The grass of the town square is browned and patchy after a long hot summer with little to no rain. A casual viewer can barely distinguish the blood stains on the dark soil. Blood from the throat of the mayor Elden Redcloak who was murdered by the bandit chief Alferic while horrified villagers looked on. One might suppose the bandits thought to cow the peasants into submission by murdering their leader in cold blood. One might further suppose they had good reason to think this since Stonedale was a rustic backwater village of no more than one hundred seventy souls. The villagers were mostly composed of workers at the mines and the old quary and their families and various tradescrafters and merchants. However the bandits found out in a rather sanguine manner that they were wrong. Dead wrong.
The first bandit to go down under a heavy oaken and iron bound cudgel didn't even make a sound aside from the slight smack of wood on skull. Most of the bandits were unwary and feeling rather boisterous, cheered their lean wolfish leader on. They were oblivious to the rage simmering among the villagers, nor did they see the subtle yet dangerous signs of rebellion. Alferic, the bandit leader was holding onto the dead mayor's middle aged widow, who though a bit portly still had the flower of youth in her body and whose comely face had attracted the mayor and half the men of Stonedale and parts surrounding in her younger days. He was standing there with hands still bloodied with her husband's life, attempting to molest her in full view of her neighbors.
The next three bandits to go down under angry clubs caught Alferic's lust-driven attention, and that of his raucous followers. Quickly a battle ensued but it was quite one-sided as the bandits who, though better armed, were outnumbered three to one and almost entirely surrounded and off guard. Alferic quickly measured the odds and found them wanting. Before anyone could deter him he was on his horse and dragging the dead mayor's widow in front of him stomach down over the saddle, like a game carcass. With haste he spurred his horse on towards the edge of town, leaving his men to fend for themselves. As he reached that distance he cried out "Ye've won a small respite villagers, but heed me well! Yee will rue the day ye ever heard the name Alferic the wicked!" With that he rode off into the woods. The resistance of the remainder of the score of bandits was quickly quelled when they realized their abandonment.
One can hardly tell from viewing the houses and shops along the main square that these events occured in this pastoral town. Such violence does not often visit such forlorn outposts of humanity. Or rather they did not when the Kinguard Order of Knights and Soldiers actually performed their duties and patrolled the lands. Nowadays bandits lurk everywhere and a traveller better be armed and accompanied if he does not wish to part with purse and life. In fact this town is so peaceful now you would think it was held forever in the time before the chaos. But this is not a story about Stonedale as it is in the present but rather how it became so idylic and famous.
In the days following the battle in the town square of Stonedale village, the people discussed and debated their troubles. How to rescue their beloved Allinca? How to treat the bandit prisoners jailed temporarily in the basement of the town inn? How to protect their village from further intrusions and potentially great slaughter? Kilden the carpenter not known for his bright reparte or witty humor, nonetheless came up with a solution to these problems that almost all agreed upon. Messengers would be sent to other outlying villages and the nearby outpost of Kinguard. Accompanying the messenger to the Kinguard outpost along with half the village's men would be the chained prisoners. Let kinguard justice deal with these scum. Far be it for the town to be accused by some upstart magistrate of usurping their mandate of justice. The messages would call for help from those sellswords and freebooters who frequent the outlands in hopes of bounties. There would be a reward. Marriage to several attractive young daughters, some land, livestock and stakes in the local mines. (The quary has long since been shut down and thus was not available for working at that time because the remaining stone is unsuitable for building purposes.) The message read as follows:
"Hark Valient Adventurer and Sellsword! Wealth and good fortune awaits the brave in the secluded town of Stonedale! Bring your weapons and courage for we are beset by troubles and will reward the hardy well. Our fair damsel Allinca, widow to the deceased mayor has been kidnapped by a foul rogue. We seek her freedom and his death and or capture. He is the local head thug in a gang of badly organized thieves who dwell in the shadows of our old quary and the mountains surrounding it. In addition to 100 gold Pheonix Crowns, we are offering a wife and land to the hero(es) who free us off these ills and put an end to this knavery. Please come quickly and well armed!"
The messenger would read this message in each town square and then post it among the bulletins or in the local public house. Several youths well known for their ability to handle woodcraft and their ability to either remember verbatim or read well were chosen to be messengers and given provisions and horses (though not ones suitable perhaps for long distance travel) and bid good fortune and speedy returns.
Vincent rolled out of the poster bed, somehow managing to leave the sweet lass sleeping in his bed undisturbed. With stealth born of years spent wandering in dangerous lands, and dealing with the sordid side of life, he dressed quickly. He donned his leather armor peices, glad for the extra warmth they provided in the predawn hours of the fall morning. He combed his long brown hair a few times to make himself feel presentable, and then strapped on his swords. The greatsword in a long leather and silver scabbard was strapped across his tall frame with the hilt rising over the back of his head. The ornate and bejeweled short sword with the very used and worn grip strapped to his right side. Last he grabbed his broad brimmed hat with the dyed blue goose feather and paused for a moment to admire the naked beauty before him. She slept on, perhaps dreaming of the various things they did together a few hours before. A smile lurked casually on her face and her body was relaxed across the width of the bed completely at peace.
Vincent departed from the inn with the same caution he used to leave his room. Somehow he managed to avoid stepping on any of the half dozen roadweary travelers camped across the commons floor as he found his way to the back gate and let himself out into the dewy chill air. As he reached the stables entrance he noticed several things amiss. The horses who should be sleeping still were restive and making unhappy noises within. Also the outside gate where a guard is supposed to stand watch was unlatched and unlit. No lantern shone out onto the road beyond. He was not at all surprised when he came face to face with the eight kinguard soldiers searching the stable stalls. They, being fairly disciplined as soldiers go, also were not terribly surprised to see him. In an orderly fashion they gathered together and drew their hand axes and maces. Steadily they approached him and wordlessly spread out to surround him.
One of the soldiers more impatient than the rest charged forward swinging his mace wildly hoping to catch Vincent offguard. Vincent reacted calmly and lethally, somehow getting his six and a half foot, twenty five pound sword out and almost casually cutting the charging soldier in half through leather and chainlink armor. The rest stopped short aghast. One muttered..."They had to send us against HIM. They couldn't have sent us to find someone detainable or even killable." Another whispered back "Shut it Sam! Together we can take him. He is only human like us." Again they moved forward as a group, closing their circle slowly and carefully, leaving Vincent no chance to escape if he wished to. Escape was not even passing through Vincent's mind. He was busy not thinking, letting events happen as they would.
For several moments that stretched like hours, stillness gripped the men in the stables in a macabre tableau of timeless conflict and tension. Then in the blink of an eye it was all over. Seven dead bodies joined the decapitated one. Vincent with utmost devotion cleaned his mighty blade on the clothes of the fallen soldiers. Then he methodically searched them for their orders and coinage. After doing this he arranged each body neatly in repose and spoke a mumbled half remembered prayer from his childhood over the corpse before moving on to the next. This ritual he performed almost automatically and he never really thought much about why. It just seemed right. These soldiers, perhaps corrupt, might have deserved death, but they were not his true enemy. His true foe was well far out of his reach for now. Perhaps someday he'd have a chance at revenge.
Finally the last body he came to had the orders he expected. As he suspected some townsperson near here had described him to a local watch sergeant after he passed through. Apparently the warrant for his arrest was not only still active but a 500 crown reward was being offered. Vincent sighed reflectively. He pondered the waste of human life such pursuit caused. He could just head to Valksberg and turn himself in to the magistrate there and beg mercy of the courts. However, despite a lack of evidence to back the charges against him, the magistrates of Valksberg were not immune to bribery and his enemy had surely sown that field with rich rewards should Vincent decide to go that route. He would recieve no fair trial nor a chance to prove his innocence. Not that Vincent was innocent of much. He was a scoundrel by his own account and often joked to his few friends that he could live no life but the rogue sellsword's wandering ways. Being a vagabond he would say leads to many opportunities of fortune and adventure. Besides, selling his sword was often a more honorable way of life than many he had witnessed in his hundred twenty or so seasons.
He found his steed, Nickelthorne, quietly waiting for him in her stall. The grey-brown dappled mare, though slightly lame by a thorn in her youth was a reliable and well adjusted mount. She never complained, travelled long and hard and never fled from battle or trouble. She even saved Vincent's life once by pulling him out of a bog by his collar when he lost his footing. She could be counted among the few friends he had and one of the very few beings he loved wholeheartedly. Her saddle and saddle bags were just where he left them the day before. The tack was polished and her coat shone with good health from a recent and thorough currying. On their way out of the stable, he noticed the stable boy, unconscious but not dead. Careful not to wake up the boy he slipped one of the coinbags he found on the soldiers in the boy's apron pocket. No one else was stirring as the sun topped the first hills with a sparkling crown. But a cock's first crow could be heard not far off. Steadily Vincent and Nickelthorne headed west. away from the rising sun.
The day after Vincent awoke to the predawn attack in the stables, he and his mare Nickelthorne spent most of it traveling through heavy downpour and high winds. Water soaked everything, from the mare's grey hide to the clothes Vincent wore, to the broadbrimmed hat on his head. The blue dyed goose feather drooped lazily as if standing up to so much water was more job than it had signed on for. Vincent felt cross. He was not a big admirer of water, particularly not cold, bonechilling water. He was certainly not in love with being drenched continuously on a long journey with an uncertain destination. He hoped to find some border baron in need of soldiers and not too picky to hire a sellsword from the more urban areas of the land. He suppressed the urge to sneeze often and turned his thoughts inward, think of the distant past. Anything to pass the time until the sun shone once more. He sniffled alot and was miserable but being stoic he suffered in silence vowing that the next civilized place they stopped hed get a hot bath and some mulled applewine or whatever passed for mild liquor in these parts. Vincent didn't believe in drinking heavily. A light buzz was all he wanted ever. Anything more might impair his ability in a crisis. And since he lived with crisis as his constant companion he never wanted to be impaired.
Lost in revery, and letting Nickelthorn find her own way, Vincent did not at first notice the sounds of clashing metal and grunts occasioned by yelps of pain or invective. As he drew nearer however he realized the clatter was coming from a clearing up ahead and not from his memory of past skirmishes which he happened to be thinking about just then. Instantly alerted from his malaise, he drew out his lightweight crossbow from its oilskin case and nocked a bolt from its adjacent quarrelcase into the slotted mechanism across the bow. Using the hand crank he drew the trigger back until the cord was set just behind the bolt feathers. Then he slowly and deliberately dismounted, leaving the reigns across the saddle, knowing Nickelthorne would not leave nor follow him.
Through the driving rain he could see three figures at the other end of the clearing struggling in some manner. As he approached stealthily around the inside edge of the woods he could discern more information about the scene. Two men dressed for wilderness living and armed with badly made iron broadswords were attempting to kill a lithe figure a bit shorter than them weilding a short treebranch as a one-handed club and a steel dagger in the off hand. None of the combatants were aware of his presence yet. Vincent sidled closer through the trees and took careful aim at the taller of the two assailants. He figured them for bandits and whomever the other person was they would be easier to deal with later once he felled the cowardly duo.
Unfortunately as Vincent was moving closer and about to pull the trigger of the crossbow, his left foot slipped in the muddy composted leaves. This caused him to tighten his grip on the crossbow, firing the bolt towards the melee. The bolt struck the ground between the two bandits alerting the shorter one to his presense. As this happened the other figure (a lad of no more than 60 seasons perhaps) stabbed at the taller bandit with his dagger and swung the club up to block the sword blow coming at his his head. Vincent observed that the boy was fighting very well for someone obviously untrained. Fortune sometimes favors the energetic, he supposed. As Vincent pondered this he dropped the crossbow and drew his great sword leaving the trees behind. The short bandit rushed at Vincent and attempted to get inside the immense reach of the greatsword. He was not quick enough and he fell in a lifeless heap facedown in the muddy grass.
The tall bandit was busy beating the club from the boy's hand with his sword and trying to keep himself from being stabbed by the sharp point of the kid's dagger. He did not notice the tip of a very sharp blade protruding from his chest until he was already dead. He slid off the swordblade, collapsing in a mess at the boy's astonished feet. The boy who was unaware of Vincent until then (being entirely and justifiably preoccupied with saving his skin) looked shocked, relieved and fearful all at once. Vincent's dour face at being damp and uncomfortable probably added to the feircesome effect his unexpected swordsmanship created. Vincent could be imposing when angry. Doubly so because he stood taller than most men and his muscles were pronounced and wellshaped even hidden beneath armor and loose clothing. But Vincent was not angry. Merely really annoyed at his misfortune to not be in a nice dry place somewhere enjoying the company of the fairer sex. His scowl was almost perfunctory.
The kid gathered up his haversack and collected its spilled and soaked contents from nearby while staring fearfully at Vincent as the mercenary performed his usual ritual of cleansing his weapons, gathering his crossbow, looting and arranging the bodies and praying over them. As the rain began to let up the kid had the thought to leave (perhaps hoping to be forgotten), but the scalp wound he bore and the blood loss from the cut on his arm determined that he should instead feel the need to lie down. Vincent called for Nickelthorne by whistling a particular bird call. She came trotting slowly out of the woods, and whickered reproachfully. Perhaps saying how much she wished she could have had some of the "fun." Vincent absently pet her as he rummaged through the dry saddlebags finally finding a fairly clean linen shirt.
He approached the fallen lad with the shirt in one hand and a silver flask in the other. With practiced strokes he managed to clean both major wounds and bandage them with peices of the linen shirt. Then assured that the boy would not be dying quite yet he put the boy over one shoulder and whistled for Nicklethorne to follow. He tramped through the wet grass to the other side of the clearing where he'd seen a small firepit. He carefully laid the unconscious boy next to the firepit and walked off into the woods searching for tinder and kindling, leaving the mare to stand watch. Vincent was not happy about having to attempt fire starting with his flint and steel in this damp weather but the necessity for getting heat into the boy took precedence over his own discomfort. He tried to avoid taking green wood opting for wetter but deader pieces that would not create lots of unnecessary noxious smoke.
Foster left Stonedale on an urgent errand from his elders. On the very first day, his horse went lame and Foster sent it back to the town, calmly accepting his bad luck. Not much new there. Things were always happening to people around Foster that led him into not so great situations. Like how he got his name. His birth name was Pare Smeltersen but his father, Pare senior, and his mom Lillan died early in his childhood, leaving him a ward of the town. The elders decreed that each family in town would share responsibilty for his upbringing. As a result his name became "Foster".
No one wanted to remember Pare or Lillan. They were well liked and very young. Most of the townsfolk were ashamed of their untimely death. The villagers all rushed to put out the fire but it was too late. Foster, out playing in the corn fields, came back only in time to find out that his ill-luck had killed his family. As one of the younger families his parents had been given a mostly wooden house, not completely finished yet. The town mason and carpenter were to finish it come high spring. That day never came. Foster figured the fire started because he had forgotten to properly bank the morning embers before running off to play. It was his chore among few others. The townsfolk saw it differently and felt guilty for not making the smeltersens a better home. But that is just an example of how Foster's luck ran. If there were two people walking somewhere hazardous and one of them was someone Foster liked, they would be the one to suffer the most damage from any accident that befell them. Foster took this in stride figuring it was his destiny to be a bad luck symbol for those around him. If He didnt become sullen or chase people away nor did he work on being friends with people. His philosophy was simple. Live quietly, keep to himself and try to avoid mishaps.
Then the bandits came. And they killed the poor Mayor. And the townsfolk revolted and chased off or captured the bandits. But pretty Allinca was kidnapped and no one knew where the bandit chief Alferic had taken her. Foster figured her kidnapping and the death of her husband was because he didn't warn the village in time that the bandits were approaching. He'd been wandering on the old road looking for berries and small game and other amusements when he saw them approaching. Stealthy as a bunny in winter he managed to climb into a ditch and cover himself in leaves. Not one bandit noticed him as they strode by confident, bawdy and filled with imaginations of how they would deal with the villagers ahead. Alferic was not one to hold his crew in a tight rein so the bandits travelled rather noisily and not particularly fast. Foster, thinking back figured he might have been able to creep around them and give warning to the villagers if he could have just extracted himself from the leaves and moved. But he didn't. He found when he wanted to move that his limbs would not respond. His paralysis lasted until long after the sun had set. He finally managed to walk back into town and no one even remarked on his absence. His current foster mother, Britta, wife of "Too-tall" Madric the kettle and pot merchant, simply tsked at his appearance and made him go take a cold bath in the back behind the house.
Then during the emergency meeting to elect a new mayor and do something about the current situation, he volunteered to be a rider. He was very woodswise and good at finding trails when lost. He was able to handle a horse without scaring it and no one would miss him if he were to fail in his mission. The elders agreed readily and sent him along with a few others to the Ferrier for fresh horses. Foster was happy for the chance to prove himself valuable, to do something of importance and to get away from the town which seemed to no longer be a pleasant place to live anymore. Things went well until his horse stepped off the road into a hole and lamed his foreleg. Foster managed to assure himself that the gelding would live and sent him back towards the town, in which direction the horse was glad to head. Then rain came and Foster slipped in the mud of the road and skinned his knees and arms. Which was okay because Foster was used to such minor injuries having had plenty of similar accidents in the past.
The bandits who set up on him caught him as he was attempting to round a large hill by going through a thick woods. He entered the glade where they were resting and could not get away from them in time. He put up an intense fight because though he cared not much for his own self he worried about all the people who depended on his mission. If he did not arrive in the next town to pass on the message the townsfolk could end up with no help at all. And if the bandits looted his possessions and could read (which was a possibility though not a major one) they might discover his mission and go join up with Alferic. Then the bandit chief would be forwarned and strike sooner or kill the lovely Allinca. Foster really did not want that to happen. Half his afternoon day dreams were about the full figured and kind first lady of Stonedale. He could barely stand the thought that she was being forced to be a captive to some barbaric bandit with delusions of grandeur. If she died, there would be no reason to go on anyway. So he fought harder and with more courage than he had ever done anything in his life.
When Foster opened his eyes and found himself alive lying on a damp wool cloak, bandaged and relatively warm he was shocked. It took him time to aclimate to the idea that he managed to survive a fight to the death with two grown men who had swords to his knife and cudgel and who clearly meant to slay him for his belongings. Vincent came into Foster's focus as he grew more alert and awake. Oh yes this stranger with the gigantic sword somehow killed his enemies with the ease of long practice. But Vincent didnt look to him much like a soldier. Nor a bandit. He was fairly well dressed for a traveller in rainy late fall weather. He did wear what looked to be authentic well used leather armor in the form of greeves, bracers, gloves, chest plate and boots but his other clothing was that of a cityman. Perhaps even a bard or a noble. Vincent did not appear foppish or flashy in anyway, just very well and cleanly dressed for someone who carried such lethal weapons with such skill.
After introductions and a meal of roasted wild pheasant, and watercress, They traded their stories of why they were in this particular neck of the woods. Foster told Vincent the grim tale of his village's plight. He also showed him the message entrusted to him. Vincent read the parchment without comment, rolled it up and returned it to Foster. He then stood up, stretched and suggested the lad should get some sleep. He would heal faster if he did not stay awake worrying all night. Vincent made his own bed from pine needles and his saddle blanket. As far as Foster could percieve Vincent was asleep instantly upon laying his head on his saddle bags. Foster envied Vincent his calm detatchment. So readily able to adapt to whatever situation seemed to appear. But then again, Foster too was able to adapt. Just not without the worry and nervous feelings in his gut. Eventually he fell asleep and dreamt of fonder days.
Vincent woke the lad at the crack of dawn with a bowl of hot porridge with sliced apple and a terse command to eat up and be ready to move soon. Vincent with camp already broken sat on his still damp cloak waiting for Foster to fully wake up and finish his breakfast. He introduced Foster to Nicklethorne who consented to carry the boy with a snuffling snort after Vincent gave her the remaining apple slices he was holding. They travelled fast once they found the road and with Foster to guide Vincent they headed directly towards Stonedale. They encountered no one on the lonely path except for the usual insects, birds and bunnies. The air was brisk, cool and smelled faintly of snow to Vincent.
Knight-sergeant Sir Wilhelm Rosewulf of the Kinguard was not happy. His commander, Sir Berke Theinden ordered him to defend the fortress and left on an unspecified errand with half the garrisoned soldiers. Not to imply that Wilhelm desired his commander be around. Sir Theinden was notoriously bad tempered and a drunkard to boot. Not so much a drunkard that the Knights Superior Council would oust him from his appointment. But enough so that when he had time to kill he was often face down on his desk with an empty bottle of Northern Frost Brandy. If anyone dared waken the commander he was liable to be quite punitive once he recovered from his hangover. No one disturbed him and everyone walked on eggshells when he did finally arise. Wilhelm despised his commander.
Theiden was a bully and not even nobility. He achieved his rank the old fashion way; He bribed his way up the hierarchy. That and he was occasionally lucky and accomplished things no one else seemed to. Wilhelm knew that was mostly because despite being a bullying lush and incompetant Theiden knew how to delegate. And more importantly, who to delegate to. For example, some commanders might worry their sergeant would decamp or cause problems while they were gone but Theiden knew Wilhelm would never be lax in his duties. Wilhelm was a true knight through and through. Much to his chagrin Theiden often rubbed this in his face.
The reason Wilhelm currently felt unhappy was represented in the form of the messenger standing before him. A townsman from one of the rural villages nearby. Wilhelm squinted up at the man but did not interrupt his narrative. Bandits were not new in the outlands. Unlike the more civilized parts of the land this area was rife with rebellion, and criminals often ran this way to escape legal troubles. On the other hand there were not so many people in the outlands. A desolate march along a hostile border, most people were afraid to live this far to the west. Across the Silverspike mountain range were ravening monsters and perhaps even dragons. In any case no one hardly ever crossed those peaks and even fewer came back. Except the Milrothi Hordes, against whom the fortresses were guarded in all seasons by veteran soldiers.
This messenger brought ill news of organization among the bandits. And he brought prisoners. All of whom must be fed, and boarded until their trials and executions. Wilhelm was not one to summarily take the lives of criminals until they were properly convicted. Also he could not hang these particular bandits so easily with civilians being their apprehenders. Wilhelm cursed his luck under his breath and then cursed Burke as well. That bastard whoreson couldn't handle an army with any skill at all but he was a deft hand dealing with logistics and citizens. Legally, Wilhelm was in between the proverbial rock and hardplace. Any citizen was allowed to request protection of the Kinguard if they were being threatened or harmed by criminals. Kinguard soldiers were often despised privately but looked to publically for order and safety. This represented the hardplace.
The fortress was the rock. He could hardly spare a single man to hunt down bandits. Particularly if there was really a bandit army about. He would need to wait for reinforcements. His whole compliment of manpower would not suffice to defend an unfortified town without reinforcements. He sighed and kneeded his forehead while staring at the tear in the man's shirt. A working man no doubt, his shirt was simple yet well dyed highquality cotton. Expensive for an outlander but not an unheard of luxery. Stonedale he recalled used to be quite lively for a border town. There was once alot of commerce between there and the cities because of the wonderful stone quarried from its surrounding land. Now it was just another backwater village. The average urban dweller would barely know its name unless they'd been there.
Once the man wound his tale down, Wilhelm rose from his armchair and walked over to him. He placed a friendly hand on the man's shoulder and recieved a dubious look for his trouble. No doubt the man was expecting Wilhelm to be outraged and ready to march to Stonedale's defense. Wilhelm did feel outrage that bandits could feel confident enough to attempt to take over a town with the Kinguard's reach. Also he felt a detatched sorrow for the death of the mayor. By all acounts the mayor of Stonedale was no more corrupt than any other, perhaps less than many. The kidnapping of the Mayor's wife presented his most tricky problem. He should by all rights send out a search party to arrest the "Bandit Chief" Alferic and free the good woman. In fact if he failed to do so he could face a martial trial of ordeals for negligence and dereliction of duty. He would certainly be demoted, perhaps even lose his status as a knight no matter the outcome of such a trial.
He assured the townsman he would arrange for a squadron to escort him back to the village and keep watch while waiting for reinforcements. The man's worried look faded and he faintly smiled as if unsure if he should. Wilhelm patted him on the back and nodded to the Soldier standing at the door to escort the man to the guest quarters. The rest of the day passed quickly as he gave orders and checked lists and sent out messages. Eventually a magistrate would arrive and would need to be escorted to Stonedale to hold the trials of the Bandits. So with his request for the magistrate, Wilhelm sent a request for reinforcements of both the garrison and additional troops to act as the Magistrate's honor guard. Also he would need to keep enough men in the fortress to keep any impending barbarian armies from breaching the walls. He sighed and rubbed his forehead knowing he would not be sleeping soon.
With Nicklethorne carrying Foster, Vincent lead the way and they made fairly good time. The weather was cold but dry. They arrived near the outskirts of Stonedale long before first snow set in. As they drew near they spied that a new roughly hewn wooden stockade had been erected surounding its perimeter including all but the most outlying buildings. The normally wooded area was cleared within one hundred steps of the palisade. A Kinguard flag was flying from a pole atop a tall building near the entrance. Helmeted and armored soldiers stood guard at the only entrance bearing halberds and crossbows, looking very alert. Vincent balked. He was not afraid of the Kinguard but he was not willing to walk into a possible ambush. Nor did he wish to slay potential defenders of the beset village. Feigning disinterest, he sent Foster ahead saying he would be doing some scouting in the vicinity. Foster, not understanding, had the idea Vincent was giving up, and pled with him not to do so. Vincent smirking told him not to worry. He was not one to accept defeat easily nor would he break his word once given.
Foster came up with a plan after the two stood for awhile in the woods watching the town. Foster would bring Nicklethorne into town with him and secretly talk with the elders. He would tell them he found a tracker who is willing to hunt for Alferic and Allinca for the reward money of course. The rest of the plan involved Vincent avoiding the Kinguard and rescuing the mayor's widow. Once he found Allinca he would return her to vicinity of the town and Foster would bring him his horse and reward. Vincent, while not a trusting man in general, decided Foster's idea was their best solution for now. Or at least until he could find a way past the Kinguard. Meanwhile, Foster would simply declare Nicklethorne his if challenged by any Kinguard soldier who might recognize the unusually colored mare. He knew the townsfolk would not give away his lie. Stonedale like many outlying places values its secrets and shares them reluctantly with outsiders. Especially with those in authority like the Kinguard whom most feared as much as they were glad for their presense.
Foster's part of the plan worked like a well rehearsed play. Everyone fit into their roles with ease and soon Foster was back in Madric and Britta's cottage, eating Britta's onion soup, and telling those gathered there all about his misadventures. When he got to telling them about Nicklethorne and her erstwhile favorite rider, he shared everything except the part about Vincent being wanted by the Kinguard. While the villagers might not be too trusting of the soldiers a few would leap at the chance to reap the rich reward Vincent's capture would bring. Nevermind the jeopardy they placed Allinca in by the consequence of such a betrayal. Foster finally convinced Vincent to share the truth with him during their discussion of Vincent's reticence regarding the soldiers at the gate. But Foster kept those details out of the story and never mentioned Vincent's name, refering to him as a kind mercenary. At tale's end the villagers welcomed him back as a hero and praised his survival of the viscious attack by the ruffians in the woods. Some wished to see his wounds and oohed when they saw the gruesomeness under his bandages. More villagers showed up filling the tiny cottage with good cheer and festivities late into the night hours. Foster, uncomfortable with the added attention, retired to his haybed before the celebrations ended. He dreamed of better days, marrying Allinca as he matured. In his dreams she did not age nor show signs of loosing her beauty. His face held a grin the entire time he slept until the cockerell's crowing woke him at dawn.
Vincent crept carefully around the town and began attempting to sort tracks. Even for an experienced hunter the tracks and signs of passage were barely detectable or sortable. He was able to determine which footprints belonged to the hobnailed feet of the soldiers and which belonged to the soft shoes of the villagers for the most part but some defied identification. Finally he found tracks leading away from the town that looked to be from a poorly shod set of hooves. Based on Foster's description of the bandits that struck the town, Vincent could believe this horse might be ridden by the bandit chief, Alferic. The trail led around quite a few switchback trails. And drew ever closer upwards to the mountains. Pacing himself was difficult. Vincent while used to living outdoors in recent times really desired to be done with this task, to collect his reward and find a comfortable place to hole up before deep winter. Winter in the mountains would lead to all kinds of problems. Not the least of which would be Vincent starving to death as game grew scare.
The day passed and the sun hid behind the mountain range. Vincent, exhausted, finally found a pine tree to sleep under and collapsed. He woke hours later to find himself face down over someone's mule. Harsh voices laughing hit his ears and he knew he had fallen into the hands of his very quarry. He could feel his sharp shortbladed weapon still sheathed at his hip but the weight of his greatsword was missing from his back. Which he considered, could be a boon, since he was unlikely be able to weild it mounted poorly as he was. His hands were very well tied behind him and his feet felt numb which told him they were also tightly bound. Vincent rarely gave into fear and this was no exception. He knew at some point an opportunity would come to break free and he would be ready when it came. What made him ponder was why his shortsword remained in its well oiled scabbard. Clearly the bandits would not want him armed. Bandits always go for the easy kill. Which led to the next question. He had been found asleep. Why would any self respecting bandit leave him alive when given the opportunity to kill a clearly fearsome foe at no cost.
~7~ A rude awakening.The motion of the mule stopped at the sharp bark of a command. The command came from a voice very much unlike any bandit Vincent knew. In fact Vincent almost recognized the voice. Not quite but almost. It rasped on his ears like a file finding the dull edge of a blade. He found himself being unceremoniously deposited on the floor with a grunt as hands roughly picked him up and tossed him off the mule. The mule not liking the way it was being treated evidently bit someone hard because there was a yelp, a curse and then the cry of pain as someone hit the mule in the nose. Sudden light filled Vincent's vision as a hood was yanked off his head. Blinking in the morning light he could distinguish shadows and bodies but not details. Sudden wetness blinded him again momentarily as someone dumped filthy water over his head.
Shaking his head he looked around again and saw Kinguard soldiers standing around him. They looked at ease, apparently unworried about his legendary fighting prowess now that he was helplessly bound and gagged. Vincent discovered the gag as he tried to clear his throat. Someone dragged it off his face and thrust a canteen in his mouth. He sipped carefully knowing he would retch if he drank too much at once. The voice spoke again grabbing his attention and focusing it on the most rugged face he ever saw. Scars crisscrossed the face of the man like fine art lines drawn by a careful artist.
Vincent squinted and reassessed his first impression of the speaker. The man was obviously drunk. But not so drunk as to be incoherent. In fact that made him seem even more dangerous than when Vincent thought he was sober. Vincent considered denying the surname as it was not his but he knew that some of the Kinguard refered to him in that way to remind themselves of his deadliness. The D'Vaerin surname while noble was sufficiently historied in bloodletting and cruelty to make innocents shudder whenever they heard it uttered. The last, late and unlamented Lord D'Vaerin slaughtered the village under his care to the man, woman and child rather than allow them to revolt against his extraordinarily high taxes. The Kinguard finally caught him and seiged his castle. Nothing was left but smoking ruins.
If he was not dead it was because this man had plans for him. And based on the demeanor displayed the plans did not require a corpse just yet or entail a long trek and trial in the cities to the east. Vincent hoped the man was a talker. As it turned out, the Kinguard leader's name was Sir Berke Theinden. These Kinguard were in the middle of an armsdeal with a local bandit chief and Vincent was just unfortunate enough to fall into their hands as they moved towards the rendezvous point. Vincent would be traded as part of the deal. Alferic the bandit chief was collecting slaves to sell in the southern kingdoms to fund his growing army.
After the exchange, Vincent learned, the Kinguard renegades would attack their brethren in Stonedale, slaughter everyone, and make it look as if bandits had done the job. This was also part of the deal with Alferic who was paying Sir Theinden a large sum of gold and stolen goods for his services and weapons. Apparently Alferic had no desire to do the dirty work himself. Sir Theiden would be providing the bandits with the location of a secret backway into the fortress. Alferic would slaughter whomever remained there and open the open the place to his allies the barbarians. Soon the whole western lands would be under attack. The plan unfolded for Vincent over time as the Commander bragged relentlessly. He was happy to have a captive audience who had not heard his brilliance yet.
Vincent schemed and waited for his moment to escape and wreak havoc on the Kinguard but it never came. The soldiers might have become renegades but they were no fools. They kept his shortsword, scabbard and all, and stripped him of his leather armor peices. He was clapped in irons as soon as they dragged him into their camp and in irons he stayed until the bandits took custody of him and put a collar on his neck. Lead through the depths of a cavern complex, he was finally pushed through a makeshift door into a cavern containing other slaves-to-be. They removed the irons as they clamped the collar chain to a wall.
Apparently this Alferic had no interest in him personally except for the profit he would garner selling Vincent to some distant slave master. Unlike Theinden he seemed to have no need to taunt his captives. In one corner, a bit away from the other slaves a woman cried into her lap, hands over her head. Her clothes were torn and dirty but finely made. She wore a shawl, blue cotton blouse and long skirts. There were tears here and there indicating someone had forced themselves on her. Vincent winced as he scrutinized her bruises and cuts. One in particularly looked as if it was festering.
Vincent made friends with the other prisoners with his easy manner and ready charm. He also managed to charm some of the ruffians watching over them with a conversation concerning gambling and odds. After a while the bandits let down their guards and treated Vincent casually. He managed to get someone to give him clean bandages and his old silvered flask in order to clean Lady Allinca's wounds which were causing her to become feverish. A few days passed and Vincent bided his time waiting for the right moment to subdue the bandits guarding him and the other slaves-to-be.
The second day after his capture and exchange he found his chance. Alferic had come to taunt his prisoners and reappraise their value. Vincent slumped against the wall near Allinca appeared dead to the world as he snored. Alferic feeling the prisoners posed no threat let the other bandits go off gambling in the next room. Some were trying new tricks taught them by Vincent.
Leering with a salacious grin Alferic leaned close to taunt Allinca. His breath moved the hair across her face. He wanted to see the fire in her eyes again and was not disappointed. He was so focused on this pleasure he crouched with his back turned towards Vincent. Vincent with a sudden violence grabbed the chain attaching him to the wall and wrapped it ever so tightly around Alferic's windpipe. Alferic attempted to yell for help but all that came out was a gasp and a wretching sound. Allinca seeing her chance at last, grabbed him by the nether regions and twisted visciously. Alferic was soon helpless from the pain and the lack of air.
Allinca treated him to a few well aimed kicks before grabbing his knife and slipping it into his heart. Vincent meanwhile searched Alferic's corpse for the keys to his his collar. Silently nodding to Allinca to approach, he unlocked her collar after he unlocked his own. As she started to speak he motioned her to silence. Along the wall he unlocked the other prisoners and cautioned each to silence as well. He then took the knife once owned by Alferic and now held by Allinca and crept without making any sound towards the entrance to the next room. Raucous laughter emitted from within as a grizzled greybearded bandit told a joke concerning the horniness of their leader. As the man told the punch line, Vincent rushed into the room and swiftly cut the throat of the nearest bandit. Moving quickly while the rogues recovered from their shock and surprise he finished off three more. The remaining two drew short swords but then backed away.
These men were criminals but not hardened killers. They were used to easy pickings and had no heart for combat with such an obviously professional fighter. The grey beard chuckled nervously as he laid his sword down and back even further into the cave. His mate was not so smart. As Vincent apparently relaxed the fool rushed forward hoping to get his blow in unseen. Vincent did not even turn to face him. He merely waited until the man was within arm's reach, spun and sliced along under his chin from ear to ear. The man never even raised his sword to strike. The grey beard eyed the exit and eyed Vincent. Vincent made no move to stop him so he decided to run for it. Vincent threw the knife in his hand unerringly. The old bandit toppled over dead with the knife through his back. This was not the kind of killing Vincent was used to and he sighed to himself. These men were clearly desperate to be following the likes of Alferic with his mad schemes of conquest and loot.
At least the Kinguard were trained as thugs before they went around terrorizing innocents. Vincent had no qualms about ending the life of a soldier. Kill or be killed is the maxim of the battlefield after all. Killing poorly trained peasants turned into criminals by circumstance and desperation was quite another tale entirely. One he would not like to be repeated in his hearing. He stopped brooding after a moment and performed his rituals of looting and arranging the dead. Then he returned to Allinca. They needed to escape the caverns soon before the rest of the bandits caught on. Vincent as a trained warrior knew he could slaughter most of the brigands but the cost would be high and he was not prepared to have those unnecessary deaths on his concience.
Using stealth and caution, he lead the prisoners out of the caves along a torturous route past an underground stream out onto the side of a hill into bright morning light. The freed prisoners were grateful but afraid. Not all of them were from towns in the area. Some were travellers kidnapped out of roadside inns and had no idea how to get back to where they belonged. Chagrinned, Vincent realized he would be responsible for them until he could bring them to a safe town. Allinca then reminded him that Stonedale needed to be warned and presumably the fortress too. She proposed she lead the ex-prisoners to the fort to warn them, and possibly raise a rescue party for the town. Vincent would head in the opposite direction and warn the Kinguard in the town. Hopefully they would believe him and manage to repel the renegade attack. Hopefully his warning would be heeded and not arrive too late. Her plan was persuasive and sensible.
~8~ A warning in time.Snow fell that afternoon. Vincent cursed his luck and wished for his hat long lost to the corrupt Kinguard patrol. At least he managed to recover some weapons and armor peices before he escaped. Then as he trudged through the falling snow he cheered up a bit. He realized that the renegade soldiers would not want to march in snow with their metal armor. They would bivouack until the storm let up. Even corrupt soldiers are smart enough to know that the condition of their equipment mattered alot. Not that officers in the Kinguard were always sageous about such matters but Sir Theinden would not be one of those. Despite clearly being a lush he looked like he knew how to take care of his gear.
Yes, Vincent was certain he would gain a little time now. One man on foot was always a little faster than a small army marching over woodland terrain. Especially one wise in the ways of woodcraft. As it was Vincent guessed the soldiers were skirting the woods as much as possible which meant a slightly longer and harder trek through the foothills above the woodline.
As the sun rose on the third day Vincent could see the snow-covered palisades still stood. A pair of halberd weilding Kinguard soldiers stood out front looking particularly bored and uncomfortable in the cold. Vincent began to remember his own cold limbs and the near-frostbite on his fingers and toes. Shivering, he forced himself to walk slowly and with dignity into plain view with his hands well clear of his weaponry. The Kinguard alerted to his presense, became immediately belligerant, ordering him to halt and state his name and business. Apparently these two didn't recognize Vincent on sight and Vincent almost felt a twinge of irritation at that. He prided himself on being famous. Or infamous as it were. He stated his name and purpose.
The effect of his words on the guards was immediate. Both looked with alarm when he stated his name and raised their halberds. As he desribed the coming attack they looked more sceptical. They stood there for a few moments before the seniormost of them said:
With this said he turned slightly and nodded once to his fellow guard who immediately ran through the open gate nearly tripping on his polearm. Vincent disarmed his visible weapons and stood relaxed, arms akimbo staring patiently at the guardsman. To his credit the guard did not flinch. Much. Vincent appraised him and figured him for a career soldier. Probably served in several major battles along the borders and knew his job well enough. Vincent could respect a soldier who did his job despite it being uncomfortable and disagreeable. He drew the line at soldiers who zealously slaughter innocents in the name of doing their jobs however.
His feet grew fairly numb from standing still in the snow so long before the watch commander arrived at the gate. A big man with a swarthy complexion and a clean military bearing, Watch Commander Ergetti Slan made the impression of a serious person on all he talked with. While on duty. Offduty his fellow soldiers knew him to be a practical joker and rather humorous friend to have. He looked entirely grim and business-like as he approached the stranger standing at ease in a half foot of snow. The insolence of the stranger was obvious but so too was the fact that the stranger was in no way nervous or fretful. He felt at once that the stranger's message would be true. He had never seen Vincent before but he knew the reputation of the fiercesome outlaw. Most Kinguard hated his name with passion. He was renowned for the slaughter of Kinguard soldiers whereever he met them. On the battlefield and off. Ergetti did not however often judge a man by his reputation.
Vincent cooperated peacefully as the Kingguard soldiers herded him into town at sword point. He could hear the the watch commander giving orders to several other guards and assumed (hoped) that he was doubling the watch on the town perimeter. The group headed towards a building marked only with a sign reading "Finest Fendragon Ale in the West!" Apparently headquarters for the Kinguard was the local tavern. Vincent pondered briefly what Fendragon Ale tasted like. A real fendragon was hardly a dragon at all. It was merely a large long reptile with lots of teeth and a bad temper. If the drink was like the beast he was probably better off not knowing it intimately.
As he was being escorted inside he heard a voice call out his name. He glanced backwards past the incurious gazes of his guards to see Foster running up the street towards the tavern.
The door did not admit Foster however so Vincent assumed the boy was balked by the vigilance of the man outside. He looked about him and noticed a fire crackling merrily in one side of the common room. The warmth was very welcome and soon his extremities were tingling as they defrosted. The soldiers marched him over to a table near the fire and sat him down. These men were grim and did not joke even amongst themselves. None would make conversation with Vincent, merely ignoring his comments when he made them.
A plump elderly woman came out of a side door, took one look at Vincent and rushed back inside. A few moments later she came back out carrying a platter filled with a plate of meats, a turrean of soup and a flagon of some dark red liquid. She set the platter down in front of him without a word and hurried back into what was clearly the kitchen. The meat smelled very good to Vincent after days of near starvation. The guards said nothing as he decided he was too hungry to argue with a free meal. Nor did they interrupt his meal.
Vincent was just beginning to feel human again when he heard a commotion outside the tavern. Instinctively he half rose from his seat only to find a gauntleted hand pushing him back down on the bench with a gentle shove. Vincent got so used to the guards he forgot they were there. A little fear gripped him as he worried he might not be believed. He suddenly had the feeling that while he was explaining himself the town would be attacked. He shrugged off this irrational thought as if it were the oppressive gauntlet keeping him seated when action was needed. No they would not wait until it was too late because as much as the Kinguard hated him (with good reason) they were known for thier intelligence in deal with invaders. No Kinguard commander would fail to listen to a warning earnestly given.
Knight-sergeant Sir Wilhelm Rosewulf was not in fact busy when he was summoned by his watch commander. However, instead of rushing to interrogate their infamous guest he decided to make sure the town defenses were in top order first. This including making sure the elders gathered the townsfolk in the most defensible building in town. This was by default the stoneworks building since it was made of solid granite blocks and crafted carefully by the best masons in the land. Once that was done he made sure the food and water supplies were adequate for a seige. And then he tripled the guards on the watch towers placed carefully outside the palisade. As he performed these duties he conversed with Ergetti and discussed the stranger's message. Unlike most of the Kinguard with him Sir Rosewulf knew his boss Burke Theinden could and would commit murder if it suited his drunken purposes.
The knightly order of Kinguard was once an organization created with pure motives and by men who put the interests of their homeland before their own. These days however, any scum could get a commission if they greased the right palms. At least that was Wilhelm's personal view. One he did not often share with others of his fraternity unless they seemed likeminded. Ergetti was one such confidant and also the main reason he did had not previously slain his commander in a fit of rage. Ergetti was no knight of course being a linesoldier but he had more sense to him than most knights Wilhelm knew. Sometimes that included himself. Ergetti was giving him advice about "Vincent". According to Ergetti Vincent could be an asset if used properly, instead of being treated like the dangerous prisoner he was. His soldiering was said to be impecable and his sword skills unparalleled.
~9~ A tide turns.Into the tavern strode a tall man wearing full plate armor. From his back strapped across a shoulder rose the hilt and pommel of a great sword. He wore a cloak of black wool and gold embroidered trim. His surcoat was the typical blue and red of the Kinguard. On the right sleave of his coat were the triple cheverons of his rank in the Kinguard. In the center of his chest a device was placed on a white sheild. An argent Wolf rising up to bite at a sun. At the wolf's hind paws rested a rose with blue petals. Sir Wilhelm cut an imposing figure in the small room yet he was not as large as the man sitting at the table in front of the fireplace. Vincent made the correct assumption that this man would finally talk to him and take his words seriously. He waited for the man to sit down opposite him and begin his questions.
Sir Wilhelm did not ask any questions however. He told the surprised Vincent to tell his tale as completely as possible starting from the very beginning. Vincent told his tale leaving out only the attack in the stables. (Not because of fear, but because he knew it would only serve to antagonize these men whom he expected to be allied with for a short while.) Wilhelm did not interrupt though he looked at several points that he would like to. When Vincent was done, Wilhelm stared at his grey eyes appraisingly. Vincent could see the thoughts race over the brow of the brown eyes staring at him. Is this murdering outlaw to be trusted? Is there an ulterior motive behind this? If Theinden attacks what will I do with this prisoner? Vincent was no fortune teller to read minds but Wilhelm made no effort to conceal his emotions or thoughts. He was a little simple in his purity. A true oldfashioned paladin. One of the true believers and as such a rare breed in this day of cynics and skeptics.
As Vincent waited patiently for a response from Wilhelm he heard noises coming from outside. He also could see from the side angles of the window in the room that soldiers were running towards the gate. Apparently the battle was begun and the gate was being fought over. Sir Wilhelm shook himself once and rose quickly ordering the two guards to remain with Vincent. He drew his greatsword carefully from his scabbard as he exited. Snow was flurrying again outside. Vincent disciplined himself to stay seated and look bored. If the Kinguard did not want him to fight for them, he would not argue. He would wait until things got worse and then make his move. He did not have to wait for long. Ergetti ran through the door of the tavern and motioned for the remaining guards to exit and head to the gate. He regarded Vincent with a hard look, drew his short sword and advanced on him. Vincent rose warily concerned the big man might be taking care of the problem Vincent presented by summarily executing him. Vincent was not one to go quietly
As Ergetti approached he slowed to a stop in front of the ready Vincent and flipped him the sword hilt first.
And with that he rushed out the door drawing his other sword. Vincent looked down at the sword in his left hand, astonished. Its weight and heft not perfect like the one stolen by the renegades but still well crafted. Then he moved. By the time Ergetti reached the fight at the gate Vincent was right behind him. Once there he could see the renegades had attempted to fool the Kinguard guards with the "Merchant on a wagon" ruse. The merchant would arrive and create a fuss saying he couldnt get his wagon through the gates. The guards would become involved with him and fail to see the ambushers in the woods with their longbows and heavy crossbows. The scene was fairly confusing as all the combatants wore the same sircoats and colors. The only men Vincent recognized were Wilhelm (bleeding from several wounds and engaged with Theinden outside the gates), Ergetti right ahead of him and the guards who were at the gate when he arrived. And those two were no longer moving.
Vincent for perhaps the first time ever, felt a bit lost at the site of a battle. Then he noticed the intruders were also wearing black bands across their right arms. With this added knowledge he joined the fray. Soon there were bodies everywhere and few people moved inside the gates. The battle was raging outside however and the renegades were winning apparently. Theinden was standing over a downed Wilhelm and Ergetti was engaged with two archers out in the woods. He seemed to be getting the better of them. No surprise there. But others stubbornly defending the town were not fairing so well. Behind him Vincent heard a familiar "neigh!" and turned around with a joyous shout: "NickelThorne!"
The grey colored mare rushed forward and he mounted her in a side leap. He could see Foster standing far back waving good luck to him. He turned and charged into the battle. As the only mounted fighter he had the advantage of height but his short sword was no longer good for reach. He wished fervantly he still had his finely made steel greatsword but sadly that was in the booty wagons of the enemy. Ah there is Theinden over there...looks like he is about to kill his subcommander. Not if I can help it he thought. Vincent coaxed Nickelthorne into a charge and they sped towards the conflict ignore all other combatants. Just as he arrived Theinden drove his dagger downwards towards Wilhelm's heart. But at the last moment his aim was skewed by the sudden presense of a large looming threat. Theinden did not have time to see if he hit his mark as Wilhelm's short bladed gladius was driven up through the unguarded slit in the backplate and into his chest. Theinden rolled over dead and Wilhelm looked gratefully up at his savior. That it was Vincent surprised him and yet that did not diminish the feeling.
Theinden's men who saw their leader fall lost morale and began giving in to the renewed ferver of the protectors. The battle probably lasted twenty minutes. Perhaps a little longer. At the end of it a good deal of soldiers lay dying or dead and many more were wounded on both sides. Eventually the rest of Theinden's men surrendered and were thrown in chains to await trial for treason.
~10~ The battle won brings detente. And a feast of course.The early evening brought quiet as graves were dug under the snow outside the town. Mass graves for the disgraced corpses and more personal ones for the fallen defenders. Vincent did not loot any of the corpses here. Instead he chose to seek out Foster and find out how the kid was holding up. While chatting with Foster's caretakers, Vincent was approached by a few of the more outgoing village elders. He was given a bag of gold which he refused. He could see it was barely all the town could scrape together. Normally Vincent was not reticent about recieving payment. But somehow he could not here. Perhaps it was because he was growing soft in his old age. Or perhaps he just liked the kid enough to want to see the town prosper when he was gone.
The elders decided a feast in Vincent's and the Kinguard's honor was in order. Wilhelm was in bed with his wounds being looked after by the local physiker. Ergetti on the other hand, completely unscratched was healthy as an ox and ready for fun. However there was business to attend to first. Ergetti approached Vincent as he chatted away and drew him aside. After a few words the mercenary surrendered his short sword and followed Ergetti into the tavern. According to Ergetti, Wilhelm ordered Vincent to be held in custody until such time as Wilhelm was well enough to interrogate him. Vincent sighed as he followed the watch commander, wondering if perhaps he backed the wrong side after all. But then if he had done nothing the village would be cinders and Foster and his family would be dead. Not a pleasant alternative.
Vincent sat in the tavern bored stiff awaiting his doom as outside in the town square a revel was being set up. The sole guard who did not bother to stand over him but rather leaned on the drinking board and looked equally bored did not say a word. From what Vincent could gather this Sir Wilhelm was a real stickler for regulations. If this was true Vincent could find himself on an trip east after all to stand trial for a crime he did not commit and for the numerous deaths of Kinguard soldiers since then. His options were not pretty in any regard. He hoped he could convince Wilhelm to forgive and forget based on his service to the town and incidently to the Kinguard. Otherwise he might have to leave another trail of bodies behind him as he fled. He sat and brooded.
Sans plate armor and plus some bandages Wilhelm came limping rapidly into the tavern dragging a wooden cudgel/cane followed closely by several polearm carrying soldiers and Ergetti. Vincent looked up expecting the commander to walk around the table and sit opposite him. Instead the knight walked up to Vincent and bearhugged him. Ergetti was cracking a smile and looked to be holding back laughter and the guards were grinning too. Vincent guessed he wouldn't need to be asking for leniency as he gasped for air. Wilhelm finally let him go and held him at arms length. And then he laughed. A sort of woodsawing, rockgrinding laugh and everyone joined in. Apparently Ergetti set Vincent up as the target of one of his famous practical jokes. These men were treating him like a brother and Vincent almost could not stand it.
Festivities started as the moon was well into the night sky and lanterns lit up the town square. Feast tables were set up banquet style and a small group of local musicians played music. Soldiers and townsfolk danced freely and many people came over and talked to Vincent and the officers of the Kinguard. Vincent could almost see himself belonging to a group of men so brave and honorable. Almost until he remember how he was hounded from town to town and chased across battlefields no matter what lord he served by the brethren of these very men. No he would always be a loner in that sense. Best to not become too entangled in the affairs of others as his earlier life lessons taught him. As he was having these rather dour thoughts pretending to listen to the miller's wife recite the recipe she used in the dish she brought to the feast he heard the outcry of the watch guard.
Before anyone could respond to the cry riders were coming through the gates and into the townsquare. Quickly they were identified as more Kinguard soldiers and some civilians. Vincent recognized Allinca as did the villagers. She was swept up in a celebratory hug. No one seemed to notice the little man on top the large brown gelding looking rather imperious and dignified. Until Ergetti nudged his commander. The little man wore the red and grey robes of a magistrate. A discussion ensued between the little man who disdained to dismount and instead spoke from the saddle to Wilhelm and Ergetti and the leader of the knights who escorted the magistrate. It seems someone paid serious attention to Wilhelm's request for reinforcements and a magistrate. The fortress was attacked by the hordes right after the reinforcements arrived but since the bandits did not attack they were easily turned back. When the magistrate heard Allinca's testimonial at the fortress he insisted on being brought to Stonedale to investigate events there.
The honorable Joesien Halffeather was anxious to hear the whole tale and all the important members of the tale retired to the tavern to tell it. Allinca made sure Foster was brought along. Joesien listen and interrupted often when someone said something that didnt make sense to ask questions but eventually the whole tale was told.
~11~ Epilogue.Vincent looked regretfully back on the town as he led Nickelthorne down the path away to the north. In one saddle bag sat his pardon signed by the diminutive magistrate who concluded Vincent's actions were instrumental in staving off a horrendous war in which thousands would have lost their lives. So exonorated he could have stayed in Stonedale but his feet wanted to be travelling. And his sword wanted selling. Also in his bags was a pouch of gold. A reward offered by the magistrate for his services to the land. Vincent did not demure this time. The sun rose over the woods to the east as the pair of travelers wandered on down the road. Vincent would be back someday. He wanted to find out how his new friends were faring after all. And maybe someday he would want to settle down. What better place to do that than Stonedale? he thought and strode purposefully on.