---Turn 22---

---Rodger and Aenarion in the Stores---

"Books on Goblins…" Magden shook his head. "No, I don't know of anyone who has something like that. The Lord might have something, as might the Alchemist, but I know nothing for sure." He shook his head again, the heavy forelock swinging in counterpoise. "And I don't know why you'd want them in the first place. There're people in the town who could tell you all a book could - Amos and his girl, Lucky, would be a good start, as would Urkan and Vertan. Those two know a lot about killing them, that's for sure. Their Shaman can't write so you ain't - sorry milord - are not going to find any of their texts in a town, especially a small town like this!"

"Well, that's too bad." said Aenarion to Magden as he inspected himself one last time in the mirror. "Still, I guess it was too much to hope for that the local knowledge would be written down. The gods know it would take a long time to get anything useful out of that Amos' rambling. Might as well just play the hand we're dealt, eh?"

Aenarion turned to the door, left the store, and headed back to the inn. Black storm clouds, heavy with snow, stacked higher on the horizons. Ominous dark towers loomed over the mountains to both the East and West. As Aenarion hurried across the square, his cloak held close to himself, the wind began to pick up, swirling loose snow. Lightning flashed down, striking the highest peak.

The gloom inside the fire-lit taproom was only a little darker than the early afternoon outside. Pausing a moment to allow his super-human Elven vision to re-adjust, he scanned the room. The over-plump landlady, Martha, stood behind the counter listening to the vain Student, Xavier, talk to plain Duncan, nervous Darmon and to a self-assured stranger. Next to them was a man in battered armour, his face on his arms on the counter, asleep. Amos dozed in his favourite chair in front of the fire; Lucrezia sat next to him warming herself. Otherwise, the room was empty. He raised one delicate finger and Martha nodded. There was a wineglass on the counter when he reached it, next to a nearly full bottle of red wine. He lifted it to read the label, sniffed the open neck, and poured a drop into the glass. Swirling it to examine the colour, he tipped it onto his tongue and tasted it. Pleased, he poured a glass and turned to lean his back against the counter.

Duncan nodded his hello to the silent Elf and pantomimed spooning stew. Martha smiled and disappeared off to get him a bowl-full. "So, Carlsen, do you have a profession at all?"

A sudden spasm hit Carlsen, the sturdy marksman grateful for the sturdier oak bar he clawed and clung to. His tall three-legged stool lurched, mirroring its swaying human payload. After a mercifully brief crescendo, Carlsen eventually regained control of his muscles and stabilised himself surreptitiously, slamming his empty thimble-sized glass down onto the counter, aware of the raised eyebrows around him. He avoided the opportunity to follow the tangent.

"That bow over there..." he nodded, indicating the tightly wrapped bundle propped, along with his shield, against a nearby wall. "…That's my livelihood that is. I could go without money, clothes, shelter, or friends and still live like a King with that there tool." He stopped briefly to deftly wipe an errant piece of Duncan's stew from the counter-top with his finger and pop it into his mouth. He licked his lips before continuing. "There's always plenty of game in the forests. Even in winter, especially with all those packs of Snow Wolves..." Carlsen let his voice trail off, clumsily thumbing a common ward against 'bad things'. Standing up almost too quickly, Carlsen waved across the bar to grab Martha's attention. She disappeared again, returning with another overfilled bowl of stew. Globules of the gravy dripped onto the table as she put the feast down. Pausing only to fish his battered spoon from a side pouch on his waistcoat, Carlsen looked at the mealy-mouthed Elf as he shovelled the first spoonful into his mouth. "Itsh good stuff thish," he sprayed. "You should get some".

---Time passes---

The lanky Factor pushed the door open and led a Dwarf with a full beard of dark-brown hair and a white-haired man in stained and stinking priest's robes into the room. "Gentlemen, ladies." He nodded to Martha and ordered three ales. She nodded and started pulling the drinks. The Dwarf nodded to Amos.

"Amos." Amos nodded back.

"Hortion. How's the pit?" The Dwarf glowered.

"Bad. Grundi only knows what we found down Pit 13."

"Oh?"

"One of my boys broke through into a crevice, followed it to a cavern. Granite slabs on floor and walls, it's not been done proper, looks like Humans or worse. Looks like altar stones in the middle, five inscribed pillars, in a circle around a big flat bloodstained rock. There are runes everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, everywhere, except for that rock. There's just one rune on there, and it's a bat in a cloud. A big, evil looking bat." The Dwarf shook his head. "I don't like it, but I don't know what to do about it." Amos nodded towards the Alchemist.

"He got any ideas?" Hortion shook his head.

"He reckons that some of the runes are magical, but he doesn't know what they mean. He says he doesn't read Arcane, the stupid fume-sniffer."

Lucrezia pushed past them to go wake Urkan in the room upstairs. Magden pushed the front door open and walked in. Snow was dusted across the thick fur on his feet. He ordered hot soup, rolls, and a pie from Martha before pulling a chair over to sit at one of the round tables, beside the Factor. Hortion raised a hand in vague salute to Amos and wandered over to join the council. The Alchemist was the fourth; Vertan the fifth after Martha kicked him awake as she carried the drinks to the table. They sat in silence for a minute.

"What time is it?" Vertan's voice was tired and flat. His apathy was contagious: it was a moment before the Alchemist answered.

"Two hours past noon, I'd say."

"Sun shining? Snow melting?"

"No."

"Oh."

"It's getting dark."

"Storm clouds" added the Factor, helpfully.

"Oh." Vertan stared into his drink, supplied by Martha, without really looking at it. He picked it up in one leaden hand and drained it before slumping. His arm fell to his side, the dregs of the flagon forgotten, ale spilling onto the floor. He slept, sitting up. The others stared at him, expressionless.

The door to the narrow stairwell swung open and Urkan staggered through. His clothes looked like they'd been slept in. His armour was also dented, bent, and otherwise lightly damaged. The Factor hooked an extra stool over with one thin foot and they moved up to let it and Urkan fit in.

"Sleep well?" The Factor made the effort, strained though it was, to pretend everything was all right.

"No." Urkan took a long draught of ale and signalled for food. "I dreamt that whatever that thing was that chased us yesterday was inside the town, along with the Goblins. I watched it tear my friends apart and I couldn't fight my way past the Goblins to help. I saw Amos fall to his knees, his throat torn away. I saw Rat thrown against the wall of the Inn, and watched him slide down like thrown dough, his back broken…" He took a second draught, finishing the flagon. He held it up, hanging limply from the fingers of one half-open hand. Martha took it from him as she slid a bowl of nameless stew with lumps of root vegetable floating on top onto the table. "I wish I knew what it was. The thing I mean." He stared blankly at the food for a moment before the Alchemist kindly passed him a spoon. "Was it some kind of bear, or something else that would avoid the town?" He took a mouthful, then another, a third, a fourth. He gulped a fifth down before continuing. "Or is it something the Goblins brought with them? Or something they called? Is it…" He paused to wipe a run of gravy from his chin. Magden smiled then returned to his own meal. "Is it on our side? All I know is that I don't like it. I don't like any of this!"

"Amen!" The Factor put both hands, palms down, on the table. "And that's why I've asked you all here: to discuss how we're going to get out of this."

"Run." Vertan's voice lacked unconvincing. "If you can."

"Shut up. It's too cold for that." Hortion didn't bother getting angry. He just stated the fact and left it at that. "We could retreat into the mine, defend there."

"For how long?" The Factor snorted. Magden looked more interested.

"Could we fit everyone in there?" Vertan shook his head.

"They could smoke us out, starve us out, or just bury us alive. I wouldn't recommend it."

"You got anything useful?" That was directed at the Alchemist. The priest started and stared back at Urkan.

"Useful? In what sense?"

"In the getting-us-out-of-this sense. You know: fireballs, magic mirrors, dragons, armies of pixies, anything!"

"Sir: I am a learned man! I don't trade in weapons or…"

"Gunpowder."

"Wha…" The Alchemist trailed off and stared at the Dwarf.

"Two small barrels, left from the last lot of blasting we did, in a store on the third level of the pit."

"Is that all we've got to work with, then? The Guards, and your two barrels of gunpowder?"

"Bacon…"

"…three barrels…"

"Two? How many bolts…"

"…could do…"

"…stew…"

"No, too risky…"

"…catapult…"

"Mm! Good stew!"

"…miners…"

"How many without feathers?"

"No." Again, everyone stopped what they were saying and stared. "No," repeated the Factor. "We've got them." He pointed at Xavier and the others standing at the bar. "Mercenaries. Well, then?" He called to the group. "What's your plan?"

 

---End Turn---