Rob Scott - The Hickory Staff

‘Uh, no sir,’ Garec began, ‘I haven’t-’ He was cut short by the sounds of a struggle erupting inside the tavern and started to move towards the door, but before he could enter, he was seized roughly by the guard posted near the entrance and felt a strong blow to his head. Stunned, his vision blurring and his head swimming, Garec fell backwards and managed to sit heavily on the wooden stoop.

‘Now, you’re lucky, boy,’ the sergeant told him calmly. ‘I could have you killed for that, but you caught me in a good mood today. You stay smart and stay put, because you come at one of my men again and I’ll run you through, armed or not.’ Garec did not believe he could stand if he wanted to, never mind fight. Through the ringing in his head, he listened for sounds from the tavern but heard nothing. Soon thereafter, the remaining Malakasian soldiers emerged, mounted their horses and prepared to ride away. Among them was a young lieutenant who gave several sharp orders, then scowled at Garec before waving his platoon northwards out of town.

Garec tried to shake off the queasy feeling and struggled to his feet.

‘Have a good morning, young man,’ the old sergeant said and cuffed him once, hard, before riding away.

The scene in the tavern was not as bad as Garec had feared; he remembered much worse from any number of Twinmoon celebrations. One well-dressed patron he recognised, Jerond Ohera, lay unconscious near the front windows; others helped to right tables that had been overturned during the search. Sallax and Brynne Farro were behind the bar; thankfully, both appeared unhurt. Versen Bier, a woodsman and Garec’s close friend, was kneeling to help Jerond. Garec knew all the remaining customers except one, a travelling merchant from the look of his boots, silk tunic and brocaded wool cloak.

‘So what was that about?’ Garec asked as he made his way to the bar.

‘Lords, what happened to you?’ Brynne asked, hurrying around to help him to a seat. She took his face in her hands and began cleaning the blood from his temple with her apron.

Sallax answered Garec’s question. ‘They said they were looking for three men, part of a group who raided a caravan along the Merchants’ Highway last night. Apparently three were killed, but three managed to escape.’

Looking up into Brynne’s eyes, Garec could see her concern. He whispered so only she could hear, ‘I’m sure it wasn’t him.’

A tear began forming at the corner of one eye and she quickly wiped it away on her sleeve.

Garec leaned forward to ask Sallax, ‘Why search here? Why this place?’

‘They’re after something else. This stinks. You saw them. They rode right out of town, no other stops, no other questions. I don’t buy it.’

‘And why’d they get after Jerond?’ Garec asked, motioning towards the unconscious man lying nearby.

‘Ah, he’d had a few already this morning,’ Sallax answered, ‘and some left in him from Mika’s Twinmoon celebration night. He ran his mouth off about Malagon’s virility and that rutting lieutenant had at him with the flat of his sword.’

Brynne interrupted, ‘We need Gilmour back here now.’

Garec nodded in agreement, then turned to the woodsman, who had sat down beside him. ‘Verse, you’ll not believe this, but I ran into a pack of grettans in the-’ He caught himself and glanced at the stranger sitting near the fireplace. He lowered his voice and continued, ‘They were in the forest near the river this morning, eight of them.’

‘Nonsense, Garec,’ the woodsman replied with an amused chuckle. ‘Were you at the beer last night too? They’ve never been seen south of the Blackstones before, and it was a rutting feat they ever made it that far.’

‘Well, they’re out there now. Take a look at Rennie’s hindquarter if you need proof. We barely made it out with our hides intact.’ Garec shuddered and went on, ‘I killed one with a miracle shot, and one chased us right into the river. Lords’ luck for us they don’t swim well.’

‘Swim?’ Versen teased, ‘you had to swim away? Some Bringer of Death you turned out to be, huh?’

‘What do they look like?’ Brynne asked.

‘Like the unholy marriage of a mountain lion, a horse and a bear,’ Versen replied. ‘And they’re big, bigger than most horses. If they’re really about, we’ll have to let people know to be careful of their livestock, get them in at night and all.’

The well-dressed merchant stood and walked towards the bar. He was handsome, somewhat older than the small group of friends, and Brynne tried to avoid staring at him as he approached. Placing a few coins in front of Sallax, he commented, ‘I saw a group of them eat a farm wagon in Falkan once. They were so hungry – or so angry – I think they had it half-finished before they realised it wasn’t edible.’

He paused, then added to Brynne, ‘Sorry about the mess here this morning. Thanks again for that breakfast. I loved the local beer as well, my dear. Good day all.’ Brynne blushed and stole another glance at the good-looking stranger.

‘Do come again. We’ll try to provide a touch less violence next time,’ she said as he walked towards the front door. Before exiting he righted an overturned chair, gave a last smile to Brynne, then left without looking back.

‘Who’s he?’ Garec asked, watching through the window as he crossed Greentree Square.

‘I don’t know,’ Sallax answered, ‘he came in late last night. We stabled his horse out back. Big saddlebags. He must be peddling something in the city.’

Few travelling merchants came through Estrad any more. Prince Marek had closed the port and the southern forest five generations earlier and Estrad’s shipping activity had trickled away, unlike the other port towns around Rona. The rumour was that the prince had closed ports in Praga and the Eastlands because his navy was not extensive enough to patrol all the shipping lanes around the southeast peninsula – although some believed Marek just wanted to put a stranglehold on Rona because King Remond had chosen the southern nation as his home and established Estrad Village as the seat of the Eldarni monarchy. Marek’s Malakasian homeland lay far to the north and west, and shutting down Ronan trade helped shift loyalty to the new Eldarni capital in Pellia.

Today Malakasia was the only nation with a navy; even so, Estrad’s port had never been reopened. The lack of seagoing commerce had become a way of life.

Holding a compress to his swollen temple, Garec thought of the occupation army; he had a sense of foreboding. Something terrible was coming, and his anxiety grew as he pictured Gilmour out along the Merchants’ Highway. He was the one who had convinced them to build a partisan force, to start raiding caravans and amassing arms: to fight for control of their homeland. He was the one with the knowledge of Malakasian politics and Malagon’s armies. He was also the one who would know why the Greentree Tavern had been singled out this morning by a heavily armed platoon of Malakasian soldiers.

Garec looked out the window across Greentree Square: Renna was still tethered safely to the post in front of the mercantile exchange. With a quiet word of goodbye he rose to retrieve her. As he left the tavern, he felt a cool breeze blowing in from the coast. The southern Twinmoon was coming, and with it, strong winds and high tides.

Without thinking, he pulled his vest tight and felt a sudden sharp pain in his ribs. He had told Brynne he was certain Gilmour was not among the highwaymen killed last night. As he stepped out to cross the square, Garec hoped that was true.

North of the village, the Malakasian platoon made camp in a glade near the river. Their horses rested, cropping the grass, while the smell of hickory smoke and frying meat wafted through the camp. Oddly juxtaposed with the idyllic setting were the rigid and broken forms of six dead men, three in the bed of an open wagon, arrows protruding from their bodies, three others hanging from the limbs of a large oak tree on the edge of the glade, their necks neatly broken. The hanging bodies were motionless save for the gentle rocking of the great tree by the wind from the south.