Birthright Chapter Eight

[ewancummins]

Roelir 1st, 551 MR


TORTHUR

The first, rushed effort of the taxidermist creates too poor a disguise to fool anybody paying attention. The man asks for more time. After a couple of weeks of sewing, re-fitting, padding, and so on, he finishes a much better disguise for Torthur, one that really does look like a small bear, at least in poor light.

...


WITHIN THE WALLS OF LOFTON


After being smuggled over the river by night, Torthur and Clyde are taken into the walled city of Lofton in the dim morning hours riding in the back of a cage-wagon driven by Petrus. Atli’s associate. Clyde and his ‘baby brother’ get a look at the cramped, shabby, smoky town. The cage’s iron bars rattle as the heavy vehicle rolls across filth-choked potholes and over uneven paving stones. Here and there, dirty faces of the poor peer from wretched tenements or close little huts, watching the cart’s passage. The infiltrator dwarf notes more beggars and idle men on the morning scene than busy workers or traders, in contrast to the almost feverish post-siege bustle of Haes.

A fat, ugly butcher with a skull as bald and pale as an egg stands hacking meat in the open doorway of his shop. As the wagon rattles past, the man turns to stare at Torthur-bear and Clyde. He cries out, ‘’New bears! About time!”

Lurking in the stoop of a nearby doorway, a ragged young boy takes the butcher’s distraction for a chance to swipe some cut meat from the table---but the big man reacts with speed that belies his bulk, chopping a couple of fingers from the little thief’s right hand!

The boy screams and runs into an alley. The butcher guffaws, his great gut under the bloody apron shaking with mirth.


Torthur’s wagon carries him away from the butcher shop, but he has time to at least mark the location.

…
The wagon reaches a tall timber enclosure that rises under the shadow of a castle or citadel. Petrus speaks briefly with a couple of thugs dressed in studded leather and carrying clubs. The swarthy wagoner takes a small purse from one of them, and presently rolls his wagon into the enclosure through a narrow gate.

Torthur sees that he has entered some kind of theatre or arena, with rows of seats rising around hard-beaten dirt circle forty-odd yards in diameter. A tall, stout wooden pole rises like a limbless, leafless tree in the center of the courtyard, hung with heavy black iron chains. Near the castle walls that overtop one end of the wooden fence round the arena rises a wooden viewing box, set higher than the other seats. Down on the ground at opposite points along the circles points, equidistant from the viewing box and the gate that admitted Torthur’s cage-wagon, two portcullises open onto ramps leading down into pits or cellars of some sort.


Six more men with truncheons and armor jacks unlock the back of the wagon and lead the chained bears (or rather, a bear and a dwarf in disguise) to one of the portcullises, which raises for them with a ratcheting sound as of a hidden crank or chain mechanism at work.

Clyde groans, rattling his chains, as if he has begun to realize this is no game. The men cautiously lead Clyde down into the pit, where they fix his links to an iron ring set in the stone wall.

A foul, musty stench rises from the dark cellar. Torthur’s heat-vision begins to work once he’s out of the hazy sunlight. He sees two other bears down here, both lean and miserable-looking, chained to the wall.


One man remarks in a nasty tone, “The mangy cub is fat and slow. It won’t last long against the hounds, I reckon.”

The iron barred gate at the top slams shut with a dreadful clank.

The Alamiens walk away.

Petrus, peering down into the pit, quickly throws something down the ramp while no one seems to be paying attention to him.

Tothur looks down into the dirt and spots a brass key, still glowing warm with the heat of Petrus’s palm.

[ewancummins]

HAES


THE HOUSE OF ROALD THE SIEGEBREAKER


Roald has had time to settle into his small, but solidly built, house.
This fine, cool, breezy morning finds him relaxing in the back garden while his maid-servant Onwen hangs up some laundry and Reese throws dice with a couple of dirty-kneed 'prentice boys on the cobblestone lane that runs behind the house.

Dulcet notes mix with the chatter and chirps of birds in the bushes and lattices. A boyish minstrel in ragged finery walks down the street, strumming his lute and singing an unfamiliar (to Roald, at least) song.

“Brave Devlin did then the wolves and goblins smash
And down came the Black Tower banners in a crash…”

[Varrus the Ethical]

Roald's sits up at the sound of the song. He points to the boy. "You there, young man. What song is that?"

[ewancummins]

HAES

WATCHOUSE, OFFICE OF THE CAPTAIN





Renn has returned to the city after hard fighting, hard travelling, and some days of respite with kin and friends.

This morning, having just finished the business of integrating his new recruits into the watch and disposing of various administrative matters that demanded his attention, he now finds himself once more at liberty to do as he pleases.

Sergeant Ghilly looks about the cramped, dim office, shakes his head, and goes to open a window.

"Captain, you had better get some air. I'll tidy up. No more work for you now, I think, yes?"

[ewancummins]

ROALD'S HOUSE, THE BACK GARDEN AND THE LANE

Roald's sits up at the sound of the song. He points to the boy. "You there, young man. What song is that?"

The handsome auburn haired youth answers,
"No title yet, good sir. I'm composing some verse about our bold duke's exploits in the north. "

The minstrel bows, and then straightens up again. He adds,
"Some men dismissed the goodly news as mere tavern rumors, a week or two ago, when word first reached us of our lord's victory. But no one says that now. His Grace has sent proofs and messengers."

[Varrus the Ethical]

ROALD'S HOUSE

Roald nods and pulls a silver piece out of his purse, throwing it towards the minstrel. "I appreciated the news. It's good know that the Young Duke has done well in the North. Tell me, have you any word on Captain Rennault Ghollison?"

[ewancummins]

CORMAC, MOUNTAINS OF NORTHERN GHONALLISON




After aiding the Tuor forces in rooting out the lingering mobs of goblin brigands, and encouraging the local people to make rustic offerings and perform sylvan rites in honor of the Old Father of Forests, Cormac has returned to the spot in the mountains where his followers have begun work on a new temple.

He finds that work has proceeded well, but funds for supplies and labor are low. He has some volunteers, of course, but he may have to hire local men to handle some of the work.

This morning a messenger comes to Cormac's camp near the Abbey of the Broken Bell, riding in from the south. The well-dressed, well-spoken emmisary informs Cormac that ‘Pious gentlemen’ in Haes are willing to lend him two thousand gold crowns for ‘the establishment of charitable services in aid of the distressed folk of Ghonallison.’
The messenger adds that,
“My masters are much concerned that the Celestial Jewel’s unscrupulous agents will rush into the province from Alamie’s northern territory, now that the Militant Order has been weakened by the raids. Once they got their claws into the province, they would no doubt encourage the nobles to rape the land of its wealth without a care for the smallfolks' woes, burning the crofters off their wee bit farms and enclosing the common lands for private sheepfolds, as they have done in parts of Alamie. "

[ewancummins]

ROALD'S HOUSE

Roald nods and pulls a silver piece out of his purse, throwing it towards the minstrel. "I appreciated the news. It's good know that the Young Duke has done well in the North. Tell me, have you any word on Captain Rennault Ghollison?"

''Aye , good sir. The Captain has returned to Haes with new recruits from the north."

[Adam]

CORMAC

Cormac reads the message slowly, clearly sounding out some of the unfamiliar words, before looking up to the messenger.

"Aye, well," he says, "Tha's a righ' generous offerin'. But, as my ol' pap used ta' say, there when fortune dangles a big prize in front o' ye', always be sure to look at who's holdin' the strings. Ye never know when they're gonna pull it back."

He arches an eyebrow at the messenger. "Care to let me know who these "pious gentlemen" are?"

[ewancummins]

CORMAC

Cormac reads the message slowly, clearly sounding out some of the unfamiliar words, before looking up to the messenger.

"Aye, well," he says, "Tha's a righ' generous offerin'. But, as my ol' pap used ta' say, there when fortune dangles a big prize in front o' ye', always be sure to look at who's holdin' the strings. Ye never know when they're gonna pull it back."

He arches an eyebrow at the messenger. "Care to let me know who these "pious gentlemen" are?"

"Pious men who prefer for now to remain nameless."

Looking about to make certain that no one else but Cormac is watching him, the messenger moves his cloak aside to reveal a red and gold enameled brooch fashioned in the crowned sun and sword symbol of Haelyn.

[Varrus the Ethical]

ROALD"S HOUSE

Roald stands up. "Reese, look after the house while I'm out. I think I should pay the Watch Commander a visit." He briefly enters the house to armor and arm himself and then proceeds to the Watch HQ.

[ewancummins]

ROALD"S HOUSE

Roald stands up. "Reese, look after the house while I'm out. I think I should pay the Watch Commander a visit." He briefly enters the house to armor and arm himself and then proceeds to the Watch HQ.

Roald walks to the Watch-House...

[Adam]

CORMAC

Cormac nods knowingly. "Ah, well, we'd be happy ta except a gift from those who have the best interests o' the land an' the people at heart. Ye may feel free to pass that along to yer masters."

[ewancummins]

CORMAC

Cormac nods knowingly. "Ah, well, we'd be happy ta except a gift from those who have the best interests o' the land an' the people at heart. Ye may feel free to pass that along to yer masters."

"I will."

The man rises, laying a small purse on the table.

"A free gift, not part of the loan. It isn't a great deal of money, but I do hope you will be able to put it to good use for the people of this province."

[ewancummins]

DEVLIN, CAER HAES, EARLY MORNING


The Young Duke stirs in his silken sheets, wakening from his sweet dream, a memory of Fhylie's parting kiss burning on his lips Opening his eyes, he blinks a little at the brightness of the sunbeams shining through the open window of his suite to illuminate a wedge of fine burgundy-colored carpet laid across the stone floor. The scent of honeysuckle in the garden below drifts up on the cool morning breeze, washing into the duke’s chambers.


A knock at the door,

“Your Grace, are you disposed to hold court this morning?”
Devlin recognizes the familiar voice of Sir Rory, the old castellan.