Филип Этанс: The Savage Caves

The hard way indeed.

“What else did they tell you about me?” Regdar asked.

“They said you know how to use that gigantic sword of yours,” Jozan said.

Regdar shrugged, feeling the weight of his greatsword shift on his back. Of course he knew how to use his weapon. He was a soldier.

“They also told me you don’t talk much,” the priest went on, “and that you don’t have many friends.”

Regdar looked over at the priest sharply enough to startle his own horse. He had to turn his attention to calming his mount, so couldn’t see the priest’s reaction. Regdar felt sweat drip from his forehead. It was hot, and his own suit of scale armor was getting heavier. The horse was sweating too, and tired. It was a strong animal, but Regdar, in full armor and with all his gear, was a heavy load.

“Fine, then,” Regdar said, “we’ll stop at Fairbye for the night.”

They came up over the top of the hill riding side by side, and Regdar could see the little hamlet of Fairbye nestled in the valley below. There were only a couple dozen buildings in all, mostly small wattle-and-daub houses. The village was surrounded by modest fields, vegetable gardens chiefly. A herd of sheep dotted the fields on the other side of town, where the hills started getting bigger as they stacked up against the feet of the high mountains beyond. After a night in Fairbye it would be another day on the road to the entrance to Two Winds Pass, another three days or so across the mountains, then half a day to cross the fields outlying New Koratia.

Regdar snapped his reins and, Jozan behind him, rode at a slow run toward the little village.

Before they even passed the first outlying buildings and turned onto the main street of the town, it became apparent to Regdar that they’d ridden into the middle of something.

“Festival?” he asked Jozan.

The priest rode up next to him, and they both slowed their horses.

“Perhaps,” Jozan said. “It looks like the whole town has come out for something.”

A handful of shops and a surprisingly large inn were clustered around an ill-defined town square. In the center was a large communal well and a crowd of peasants numbering almost a hundred. Regdar thought Jozan was right when he said that the whole town had come out. The crowd had as many women as men, some quite old, and no shortage of children of all ages. They were all dressed in the simple homespun clothes of the peasantry, and most of the men were holding various farming implements.

Something about the crowd’s attitude made Regdar uncomfortable, and he could feel Jozan’s unease as well.

“I don’t think this is a festival,” the priest said, just loudly enough so that only Regdar could hear him.

The fighter nodded and stiffened in his saddle. He wanted to draw his sword, even dismount in order to be ready for whatever was about to happen but was smart enough to know that riding into this sort of scene with naked steel might only make things worse. Still, he could feel his skin tingle and his senses hum with heightened attention.

The villagers were all facing the same direction and listening to a voice still too distant for Regdar to make out. He quickened his horse’s pace and heard the word “…guilty!” followed by a rousing cheer from the assembled villagers.

The peasants were facing a crudely constructed gallows on which stood a rotund man dressed in a shimmering silk coat. The man was sweating profusely in the afternoon sun, his hair wet and unkempt. Though the coat was expensive and well tailored, it was obviously old and made to fit a much smaller man. A little girl was standing next to him. Regdar could barely see her head sticking out over the heads of the crowd.

“Hang the bitch!” an old woman shrieked-answered by another ear-ringing cheer from the mob.

“The little girl?” Regdar said, turning to Jozan and beginning to reach for his greatsword.

The priest held up a hand, and Regdar stopped.

“That’s no child,” Jozan said. “They mean to hang a halfling.”

Regdar turned back to the gallows, and as he moved closer still he saw that Jozan was right. Standing next to the portly orator was a halfling woman whose tiny build made her look like a human child. She wore elaborate leathers and had her long, auburn hair tied tightly back. Her hands were bound behind her, and a noose dangled limply from around her neck and was tied to the top of the gallows.

The fat man strutted back and forth on the platform in front of her, waving his hands in an attempt to quiet the still-cheering crowd.

“Good citizens!” the man shouted, and the crowd quieted just enough to hear him. “Good neighbors, we are not murderers here. The halfling woman who calls herself Lidda has been accused of thievery of a most egregious sort—one count after another—”

“What’s a count?” a man yelled from the crowd.

This brought about another round of cheering from the assembly, and it took long enough for the round man to quiet them that Regdar and Jozan were able to ride to the edge of the crowd. Only a few people on the edges of the mob noticed them, but they all recognized Jozan as a priest of Pelor and bowed to him in the accepted manner.

Lidda rolled her eyes, and Regdar was amazed at how relaxed she seemed. He got the distinct impression that the woman had been in this situation before.

The crowd quieted a bit, and the fat man was just about to say something when the halfling called out in a clear, unwavering voice, “I will devote my life to finding the true thief. I will clear my name and the names of my family and friends, the names of my acquaintances both personal and professional, and will endeavor to repair any damage done to this fair hamlet by the heinous deeds of this brazen criminal. This I swear, by the three heads of the hydra at the center of the stars!”

Regdar felt his breath catch in his throat and realized that the whole mob was similarly silenced. The halfling was glancing from villager to villager, moving only her wide, nimble eyes.

“Oh,” another old woman growled, “let her swing already!”

There was a burst of laughter and applause from the mob, and the fat man in the old coat threw up his hands, his chubby fingers wrapped into tight little fists.

“What are the charges?” Jozan asked in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

The rotund orator stopped just before shouting some order or proclamation, and when his eyes found Jozan, he visibly reeled. The man almost fell on his face in his rush to bow, and Regdar watched as every head in the unruly mob turned to look at Jozan.

Regdar was horrified by the sudden attention of the lynch mob, and his hand went to the pommel of his greatsword. He was convinced the villagers would turn on them, but they froze, all eyes glued to the priest. Most of them sketched slight bows and whispered to each other that Pelor had sent a priest to bless the hanging. Regdar doubted that was the case. He took his hand off his sword.

“The charges?” Jozan asked again.

The fat man, obviously flustered, called out, “A priest of Pelor! Come to bless today’s justice!”

The crowd applauded but with a measure of reluctance this time.

Jozan called back, “Pelor does not bless lynchings, Mister…?”

“I am the burgher here, Father,” the fat man replied. “Tomma is the name, sir.”

Jozan rode forward slowly, the crowd parting before him. Regdar stood his ground and seemed to go largely unnoticed by the villagers.

“What has this woman done,” the priest asked, “to deserve a death sentence, Burgher Tomma?”

“Ah,” the burgher replied, obviously delighted to recount the charges. “The halfling has stolen numerous items of personal property from numerous goodly townsfolk and farmers on numerous occasions, good priest…?”