Harwin was glad that his brother at least kept their pathetic false names, even though the forager found it amusing when he used them.

Mero removed his pack, then unbuckled the belts and unfolded it. He had several glass bottles resting in sewn pockets in thick linen, nesting in spare tunics and breeches. Then the forager brought out a pair of wooden bowls and placed them upon the earth while asking for a stick, which Julius provided him.

The Nuhrish man poured a different bottle into each bowl. The first was white and pungent with the look of clabbered milk. Then with a linen rag in his hand, he dipped it repeatedly, dabbing it on his forearms and his face until he covered his exposed skin.

“You will need to apply this as I have. It helps with the thorns. The pricks from them will cause red blisters upon the flesh, and without this poultice, they will abscess then become sepsis.”

Julius went first, and it caused a laugh when he finished, looking like a Nuhrish boy with his flat, waxed hair and pointy moustache.

Harwin followed as Mero pulled out a wad of kerchiefs, then filled the second bowl with a pale yellow, watery substance that had a flowery smell.

The group was the colour of pale chalk, the poultice cool, providing relief as the sun had burned off the morning fog. Mero dipped each kerchief and handed each of them one.

“You have to tie this around your face. You’ll look like a bandit, but those berries secrete a slow poison. It takes hours to take effect, but it makes you lethargic and confused.” Mero explained. “That’s why men get lost and never find their way out. I have found many corpses during my travels,” the man claimed with a grim tone.

They looked foolish, but Mero assured them that if they didn’t continue this every couple of hours, then the journey would kill them, remarking to them that the hedge was a marvel from the gods, more effective than the stone walls of Breeston.

“It is a plant. I am confused. Why is this such a marvel?” Julius asked.

“It’s a creation by the mother’s own hand, I had read once,” Edmund remarked.

Mero smiled at that. “You are so well-read for a youth, friend Leland.”

Harwin had many thoughts in his head, trying to judge the forager. His three companions trusted him far more than he did. The man looked harmless at first glance. He was as thin as Edmund, maybe even skinnier, if that was possible, as he slipped into a crevasse that was worn into the hedge.

Harwin kept his eyes on the back of his head, choosing to be the one to follow him in case he tried something underhanded.

The man was confident, Harwin had to admit while following along the narrow path that paralleled the river. It then came to a fork and Mero chose the left path as they waded across the crisp water that sent shivers up his spine.

“How did you discover this, the path, and these remedies? The queerness has me baffled,” Harwin asked in curiosity.

“My uncle and he learned from his mentor, who was a cousin that came from Nuhr when the king was usurped. I was fortunate to have that wisdom handed down.”

Mero then changed the subject back to the wicked wall. “Now, this hedge may look vulnerable to the axe, but let me tell you, it’s an agony to chop. The sap from the wood inflames the skin, and if you burn it, which is very difficult, the smoke will irritate your eyes until they run with puss, inducing vomiting until the throat gets raw.”

The forager took them right and up, another left and then a right. It was a maddening labyrinth, but never once did he appear confused. He told them he came here three times a year as they went right, then left, passing three crevices on each side of them, taking the next left and up they went, or was it down? He was befuddled.

The marriage of the hedge and the trees encased them in dim surroundings with little beams of the sun rays peeking through until it narrowed, forcing them to hold hands so as not to lose a straggler. It was impossible to turn around in this hedge as the crevasse they walked through fit them snugly.

Harwin felt the thorn pricks, little talons, and their bite reminded him of a wasp’s sting. The darkness then lifted when the crevice widened, and Mero took a right, past six crevices on their left side, then took the seventh.

“How long did it take you to memorize this?” Edmund asked in frustration.

“Nearly three years. My uncle slapped me after each wrong turn. The first try gave me a good beating, but it helped me learn in haste,” Mero laughed aloud.

Harwin didn’t believe a word he said. “Does anyone else know this? Do any of the Loreto people ever leave here?” he asked.

“They have envoys, a few who know the path and its risks, I am told,” Mero said, then shrugged. “I’m sure the council can arrange this, but I doubt they ever do. It’s forbidden to leave the tribe. They are a strict people and they take their isolation seriously.”

“What will they think of you dragging four blokes behind you? I hope you aren’t leading us to our arrests,” Osmond muttered as Harwin smiled at that. At least somebody had a doubt.

Mero laughed out loud. “My friend Osmond, the Loreto people do not have a stockade. They don’t carry weapons, following a strict avoidance of them.” The man smiled explaining his plan.

“I will lead us around their village, so I doubt they will ever learn of our trespass. They are men who indulge in farming, not concerned with what lurks in the vast woods.”

“So you are smuggling us?” Harwin asked, facetiously.

Mero laughed at him. “You got me, I am.”

That news still didn’t discourage his suspicions, and they followed the forager until the path opened into a wide circle that provided them relief from feeling enclosed. “We can rest here for a bit, put on more of the poultice, and dip our kerchiefs again,” Mero had advised.

“I guess there is no turning back now,” Edmund japed. “I read that these hedges are a millennium old, possibly older than the Grimm walls.”

“You’re well-read, Leland,” Mero said. “It pleases me that you have a curiosity about plants. We will become fast friends on this excursion.”

It bothered him that his brother enjoyed conversing so much with this stranger.

Harwin had made it a point to tell them to treat him politely but treat him as a hired guide, fearing that the man would flee and leave them, let this poison he boasted of incapacitate them then rob and abandon them to their demise.

His brother made it more difficult by trying to impress Mero with his knowledge of everything. It wasn’t the place to spout out his lordly teachings, but his brother just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

He kept a close watch on the forager, and after their break, he continued through the labyrinth of thorns with more lefts, rights, ups, and downs.

It was maddening and bothering Julius to a near fit. His mate was feeling the constriction of each moment, panting in such an anxious fashion that Osmond put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him along for encouragement.

Their journey was relieved after walking upon another circle, taking a moment to rest, and enjoying the plums they brought with them.

Mero advised to apply more poultice, then more of the urine-looking water as they pressed forward.

It was midday when Mero stopped them the next time. Something had made him stop. It was a corpse of a small lad until Mero told them he was an adult, surprising Harwin as he looked upon him.

He was short in stature, under five foot, as Mero stepped over him. His skin was covered in red and purple boils and he was eaten by carrion.

A disturbing sight, and Julius wretched as he kept his head turned away while breathing in anxious pants.

“The hedge claimed him,” Mero sighed. “The trail is too cramped to bring him along, his grave lies here.”

The forager asked Harwin to help him as they moved his rank corpse, to continue forward, turning another right, then after passing two open lefts, they were pointed to enter the third opening into the next hewn circle.

Bless us, Father, take this lost son.

Lead him into the light, away from the black deceiver.

Deliver him to your golden halls

And bless the loved ones he left behind

To ease the burden of their sadness.

Edmund made it a point to whisper this as Osmond watched in fascination. “Those are nice words,” his mate whispered to him. “Is it me or does your brother act queer since he laid with that woman, the warmth between her thighs has made him awful religious?”

“What’s the black deceiver?” Julius asked in ignorance.

“Mercruxes, the dark son of the mother and father. A man’s wickedness will send his soul to the shadows, and Mercruxes is the gatekeeper, the jailer, and the torturer of lost men,” Edmund answered him.

Edmund spent several moments, telling the fascinated Julius about the dark figure, and how his betrayal ended the first age of men. It was a tale that Harwin knew well but believed it was a load of bollocks.

“Well said, Brother Leland,” Mero replied.

“You two are making me nauseous,” Harwin whispered.

“Me too,” Osmond muttered, overhearing him.

The path meandered through a few more slight bends as the thickness of the hedge dissipated into sparse groupings, and soon they were just in a thicket of trees.

A light opened as they followed a path along a stream, through the trees, and into a meadow of high grass as Julius thanked the gods as the ordeal of thorns was finished.

“We have half a league to go until we reach a friend of mine’s cottage, and we can continue along the edge of the woods until dusk, make a camp, and head along at first light.”

“How long should it take to reach the other side?” Julius asked, relieved to be in an open place.

“My friend Julius, the lands of Loreto are small. If we walk briskly, we can be on the other side by dark tomorrow.”

“That’s great,” Osmond said in excitement. “This is much better than taking a ship.”

“Well, I didn’t mean the other side in that way, I meant to the other side of the lands. We still have to walk through the hedge wall that borders Triad lands. That hedge is half a league longer than the one we crossed.”

“Bollocks! I don’t think I can do this,” Julius gasped out in dread.

“I can blindfold you. Maybe if you can’t see that will help,” Mero said.

“He will be fine, we better press on to this friend of yours,” Edmund interrupted. “I am excited to meet this man.”

Harwin was walking in stride behind Mero. He was thinking about the corpse and his face looked in such agony.

What an awful way to die, he thought, as his lips and half his nose were eaten away. He looked to have ingested the berries, his mouth and neckline covered in a black, ghastly vomit, both eyes swollen and matted shut and giving a feast to a swarm of gnats.

He could see that the last hours before this lad died were nothing he’d wish upon anyone. Julius was walking beside him, as Harwin found the dead man’s journey a riddle.

“What folly would possess a man to go through such an ordeal?” Julius asked when Harwin discussed the man’s agony.

“Maybe he was searching for freedom. Who knows how these people are?” Harwins replies with a shrug.

“The way this Mero talks, these people are a bunch that believes they’re surrounded by wickedness. It’s hard to be young amongst men as those,” He says to Julius, who was wondering, pulling his point as they ventured further through some trees into more meadows as the day was warm and clear as they looked about.

Harwin recalled looking from those watchtowers in Hayston with wandering thoughts of the world outside many times.

The imagination plays tricks and convinces you that anywhere is a better place to be. “Young men do develop a curiosity on what is on the other side when they’re always told to avoid it,” he murmured.

“That must have been what you were thinking when you climbed up into that lass’s room and gave her the ol’ in and out,” Osmond laughed out with a boom while hearing their conversation as the others joined in at his expense, forcing Mero to turn in wonder at what they were saying.

“I must be missing a good jape,” Mero said with a smile. “Sounds like you are a man who likes the ladies.”

“Who bloody doesn’t?” Osmond bluntly said. “I’m missing the Sultry Madame.”

“A fine establishment,” Mero commented.

“I didn’t figure a pious man would be caught dead in a place like that,” Julius laughed aloud. “Do you read the scripture while rooting underneath the sheets?”

The jape had them laughing. “Let’s not tease our new friend,” Harwin added. “I don’t want him to abandon us in the middle of the night. Even a man who loves the good book needs comfort other than the pages from the holy word.”

“You guys are making sport of me,” Mero chuckled. “I don’t frequent those upper floors anymore. I will admit to my abstinence since I found the faith.”

“This faith made you give up women?” Osmond asked. “No wonder the churches went broke and left the wards in Breeston.”

“There isn’t any shame in believing in the word,” Edmund scolded his bearded friend. “I missed going to the temple while in Breeston; that was one of my favorite things when I was a youth.”

“Well!” Osmond blurted mockingly. “Which fancies you now? The warm spot for the old temple or that warm spot between that tall girlie’s legs that got you torn up about the ears?”

Edmund became red in the face, and even Mero cracked a snicker at his brother’s embarrassment. “That was a low shot. I was trying to explain faith. It’s Mero’s choice to not engage in sordid behaviour,” his brother said as they laughed aloud.

“Sordid?” Harwin couldn’t help but call out his brother’s nonsense. “That woman has been in your mind since she ran off. You’d marry that woman and let her nag you for the rest of your life. Sordid, don’t make me laugh, brother.”

Edmund had no reply to that, wearing a bitter pout on his face and refusing to engage in any more debate between faith and hypocrisy. His brother decided to boast of Mero’s bow, which looked exquisite and expensive for a forager to possess.

“I noticed you don’t have yours wrapped. The bowyer in Lonoke said it was wise to keep moisture off of it,” Edmund asked, looking at it while Mero glanced at him, smiling wide but looking guarded at his brother’s curiosity.

“He is right, but mine is not in their fashion, but from a wood that does not warp, lacking glue and sinew.”

“How did you gain such a treasure?” Edmund asked. Good question, Harwin thought. He couldn’t help but notice that Mero said a little too much in his boasting. “Only wood I know that fits that description is Golden Haldock.”

“A good Lonoke bow is an outrageous sum of money,” Harwin interrupted them. “To own something that could be that valuable makes you different from your average forager.”

Harwin was studying him as he turned unfazed by their inquiry, and it allowed Harwin to glance inside his cloak, he noticed he wore leathers, but it was a hide that looked foreign.

Appearing softer than what he was familiar with, and he had a love for such a thing. The armour had the colour of bark, with dark greens and blacks that looked more like scales than hide.

He wasn’t dressed in fine wares. A simple cloak of dark brown hid him well with a simple scabbard for his sword. The hilt looked well-crafted and Harwin was sure that the steel sheathed beneath it matched its quality.

“My uncle got it for me,” he replied.

“Must be one bloody rich uncle,” Osmond muttered with a coy grin.

“He was a Nuhrish soldier in his youth, a decorated one, then turned to foraging when he became tired of war.”

Who is this uncle? The king of Nuhr? Harwin thought. His brother was peering over at Mero, not sure what to think of his answer. He was surprised Edmund didn’t press him further, but he was glad his brother was forming doubts in his head at the moment.

The forager didn’t tire, either, Harwin thought, as the journey had worn Osmond out, with Julius not far behind. Even he had a slight soreness in his legs.

They were walking along a path through fields of barley, ready to harvest while catching a glimpse of a cottage up ahead.

A man was chopping wood at the front of the home. Moments passed as he lifted his head, noticing them and glaring for a long time as they got closer. He then waved his hands as if he recognized Mero.

He was shooing at two lads under the porch awning of his cottage, making them go inside as they approached, then shouted in a foreign tongue to Mero and the forager replied in kind.

The man was small, unremarkable, with curls of chestnut hair and stubble of a beard. His eyes were a faint blue and he had a look of cautiousness when he had a long look at them.

He was an animated talker with hands going in many directions as he spoke to Mero.

Harwin then looked at his brother, and he could see his disappointment with his first impression of the Loreto people.

They didn’t appear to have walked with the gods, as his boots were caked in pig dung. It was hard for him to keep from laughing at him.

“What’s he in such a fuss about?” Osmond gruffly asked.

“I don’t think he speaks the same language we do?” Julius remarked.

“Oh, so that’s it?” Osmond answered in a mock. “I’m surprised you discovered that so fast, even Leland here had doubts,” followed with a booming laugh.

“Bugger off, you beardy, bald wanker.” His brother became brimming mad.

“It’s not the time, you two,” Edmund said to calm them.

“Let me apologize,” the man cried out in an odd accent. “Some folk know your tongue, it’s just not our fancy. Mero told me you are trying to make your way through?”

“Yes, sir. My name is Leland Craig, and yours?” Edmund asked, being courteous.

“I go by William Bill Mullins, but you call me Two Billys.” The man smiled wide. “I’m sad you found Jasper. He’s been missing for three days, they thought the hounds may have got him.”

“Hounds?” Julius curiously asked.

“Two Billys informed me of a problem they have, as large packs of wolf hounds are attacking the poor folks in the village,” Mero told them.

“They grabbed a little girl last night and found her maimed up and dead. We’ve lost scores of folks since the last time you passed here, Mero,” Two Billys said, animated. “The chief told me to send you to the village if you happen to pass by.

“I can’t, got to take these lads another way,” Mero protested.

“Just for a minute. I gotta head to town; we can all fit,” Two Billys pleaded. “You go making a camp in the woods and they may spring on you.”

“The chief doesn’t care for me, you know that, Two Billys. I am sneaking these lads across, no need to get under his skin anymore.”

“Medgar is dead. The hounds got him four days ago,” Two Billys replied. “Etric leads us now, and he told me to bring you no matter what. He will find these lads’ quarters; he is most desperate.”

“We will accompany you,” Edmund insisted like a gullible fool.

Harwin felt like it was a deception, wondering what the two were discussing before he spoke their tongue. He’d have rather stayed out of this, but Edmund was thinking childlike.

His head was in a book at one time about this mysterious place and his interests went beyond good sense at the moment. He looked at his other mates and they looked fatigued, seeing in their faces that a belly full of food and a good chair fancied them.

“Let’s go if it’s not a hassle,” Harwin relented.

They climbed onto the rear of a simple buckboard. Mero rode up front with Two Billys as the roads were as crooked as the narrow paths of the hedge.

The buckboard followed a worn, dirt road as Harwin saw more of the infernal hedge planted in smaller walls as barriers to separate fields and restrict movement for the commoners to stay on the dirt roads.

He could imagine an army getting frustrated if they were marching unawares in these lands. The hedge was better than stone, and he could see a lord paying good gold for such a nuisance, he thought.

The cottages showed little distinction from one another, simple and covered in moss with manicured vines along the doorways and windows.

He could see smoke pillars from the smooth, rock chimneys as the sun was creeping behind the trees. The air was getting cooler and he could hear dogs howl from a great distance as the buckboard was approaching a village.

It was a nest of simple cottages amongst huge fields of barley, corn, and oats as he noticed others in the distance, beans for drying and field peas.

Edmund looked fascinated, pointing to Julius in every direction while he pulled on his goatee. It was as if he were back at Hayston and it sadly reminded Harwin of what his brother lost to be with him.

He was in total ignorance of his earlier alias of Leland Craig, and Edmund Parsons, the foolish need for attention orator, was giving a detailed account of the planting cycles of the blessed Triad.

The wagon entered the village of peering eyes and stopped in an open space used for a plaza, an attractive square of smooth river rock surrounded by stone and timber buildings.

He assumed it was for merchants, but Harwin wasn’t sure if they even practiced trade in specie here. An older man met them with a crowd of other elderly men behind him.

The plaza was lit with torches and provided illumination as the night sky was well past dusk. The windows were full of eyes as their dwellers kept themselves indoors as if they abided by curfew. They looked more afraid than curious, and it unsettled him and the others.

The foreign tongue was being spoken by the older man, who Harwin assumed was Etric. Mero replied, and Two Billys then remarked as he would be interrupted by an elder from the back. The group each had a turn glaring at them, unhappy with this intrusion.

Their look frightened the commoners. It appeared to Harwin that it was the first time a group of foreigners had been in their presence.

Harwin could only imagine what was going through their minds if it was. They were looking at the blades they carried, and it was obvious they felt uncomfortable around the sight of steel.

A vicious howl echoed from the forest, and then a chorus of them followed, and that terrified them even worse.

Harwin then knew what they wanted of Mero. He had that fancy bow and the confidence to use it. They were asking him to kill them, and they were taken here for him to negotiate with them.

“How do you feel about staying here a few days, brother?” he asked Edmund.

He could tell his brother had figured it out. “We’ll be delayed, it appears. I am sorry, Harwin.”

The leader came to the wagon to get a closer look. “They are Nuhrish like you?” he said in an accent. “Not these two, you brought these brown skin lads as well?”

“They’re all pale yellah here?” Osmond asked, dumbfounded.

Harwin hadn’t thought much of it. The Gospel of Xarl mentioned that the Grimm had skin so white it shined in the moonlight. These people shared the gods’ blood with them as the torchlight glistened off of them.

“You should be more considerate of us than to do such a thing. We disapprove of you allowing foreigners on our lands.” The older man had a sour look on his face as he was peering up at them.

“I am very sorry, Etric. Let me atone for my dishonesty. I will hunt these hounds, thin the herd out, and have these lads out as soon as I can,” Mero replied, appearing remorseful.

“I need them gone, not a hound must survive. We are in desperate fear here,” Etric answered back.

“Pardon my intrusion,” Edmund spoke. “I have a bow. Let me help Mero, if it eases your distrust with us.”

Harwin wanted to slap his brother. If he volunteered, then his two Breeston brothers would insist and force him into accompanying them out of shame.

“We can help as well,” Julius adds to put the lid on the coffin, making any protest of his now dead as he sneered at their stupidity.

“That bunch either conned us into helping them out of pity, or they are the biggest bunch of cravens that ever walked the old Grimm lands,” he mumbled to himself. “Bloody gods’ blood or not.”

They put them in simple quarters, one of the stone buildings surrounding the square that belonged to one of the elders.

He introduced himself in a strong Loreto twang as Pietro Schumacher. “You don’t fit in beds, especially giant ones there,” Pietro said while pointing at Harwin.

“I will send water, you wash up, bring food and water, no spirits until full moon. Those are rules,” Pietro added.

Harwin couldn’t understand what the little man was saying, he only knew he was hungry. “What does the full moon have to do with drinking?” he asked as if he heard a jape.

“It is sin to drink in Loreto, only the new and full moon. Those days allowed.” Pietro’s voice was brisk. His chestnut hair hung to his brow, and the little man was focused on Harwin at the moment. “You have problem with say?”

“He hasn’t a problem,” Edmund interrupted. “He doesn’t understand what you are saying. The next full moon—”

“I don’t give a bollocks about the moon, brother,” Harwin said. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to volunteer for this job.”

“These dogs are not our problem, and now our business has been set aside, and I’m not going into the fact that the man has put us in this plight as trespassers.”

“Where did this Mero go?” Osmond asked. “He did not come with us here.”

“I’m assuming they’re discussing the attacks,” Edmund answered him. “Harwin, I merely suggested that we help so our business can be addressed again. If the dogs are dead, then he can guide us out.”

“Do you know what a wolfhound is?” Harwin asked.

“You know I do, brother. Let’s not get into an argument.”

“Doesn’t it make you wonder why the dogs are wild? The breed is docile and used to hunt wolves, not mimic their behaviour,” Harwin says sternly.

“The dogs can run fast, and if they are in packs, then they can kill. You should take this seriously.”

“These people need our help,” Edmund pleaded. “I think we should have another vote.”

Harwin just threw up his hands in disgust as the doors of Pietro’s quarters opened. Three women who came up to his waist appeared with buckets of steaming water.

“Wash. Wash. Please,” Pietro said. “You have stuff on your face.”

Harwin had forgotten they looked like a bunch of pasty cretins as he dunked his head in a basin.

The water turned into a milky white and Harwin could see the hundreds of small little red bumps that marked his flesh.

He could hear Osmond dunk his head in the bucket beside him. “Don’t tell me you want to help, too?” he asked his bald mate.

“Not really, but I’d relish in getting out of here.”

“Me either, but with two bows, then surely it will not take long,” Julius said with a shrug.

It was Julius’s turn in his bucket, as Harwin wasn’t done arguing with his brother. “How can you trust this Mero? He has deceived us, and now he is making us wait while striking up a better deal with this Etric. I know a shart spreader when I see it.”

“He has shown concern. I have heard nothing of deals,” Edmund said in defence.

Edmund was then washing the poultice off, staring at his brother with a face full of muddled water. “Harwin, what other arrangements can we make? Let’s wait here and see how tomorrow unfolds.”

Harwin then smelt a savoury odour as another woman was pushing a cart through the doorway. He decided it was best to let his frustration be and take a peek at what was making his mouth water underneath.

The woman nearly shrank to the floor when Harwin lifted the pewter tray to have a gander.

“Sorry, miss,” he said while trying to reach out and comfort her. The woman turned and ran out the door in fright.

“This is going well,” Osmond laughed. “These folks are a bunch of scurrying chickens.”

“They don’t live in violence, Osmond, they have never seen a man his size.” Edmund then turned to him, distracted. “What is that, brother? It must be rich in spice.”

“It’s pork, stewed in root vegetables, and the bread is warm. There is butter, too.”

Moments later, they were engorging themselves on the food like hogs as Pietro let in another tiny woman, who had furs heaped in her hands.

The Loreto elder had told them in his garbled way to sleep on the floor. Pietro didn’t linger either. He had a look upon him to rid himself of providing any more hospitality and abandoned them.

“That man is a hoot,” Julius said while spooning meat onto a split loaf of barley bread. “You think he will come back?”

“It’s late,” Edmund said while nibbling on a heel. “The furs look soft. It shouldn’t be too dreadful.”

Edmund was looking around the lobby as they continued to dine, flipping through a ledger to kill the boredom. “I’d guess these are numbers in weight, maybe a count of their stores.”

“I know they don’t use coin in trade. I wonder if it’s a simple swap style of commerce here, a form of social community government?”

“Great!” Harwin grumbled. “If we kill their dogs, they will give us a piglet in payment.”

“I don’t think Mero is that way. He is a practitioner of the word,” his brother replied. “He never mentioned doing this for money.”

“Now who sounds foolish? I know his kind. They do nothing but for themselves,” Harwin said while piling furs to lie upon.

“You only heard what he wanted you to hear. There was plenty of talk in that other language, little brother. These are people he knows. They don’t give a damn about us. Edmund, they don’t even want us here.”