Haskul spat, the thick mucus glob traced a wide arc through the air, landing on a large rock with an audible splat. He chuckled, pleased with his aim.
“You’re a pig.” Remmy, Haskul’s wife, said with a look of disgust as her own eyes traced the foul mucus arc.
“Then I guess we make a fine pair, because you sound like one.” Haskul shot back, and promptly began to make loud and annoying squealing sounds. “At least, that’s all I hear. Especially at night!” Haskul guffawed in an intentionally obnoxious way at his crassness. He could see his wife fuming out of the corner of his eye, and he grinned, exposing his yellowed teeth. They sat atop a small cart; the wooden bench was the only available seating as the rest of the cart was laden with their wares of clay pottery. Remmy physically tried to keep as far away from her husband as possible, but it was an impossible task on the small bench.
“One day you’re going to— ” Remmy began but was cut short when the carts wheel struck a large rock, imbedded in the dirt road they were on. The force of the lurching cart sent her back into spasms from the sudden jostling. The carts wheel creaked and cracked ominously from the blow as well, but the sound was lost over the cry of pain Remmy made from her back.
“Oh, sorry my dear!” Haskul watched his wife as she pinched her face from the pain in her back. His voice had that note of false sincerity and he didn’t even try to hide the smile on his face. “I hope that bounce didn’t hurt your back too much, I know how bad it can be.” Haskul watched to road for more rocks, in his mind he debated the danger of breaking a wheel on a large rock of pot-hole with the pleasure of watching Remmy’s face scrunch up again.
“You are a bastard.”
“That’s what your father said too. Still, he let me have you; maybe he realized that we would be a perfect match of piss and vinegar.” Haskul snapped the reins, the leather slapping across the back of their mule.
“Don’t push the girl; she’s already too old for pulling the cart.” Remmy scolded, her nasally voice droning into Haskul’s ear.
“Too old for much of anything but a hole in the ground. Reminds me of you.” Haskul muttered.
The two rode on in silence, Remmy turned to watch the countryside slowly roll by. Cera’s capital, Orderic, was no more than a half day away. Once they reached the capital, Haskul would set up their pottery in the market, hopefully selling enough to ensure their livelihood. Remmy lost herself in planning what they would do with the money they would make in the market. It would be vital for their survival in the winter months to invest in much needed supplies. With the money they would purchase two goats, and a cockerel to take back to their meager homestead for their chickens, she would need to purchase various textiles as well in order to ensure they both had suitable garments for the colder months. Hopefully she could take the earned copins before Haskul spent too much of it on his vices. Remmy looked back to the pottery they had in their cart, internally cursing her husband when she saw many of the pots had broken loose from their bindings, rolling in the back of the cart.
“We should stop and secure the pots.” Remmy turned around and fixed a steely gaze at her husband. If too many of the pots were broken and unsellable, they wouldn’t have enough copins to buy new supplies.
“They’re fine, woman.” Haskul grunted in reply, his shoulders hunched and his face staring straight ahead at the dirt road, his body set as stubbornly as his mind. Remmy breathed out heavily, her own eyes looking at the pitiful road, pock marked with rocks and holes each bump a potential loss in their wares; and a jarring pain in her back.
“Haskul, we need to stop and tighten up our clay!” Remmy said, and huffed when her husband kept his eyes locked on the road. Sure enough, not a moment had passed before one of the wheels hit a small hole in the road and Remmy heard the tell-tale clinking and shattering of a pot. She had some momentary satisfaction as she saw a grimace pass over her husband’s face. “See? What’d I tell you?” She said smugly. “Perhaps now would be a good time to re-tie the back of the cart?” She barely felt the pain in her back through the satisfaction of seeing Haskul proved wrong.
“Goddamnit woman!” Haskul burst out, his face purple from anger. “Fine!” He jerked the reins sharply, the mule brayed at the sudden stop. Haskul was off the bench before the dust had settled from the mule’s hooves. “I’ll fix the goddamn pots, I’ll fix ‘em just to keep your gums from flapping all the way to Orderic!” Haskul stormed to the back of the cart. Remmy didn’t watch but sat with a small grin on her face as she heard her husband huffing his large bulk up into the back of the cart. “Goddamn rope went and loosened, just like everything on this forsaken cart, falling apart or broken already.” Haskul muttered as he tugged and pulled at the fastenings keeping their wares in place. Remmy tuned out the noise her husband made, retreating in to the sense of calm she had learned long ago to visit during his episodes.
Remmy felt the cart shift and jostle as her fat husband lowered himself from the back, and then climbed back up to the bench again. The shifting of the cart caused her lower back to ache, but she kept the pain from her face, she wanted Haskul to see the look of serene calm on her; it would keep his ire up and she took pleasure in that.
“There, woman, it’s all secure. You can rest easy on that fat behind of yours now…oh, wait, you never got off that fat behind in the first place!” Haskul nearly shouted. Remmy smirked, she knew that even if she tried to help, it would cause nothing but trouble as Haskul would yell at her for getting in the way.
“Can we please continue? I’d like to get to Orderic before this road is lost to night.” Remmy said calmly.
“Aye.” Haskul agreed, and Remmy was taken aback slightly at how calm he sounded, and without his customary quipping. “I heard that orcs have increased in number along these parts, not to mention the normal banditry that we’re exposed to.” They had been traveling the road between their small shire and Orderic for years, and the fear of banditry was every present; but Remmy had never known her husband to be so outward with his fear.
“Where’d you hear that?” Remmy asked, she felt her heart flutter at the mention of orcs, she knew about the bandits, but wasn’t worried about them so close to the capital. Orcs, on the other hand, were altogether brazen, and likely to attack anywhere and at any time.
“Bascom made mention of it, he had just been back from Grayson Fort and heard a few reports from some of the soldiers there.”
“Bascom?” Remmy looked incredulous, feeling the fear that had rooted in her stomach almost immediately dissipate. “He’s only got drink on the mind; most likely addled when he told you.” Remmy waved dismissively.
“He’s a good man, and you would do well not to speak ill of him.” Haskul growled.
“Bah, you go to the pub with him and those louts far too often.”
“Not this again!” Haskul threw his hands up in frustration.
“All I’m saying is you spend too much of our hard earned copin on drink.”
“I will slap the next words out of your mouth if you keep on, you used-up old cow.” Haskul’s tone went dark, and Remmy knew he would not be pushed further. She kept silent, knowing his threat was real. She just wanted to get to the capital now, sell their pottery and take the money she needed before Haskul used the rest on his own misadventures in the big city. Haskul slapped the reins down on the mule, but the stubborn beast refused to move. The agitation from Haskul was palpable, and Remmy stayed motionless. Haskul tried the reins again, harder, but to no avail.
“I swear to any god that can hear me, old gods, new gods and the gods not yet born, that if this dumb mule stays still for one more second I’ll cook her for my dinner.” Haskul raged as he lumbered off the bench and stood beside the mule. Remmy watched Haskul’s meaty fist rise above his head, preparing to deliver a blow to the beast to get her moving. Soon Haskul’s impotent raging at the beast droned into the background, and Remmy’s mind wandered, dwelling on the initial fear she had felt at the mention of orcs. Remmy looked around nervously, the country side she had been watching changed, where it was once calming to her on the journey, now it seemed filled with areas where danger might lurk. A bend in the road could hide a small party of bandits, or the tree line which seemed distant and forgettable, now loomed to the side of their cart, ready to reveal a band of vicious monsters. Remmy stopped hearing the curses of her husband and his attempts at getting their mule to move, all she could hear was the sounds around her, sounds that may be bloodthirsty creatures ready to attack. She looked to a small hillock on her left; she strained to hear any noises that might betray an enemy. Wind in the trees rustled leaves and Remmy’s head snapped to look at the forest; the woods were shadowed, and she gave a small gasp as the shadows moved and swayed, like creatures walking through the woods.
“Remmy! Remmy!” Haskul’s voice broke through her fog. “Grab the reins! Don’t sit there like a useless fart!” Remmy came back to the present to find that the mule had lurched into motion from the continual abuse her husband rained down on its rump. Haskul was now puffing at a slow jog trying to get up onto the bench of the moving cart. Remmy laughed, all worry gone from her mind as she saw her fat husbands paunch bounce like a sack of potatoes, his face so red from exertion it looked like he would collapse. Remmy grabbed the reins and began to slow the mule, despite the joy at watching her husband puff and wheeze; she didn’t need him in an even fouler mood.
“No! Don’t slow it too much! If that dumb beast stops, I’ll never get her going again!” Haskul half coughed, half yelled as Remmy pulled. She watched as her oaf of a husband finally lurched up and onto the bench, his additional weight made the mule grunt, but it kept moving. Haskul snatched the reins from Remmy’s hands with ice in his eyes. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He said between gasps. Remmy tried her best to suppress her smile from erupting into laughter again.
The two rode on in silence, both watching the road for large pot-holes or rocks that could break or stop their carts wheels if they were struck at a poor angle. Remmy avoided the point that Haskul had failed to make the necessary repairs on their cart for so long that it was only through miracles and prayers that it still rolled as smoothly as it did. She knew his mood was bad enough now that it would be hell for her if she raised his ire again. Unfortunately, because of the disrepair of the cart, and the general agedness of their mule, the ride was long and Remmy watched the sun as it descended slowly in the sky, knowing it would be dark before they reached the capital. Riding at night would be a sure way to end up with a lame mule, or a broken cart; but stopping to wait for the sunrise would put them behind schedule for market day. Remmy fretted about the possibilities of showing up to market day late, all the coveted locations within the city square would be taken, and they would be left with a third-rate stall where only the pickpockets and urchins loitered.
As if sensing her worry, Haskul slapped the reins down hard on their mule, making it trot, their clay pots and other items clattered in the back. Remmy didn’t mention the potential dangers of traveling at the quickened speed; her desire to reach Orderic before sundown outweighed the cost of a few broken wares. The couple traveled in silence still, their mule thankfully kept a moderately fast pace; Remmy calculated that they would be arriving at the gates of Orderic by dusk. Even if the walls were closed for the day, they might be able to eke out a good spot to set up their wares on the morrow. The best case would be that the gates would still be open, as it was likely that a few other out of city merchants would be still arriving from other parts of the kingdom.
Remmy’s hopes were suddenly dashed when their mule cried out loudly as the wheel beneath Haskul cracked and fell from the axel. The weight of the dragging cart made the mule stagger, its knobby knees buckled and it sank to the ground, exhausted. Haskul lit up the night with a string of curses that even made Remmy blush from their profanity. Night was imminent now; all that was left of the light were the final rays of the sun as it completed its dip into the earth. Remmy began to feel afraid.
“This is all your fault!” Haskul pointed his finger at his wife; the darkness hid the dirt beneath his nail.
“My fault?!” Remmy suddenly forgot her fear as it turned to a burning rage in her belly. “How is it my fault your ass is so large that it literally broke the wheel from its weight? How is it my fault that you are so incompetent at your profession that you can’t even tie a rope? How is it my fault that you are so bull-headed that you can’t even coax a mule—” Remmy was cut short by a slap to the face. Haskul’s hand was large and meaty, she knew her face would be red from the blow and tears would be coming from her eyes.
“I’ve coaxed plenty of mules in my day, woman, one of which was you, don’t forget. If you’re lucky, I’ll coax you again!” Haskul’s jaw was set like a rock, and his hand was raised to deliver another blow. Remmy had shrunk back from the first blow to her face and she could see the pleasure Haskul now had in his anger and her involuntary cowed position. She remained quiet, noticing the darkness deepen and her husband’s features grow dulled from the shadows that covered the world. Haskul turned his attention to the mule once he recognized that Remmy would say no more. The mule would be impossible to move until it had suitable food and rest, and Haskul’s anger seemed to have been spent on his wife, so he left the beast where it lay.
“Get off of the cart and come help me with the wheel, woman.” Haskul practically barked at his wife. She complied, getting off the cart and walking around to stand beside Haskul. The two of them tried as best they could to prop the cart back up to a semi-level position to help alleviate the weight on the mules yoke; it was hard work, made harder by the dark and by the time they had removed the remains of the wheel and propped the cart up, both were sweating from exertion. The efforts seemed to have burned most of the anger out of both of them, and they worked calmly with each other on the task.
Remmy and Haskul leaned against the broken cart, the darkness made it difficult to see anything in great detail, but the darkness was not yet total. Remmy felt her husband’s hand rest on her shoulder, her aching body was too tired to stiffen or react to the touch. “I’m sorry, Remmy. I shouldn’t have struck you.”
Remmy grunted, familiar with the apology. It would be like the countless times before, and she was satisfied with that. Her life was not as bad as the lives of some other women in her shire; Haskul was a brute, but his temper never left her too worse for wear, which was more than she could say for some other women’s husbands.
“Come on, let’s see to the mule.” Remmy said, accepting Haskul’s apology by continuing on with life. She felt, more than saw, her husband walking beside her towards their collapsed mule.
“I don’t know if she’s going to make the trip back.” Haskul looked at the mule, its breathing slow and labored. “If we can get her to Orderic, we can sell her in the shambles; get some butcher to cut her up.”
“We won’t get the goats; we can use the copins on another mule.” Remmy plotted how she would be able to get a good price for another beast of burden; they wouldn’t be cheap, especially with all the additional people flocking into Orderic for the markets.
“We’re maybe three or four hours from the capital. She should be able to pull our cart by next morn—” Haskul began, but his words were cut off suddenly. Remmy heard him gurgle and splutter, his body falling forward. Wetness splashed onto her face as she watched her husband land on the mule. The shadows of night were ever darkening, and she could only see a jumble of writhing shadows in front of her as the mule struggled slightly from the weight of her husband.
“Haskul! What is the matter with you?” Remmy began. She bent down to pull at her husband. As she did so he rolled over; revealing eyes wide in shock; the shaft of a cruel looking arrow stuck from his neck, blood spurting from the wound. Haskul tried to speak, but every twitch he made sent more blood pouring from his throat. “Good heavens! Oh, good gracious!” Remmy put her hands to her mouth in shock; she felt the wetness on her own face and knew it was her husband’s blood. Haskul’s arms shot up and gripped her tight as he flopped like a fish; he reminded Remmy of the chickens she had beheaded, their bodies spasming and flailing about.
“Help me!” Haskul half coughed, half choked on the words as he tugged at his wife. Remmy could see his face was pale, almost white, despite the darkness of night as the blood left him. Remmy released the grip she had on her husband and began running; she felt no guilt for leaving him to bleed his last on the road. She was not a young woman any more, and was winded after only a few moments of running. Her lungs burned as though they were on fire, and her legs felt like they were filled with boiling water. Still she ran, the aches in her body screamed at her, but she ignored them, like she ignored the pain her husband caused her. Used to cause. She thought to herself. He’s dead now. He just died. Remmy thought about Haskul, his death was like liberation of sorts. If it wasn’t for the threat of her own death than chased her, Remmy knew she would be feeling giddy with excitement and the prospect of living without him. As it was, that giddy feeling turned to icy fear in her stomach, her thoughts focused on the possibility of an arrow piercing her own throat as she ran. She had no idea what that would feel like; she had once accidentally driven an iron spike through her hand; the pain had been excruciating. She prayed the pain of an arrow would be quick, and she would not die slowly; flopping on the ground like her husband.
Remmy spared a single glance behind her, the night covered most of what she saw, but there was light enough to tell her that devils chased her. Horrible looking beasts, they ran erect like men, but their faces were twisted and vile; their bodies were large, without fat. It was their teeth that stuck in her mind; long and pointed, like a wolfs, carnivorous and vicious. Remmy had only heard of orcs, they stayed away from most of Cera, remaining on the border of the kingdom, where the wild lands were. She had heard of their barbarity, but she had never seen one. And now they were chasing her. How am I going to get two goats and a cockerel now? Remmy thought to herself as she ran, trying to force the image of the monsters chasing her from her mind. She felt her body near collapse, she had been running for only a few minutes, but she knew she couldn’t go on much longer. For the first time in years, Remmy began to cry. For all the abuse and fear Haskul had put her through, she never cried; especially not in front of him. But now she couldn’t stop. The sobs wracked her already burning lungs; thick mucus choked her as she gasped between sobs, seeking air.
Remmy tripped in one of the many holes of the road, she shrieked in pain and despair as she tumbled to the ground. Her back had never hurt as badly as it did then, her knees felt like they had popped, she feared she would never walk again. She lay face down, gasping in air; dirt from the road was sucked into her open mouth. She could hear heavy footfalls catch up to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. She prayed to god that they would kill her quickly. Harsh guttural sounds came from the creatures that stood above her; Remmy could hear them talking, though she had never heard such an ugly language. Not far in the distance she could hear the tinkling sound of other monster smashing the clay pots and other wares in the back of the cart. The mule screamed, but the sound was cut short violently. Remmy could feel the tears in her eyes sting as they fell onto the road. She couldn’t bring her mind to conjure up the images of what might have been happening back at the cart. There was the sound of a short blade being scraped out of a sheath by one of the monsters that stood over her. A part of Remmy was thankful that murder was the only thing she would have to suffer; she had not heard of orcs defiling women’s honor.
A weight fell onto Remmy, pushing all remaining air from her lungs, sending dirt from the road back up into her face from the force of her exhalation, stinging her eyes. The weight felt enormous to her, and it was hard to breath from the pressure. She could hear scuffling and surprised grunting sounds coming from the orcs above her. A body landed beside her, the face was next to hers and its visage was terrible to behold; a creature of nightmare, the orcs eyes rolled to the back of its skull with pain and its mouth frothed, the white spittle oozing out between its jagged teeth. Remmy’s fright lent her strength and she rose to her knees, knocking the dead weight of another orc from her body. She stood shakily on her feet, her eyes not fully focused in the dark. The orcs that were chasing her were dead beside her, arrows sticking up from the bodies of the monsters. There were sounds of battle by the cart she had run from as the orcs that did not pursue now faced another enemy.
“Madam, are you injured?” A deep voice sounded behind Remmy, and a heavy hand came to rest upon her shoulder. The sudden voice and feeling of the hand made Remmy jump with fright. “If you are able, I would suggest you run to the tree line, there, where you see the three torches. You will be safe there.” The owner of the voice didn’t wait for her to reply before he was advancing towards the cart, showing Remmy his broad back, covered in a simple green tunic that looked almost black from the darkness.
Wasting no time, Remmy staggered towards the trees, like a moth towards the flames of the torches. It was only when she got into the circle of light cast by the torches did she see the faces of men, hardened by a life of battle. Scars were on every man’s face, and weapons in their hands. Panic spread through Remmy’s exhausted frame as she recognized that she might have gone from the pan into the fire. There were three men, each with a torch; the light from the fires did not show much detail of their garb, but it showed enough that Remmy knew the men wore ill-fitting and piece-meal armor.
“Stay still.” The man in the center commanded her, his tone and his steely gaze told her she would get no mercy if she were to disobey his order. His hair was long, and his beard bushy and unkempt. Remmy stood, her breath coming in ragged gasps again. The man stood forward and held the light closer to her face. Remmy was aging, and she was aging poorly; it had been a long time since youth graced her with any natural beauty, and a hard life of work and toil broadened her frame until she was stout and hardy. Her face was lined with wrinkles from age and worry and her hands were calloused. With luck, she would not be fancied by the men now examining her with their cold eyes.
“She seems well enough.” A second man said, he was young enough that hair had yet to grow from his chin, but his eyes were hollow from witnessing far too much misery for one so young, aging him unnaturally.
“Aye. No lasting injuries, spare a bruise or two about her face.” The first man said and pulled the torch away from her, the heat from the flame left Remmy’s skin cool feeling without its presence.
“Please, sire,” Remmy began in as calm a tone as she could muster, though the quiver in her voice was unavoidable.
“Silence. Look, they return.” The man pointed towards the cart. Remmy turned to see shadowy figures slowly making their way towards the trees. The light from the torches caught on the cold steel blades the figures carried, black blood coated the metal. Remmy quickly counted as best she could; roughly seven shadows came back from the cart.
“Good gentle woman,” one of the figures spoke as he walked closer; the voice was familiar, it was the one who directed her to the tree line. “I must be the bearer of ill news; your companion by the cart is dead.” The figure stepped into the circle of light, and Remmy looked upon a young man, his eyes cold, but they held no malice. The man came to stand very close to her, his left hand stretching out to grasp her shoulder again.
“It is only a few hours from Orderic. She can walk; the roads will be clear from here to the capital.” The bearded man said. The younger man who held Remmy looked up sharply at the comment, a flash of anger in his eyes.
“We will not leave this woman to the roads, not after such a night.” The way in which the younger man spoke brooked no challenges from the others. “Come, good woman, you have been through much. Rest now with us; know that you are safe.”
Remmy could barely think straight, her mouth opened and closed repeatedly before the man’s words fully registered. “Safe?” The last word he said seemed impossible, as though at any minute more monsters might attack from the darkness, or the man played a cruel joke, and would see her dead before morning. The young man gave a smile, disarming and genuine.
“Aye, you are safe here with us. My name is Peter, and you have my word that no harm will come to you while you are under our protection. How might we call you, good woman?”
“Remanna; but everyone calls me Remmy” She replied instinctually at the question; Remmy’s tongue working despite her mind being distant from shock and fear, picturing the plethora of violent endings she might meet at the hands of the men.
Peter bowed, “A pleasure, madam Remanna. Come, These woods are no place for a lady, let us escort you to safe haven, where you might rest.” Peter slowly directed Remmy deeper into the woods. The light from the torches were weak weapons against the thick darkness of the forest, and Remmy could barely navigate around the roots and rocks of the forest. Despite her difficulty, the men seemed sure in their steps and Peter helped to guide her. Exhaustion and panic mixed in her blood, making her more compliant that she would have been otherwise if she found herself surrounded by rough looking men; her head was telling her to try and flee, but her body could barely walk, let alone run. Silence settled on the group for a while, and Remmy felt like she was in a strange dream, her mind a prisoner in her body, only observing her actions, unable to control herself. She walked on, unsure of where she was being taken, unsure of how truthful Peter and his band of men were that she would be safe. What was more, her mind often fluttered back to the image of Haskul, his throat pierced with an arrow, but it brought no emotions to her; she simply accepted his death like it was the passing of a beast, or stranger.
“We have been tracking this band of orcs for three days; our intent was to ambush them early next morning.” Peter spoke suddenly, as though the silence bothered him; and his voice held back the silence, as a torch to the darkness. Remmy stayed quiet but nodded meekly and briefly glanced to the man. Peter seemed to take that as his cue to continue. “We know that there are no other raiding parties of orcs near here; it was only bad timing that they struck at your wagon tonight, and it was nothing but providence that we were as close as we were.” Peter began to speak freely, filling the walk through the dark woods with a recounting of the movement patterns of the orcs, and the frequency of attacks on other traveling peasants. Remmy couldn’t focus fully on his words; she stumbled often and was only kept upright by the strong arms of Peter.
As Peter spoke, Remmy watched the other men that walked with them; none shared the jovial bounce in their step that Peter had, none looked at her with the same respect and kindness that Peter looked at her with. Remmy shuddered whenever one of the men looked at her, as though they were leering at her, sizing her up like prey. She had seen enough hard men in her life to know that they were more than capable of committing great atrocities. Something kept them from resorting to such baseness though. Every time the light from the torches touched one of the men’s faces, Remmy could see them look towards Peter with an almost reverent gaze. Peter’s youth and vitality threw the other men’s age into sharp relief; every one of them wore their brokenness from the world upon their face, yet Peter seemed untouched by the brokenness the others wore.
“Who are you that you track these orc raiders with such vigor? Are you the Queen’s men?” Remmy interrupted Peter after a while, curiosity getting the better of her. Remmy heard a few chortles at her guess of them being in league with the Queen. Peter was silent for a moment before he replied.
“Although we have not practiced our profession while these orcs have darkened Cera’s roads, it would not do to lie to you; we are not in the service of our Queen. Though she is fair, her husbands are steeped in corruption and undue all the good of her rule. We are highwaymen, thieves and killers to those who fear us, saviors to those in need. ” Peter’s words filled Remmy’s stomach with ice; his good humor seemed to darken momentarily as he admitted to his occupation. Killers. That word stuck in her mind; she had heard of horrible crimes committed by highwaymen, she began to tremble.
“So, what are you going to do?” to me. Remmy added in her own mind. Peter must have been lulling her into a sense of security that she would willingly walk with them to a spot in the woods. There they would do as they pleased to her. Her tremble escalated to shaking hands and a shivering mouth.
“We’re the Woodlanders of Cera. We don’t rob our own kind.” One of the other men said, obvious pride coming through his words. Remmy had heard of the Woodlanders; they were officially outlawed by the Queen of Cera, but local lawmen rarely attempted to apprehend them, and even when they tried, the Woodlanders proved too difficult to catch. There were as many good stories as there were bad about their exploits in the realm, depending on who shared the tale.
“We are going to do as we said, good Remanna.” Peter smiled, his tone once again light, almost instantly easing Remmy’s fears. “We are going to offer you a place to safely rest. While we are outlaws, it does not mean that we are criminals.” Peter gave a small chuckle.
“Why are bandit Woodlanders tracking orcs, then?” Remmy asked.
“It is thanks to the efforts of the Woodlanders that there aren’t more orcs taking innocent lives. Were it not for our men tracking and removing the raiding parties, this road would be near overrun with foul monsters.” The bearded man spoke.
“Well, we can’t count on Cera’s army to rid the land of the orc menace, and if the orcs roam the roads, then nobles and monks with fat coin purses won’t. So our task is more greedy than altruistic, really.” Peter grinned. Remmy could hear half-truths in every word he said.
“Cera’s armies are glorified guardsmen, and their incompetence at keeping these orcs at bay is a testament to how ineffective they are.” One of the Woodlanders said, the others that had been walking in silence grew animated with the discussion.
“I heard that the Queen has asked the Shadow Wraiths to aid in protecting Cera’s borders, calling on an old agreement she had made with the savages.”
“Much to the disappointment of her husbands, no doubt. The Shadow Wraiths are a force they won’t be able to control too easily. ” Another voice said. Remmy didn’t know much about the nobles or the court, she had heard of the Queen of Cera, but rarely of her husbands.
“She has more than one husband?” Remmy asked, a sense of relief filled her as the conversation among the men began to flow, the words filling the night with a sense of humanity that she didn’t realize was missing from the stoic men.
“Oh no, here we go.” One of the men in the shadows groaned. “Now Boruc is going to go off on one of his lessons.”
“You would do well to listen to my lessons!” Boruc, who was the hard man with the beard, barked. “It might knock some of the stupid from between your ears.” Boruc turned to Remmy, his eyes still cold, but his manner seemed more relaxed. “There are many monasteries in Cera; each monastery contributes to our economy in distinct, but important ways; whether it’s providing knowledge agriculturally or through trade negotiations. Our Queen relies heavily on the wisdom from these monasteries, and what they teach. There are seven sects of monasteries, each with their own niche of knowledge.” Boruc’s tone was formal, and Remmy struggle to understand what he was talking about.
“Holy hell Boruc, you are as boring as a muddy rock.” A voice came from the shadows. Boruc sniffed as though he didn’t hear the insult and continued haughtily.
“A monk from each sect of monastery is always present with our Queen to advise her; they have become known as the seven husbands. They are required to become eunuchs so that our Queen’s chastity is above reproach. This castration would also prevent their own machinations for power overtaking their position to advise the Queen.” Boruc looked at Remmy, who tried to nod at the right times, and not interrupt the man. Boruc gave a short sigh when he looked and saw Remmy’s blank stare. “Fat lot of good that did though; the husbands are as greedy for power as ever, and they work counter to the desires of the Queen and the good of Cera’s citizens. Seeking to fill their own treasuries and increase their sects’ power within the kingdom.”
“The Queen should just kill the lot of ‘em, that’s what I say.” Another gruff voice came from the shadows.
“She can’t now; they are too ingrained in every facet of Cera’s economy. All she can do is manage them as best she can.” Boruc replied with a derisive snort.
“That’s why Cera needs us; we keep those rich monks in their place!” Laughter from the group rose. “Ain’t no treasury getting filled but ours!” The men all began to talk and joke amongst themselves, drowning out any other lesson Boruc might have given. Throughout the exchange, Peter kept silent, his eyes ahead. The natural commotion of the men began to quiet again, and talk turned to the rumor of the Shadow Wraith’s coming to Cera. Yet another name that Remmy was woefully unaware of.
“Those north men are barbaric; their weapons will spill the blood of orcs and human’s indiscriminately.” A voice said, with a murmur of agreement coming from the others.
“The Queen has no choice but to enlist the aid of the Wraith, he and his fighters have proved worthy in the past.” Boruc chimed in.
“They say the Wraith is like a storm cloud; he comes in the darkness, when he speaks, it’s like thunder, and his blows are like lightening.”
“Bah! Foolish chatter from simpering nurse maids.” Boruc replied. “I’d wager he is a man who grunts when he shits, just like any other.” Boruc and the others laughed.
Remmy listened to the discussion continue, unsure of who the Wraith was, and when the Shadow Wraiths had been in Cera before. Her whole life had been spent at home, in her small shire. She had no understanding past mending clothes and helping her husband. Peter also continued to remain silent as the others debated and argued, his firm hand ever supporting her. When Remmy felt as though she could walk no more, the men halted in a clearing. The men had been talking openly, their moods much more jovial then they had been when Remmy first met them; but they ceased talking when they stopped in the clearing.
When all of them were silent, Peter waved his arm at the clearing. “Welcome to Brightwell.” he said to Remmy, pride obvious in his voice. “This is where the Woodlanders roost; and you are to be our guest of honor.”
Most of Brightwell was cloaked in darkness, but Remmy could see cooking fires dotting the clearing, the light from the fires lighting up what looked like a shanty town of dilapidated wooden dwellings and tents. Despite the ragged look of the place, laughter could be heard by those that still remained in Brightwell, and there was a sense of warmth, and of a home.
“There will always be strife in this world, dear lady.” Peter turned Remmy towards himself. “But as long as a Woodlander draws breath, there will be a defender of the weak.”