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By Hans-Jörg Knabel
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Silverlake flag |
“‘Es servin’ the king now, in the Gorge of Thorniara”, Murdra growled, wiping the table with large, angry strokes.
Diego quickly grabbed his mead before she could knock it onto the floor. “Lester?” he asked, doubt in his voice, and grabbed his sabre from the table as well. “Are you sure we are talking about the same person? The Lester I know is bald, with tattoos on his face.”
Murdra nodded curtly. “Not just your friend”, she hissed, smacking her rag on the oaken surface. “They took the fishermen and the woodcutters too, the dogs!” She tossed the rag onto her shoulder. Cold sweat had pearled on her forehead. “All the regulars – gone! Only Rauter and his guildmates are left, and some travellers maybe... but who’s gonna travel with the war goin’ on?”
Diego put his sabre back on the table. “When did this happen?”
“Two days ago, around noon.”
“Strange,” Diego murmured, absent-mindedly sipping his mead. “There was no sign of common folk being drafted in Stewark.”
“Weren’t no Stewark soldiers”, Murdra growled. “Silverlake ones, all of ‘em.”
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Gawaan |
Diego frowned . “Gawaan’s men”, he said, taking another sip of his mead.
Murdra nodded. “Kept blatherin’ about volunteerin’, but didn’t leave ‘em no choice, none of ‘em.”
“This may be an act of retribution”, Diego mused, giving Murdra a quizzical look. “Baron Renwick has refused to support Gawaan with his troops. The Stewarkians are preparing for a siege.”
“Don’t matter none why Lord Gawaan’s done it – ‘es got no right!”
Diego grimaced. “He is king Ethorn’s brother and the commander of the royal army in the west of Argaan. Who’s going stop him?”
Murdra didn’t answer. The king would ‘ave, if ‘e weren’t cut off and under siege, she thought. ‘Es an ‘onorable man, that one. ‘E sent ‘is own ‘ealers to save Belgor.
Diego emptied his cup. “Which way did they go?”
“Through the swampland”, Murdra answered. “You gonna serve the king too?”
“No”, Diego said with a grin. “Maybe I can catch up.”
“Not gonna happen”, Murdra retorted, picking up the emty cup. “No one needs two whole days to the Gorge of Thorniara, even through the swamps. They’re already in the Valley of Blood, bashin’ their skulls in.”
Diego stood and fished a few gold coins out of a small leather bag. “Who knows?” he said, dropping the coins into the cup. “Maybe they’ve stopped over in the swamps to press more men into Ethorn’s service.”
Murdra peered into the cup and carefully counted the gold. “The mages?” she speculated.
Diego shook his head. “There are all kinds of people in the swamp. If the soldiers were to try this kind of thing in the tree of Tooshoo, Milten would melt the armor off their skin and toss them back into the swamp.”
The pirate certainly knows ‘ow to tip, Murdra thought, and gave a satisfied grunt. “Milten?”
Diego already was on his way to the door. “A friend”, he explained casually. “One of the grandmasters of Tooshoo.”
Huh, a grandmaster! Murdra’s eyes went wide. Must be important, the pirate. Wouldn’t ‘ave such important friends otherwise.
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Flanged Mace |
Diego gave her a friendly wink, then stepped outside. “Lester?”, Murdra heard him say for the second time this day. She peered out of the window and saw Diego’s tattoed friend standing in the courtyard.
“You sound surprised”, Lester remarked.
“I thought you had started a new career in Ethorn’s army”, Diego said with a smile, patting Lester on the shoulder.
“Oh, that’s not my cup of mead”, Lester answered. “I wouldn’t have time to spare, anyway.” He walked past Diego and stepped into the tap room.
Somethin’s wrong, Murdra thought, squinting at Lester. There was dried blood on his brow, and his clothes had dark, brownish spots.
Diego had apparently noticed the blood as well. He followed his friend into the tap room and eyed him from head to toe. “How did you escape?” he asked.
Lester smiled. “We had a little chat.”
Diego looked at him skeptically. “Is that so?”
“Yes”, Lester replied softly.
Murdra didn’t buy it. The mace at his side had been spotless the last time he had been at the Cleaved Maiden. Don’t need it, he had told the officer. The flanged head was caked with dried blood now.
“That officer didn’t look none like the reasonable type to me”, Murdra blurted out.
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Silverlake knight armor |
“I didn’t talk to him”, Lester replied. “Just with three of his soldiers.”
“The officer didn’t mind?” Diego asked.
“Well, my friend, he wasn’t there”, Lester explained. “I had sprained my ankle, and we had fallen back a bit behind a bend, and...”
Didn’t hobble none when he left, Murdra thought, but she kept her mouth shut.
“Well”, Lester continued, “then we had a little discussion, man to man.”
“Must have been quite the debate”, Diego commented, a wry smile on his lips.
“Why?”
Diego pointed at Lester’s forehead. “You’re bleeding.”
Lester wiped his brow, rubbing some dried flakes of blood between his fingers. “Oh”, he said. “That isn’t mine.”
“Of course it isn’t.” Diego sat down at his old table and grinned at his friend.
Lester joined him and smoothly changed the subject. “Where is Gorn?” he asked.
Diego’s grin broadened as he leaned back in his chair. “In Stewark.”
“What is he doing there?”, Lester asked.
Diego didn’t answer, but turned to Murdra, who had perked up her ears. “Two cups of mead, if you please. My friend here could also use a bowl of your stew.”
Grumbling, Murdra trudged into the kitchen. While she was preparing the mead and the stew, she could hear the men talking, but she was too far away to make out anything but a few words. “Bodyguard”, she heard them say, and “Renwick” and “betrayal”. Diego murmured something about trusting nobody, especially not a baron. When she was finished and returned to the table, the two friends had already changed the subject.
“I’m sailing to Setarrif”, Diego said, taking a cup of mead from Murdra. “Let’s see whether I can rain on Hagen’s and Lee’s parade. You?”
Murdra put down the second cup and the steaming bowl in front of Lester. “I’m going back to the swamp”, he replied. “Maybe Milten can use my help. Of course, I’m going to try to rain on the same parade as you are, my friend; just from a different direction.” He winked at Murdra. “Some bread would be nice.”
Murdra gave him a surly nod and headed back to the kitchen. She had barely stuck her knife in the loaf when loud voices came from the courtyard.
“Now that’s something I’ll raise my tankard to, right?” she could hear Rauter shout, followed by a loud cheer.
So much for eavesdroppin’, Murdra realized. The men from the fighters’ guild poured into the tap room, shouting for mead. Murdra pulled the rag from her shoulder and flung it onto the counter. “First the bread, then the mead”, she sighed. At least some of her regulars were back.
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