Death to the Grand Guild

5

Peregrine and the shrew

He was awakened by Edmund, startling him as he was in a deep dream. “Rodrigo has brought us something good, better than that stew.” His brother tells him while digging in his bowl.

It was first light, and the Rachel was leaving the docks of Venton. He was shaking off the webs of his sleep, watching the oars steer the ship in the centre of the river as the sail rose.

It found a good wind and the cog’s pace was quickening, turning north up the Nyber as he was given a tin bowl. He was breaking his fast on fried eggs — chicken eggs at that. With a piece of fried salt pork and bread cooked in its grease.

“It’s good,” Osmond was saying while he engulfed it.

“He’s up,” his brother told him, pointing over to the chest. “His eyes opened this morning and his condition, I’m at a loss, I have never seen such a recovery.”

Surprised, Harwin glanced over at Peregrine, his eyes were not sunken as before, but vibrant. He still looked a bit gaunt, but his vigour was improved so vastly that Harwin thought it was a miracle.

“You found us some menacing-looking men,” he joked to Julius, who changed into his leathers of a studded jerkin. He fastened a bronze, two-foot dirk to his right hip, with a cudgel on his other, banded with an iron ring to crown a man hard.

His brother felt compelled to do the same. Harwin had the armour taken from Gaston lengthened for him days ago, so it fits his brother’s lean frame snugly.

The boiled leather layered well with metal scales sewn into its hide. Having his dirk sharpened for an oak, he was smiling at Edmund, looking formidable, propped up on his bow. It was expensive, made of the Dietrich orange tree, and recurved to shoot as strong as a yew longbow.

Osmond’s wares were nothing to smile about, though. The axe he had bought him as a gift was all that was impressive on his right hip.

His armour was poorly sewn and mismatched, making him appear lopsided, with three hammered brass rondels riveted in the leather, making the pitiful hide look like a pair of breasts and a fat belly. He had a crude dirk in a thigh sheath with a small hatchet, notched and pitted as if it was buried in the earth for decades on his left.

“I know what you’re thinking. I can see your eyes mocking me.” Osmond spat at his boots.

“You look like a travesty,” Julius said, reprieving him. “Is that what you learned during those months there?”

“Bugger off, it takes years to work a good piece of leather.” as the two brothers began to bicker.

“It’s okay, brother. When we get to Lonoke, I will find you a proper set. They make solid armour there, it’s where mine was crafted,” Harwin told him while admiring his new spaulders. He was tightening the belt of his scabbard when one of the foragers approached him.

“Is that a Kirschner?” he asked. He was older, years over forty, Harwin thought. His head was under a wool cap and he was wearing a brown tunic with black breeches, a laughing look in his brown eyes as he beamed at him.

“You must know your steel,” Harwin replied in an awkward response, feeling uneasy that it was noticed.

“My men have been fascinated with your lot since we left Breeston together. Looking at your lord in his cloak, that breed of ermine is pricey. My name is Rishard Donning, you met our lad Robin yesterday playing monarchs.”

“Turn that man away,” Camille barked from afar.

“Let’s not be harsh, that man is not threatening,” Peregrine scolded her.

“The master needs to drink a warm broth. I will tell the captain to accommodate you,” Edmund interrupted, still in deep thought at the master’s improved condition.

“You stand quiet and let me worry about that,” the woman said, biting off his head.

“He is right, thank you, lad. You must understand digestion. Camille, look into the chest and dig out that licorice. I need something sweet,” the master ordered her. His colour was coming back into his face even more as he shifted his focus back on the conversation.

“She’s a harsh one, I have never seen the likes,” Rishard remarked in a low voice while looking rattled at her.

“What are ya? A poacher?” Osmond asked, intruding in the conversation.

“Don’t disrespect the man, Osmond, we are not in Breeston anymore,” Julius said, calming him.

“What the bollocks does Breeston have to do with poaching?” huffed Osmond, his remark making Harwin snort into a chuckle.

“He looks to be a forager, brother. They dig up roots and mushrooms and sell it for coin,” Harwin explained to his mate.

“You recognize our craft?” Rishard asked him, looking awkwardly at Osmond’s armour. “Are you Nuhrish lords? I don’t think I have met any. Are you on a parlay through the Breeston lands?”

Harwin was thinking of how ridiculous they must look. Who had seen such a troupe? A rich-looking lord in a fur coat, with a sad impersonation of an apprentice.

“We are travelling to Lonoke on business. He is a merchant and we are his escorts, after hearing vicious rumours about a gang of brigands called the Yellow Hand, he has employed us,” Julius lied. It was a clever lie, he thought, but he wasn’t sure if the forager bought it.

“Your master looks wealthy,” Rishard replied while looking in the open chest as Camille was digging inside of it. “Any idea what goods he sells?”

“Why do you care?” Osmond asked him bluntly.

“We don’t mean to pry. I do business with merchants, I sell my finds to men such as these.”

“My brother is a rough cut of cloth, just look at him. He’s a man who needs proper rest, and he’s been arrogant all morning,” Julius said, distracting the forager away from Osmond’s menacing look. “I will consult him in your stead, and if he shows interest, then maybe he will listen.”

“Is he ill? He looked near his death yesterday.” Rishard asked as he kept staring at Peregrine.

“That girl over there,” Harwin interrupted. “She doesn’t do well with inquiries. I won’t pretend to deceive you — if you walk over there, she will pull a dirk on you, no questions asked, and I don’t want that.”

“She is not well in the head,” he warned him as the forager peered long at her, grimacing as Camille looked back in a scornful stare.

“Maybe I should keep my business to myself,” Rishard whispered to Harwin.

“Who is that man?” Peregrine asked from his seat on the chest.

“Don’t mind him, he is a bloody poacher who likes to dig up roots,” Osmond turned and shouted back to the healer.

“I think we are making a poor impression upon him, brother,” Edmund interrupted, taking over the awkward inquiry. “You must think odd of us, so let me clarify a few things.”

“The master is still suffering from his illness; we are travelling in foreign lands, so his digestion received a shock while in Breeston.” Edmund then put his arm around the forager and turned him away, walking a few steps like he was about to tell him something in secret.

“My name is Leland Craig, and this is my older brother, Argyle.” The lie didn’t thrill Harwin. “We’ve employed these two men as guides. They are Breeston-born, alarming us of the perils of the roads. So we booked passage to Billingsly.”

“Our employer looks strange because he is from Ethelly. He deals in olives if you must know. We were accompanying our master and his sworn sword, to persuade the Guild to soften their restrictions, so he can import many of our goods to Lonoke’s port.”

“You will have to buy a bloody pin. You see this little hunk of brass?” Rishard arrogantly showed him. “Ten gold falcons it cost me.”

“Ah yes, we’ve been enlightened to this tradition. An inconvenience, we have discovered, for the opportunity of business here.” Edmund smiled in a regretful suggestion.

“We had an audience with Harland Childers; the treasurer informed us of such, but we had to hand much gold his way to open negotiations.”

“The Guild is greedy mongrels.” The forager scowled as he pointed to his mates. “You see my lads there? We risk the elements. The fear of wild things in the night for the privilege of digging in their soil. You are wasting your time with that lot.”

“I appreciate your candour. I will pass this to my master.” Edmund smiled. “Our fellow merchants in Ethelly are always looking for northern delicacies. Black root, elderberry, and courish mushrooms go for a premium. Are these things you find?”

“Why yes, can I speak to him?”

“My master, unfortunately, does not speak to commoners. He lets me handle his affairs such as this.” Edmund studied the forager. Rishard’s look had turned into anticipation. “We will be in the port ward at Lonoke, won’t we, Julius?”

“Yes, that is where I suggested quarters for the lord,” Julius agreed to add to the ruse.

“We will be lodged there for the next six weeks, entertaining clients and meeting with the harbormaster, Darvil Simpkins, to open routes for our ships if we can reach an agreement with the Guild. You find these things and we will talk coin. That is the best I can offer.”

Rishard was so pleased that he stuttered out praise as his desperation had him blubbering like a hopeless fool. The beguiled forager bowed in a kind gesture, then he scrambled back to his men. “What does this foraging have to do with poaching?” Osmond asked, pulling his beard adding to Harwin’s amusement.

“It’d be best if you shut your mouth around crowds,” Julius scolded him, turning to Edmund with a wide grin. “Edmund, your story was brilliant. That is the cover we use until we get to Lonoke. I will tell the master and hope that Camille can keep silent.”

“What kind of living is made from poaching roots?” Osmond asked, still baffled.

“Get your dice, you idiot, let’s gain a few more coppers.” Harwin chided him while the gruff oaf playfully shoved him as they chose a place closer to the ship’s centre. They played monarchs alongside sacks of flour stacked in heaps, providing them shade from the sun. It wasn’t long until they had attracted many of Rodrigo’s men.

The wagers attracted others, tradesmen, a candle maker, and a trapper peddling beaver and muskrat furs from Venton, both had several rolls, losing several coppers each.

There was a tinsmith and a merchant who sold barrels of salt pork, then two twins, brutes that were part of Rishard Donning’s crew, had joined them. The game took them until midday as Harwin had lost a copper, and Osmond walked away with seven.

“I can make a steady living on this boat. Maybe I should speak with that Rodrigo to see if he needs an extra deckhand,” Osmond rattled on while filling his purse as Harwin gained the dice, getting nothing as he saw another copper put into the pot as he rolled again. The game died down moments later as Harwin bet on the rolls of one of the twins, breaking even as the trapper finally rolled twin crowns to empty the pot.

Harwin and Osmond were looking out from the ship’s rail when the midday meal arrived, braised turtle meat on a trencher with onions as the two engulfed it, boasting a bit on the gold coming to them.

“Maybe I should buy a small boat with my fifty falcons and learn to sail, taking folks back and forth as this rig does,” Harwin mentioned while looking out as the Nyber widened ahead.

“You could go in with me and sell horns during the morning, then play dice during the evenings, and we split the profits between us.”

“You are trying to change my dream of owning a small inn?” Osmond said, amazed while watching a large river carp leap from the water, pointing at it like an excited child.

“I am pondering on a second profession in case my soldier days end prematurely. It’s not the life of an old man.”

“We are young men, soon-to-be better-off young men. I was thinking about that this morning while eating. Just what does that buy a man? It can buy a man any pin in the city, even a merchant’s pin, the Guild’s most expensive.”

“You want to become a merchant?” Harwin asked.

“The inn is the easiest for us. If you own any property that holds a space for a man to sleep on, then you can make decent coin. Look at me, Harwin. I am not a pretty man like Julius. He has a gift for words,” Osmond told him with a stern look on his face.

“I can only hope to be the man that works the back of the place. Sweep up dirt or wash up horns, you can hire a widow to do that. My brother has supported me for months now. You saw this armour, how good could I have gotten? I know sums and can throw dice. Consider coming in with us.”

“I have no skills either Osmond. I’d grow bored with trying to live that life and avoided it countless times in Hayston. I’m only fit to look mean and swing a blade, that’s why I have lived under Bitters’s shadow since I was a lad,” Harwin explained. “Why do you need another partner? Your plan sounds solid.”

“The pin alone will take up thirty falcons, the skinny the same, leaving only a few left over to hire a carpenter to build furnishings. That will give us a few rooms until we can scrape up more funds to continue.”

“You are talking to the wrong brother. You need to talk to Edmund.”

“I admire your brother but don’t get me wrong. He has a sharp frankness; he struggles with people from the streets.”

“I know he does, he has aggravated me my entire life,” Harwin implied. “You saw how he handled that nosy forager. He had his head swimming so fast that he forgot what was going through his mind.”

Osmond shook once, scratching his beard in deep thought as Harwin pointed at the foragers.

“That lot over there would love to rob us, been pondering it since they laid eyes upon Peregrine and that chest he’s perched upon,” Harwin says to his friend, both peering at it as he continues.

“Look at that chest, it alone could get you many falcons. I’ve never seen such a grain of wood. How he made it into Breeston without drawing suspicion has baffled me.”

Osmond was pulling his beard while looking at the healer. His words were enlightening him to notice the chest for the first time.

“That Camille, she is so out of sorts and lacks simple social skills. It’s as if she is a child discovering everything for the first time, angry and lashing out because she is lost,” Harwin mentioned.

“They want to go to Lonoke, but that isn’t their home. Where they’re from, I don’t have a clue, and what they did in Breeston makes no sense. A man of Peregrine’s skill as Julius has described wouldn’t waste his gifts on the rabble in the wards.” Harwin says with a chuckle.

“He’d be under the retainment of the richest lords, exclusive to men who could pay well, who have too much wealth to lose to be bothered by death.”

“Julius told me, he thought they never left that house and had him bring the near dead on that “mist” to him.”

“He ran errands and bought roots and such from Lucius Vanderlay, some oddball tonic maker who was always trying to cheat you.” Osmond was blinking, trying to piece thoughts together. “Should we take the initiative? Kill those foragers and be done with it?”

Harwin roared with laughter. “No, they won’t be a bother. They know they lack the numbers to fight us. Edmund knows this.”

“That is why he fed Rishard that ruse. He knows those men are opportunists in both honest and devious ways. He enlightened them to do it honestly, making them think Peregrine will overpay for the goods that they peddle.

It was early evening when the cog approached the fork where the Nyber River split into the Bell and the Minoan. The cog passed by towers erected to watch the ships that passed as the walled hold collected tolls from the wagons that needed to be ferried.

A place where customs could search the merchant’s wagons, who traded between the northern villages. Even places too small for the Guild to notice had to pay a price to do business.

Shouts came from where the foragers were standing. The lad, Robin, was shooting at a carp that jumped out of the river to the cog’s movement, missing them until striking one with a third arrow. They were betting coppers with a few of Rodrigo’s crew on his accuracy.

“Why don’t you shoot one, brother? You could do much better than him,” he shouted to Edmund as he watched, intrigued.

“I don’t want to waste my arrows. How do they think they are making money? When the arrow cost much more than their wagers.”

“They are having fun, Edmund, you should explore it sometimes,” Julius mocked him. “Let me see how you can shoot. Your brother says you are a good shot. I have a few coppers to wager if you have the sand.”

“Let’s make it an oak, he can hit the carp’s eye,” Harwin added.

“I have a silver here,” Osmond said, pulling it from his purse.

“Put your silver away, this is embarrassing,” Edmund protested

“Look over there?” he heard a merchant call out. “It’s Billingsly. We made good time.”

“Edmund, please do this to break the boredom. You can spare an arrow or two,” Harwin said, goading his brother.

“I will shoot one, but don’t get mad when I miss his eye.

“You won’t hit the fish,” Osmond laughed aloud.

The prodding made Edmund relent. He took his bow and walked a short distance from them. Harwin nodded at Peregrine as he bit on another piece of licorice, interested in the folly among his mates.

“They should be at a post, this is maddening. Please, master, pay them at Billingsly and leave them there; we have endured enough of this.” Camille complained beside him.

“Just relax, dear girl. Let them have their fun, it’s causing no harm. We will be in Lonoke in two days, then you will have to endure them no longer.”

“You find this nonsense amusing?” she grumbled as he silenced her with a glance as he continued to watch them with a smile. “I think I will wager, why not? I will match your silver, but I want to bet on the lad,” Peregrine said, smiling.

“You hear that, fellows? The master is with me. A coin against any man who doubts my brother can shoot the eye out of a carp!” he yelled out, gaining the attention of many around them.

“Why are you trying to bollocks this, Harwin?” Edmund said with a menacing glare toward him.

“Betting on you. It’s my coin, so you have nothing to lose. Except for some pride if you miss,” he mentioned.

The wager formed a crowd. He had made that a point. Even Rodrigo was pulling out silvers against Edmund, and several of his men were piling their coppers together to get in on it. The merchants and craftsmen, even Rishard and his lot.

“We got quite a haul here. Look at that pile you have riding against you, brother!” Harwin says prodding his brother further.

“I am not amused by this. Do I look so pathetic that nobody will wager a coin on me? Edmund remarks with slumped shoulders and a scowl then takes his bow and notches it with a shaft.

He watched a few fish jump and tried to focus on the wind, then pulled his bow back, standing motionless as a tree as carp jumped while they waited.

“When is he going to let it go? We’ll be in Billingsly by the time he makes up his mind,” one of Rodrigo’s men called out.

His brother looked nervous. He even doubted he could hit the target, but he was tickled at his discomfort. The tension was thick among the onlookers, only the creaks of the cog were heard as they waited.

In a blink, Edmund released his arrow. The shaft went flying as a carp jumped high from the river ten yards away, striking the fish, but it spun in such a fashion that no one could tell where the shaft had buried.

“One of you lads throw a hook at it, I want to see that fish,” Rodrigo barked out.

A man was quick to toss out a rope with a barbed net fastened on its end. Gripped with nerves as it missed its mark, hearing a barrage of curses with each missed throw. Moments passed until his throw was true, hooking the carp and dragging it to the ship.

“By the gods, he hit it straight through its peepers. The whole eye is shot out, what a stroke of luck,” Robin Bivens shouted out in disbelief.

“You have another silver to dispute that?” Harwin shouted at the scrawny lad. “My brother isn’t here to entertain you for free.”

The boy stiffened his shoulders at him as if he wanted to quarrel with him, but being half his size, it was drawing snickers from the others watching.

“Don’t mind my lad.” Rishard stepped between them. “He’s proud of his skill, and needs to realize, he has much to learn.”

“I kill rabbits and squirrels for us in the wild. I have plenty of skill, more than a lowlife Panhead.” The boy was sulking and angered as his face was a bright red “It was dumb luck, he couldn’t do it again is all I’m saying,” the lad spouted in a sharp tone.

“Who gives a bloody hoot! You lost your coin fair, so swallow the bitter tonic and bugger off. The man took coin from me as well,” Julius interrupted, tapping the hilt of his dirk.

“Let’s not lose our tempers here,” Rishard spoke up. “The lad is right: we lost our coin, and that is that. I apologize for my men.” The forager held up a hand, ordering the twins to step back.

Rishard then grabbed a wad of Robin’s black hair and jerked it hard, threatening to beat him bloody with a belt in front of them. The lad sulked and scowled back with malice in his eyes as the twins took him from their master and dragged him to the aft of the ship.

The forager returned offering kind words, worried that heated tempers could cause his crew to draw steel. Offering them ale at a tavern to smooth things over, his eyes shifted to Peregrine as the healer said nothing during the altercation.

“It’s forgotten, no need to sour things with the city so close,” Harwin said. The forager seemed thankful, bowing as he went back to their place among the deck, but Harwin could see them still glaring at him.

Huddling close, conversing with themselves with morbid looks. He was glad that things got heated, maybe the group would leave them be. The last thing they needed was more blokes imposing on them in curiosity.

“You lads are quite the gamblers.” Rodrigo surprised him from behind, handing the coin owed to him. Thanking the captain, he requested a place to help them on their journey up the pass, and he replied with the Oaken Barrel.

It sat on the edge of the small city where the road began that took wagons up the pass into Faust. The captain explained to him. The village was in a high valley, known for its orchards. His brother remarked that they’d have to stay a night there before ending their journey in Lonoke the next day.

“You need passage again, you find Rodrigo. He won’t forget you — how could he forget a man so large? I will cut you a good rate.” The captain smiled while looking at the skies.

“As a warning, my friend, it looks as if a storm will be upon us after nightfall. If you are heading up into the mountains tomorrow, then plan for an unpleasant journey.” The captain nodded, relieving himself and barking orders to his crew, sending men scattering as the ship was coming into the port.

Harwin watched, fascinated as he stood while Peregrine approached while glancing over at the foragers.

“That was most unusual. I thought you were about to come to blows,” the healer said while he looked over the coins he won.

“I am afraid the act of gambling can conjure much spite from the losing side.”

“Acts of barbarism.” Camille made her point clear. “You know what I think we should do.”

“I have heard you, now say no more,” Peregrine snapped at her. “Who are you, lad? You and your brother aren’t cut from the same cloth as Julius and his pitiful brother.”

“We are refugees, as you are. If you were listening to my brother earlier, he mentioned our names,” he replied.

“I was not privy to them.” Peregrine grinned, looking healthier, more than he was a few hours ago. His blue eyes were studying him.

“You are not mercenaries, that is obvious. I have leaned on Julius’s knowledge of the wards to guide me. Camille is displeased, but I know he’s a good man in dire surroundings.” Peregrine gave him a long look. “I may have asked too much of him, to find me skilled men.”

“He is a good man, no doubt. He wanted us to journey with him to keep you from being robbed, which you would’ve been by many of the mercenaries I have known.”

“You are a soldier, then?” Peregrine wondered. “You are not from Breeston. Where were you and your brother raised, and what brought you to Breeston? If I may trouble you a bit, you and your brother have piqued my curiosity.”

“We are from Hayston. Why we are living in the wards is our business.” Harwin was studying the man himself, noticing him stiffening a bit as he and Camille looked upon one another to judge them. They both were blonde, not a common colour in the Triad lands.

“I told you they were brigands,” Camille spoke up again as Peregrine winced a bit at her curt slight.

“You speak well for your station. Most soldiers talk like the chubby bald one,” he added. “You talk like a man who has lived a better life than a common militia. Are you a mercenary?” The healer’s gaze was like a statue and it had him unnerved.

“I am not a brigand, but my business is my own. Are you taking your sworn sword’s advice and discharging us in Billingsly?”

His words had drawn the attention of his mates. “We can settle now and be done with this informal task. If not, say what you have to say and we will get you to Lonoke,” he answered, gazing back imposingly over the man and his female companion as Peregrine relented his stare.

The healer was nearly as tall as his brother but was unfazed at Harwin’s glare. His stern face began to smile a bit, relenting his rigid tone into a slight chuckle.

“I think the original arrangement will continue for now. Shall we have no more ill words, Camille?” he said in a weary tone, as the rude woman grimaced, but nodded.

“Let me lighten the mood and give you lads a proper meal, with ale as a kind gesture,” Peregrine said to change the tone.

“I thank you. The captain mentioned a place called the Oaken Barrel.”

“We should avoid these places,” Camille objected

“I know of this place. It should suffice. I am not concerned with sitting in a tavern,” The healer said, putting up his hand to quiet her.

Settling things for the moment, they embarked from the modest port. Heading north of the small town, it was crafted in flagstone, as many of the quarries the Guild owned were a short distance away.

The group followed a busy street, taking them to the central plaza. It supported several merchants and craftsmen, and a couple of taverns scattered along the way. A simple village, he had visited several like it that neighbored Hayston.

Camille still insisted they keep the chest close to them. Rodrigo had lent them four of his deckhands, reprieving his brother and Osmond from carrying the obnoxious thing.

They were gathering eyes upon them from the commoners, which was expected, considering how they appeared. Luckily, the local constables paid them no mind, appearing less obtrusive than the ones in Breeston’s inner wards.

The dirt streets were packed hard from the traffic as they weaved through the lingering mobs. They flanked close to the sailors loaned to them, who knew the inn’s location, and they took them far north beyond the plaza on a road near the edge of the village that led into the foothills of the mountains.

Large for an inn when he first glimpsed it, reminding him of Biddy Mulligans with a massive stable alongside it.

“We should sleep in the stables. No reason to be among the rabble of the town,” Camille insisted when they were outside the inn’s entrance.

He was so resentful of this woman and her distrust of everyone, but Peregrine agreed with her as he shook his head knowing he had another uncomfortable night ahead.

“We can put the chests there, and pay the lad inside to look after them,” Julius suggested.

“It goes with us!” she demanded, and Peregrine agreed as the group looked at them aghast.

“Must be full of gold, if you’re insisting on being perched over it like carrion,” Osmond said in disgust.

“You will do what you’re told and keep your mouth shut,” Camille barked back.

“Well, pardon us if we leave ours in there,” Edmund says calmly to the healer. “We are carrying what value we own upon us. We will catch up to you in the tavern.”

Peregrine nodded to them his approval as Edmund and Julius broke away with Rodrigo’s lads, returning soon to the group inside the foyer of the Oaken Barrel.

Then he handed the captain’s men silver for their inconvenience. “Share that with the others. We are pleased with Rodrigo’s hospitality,” he politely said.

When they entered the tavern, Camille was complicating matters, insisting the chest be slid under the square, oaken table they dined at. There wasn’t an eye that wasn’t peering at them, and Edmund was getting annoyed at the spectacle it presented.

He sat between his brother and Osmond as Peregrine handed the tavern maid a handful of oaks. “Give us your best. Is that enough?”

She looked at the silver and smiled. It was plenty, as the woman fawned in delight, fleeing to the kitchens before they could even ask for a horn.

“You should guard your coin in public, master,” Julius informed him as the healer was gathering eyes from the patrons.

“It is none of your concern, lad,” Peregrine answered. “I want to arrange for transport into Faust. Can you summon the innkeeper for me?”

Julius did as he was bidden, sending a woman to retrieve him. The innkeeper arrived in moments, informing the healer he had mules and garrons to transport them to the mountain’s gap, welling with pride as he boasted to Peregrine about his establishment.

The healer then interrupted him, handing him three falcons and asking for his best as the innkeeper stammered for a moment while glancing at the gold, backpedaling with haste, nearly knocking over the tavern girl who returned with horns and nodding like a blubbering fool.

“You need quarters as well?” he stammered out.

“Your stables will suffice. Here is another falcon for that,” Peregrine replied, tossing him the gold coin while the keeper looked around at them, waiting for someone to protest.

“I will have a lad prepare them.” The keeper stuttered in disbelief at the man. “He will wait for you when you arrive.”

“You overpaid,” Julius repeated himself when the innkeeper scurried back to where he came. “You keep tossing around coin, then folks will talk, and that will attract thieves.”

“You are cautious, young Julius,” Peregrine said in a sharp tone. “Why does that bother you, it is my coin as you put it, should it not be spent?”

“It’s hard enough with every eye looking upon this chest, handing coins in heaps will spread rumours in the whole town. Now we’re going to be sleeping in shifts, watching for bandits.”

“Did I overpay you, men, as well?” the healer asked. His reply was silence as the suggestion made Harwin snicker.

“Julius is just very concerned,” Edmund interrupted the moment. “He is a concerned gentleman, who has your safety in his best interest.”

“You have a way with words. I overheard that lie that you told those men.” Peregrine replied with a sly grin.

“Impressive for a lad your age to be so quick to think something up in such a fashion. That man was of middle age and you beguiled him with ease. How old are you?” Peregrine asked, awaiting a reply.

“I am old enough,” Edmund told him, guarding his prodding of him.

“Only rich men speak with such eloquence. Who taught you such talents, or are you a mystery like your brother? Desiring to keep that secret to yourself,”

“I will divulge that if you’re willing to offer the same,” Edmund implied. It was one of the few times his brother’s pompous tone had made him laugh.

“You are under our employ. We have a right to ask these questions!” Camille butted in, compelling Julius to speak.

“Edmund, please, let’s not be rude,” he pleaded.

“You have a point, Camille. I’m sorry if I offended you. We thought the master was near death when we embarked. He is now alert and curious as to who he’s hired and why they seem strange to him,” Edmund said while getting a horn from the tavern girl who returned.

“It’s sort of peculiar, don’t you think, that halfway through this journey, this man who sweated buckets a day ago is inquiring such unusual questions?” Edmund cooly says while sipping on his ale.

“We are strangers to one another, not friends or mates. Let’s not conjure such illusions. You two could be lunatics who are just lost because you’re not from the Triad.” his brother says with a smirk.

“You lack any knowledge of simple customs. Do we ask this from you? Where are you raised? Why do you speak in such a way?” Edmund then glances back at the healer. “This is simple business. We get you to Lonoke safe, and you pay us the sum that was agreed upon.”

The inquiry from his brother made him laugh aloud when fresh wheat bread arrived still warm, with several nice, fat capons on a tin plate. Julius was so nervous that he looked as pale as him, while Edmund and Peregrine were in a staredown with one another.

She handed each of them a fork and knife as well, receiving a strange look from Osmond. Peregrine looked hard at Edmund, appearing baffled at his tone, then laughed out.

“My apologies, lad. Let’s eat and forget this discussion ever happened,” Peregrine replied in courtesy.

“We will head up in the morning, then we will stay another night in Faust, I assume. We are a day’s ride from there if what Julius has told me is true. Let’s agree to avoid bickering any further, can we agree to that?”

“Yes, Master Peregrine,” Julius interrupted, panicked, answering for everyone.

Harwin looked at Osmond, who had quit following the conversation when the capon arrived. His face was buried deep in the bone.

“That’s the first meal you ever had without a bowl, I wager. You might want to pull your head back before you suffocate,” he told him.

Osmond looked up, his thick beard covered in the juices and skin of the bird’s meat. He looked around at the lot of them as the healer looked at him, amused.

“He is a vile thing,” Camille said as Osmond smiled back at them.

“Thank you for this, I personally don’t give a shart what questions you ask me,” he said in ignorance, then buried his face back into the bird’s flesh.

“Let’s eat and be quiet, I beg of you,” Julius said in an embarrassed whimper.

The rest of their meal was quiet indeed. They stuffed themselves and consumed horn after horn, but Harwin noticed the healer and his shrew ate little, nibbling on dried fruit they brought and mashed turnips from the kitchens.

Their awkward supper was interrupted when Rishard had come by, offering them another round and insisting that the altercation on the cog be forgotten.

The man took the liberty of barging in with a stool, sitting down with them, then beginning an inquiry with Peregrine about herbs, hoping to impress him.

Peregrine listened and never interrupted, looking at Edmund with a curious look.

“The master has listened to you, and I will repeat what I told you earlier—” Edmund replied, annoyed.

“Bugger off, you parasite!” Camille intruded, shocking everyone at the table. Her threat was loud and quieted the inn; even the lute stopped playing from the background. “You come over here again, and you will need a new set of entrails!” as she stood up, grabbing the hilt of her sword.

Rishard had jumped up, taken aghast, raising his hands in a pale fear. “I am leaving, hold your steel, woman!” the man cried in fear, making a path through the tables back to his mates.

“I think we should be going,” Julius pleaded as Edmund was stunned at what to do.

They had every eye upon them as they left the tavern, exiting out its oak doors and back to the stables. Edmund and Osmond were trailing them, heaving that unbearable chest. He was in front, thanking the gods for the short walk.

As they made their way, the lad met them outside the stables, showing them inside and pointing to several empty stalls, recently mucked with a thick layering of fresh straw spread out.

“My master wants no candles,” the lad told them. “I will wake you at first light and have the burros ready for your things when we load them. We should put that chest in a separate stall.”

“That will do fine, we can sit in the dark. I will stay up, I believe I have slept enough,” Peregrine said with a worn smile. “You lads rest and I will be sure to alert you if trouble arises.”

Julius and Edmund helped the lad with the chest, placing it in a stall and covering it in blankets while Osmond picked a place near the wall of the stall and sat. Putting a blanket over him, glaring at Camille, and speaking with a bunch of grunts before shutting his eyes.

“Well, he has the right idea. I shall sit. Camille, join me, please,” Peregrine mentioned, calming his sworn sword.

It was near sunset, Peregrine was staring at the group, weary with long faces in annoyance with each other. They shared crossing looks and said little as the sun descended.

A creeping darkness was swallowing the stable, and crickets were fiddling a calm echo. Osmond was in a slight snore as Julius grew bored and closed his eyes. He and his brother sat across from them, the pair had always been light sleepers.

Harwin heard faint voices from outside, the oil lamps from the lower rooms of the inn were being lit, providing dim light through the cracks between the wooden slats of the stable. His brother was looking at Camille as her rigid look relaxed. She removed her cloak, revealing her full face.

The trip was exhausting for her, he noticed, and other things seemed to be as well. She was fair, a shame that she never looked happy. Her eyes were big and round, with an innocent blue that even he admitted was lovely. She was looking upward toward the ceiling, then glancing down to return a stare toward Edmund.

“What are you looking at?” she asked his brother bluntly. Not as menacing this time, but of wonder.

“You are lovely, that is all,” Edmund answered in a frank tone, saying nothing else to her as he shut his eyes. It surprised Harwin. His brother never displayed confidence in that way.

Camille never said a word back, not even a rude one. Peregrine was looking at the two. He could see Edmund’s adolescent attraction toward her. The man didn’t look jealous — maybe they didn’t share a bed as Harwin had thought at first, wondering what their relationship was.

Closing his eyes himself, his mind wandered back to Hayston. His thoughts drifted back to when he was the lead sergeant, staring out into the wheat fields from a wooden watchtower.

The sun was coming up, and he was content. For years he did this, being an early riser, and back then it bored him. Now he wished he had that to look forward to. He wished he had anything to look forward to.

In his mind he was ashamed, he had images of his adopted uncle, and father feeling apologetic for his behaviour. He thought of his mother Rose, who if alive would have steered him away from this predicament.

His last memory was anguish, as he hated that he let so many down, then as his mind drifted to silence, he awakened in a rush, unaware of when he had fallen into slumber, still groggy when the lads had the mounts waiting for them.

The lads were in a haste, and Camille was that haste, demanding they get them out as soon as possible. A lad helped him onto the short mountain horse, handing him a horn of ale and then a trencher of stringy meat and onions. Young feet were scurrying as Camille was in a fury hounding them as they complained about the weather.

“Shut up and get that chubby one on a garron,” she snapped back.

The stable door opened and a young man on a garron met them in the doorway. “I am Will. You keep your mounts bunched together. They will march up the mountain pass by themselves. The burros will follow you, and my second, Bryan, will have the rear in case one of you falls.”

“You worry about the chest. I’m not worried about who falls,” Camille insisted. That damn infernal chest, I can’t wait to see it and this insufferable shrew go away.

The rain was an annoyance as the lad Will led their convoy of mounts. Harwin had ridden palfreys since he was six. It was a difficult adjustment, balancing on the smaller garrons.

Holding his head down, his cloak was an aid against the stinging drops. Their pace was slow as they began the climb, soon surrounded by fruit orchards and small meadows, ending after a league and turning into thickets of woods.

The road narrowed, and they ascended a few switchbacks. The rain then became heavy, and he could only pay attention to the road ahead. He felt his cloak clinging heavy on him, his eyes fixed on the mount in front of him as he could hear Osmond’s voice, barking a barrage of insults as he was struggling to ride his mount nearby.

“First time on a horse?” Harwin yelled to him as he laughed at the struggle.

“First time this bloody high without a floor underneath me,” complained his mate as he watched him shift uncoordinated on his saddle.

Harwin was leading the pack burros alongside Osmond, as Edmund followed Will alongside Peregrine and Camille. Julius was in the rear with Bryan.

“My arse is bruised. I feel like I got buggered,” uttered Osmond as they turned around another switchback.

“The pass isn’t too high, I think we may be near the top. It will get easier once the mount is on level ground,” Harwin yelled to encourage him as he peered at the rounded peaks that the trail winded through.

The rain increased into a downpour at the top of the pass, and between glimpses, he noticed the trees were turning colours.

A pleasant sight, had it been good weather, and as the wind whipped, he looked back to his mates in concern. Both brothers were hugging their mounts tight around the neck as they turned around a bend, approaching a small river that was running swiftly from the heavy rains.

They stopped briefly to access the crossing and Julius was in a panic. “Oh, for god’s sake. I can’t swim if this horse loses me.”

“It’ll be okay, just hold on and let the horse do the work,” Harwin says to console him.

“You will cross if you want to be paid,” Camille adds to annoy Harwin as his friend was trying to find the courage to cross.

The rain was bothersome, but he was enjoying being on a horse again. He’d have preferred a nice palfrey as he owned in Hayston, but it felt good to him and it brought back good memories of when he rode the dirt paths back home.

The lads who accompanied them assured them if they followed the lead horse the river would be easy to negotiate, so Julius and Osmond went with Will first.

Harwin shouted encouragement as they completed the crossing and as the path began its descent, he could see a shadow ahead as the trees narrowed, providing relief from the stinging downpour. Their limbs stretched out until they touched one another, forming a beautiful canopy.

“What a miserable experience,” Osmond sighed as after the next bend the canopy opened back up to the downpour while they descended around tight turns into a small valley ahead. He heard Will shout, waving a free hand for them to follow.

“What did he say?” Osmond barked out in misery.

“I think he said, we are nearly there,” he answered back.

“I can’t hear a bloody thing. My legs are screaming in a fiery ache,” Osmond moaned.

After crossing a wooden bridge and passing through a small hollow, the path flattened and the town lay ahead as the road then widened.

They noticed cottages on either side of them, and in a matter of moments, they entered the village’s main street. The road was muddy and surrounded by timber structures, notched and stacked and plastered with mortar.

The horses ahead of him stopped in front of an inn. “This is my master’s younger brother’s inn, the Oriole. This is where our journey ends. We will help you with your things.” Will’s tone was sour.

He could tell he was glad to be done with them as he dismounted, his arms shaking as the lad shivered from the elements.

Peregrine dismounted to settle with them for their discomfort, then Harwin heard a blunt thud followed by a splash as Osmond slipped out of his stirrup and fell as Harwin tried to keep from laughing.

Edmund quickly tried to pull him up while he cursed and nearly slipped into the puddle again. Harwin congratulated his friend for enduring the journey, as laughter broke out among them.

Camille interrupted their triumph, ordering Edmund and Julius to tote the infernal chest inside as a trio of lads met them at the door.

The innkeeper was a younger version of the one at the Oaken Barrel. “Welcome to the Oriole,” he remarked, greeting them. “You must have important business to brave such a climb in this weather.”

“We need three rooms for us. I hope you have a bath, I am in sore need of it,” Peregrine inquired. “I need provisions provided for these men.”

The healer handed out too much coin to this man as the innkeeper, seeing his bounty, complied in haste, calling a whole litter of lads to tend to the group.

Two lads pointed him and his brother up the stairs, following them with their things to a room on an upper floor near the end of the hall, with Osmond and Julius opposite of them, they were all eager to relax.

It was better furnished and larger than what they had witnessed in Breeston. The beds even had feather mattresses, with two brass bathing tubs as they looked over the quarters. More lads ran in with extra linens, followed by several more with heated water in buckets to fill the tubs.

“I won’t argue with that; I am dying to get out of these wet linens,” Harwin remarked to Edmund.

The bath was steaming, turning his skin a pinkish hue. Both brothers sat crammed into the basin with a square soap made of lye in their hands.

“I hope tonight goes easier than last,” Edmund told him.

“You are eager to leave Camille’s company so soon, after telling her how lovely she was last night,” he replied, mocking him.

“Yes, she is that. I care little for the mystery of this pair anymore. I don’t know where they are from, some land that has strange customs. If this is how our native Nuhrish act, then I’m not in a hurry to learn more of them.”

Harwin grumbled with a hair full of lather, “They have touched no food, even at the Oaken Barrel. Have you noticed otherwise?”

“They nibbled on seeds or tree nuts, dried fruit of some kind on the cog. It could have been dates or figs, but when I took a closer look, she was barking with that awful spite in her voice.” Edmund shook his head. “I’m done trying to be cordial. When we get paid, then good riddance.”

“I am famished, brother. I hope they have something similar to that capon in the tavern. I had forgotten the pleasures of palatable food.”

“I’d rather stay here in this room and clear my thoughts. If you don’t mind,” His brother was breathing in the steam from the water. “I will send for bread, and maybe some cheese if they have any,” Edmund sighed.

“This bath was what I needed, forgive me for being such a bore but I require quiet.”

Harwin nodded to him, drying off and opening the trunk they brought for clean wares. He put on breeches and a clean tunic, then brushed the knots from his hair when he heard a knock upon the door.

“I bet that is Osmond. His steps are like a draft horse,” he said while slipping into his linens.

The bearded bloke poked his head in with a grin, then entered with a better mood, bathed with a fresh set of blacks on his back, leaving his sad armour behind but bringing his blades.

“I had hoped to soak out the soreness, but couldn’t, I don’t want to do that again,” he said while rubbing his backside, grumbling. “I’m ready for horns. You aren’t coming, Edmund?” Osmond asked while digging something out of his fingernails with his dirk.

“He wants to sit in the tub,” Harwin answered for him, thanking the gods his boots were still dry inside. Harwin smiled, longing for a horn himself. “Brother, you know where we will be if you change your mind,” he said as Edmund nodded to him, and he shut the door, following Osmond toward the end of the long hall. “Which room are they in?” he asked.

“The large one at the end. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to tell Peregrine that we should rent a wagon along with the mounts. The rest of the journey shouldn’t need burros.”

Osmond gruffed in protest, informing him that Julius was already with them; they had complaints so they summoned his brother.

Harwin shrugged back to him, “We only have another two days with them at the most.” he said to comfort Osmond as they descended the steps into the inn’s front parlour. The morning rains had died to a slight shower, he had noticed, when the eager innkeeper ran to them before they headed to the tavern.

He had provisions sent to Edmund and then inquired about their appetites, the innkeeper was still in full hospitality from Peregrine’s generosity, pointing them to a table.

While they were on their second horn, nibbling on good wheat bread and butter. Julius joined them with a long face, cursing the healer and Camille even more. Osmond goaded him, thinking it was due to his fright from the river. “Did your girlfriend call you a craven?”

“No, even worse, they are sacking us here,” Julius says bemoaning the situation. “I guess we have to ride those nasty creatures again in the morning.”

“The nerve of that Panhead!” Osmond cursed. “He still owes us something for this farce.” Harwin ignored the slight to his race as he knew that Camille finally got her way.

“They say they are grateful for our assistance, but watching us struggle on garrons this morning made us look like imbeciles,” Julius mutters in disappointment to Harwin.

“I’m sorry, mates. The innkeeper is sending wagons to Lonoke for ale, and they take passengers. The constables send escorts and Peregrine thinks it best they take the offer.”

“He thinks forty falcons is fair, maybe we should ask for a few more,” Julius asks, shrugging his shoulders in disappointment.

“I consider it good fortune.” Harwin says, “We can be back in Breeston no later than three days.” telling the pair as Osmond shakes his head with a big nod. “Don’t despair, this is a blessing to be done with these oddities.”

“It’s worth ten falcons to be done with them,” Osmond says with ale dripping from his beard. “We can figure out a way to get that inn.”

“Those are my friends there,” a voice rang out from the parlour, interrupting their dour mood.

“Bloody bollocks, no,” Julius complains. “Now I know this guy is following us?”

Rishard wore a huge grin, wet from the journey up with his mates in tow. He seemed to have found two more to add to his party as Osmond frowned while the man kept blabbering tidings as if they were their friends.

“I see you will be staying here, Rishard, what a coincidence,” Julius said with a smirk.

“You must have got out first thing this morning! We came after breaking our fast. My lads and I are soaked to the bone.” The man was having a good laugh.

“Have you met the twins? Blake and Donald. I found these lads a couple of years back while I was trying to sell yellow root and belladonna in Ankirk. They say little, but they are good lads,”

The two twins just stood mute behind their master, their faces flat and twisted with cropped black hair. Two goons stocked with muscle, as he laid eyes on them.

“I don’t remember seeing the other two,” Julius asked as Harwin looked them over. They weren’t foragers, both in leathers with dull eyes and dirks on their hips.

“They are our mates from here, we plan on a hunt in the mountains, a lot of Redthorn bush up there, the bark can fetch decent silver. Rishard says with a sly smile while studying them.

“Robin.” Harwin nodded to him. He was a mess under that wet mop. “Let me buy you a horn, lad,” He said to lighten his mood and oblige them a moment. Harwin was hoping that after a horn or two, the lot would abandon them to dry off.

They sat at a table. A long one at that, perched between two long benches so twenty men could sit together if needed. A tavern woman arrived and went back to fetch ale for them.

“We come here sometimes. It’s pricey for modest blokes, but the beds are superb. I plan to dig up here the entire fall. The first snow makes the cooper berries bloom.” Rishard says with a smile while glancing at Harwin.

“The apothecaries pay a premium for it in the Triad,” the forager said as the horns arrived. “You lads staying with your master in Lonoke?”

“Bloody no!” Osmond huffed. “We got sacked, probably cause of you bothering us.”

Harwin was hoping that Osmond would have said nothing, the admission would only entice them into lingering.

Everyone likes bad news Harwin knew. He noticed other travellers on garrons were seen as he gazed to the street from the inn’s entrance. The lads were waiting near it, expecting more guests.

“The place will fill in a few hours,” Rishard mentioned, chuckling a bit at their situation.

“Don’t despair at losing those two, I could see the discomfort they were since I first laid eyes upon them. Where are ya heading now? Might be a while until another boat arrives in Billingsley to sail you home.”

“You ask a bunch of questions?” Osmond said while downing a horn. Harwin cracked a smile, but his friend was right. He did ask too many questions.

“You are from Breeston?” Julius asked.

“I grew up in Tanner’s Square, but I never go there anymore. My head stays more under a rock than under a pillow,” he laughed. “The rich man you work for, he was a bit odd, not from here, that’s obvious? That woman, the vilest thing I’ve ever seen.” Rishard said, chuckling.

The men alongside Rishard laughed a bit at his jape. Their conversation was shortened by a thudding sound. A group of men came barging through the parlour in haste, pushing past the lads and up the stairs without looking for the innkeeper. “What could that be all about?” Harwin asked.

“Those lads are in a rush,” Osmond remarked, finishing another horn.

“We need to go back upstairs,” Harwin said to Julius, the serious stride in those men alarmed him.

“Stay with us, Harwin, let those men you’re concerned with handle their business,” Rishard insisted while leaning in tight to him. “They are only interested in that rich merchant, or whatever he may be. Have another horn with us.”

“Edmund!” Julius yelled out.

“Not any of your concern, but I think we need to discuss our business from the boat from earlier,” Rishard arrogantly mentions. “I think I feel a bit angry since it’s just us now.”

Harwin, in an impulsive fear, pulled out his dirk and buried it in Rishard’s free hand as he dropped his horn. The forager shrieked as he pulled one of the twins by the hair and buried his head in the table. “We’ve got to get to Edmund and save Peregrine!” he shouted. “No matter if he sacked us.”

The parley was so fast that Harwin left his dagger still embedded in Rishard’s hand, pulling the forager’s dirk quickly with his free hand, as one of his new mates was reaching for his.

The man got it out of his sheath, but Harwin was far quicker, burying Rishard’s dagger in his throat as he pulled back, reaching for the handle as he fell forward.

The other twin tried to reach for his cudgel, but Osmond had his axe free beside him where he sat, pulling it up instantly and raking its edge against the twin’s face, slicing him across the eyes as his scream was louder than his master’s.

The lads that worked at the inn saw the brutal quarrel and flew out the front entrance into the street. Julius was in shock as Robin became afraid, and turned to run to the steps.

Harwin yelled at him, stirring him from his panic as he freed his cudgel and struck the other goon in an uppercut motion hard to the chin, then smashing him across the jaw with a wild swing. Harwin held the other twin to the table, as Osmond was hitting him over and over with his cudgel until he went limp.

Osmond wasn’t done, chasing the young lad in a fury, throwing his axe as Harwin shouted at him to halt. At first, the throw was poor, and it hit the floor behind Robin.

Harwin felt relieved, watching as it struck the planks below, but the rounded back of its head hit fiercely, bouncing off the hard, oaken floors of the inn and spinning madly, lodging into the lad’s back as Harwin gasped in horror. Robin dropped flat on his face and was convulsing in spasms as he looked to be dying.

“Bollocks!” Harwin yelled as he punched Rishard across the jaw, knocking him cold with a clenched fist.

Footsteps caught their attention from behind as the watch arrived while they were trying to reach the parlour and climb the steps to the upper floors. “Drop your blades!” they heard, turning around to confront eight constables with long knives drawn.

“What do we do, Harwin?” Julius said in a panic.

“We yield,” Harwin told him, then pleaded to the constables, “Please, I beg you, we are being attacked. They have sent others to murder my mates upstairs; one is my brother.”

He dropped to his knees with hands up high, his mates following suit as Osmond screamed for them to listen. Rishard was still pinned to the table by Harwin’s dirk. The tavern was a grisly scene.

The blood was pooling from Robin who was dead on the floor. Others arriving off the trails were running in, staring inside, and turning away from the blood. His head was spinning, breathing in spasms with rotten thoughts.

“Do not move!” the sergeant yelled.

Harwin could hear loud voices from the upper floor. “My brother is dead, I know it.”