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Turn
1
The Labourer pushed the heavy timber door open and stepped into the
Dusty Throat's smoke-filled taproom. The heavyset woman behind the bar
glanced up as the confident Soldier, thoughtful Mercenary, diminutive
Halfling Outrider, and gangly Initiate followed the lanky man into the
warmth, shaking fat snowflakes from their cloaks. The Halfling's horse
stared after them from where it stood, tied to a porch-post
The old man sitting by the fire cackled, his yellow teeth. "Guests,
Martha, guests!"
"Shut up," muttered the woman, still polishing glasses with a cloth.
Seemingly satisfied, she stood the stubby shot glass on the bar, and
caught Darmon's brown eye with her hazel. "You'd better…"
The Coach Driver geed his four horses into life and the stage - your
ride into Tents - began the long trip back down the mountain. Stones,
thrown up by the spinning wheels, sprayed across the square to rattle
off the Throat's shutters and drowned her out. The old man began waving
the four new arrivals over, chuckling again. "Looks like you're not
going to make it over the Blacks this side of New Years, mates."
The woman settled her weight against the bar. "It might not settle…"
"Pah. City girl!" The woman shrugged.
"The first fall didn't lie last year, nor the year before." The old
man wagged a finger at her, triumphantly.
"Yes, but it didn't snow like this those times. It were night-snow then,
and little flakes. This is the proper stuff. Well brewed up there,"
he waved one knurled thumb at the ceiling, " and at midday, too. It'll
snow again this eve, and it'll lie well too. All over the South Pass.
I'll bet yah."
"You'll bet what? A pint? Your tab stands at more than this piss-poor
town's worth already!"
"It weren't always like that, you know. Back when Old Verholm were alive,
Tents were alive too." The woman shrugged herself into a more comfortable
position, her eyes already starting to glaze over. "Lord Verholm sunk
the first pit, up on the hill, o'er there" - a hand gestured vaguely
- "back in twen'-four-oh-four, oh-five, there-abouts. He stole the claim
from some prospector, of course, didn' find the seam himself, no matter
what the new one says."
"Lord Verholm the Fourth" added the woman. The old man shot her an angry
look.
"You tellin' this, or me? I am the Town Historian, af'er all!" He puffed
out his sunken chest.
"Oh, is that why they sent you that young girl, Lucky, or whatever her
name is?" The old man missed the laughing twinkle in her eyes.
"Luk-ress-ee-ah."
"Yeah, Lucky, whatever."
"Humph." The old man shifted on his stool to face the fire and away
from the innkeeper. "Anywise. They sunk one shaft, and they found gold.
After a bit, they ran out of gold and into a wall of granite. So they
sunk another pit, on the other side of the granite, and struck silver.
Good silver, too. Hardly needed to be smelted at all. Best silver in
the Southern Empire, they say. Said, maybe, 'cause it run out too. Ran
out before they finished the Forge, even."
"They finished the Silver Forge, though, didn't they?"
The old man shot her another angry look. "Of course they did, you stupid
woman. You don't build haff a forge, do you? What'd be the sense of
that?" She shrugged one shoulder and he turned back to the fire. "Pits
three and four went in a little further up the slope. Pit four, Neptune's
hole they called it, flooded with Spring melt and never drained. Pit
five was on the other side of the valley, well off the way. It'd just
gone down fifty yards when they gave it up. The men walked up there
one morning. March it were - courting time." He grinned lecherously.
"They found a girl up there, haff naked and covered in blood, some of
it hers. The men didn't like that much, but the foreman gave his axe
a bit of a shake, and led a few of 'em down. They found her man, all
right. Found him on the floor. Found him on the walls too, bits of him,
anyway. No wonder the girl had been in such a state!" He took a swig
of ale from the dented tin beaker and smacked his lips, oblivious to
the distasteful look on Martha's face.
"Do you have to enjoy telling that story?"
"It's fact - me Daddy were there."
"Yeah - in his swaddling!" The old man ignored her in favour of his
ale.
"Anywise, they gave up on the shaft. Decided that whatever could do
that to one of them - a miner's lad, big - wasn't worth messing with.
The pit's still up there, still open. The kids go up there sometimes.
Lads showing off to the girls, that sort of thing. Even they don't go
there at night."
"You did!"
"An' I regretted it!" The old man almost threw his ale into the fire
as he flung his arms wide. "Went down there with Jeffer. Trying to prove
something or other to Eliza an' Sara. Trying to get inta their pants,
I guess." He glanced aside at Darmon who didn't know where to put his
eyes. Junither laughed. "We'd just got outta sight of the entrance when
I put me hand on summit warm, and it bit me." The woman snorted.
"And you screamed."
"Aye, and ran like there were Chaos Hounds af'er me. "
"Screaming."
"Al'right, al'right! I might have made a bit of noise, might have tried
to scare the beast off of me." Martha snorted. "Damned rat-bite swelled
up. Thought I might lose it - the hand I mean."
"That's not what you said last time…" The old man grinned, his eyes
focussed on something a long time ago.
"She made it all right, all right. Good ol' Eliza…" He took another
swig before thumping the beaker down and sloshing ale over the low table.
"She's on the hill now. Been there for the best part of 30 years. I'll
be there too, soon enough."
"About bloody time. There's more ale than blood in you, now-a-days."
He grinned.
"And more piss awful stories than the lot a yous." He levered himself
to his feet, muttered "I'm going for a piss," and headed for the door.
Snow blew in as he went out. The flames in the pit guttered and reared
up again. The woman reached for another lumpen shot glass and started
to polish again.
---Skip to the Dented Crown---
The dusty
student ducked under the low lintel into the Dented Crown. The barman
gave him a grin, which he returned, and tapped a oaken barrel for a
flagon of ale. The student dropped a couple of copper-coloured coins
on the bar and took a deep draught.
"You look like you needed that."
"Oh Gods, yes. I've not had a decent pint since I left here heading
south."
"I thought I recognised you. You find your desert?"
"There's certainly enough of it to find! I never realised it was so…
so big!" The barman laughed.
"You sound like the fairy."
"Who?"
"The fairy. Him." The man nodded towards the Elf sitting at the only
table in the bar not overflowing with singing, laughing peasants. "He
blew in this morning, heading south. From the little he said, I think
he's looking for some sort of religious experience."
"It's a good place to find one! So big and so…"
"…empty? It has to be empty, doesn't it. You can't have a desert if
it's full of trees and grass, now, can you, Monsieur?"
The student shrugged, picked up his flagon, and went to sit in one of
the few empty seats, opposite the Elf.
---Skip to the Dusty Throat---
Martha finished
the last of the shot glasses and reached for the first of the few mismatched
stem glasses at the back of the shelf. "He'll be back soon enough, and
with another hour of two of stories, too, I'll bet. You'd better get
used to them." She turned the glass upside down, found a cleaner corner
of rag, and started to polish. "From the look of that snow, you're not
going to get through South Pass before the spring melt, so you'd better
make up your minds to stay the winter or go back north. The next coach
is in a week, so you have that long to get sick of Amos' bleating."
She put the glass back on the shelf and reached for another. "There's
rooms upstairs if you need them, two shillings a night. There's a fire
and chimney, and a grate too, up there but no kindling. Magden might
be able to find you some - he runs the Stores on the other side of the
square. He might be able to find you some blankets too, and maybe some
old clothes. It gets mighty cold up here in winter." The glass rejoined
its kind and the next in line took its place. "If you're thinking of
staying, the Smith's looking for a couple of hands to refill his coke
bins from the Heap, and the Lord's Factor'll be looking for a few strong
backs down the pits. Winter's a bad time to be above ground, but Below
isn't so bad. When the snow starts falling, the wagons stop coming,
so this is when the Factor starts trying to sink new shafts, open caverns,
shift slabs, that sort of thing. It's good times for the Miners, all
right."
"Speaking of wagons, is the last wagon back?" Amos threw his narrow
back against the door, forcing it closed.
Martha put the glass down and stared at him, the cogs turning. "Mund's
wagon?"
"Yeah. The fool went south, towards the coast. Fancied some melon for
his girl."
"She's starting to swell."
"Nah…"
"You blind ol' bat. They've been married half a year. We'd be worrying
if she weren't!"
"You'd be worried. You mean the gossips'ld be worried." Martha grinned.
"It's only natural. I mean: It was a spring wedding. How many boys tumble
a girl in spring, marry her, and she doesn't start to swell by winter?"
"Humph. Anywise, I'm wondering about him. He's supposed to be bringing
the last lot of supplies in."
"No. Big Hel collected the last shipment."
"Nah, Big Hel collected the last shipment."
"That's what I…"
"No, stupid, last as in latest, not final!" Martha opened her mouth
to reply when the door burst open. The sun hadn't yet set, but the sky
was black with storm clouds and the snow was still falling. Snow swept
in around the man outlined against the sky. His eyebrows were rimed
with frost and his thick cloak was dusted white with the snow. Chainmail
glinted wetly in the crimson firelight. His chest heaved as he gasped
for air.
"Verten!"
"Something's moving on the hill. Urkan says it's Goblins."
The old man grabbed his sword from where it lent against the mantle
piece. "Already?"
"It's been snowing on the peaks for two weeks now. They must have waiting
for the snow to blind us as well."
"How many?"
"At least five. Maybe ten, maybe more."
"A test?"
"You bet your life? COME ON!" The man spun on his heel and ran back
out into the cold. Amos went to follow him but Martha grabbed him by
the sleeve as he passed and jerked him to a stop.
"Wait a sec, you can get your girl to take some ale up to the Guards."
Turning to the new arrivals, she narrowed her eyes. "What are you waiting
for? GET OUT!"
---Skip to the Dented Crown---
"…archaeological
dig. It's boring as sin, but it was kind of good to be valued. Their
translator got married, you see, and went to live in her village." The
Elf nodded and waved two fingers at the barman. He nodded back and reached
for two empty flagons.
"How about you? Why are you down here? I mean, it's a long way from
home for…"
"Bugger!" The two looked up as the man staggered back into the bar,
still swearing and clutching his head. "Why the hell do you have such
a low doorway?" The Dwarf barman shrugged.
"Looks about the right height to me. You were all right coming in: You
shouldn't have been in such a hurry to get out if you were so worried
about your skull."
"It's bleeding snowing, in't it?"
"Where?"
"Up there, fool. On the hills."
"And it's fine down here. So what?"
"I've got to get back to my wife before the snow blocks the pass!"
The Dwarf shrugged. "You've got loads of time. Have another ale. Take
it easy for a bit."
"Fat chance I'll risk getting stuck down here! I'm off!" With that,
the miner grabbed his cloak and wide brimmed hat, gingerly ducked under
the lintel, and left. The student shoved himself to his feet, grabbed
his bag, spilt the last of his ale, and rushed after the departing man.
The elf watched them go, glanced the last of his ale, glanced at the
barman, who ignored him, and shrugged. Grabbing the bulky bag from under
the table, he stood up. Raising the flagon, he drained it and left.
He put the flagon down silently on the bar-top and ducked out of the
bar.
---Skip to the Walls---
Vertan ducked
back below the parapet, out of the wind. Cupping his hands in front
of his face, he blew on them. "Gods it's cold!" The man on the far side
of him passed a metal flask and Vertan took a grateful swig before passing
it on to the Halfling and the other new-comers. "There's a bunch of
them behind one of the ridges, about forty yards out and maybe five
yards above us. The…" the wind swept his words away. He grinned. "The
wind's blowing this way, so even that fancy contraption of yours won't
be much use to you, my friend." He nodded at the Soldier and the bulky
iron-and-wood crossbow on his shoulder. He slapped the man to him on
the chest. The man turned and knelt up to peak up over the palisade.
Something flashed passed him, passing over Vertan's head and disappearing
into the gloom.
"Shit!" The man dropped behind the parapet again and pressed himself
against the safety of the wooden wall. Vertan grinned.
"Cheeky sods. Oh well. If they're only loosing off one at a time, either
they've got an opportunist in their midsts, or they're not really trying
hard enough." He turned, knelt up, and dropped back down. "Can't say
I blame them, really. This is good weather for a big fire and chicken
broth, not watching your friends scream and retch in the snow…" He trailed
off to stare at Darmon's strange expression. He shook his head, pityingly.
"I'm sorry you have to be here, boy. Real sorry."
The man next to him dropped back down behind the palisade and slapped
Urkan. He reared up to glance over the parapet. His body spasmed and
he fell back down. In his hand was the shaft of an arrow, the feathers
already curling in the wet of the snow. "Bastards," he hissed, "that
was TOO close!" His face was white. "Bastards!". Vertan grinned and
chucked him the flask.
"It's still none-all, boss. What are we going to do? Wait for them to
get bored?"
---Skip to the waggon---
The wagon
bumped its way up the mountain track, throwing the student and the Elf
against each other. The miner hunched over the reins, urging the horses
to go faster than their already-dangerous pace. Crates and sacks of
root vegetables bounced about the deck, threatening to leap off. The
Elf muttered sing-song Elven poetry under his breath while the student
restricted himself to a few choice Tilean epitaphs.
The wagon crossed the ridge and started to rumble across the plateau
towards the first of the real mountain ridges. The sky began to spit
and soon the air was thick with rain. The Elf flicked his cloak's volumious
hood up over his head and disappeared into its shadows. The human backed
into the wagon, preferring to be bruised by their cargo as it bounced
about than soaked by the freezing rain.
The rain turned to sleet as they neared the ridge and turned again as
the crossed it. Snow covered the landscape - the wagon wheels left furrows
a fingertip deep. Falling flurries restricted visibility to less than
a bow-shot. As they crossed another ridge, still climbing, it fell again
to half that and half that again. The miner shouted back to light a
lantern and they fumbled one into life.
---Skip to the wall---
Vertan dropped
back into cover. "It's a light." Urkan grinned, his teeth the only things
clearly visible through the darkness.
"Told you so!"
"Gob-light?" Urkan laughed.
"That old fairytale? Doubt it. Nah, more likely it's Mund."
"In this?"
"You think he should have waited until Spring."
"No, but…"
"Vertan… Shut up." The two soldiers grinned at each other. "Go find
out if the sentry saw him come in." Vertan nodded and moved off towards
the gate, keeping low behind the wooden wall. Urkan knelt up for another
look before flopping back down. "If he's not already in, we might have
to go get him. Won't that be fun?" he muttered.
---Skip to the waggon---
The rock was
completely buried by snow. The wagon hit it at full gallop and lifted
off the road. The horses stumbled and the heavy wooden cart smashed
down behind them, throwing its contents clear and sliding into the horses'
brittle legs. Skin tore, bones snapped. A horse screamed, gurgled, died.
There was a hiss, and suddenly a flash of light and a wave of warmth
as the wagon caught light.
The student forced numb arms to lift his face out of the snow and looked
at the Elf. The Elf stared back.
---Skip to the wall---
Vertan dropped
back down. "Come on, boys. Things just took a turn for the worse." Drawing
his sword, he leapt over the palisade and skidded and slid down the
far side of the mound. The mercenary drew his blade, grinned at the
others, and vaulted after the guard captain. The Soldier shrugged, gave
the Halfling a leg up over the wooden wall, and followed after with
the Labourer and Initiate in close pursuit.
---Skip to the waggon---
The Elf knelt on one knee
next to the prostrate body of their driver, one hand to his throat.
"He's still breathing."
Urkan and the others jogged out of the darkness, the jangling of their
equipment muffled by their heavy clothing. The town had long since disappeared
into the darkness behind them.
Urkan took one look at the Elf's face, turned, and stared at the burning
wagons, the mess of broken and dying flesh that used to be the horses,
and the smashed crates and split sacks. "Shit." He said.
"Now what?"
---End Turn---
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