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Turn 17

---Turn 17---

"Is Urkan still asleep upstairs?" Duncan asked Martha, stretching his arms out after finally being freed from carrying the gunpowder. The joints cracked.

"He's sleeping like a baby." Amos grinned gamely. "He was up all night with his guards and I suppose he'll be up all night tonight, too."

"Thanks you, I will wait here for him if you don't mind." Duncan replied, smiled, and headed towards one of the free stools in the centre of the room, making himself comfortable. By accident, he sat with his back to the door. He startled when Darmon carefully cracked the heavy door open. The labourer shifted on his stool and beckoned the shy Initiate closer.

Having waited until Darmon was settled, Amos turned back to Martha.

"My money's on a Goblin Mage. The little" - he caught Martha's disapproving eye - "blighters breed like rabbits and take all sorts of herbs and things. One of the little… blighters has got to be a mage, eventually."

"Or possessed. Goblins do all sorts of strange religious things up on the peaks. Who knows who or what might have heard them?" Everyone present looked about nervously, as if the things on the mountains might have heard them. Aenarion made a gesture with one hand while Darmon and Amos reflexively made the sign of the Hammer. Duncan merely sat a little straighter on his three-legged stool.

"Amos, have the Goblins ever gotten into the town?" Amos looked thoughtful.

"Not in my lifetime, boy. I think they got in on the East Side a few years before I was born. The blacksmith's got a row of goblin teeth on top of one of the beams in his forge, taken from Gobs killed actually inside the forge by the then-Blacksmith." He shook his head. "We've not got the men for it, you see. Urkan's lot are good en's, all of them but there's not enough to hold enough a tribe of starving Goblins, especially if the snow's too heavy to get much use out of those Ballistas Rat loves so much." The old man cracked a toothless smile as a long-forgotten memory crossed his mind. "That reminds me: did I ever tell you how Rat got his name?" He looked about. "Where's Lucky: she'll want to hear this one!"

Aenarion raised one eyebrow. Martha absently reached for her cloth and began to clean the grubby, smearing the grease around. "She's on the wall." Seven fat goblets stood in a row on a low shelf fixed to the wall behind the bar. Replacing the first, she reached for the second. "She took that lot up to see Rat." Amos nodded.

"She'll be back soon enough, I guess. It's not like she can go far, the snow being in and all."

Duncan lent forward again. "What do you think they are after? Food and other equipment?"

"The Goblins? Anything, I guess. The" - again, Martha caught his eye - "blighters live off of whatever they can steal from decent folk like us. Provisions, leather goods, weapons, the lot."

" Plains Goblins aren't so bad." Storm had turned on his high stool and lent back against the bar. He had half a roll in one hand. "They grow a little, when and where they can, and they raise their own flocks. They like to add to them occasionally, of course, but then so do the muck-grubbing farmers. No, Plains Goblins are only really a problem when they're forced out of their village. They become raiders then, and a right pain they are, too." He took another bite from the roll. "Mountain Goblins are a nuisance at the best of times" he mumbled, chewing. "There's no game, no wood, no crops, no nothing up here, so they go nomadic, raiding the villages on either side of the mountains, fleeing back up here when someone chases them off."

"Do the men guarding the walls do their job well?" Storm ducked the question, passing in on to Amos with a sideways glance. Amos shrugged.

"Every year they raid, and every year they strip the shepherds' and the hunters' huts bare. They take all the winter fodder, all the firewood, everything. Sometimes they get lucky and catch a shepherd or a hunter as well." Martha looked away, wincing at the memory. "They've not raided the town itself for a while, but they keep coming back. I don't know if that's 'well' or no."

"When did the attacks start?" Storm laughed bitterly.

"Soon after the Gods moulded clay. They're like rats, or mould on month-old bread. You do what you can, but they always come back. Always." Amos nodded.

"Death, taxes, and Goblins." Martha didn't reply, but something in her eyes looked like merriment. "And the tax doesn't always come to Tents." Storm shook his head, laughing silently.

"What did you do to him?"

Amos puffed out his shrunken chest proudly. "Tarred and feathered him, and tied him to his horse for the ride back to town, blindfolded." Storm shook his head again, still smiling.

"They'll send troops next time." Amos beamed again.

"They did the time before! We put all our valuables down the mine until they'd gone. The Factor talked their Commander into sending money for the Guard!"

---Skip to Xavier crossing the Town Square---

The House postured on the edge of the Square like a fattened pigeon. The lower storey was constructed from granite blocks quarried in the mountains while the upper storey was timber-framed and over-hung the lower storey by half a pace on all sides. The daub had been painted a creamy off-white in the style of the more expensive town houses in Altdorf. An arched oak door - stained to a deep chestnut brown to contrast with the pale walls - faced onto the Square. A short covered porch protected any guests standing in front of the imposing double doors. Snow had piled up inside the porch over night. It had been swept aside and now formed two long mounds flanking the approach to the door.

Xavier strutted up to the Lord's residence and banged on the door with a closed fist. The thumps echoed imperiously across the Square and reflected off of the inn opposite. A shutter flew open in the door to reveal two lined eyes with blue irises staring out.

"Yah-ess?" The butler's accent was hard to place. It reeked of years spent in service, decades of arrogant servitude.

"I am here to see Lord Verholm." Xavier tapped his foot impatiently.

"I am sorry" - there was a short pause - "sir, but his Lordship is not at home." Xavier frowned. His foot stopped tapping.

"Then I will speak to his Factor. I take it HE is available."

"Very good, sir. I will see if Mr Wensdit is available." The shutter slammed shut again and footsteps retreated. Ten minutes later, Xavier could hear the butler returning. The ground was free of snow where Xavier stood and there was no wind, yet the student was bitterly cold. One door opened slowly, creaking on its hinges.

"Can I take your cloak, sir? Xavier brushed him off.

"No need, this won't take long." The butler was unfazed.

"Very good, sir. If you would come this way?"

The butler wore an embroidered surplice over his tunic and walked with a stoop. He led Xavier across the polished wood-floor of the hall, past the portrait paintings and tapestries. They passed the first two oak panel doors without stopping. The third door was ajar. The butler opened it and stepped inside, holding it open for his charge to enter. Xavier nodded and the butler retired, pulling the door to behind him.

Mr Wensdit stood by the oak desk with the gold-embossed leather blotter in front of the study's leaded glass window. He was tall and thin with a beaked nose and narrow eyes, topped off by a pale brown woollen cap over greying chestnut hair. The small fire burned brightly in the grate, the smoke disappearing up the brickwork chimney. Neither man stepped forward to shake hands. Xavier swirled his blue cloak around him.

"My name is Xavier Von Hirst. Lord Verholm knows my father, the Ritter Dieter Von Hirst - no doubt you've heard of him." The Factor startled.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I had no idea…" Xavier cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I am here representing a group of mercenaries returning from service in the Border Princes'. I understand you are having some trouble with goblins?" The Factor looked flustered, as if his instincts tore him between welcoming the stranger and having him thrown out.

"Yes, well… Ahhh, you see…" Xavier cut him off again.

"Yes, I've seen this before, though in warmer climes. Frankly your militia seem understaffed and under-equipped to deal with this problem. My group has a wide experience of dealing with such threats and can bring a diversity of skills to bear upon the situation..." The Factor caught the scent of money.

"Of course, if we could *afford* mercenaries, we…" Xavier cut him off a third time.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Factor. Your Lord will not thank you for saving him our hire at the cost of losing the town!" The Factor began to protest and Xavier interrupted. "The details can be worked out later. For now, we will obviously require food and board, and a suitable line of credit with whoever supplies stores in your community. I will act as liaison between you, your authorities, and my men." The Factor was struck dumb by Xavier's speed of negotiation. "I need a letter from you to that purpose, effective immediately." The Factor tried to protest. Xavier stepped closer and adopted a more conciliatory air.

"Look here, my good man. My men are all that stands between the Goblins and you. To best protect you, we need food and shelter, and arrows and the like. We carry most of what we will need, so I'm only asking you for the occasional extra we might require. It only takes a few words…" There was parchment, a quill, and ink inside the desk's draws. Xavier quickly sketched out a letter of authorisation and slid it across for the Factor to sign. The tall man sat heavily in the wooden chair with the leather cushions behind the desk, the quill between his fingers. Xavier pressed his argument.

"We could be under attack right now, Factor, while we discuss this here, safe in the warmth of the fire. Think it over if you will, but my mercenaries may be gone by the time you decide. This is a time for action!" Galvanised, the Factor signed the letter with a flourish. Xavier snatched it up by one corner and sprinkled sand across the wet ink. He nodded, turned on his heel, and left.

The butler was caught by surprise. His ear wasn't to the panel but he stood uncomfortably close to his master's door. He scurried away to open the front door as Xavier strode down the hall feeling ten miles high and still holding the letter by one corner.

---Skip to the walls---

Rodger stared out over the crude parapet, looking over what could soon be a battlefield. The slope was a jumbled mess of snow-covered boulders rising twenty metres in fifty metres to a large granite outcrop. The boulders would make the going slow and treacherous in either direction, up or down, and would provide cover for the advancing tribe. Luckily, the top of the wall stood a metre and a half above the mean level of the mountainside and the defenders could see over or around most of the boulders. The rocks would offer little concealment to the attackers. Rodger frowned and turned away, his soldier's nerves controlling the frightened tightening of his stomach. Rat lent on both elbows on the wall next to him.

"You see that big rock there, the one that looks like an old mother?" He pointed with one lazy finger. Rodger nodded, not trusting his voice not to quaver. "I first took my wife, when she was still a maid, behind it. It was a spring day, and one of the happiest of my young life." He sighed. "Two winters ago one of the new lads - a miner's lad who couldn't stand being underground - jumped over the wall and ran over there. There was this big goblin leaning against it with an arrow in his side. The others had pulled back to the ridge, pulling their dead and dying with them. They're cannibals, you know. Anyhow, the boy slipped in the snow and fell. The Goblin was too dead to more out of the way, but the boy tried to avoid landing on him and cracked his head on the stone." Rat's eyes slowly followed the horizon from left to right. "Every time I look out over this wall, I see him lying there in a circle of red snow and I think: if I'd dared let the others go to get him, would he still be alive today?" Tears welled in Rat's eyes and he absently wiped them away, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"Watching him slowly bleed to death was one of the hardest thing I ever did." Rodger stood, put one hand on Rat's shoulder for a moment then turned. The two crewmen had stopped work and were staring compassionately at Rat's back. Lucrezia and Junither were waiting silently at the top of the stairs. The three of them retraced their steps back towards the inn.

---End Turn---

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