When Vythes is secure, the horse looks forlornly at the two paladins standing on each side of it.
“Stormtrust knows the way back to Vigil, and can ride faster alone,” suggests Leodegraine as the Dort Charger regards her. “He’s no ordinary horse.”
"Gird yourself for this ride,"
On hearing the paladin’s command to his new squire, the rest of the company rouse themselves and also mount up. With the delay over, they kick their horses into a swift canter and head west.
Despite the unwillingness she showed earlier, Leodegraine sticks close to Pyotr and follows Torshen’s Hammer ably as the mighty Vigilant Destrier rides with admirable sure-footedness over the uneven ground. Yet the same cannot be said for the rest of the horses.
Pyotr and Torshen’s Hammer lead the group expertly though the badlands, the paladin’s new squire Leodegraine riding close by his side. The Vigilant Destrier and Leodegraine’s own dun-coloured Rouncey ride in near perfect step, threading their way surefootedly through boulder fields, across patches of scree and around bogs with ease.
But then another beat disturbs their rhythm. Just behind them comes Commor, pushing his own horse very hard, rather desperately trying to add himself to the formation of Pyotr and Leodegraine. He doesn’t fit in the least; his steed canters with an unsteady gait, driven fitfully on as Commor kicks it frantically in the ribs, himself bouncing about like a sack atop the saddle.
Commor catches up just as the two knights part to neatly sweep around a low slab of weathered limestone, an obstacle neither mount nor rider see before it is too late. The horse crashes into the stone, one foreleg breaking immediately and spilling Commor as the animal collapses in a tangle.
Alagor, riding just behind, has not the skill to avoid Commor’s downed mount, or control his own as it jinks wildly aside, losing its own footing on a sloping bank of shale and dirt. A moment later a second horse is crashing to the ground, whinnying in pain. Alagor leaps clear, uninjured, but it’s immediately obvious his horse is also lamed. It appears that Deramil’s appeal to Bonegrit that the horses be treated well may have proven unfounded.
The band swiftly checks their ride at the incident, gathering about the fallen horses and two bruised riders.
Some two miles further west, they also notice a circling flock of at least a score butcher ravens and meat buzzards. Something is dead out on the moor.
When Vythes is secure, the horse looks forlornly at the two paladins standing on each side of it.
“Stormtrust knows the way back to Vigil, and can ride faster alone,” suggests Leodegraine as the Dort Charger regards her. “He’s no ordinary horse.”
Pyotr almost scoffs at the idea, but decides at the last moment that it would be a poor way to begin his stewardship. He stares into the intelligent eyes of the powerful charger for a long time. This was a convenient solution, and for some reason, that simple fact ran counter to his sensibilities.
In the end, he decides to trust his new squire's judgement. "If you are certain," he nods. "Will he understand me?" he asks nodding towards the horse. To Stormtrust he says, "Avoid everyone and everything you meet until you are back at the gates of Vigil."
Pyotr wheels his Hammer around, quickly bringing him back to the scene. The two fallen horses writhe on the ground, screaming their pain.
Pyotr quickly dismounts, pulling Commor roughly to his feet. "Is this how carelessly you treat the things I have offered you? Have all the lessons I taught you been dashed upon the rocks in your head?" The half-orc collects Commor's longsword from where it lay on the ground. "This is too noble a weapon. I will not allow it to be damaged by your foolishness."
Pyotr approaches Bonegrit , "I have not heard good things about what may be done for a horse with a broken leg. Can we even hope they will limp back to camp for treatment?"
Pyotr approaches Bonegrit , "I have not heard good things about what may be done for a horse with a broken leg. Can we even hope they will limp back to camp for treatment?"
The magus quickly dismounts and sighs as he surveys the damage. "Aye, maybe we could treat them but not here and we can't really carry them with us."
He turns to Agtharda and Del, "Unless one of you wants to use some magical healing on them, we'd best leave them here."
He shakes his head, "If not, then we'd best ease their way to Pharasma's side..."
Signior neighs as if understanding while the magus calms him, "It's Ok old friend, no one's leaving you behind."
Bonegrit's warnings are lost to an overeager buffoon and the clod of his mount's frantic and uneven gait. The half-orc can see the outcome even before it happens, and he urges Amiro forward quickly to round on the disastrous pile.
His approach goes largely unnoticed, given the distraction afforded by a tangled pile of lamed horses and all the noise that implies. Bonegrit's jaw is set firm, and he makes no immediate response to Pyotr's question. Instead, he unleashes a powerful and unannounced haymaker that catches Commor square in the jaw. It's not an expression he's worn often, but when the ranger whirls back around to face Pyotr, his features are twisted with no small amount of rage, the orc in his blood showing all strongly. ""
Bonegrit's scowl rebounds from Commor to Pellius at the mention of leaving them for dead—or worse, doing the deed themselves. A few blusters drown words that never quite form, until he turns to Khozin. "You. Whisper whatever it is you whisper and make this right." Though unspoken his eyes convey the message plainly: fix them and maybe I won't let them hang you.
It’s all too much for Commor. Confiscated of his sword, then knocked savagely to the dirt by Bonegrit, the young squire bursts into tears, pressing his face into the rocky ground.
"You. Whisper whatever it is you whisper and make this right."
Khozin nods to Bonegrit’s words, a smile of understanding playing across his face before he addresses all the adventurers.
“Gather round. Alseta will see to the horses' injuries, as well as those cuts and bruises you still bear."
Touching his hands to both the fallen horses, he whispers what he whispers and a wave of healing light sweeps over the company.
The horses stop squealing and struggle to their feet, wearing expressions of equine shock (if such a thing is possible) to find their agony suddenly over.
Commor continues blubbing but also struggles to his feet, then lurches towards the wilderness in a blind, scrambling run.
Pyotr winces as Bonegrit's haymaker catches Commor full on the jaw, leaving him insensible on the ground until Khozin's wave of healing magic washes over him. With the horses standing again, Pyotr lets his anger slip away. Then Commor staggers off in his blubbering run.
Pyotr pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. He then glances back to where Leodograine stands armed and armored. Eventually, I will need to see what she is capable of... The Bellknight turns to his new squire. "Bring him back."
Leodegraine is regarding Commor’s antics with some disgust, but also a little charity. Still, she does not hesitate when Pyotr orders her after the man into whose boots she appears to have stepped.
Unfortunately though, her compassion seems to get the best of her. Commor, like a very big child having a tantrum, shrugs off the slighter Leodegraine’s attempts to contain him with an incoherent shout. He continues his stumbling run away from the party.
Pyotr re-mounts Hammer, spinning him around. Confident he can run down the wayward captive with little effort, he spurs the monstrous steed into a slow gallop around his and Yevender's squires as they tussle. Despite his annoyance, he hesitates before engaging.
To her credit, Leodograine does not allow Commor's frantic flailing to deter her. She doggedly takes another grab at the sobbing simpleton.
The young woman snatches repeatedly at Commor's clothes and limbs. But, either because she lacked the strength, or because Commor's hysteria lent him more, she was unable to drag him down.
Pyotr drives Hammer forward, cutting off Commor's route.
Bonegrit continues tending to and worrying over the horses, nodding a thanks to Khozin as he does so. Patting their muzzles, he continues to calm them down. Though Khozin's intervention has mended wounds, their nerves an entirely different matter.
"These two stay on my lead 'til we're back at the laager."
Pellius shakes his head at the paladin and his uncommon squire.
He nods to Bonegrit, "I can help with one of the horses. Signior is accustomed to leading a horse."
Although Commor breaks away from Leodegraine, the imposing bulk of Torshen’s Hammer swiftly halts any further flight. Commor stamps in frustration then folds his arms, staring at the ground.
“I just wanna go back to the Freedom Town.” he moans.
Thanks to Khozin’s healing, the horses are once again ready to ride, and the company mounts up quickly, hoping they can still make the palisades of the Freedom Town before nightfall. Commor plonks himself on his steed, silently acquiescing to Pellius as the magus ties a lead rope to Signior. Bonegrit does the same for Alagor, the big swordsman shrugging helplessly at his earlier tumble.
The adventurers set off once more.
On a rise beneath where the carrion birds circle, a distant mounted figure can be seen.
On a rise beneath where the carrion birds circle, a distant mounted figure can be seen. The slouching, sloping figure of both steed and rider suggest orc and wolf over man and horse. The distance is far too great to be sure, but the rider appears to be regarding the company.
Although Commor breaks away from Leodegraine, the imposing bulk of Torshen’s Hammer swiftly halts any further flight. Commor stamps in frustration then folds his arms, staring at the ground.
“I just wanna go back to the Freedom Town.” he moans.
"You are a fool and an ingrate. But, now you prove yourself an oathbreaker." In the distance, Pyotr's companions remount, taking Commor's and Leodograine's horses in tow. "Be on your way, then. And may your dishonor walk with you all the way back."
Pyotr gestures to Leodograine. "We need to catch the others." He pulls the squire up onto Torshen's Hammer, behind him. Despite this, he hesitates before galloping off.
Unaware of their distant audience, the adventurers ride on, pressing their horses to make up for lost time. Leaving the treacherous foothills of the Hungry Mountains behind them, their pace increases as they cross the flat moorlands east of the Freedom Town.
The day is almost done when the Freedom Town’s low walls of sharpened stakes make an appearance on the horizon. It is here that Khozin Ryovaldii reins in his own mount. The beast snorts as he pulls it up short.
“Well my fellows, it’s time for us to part ways. It’s been a fun little escapade, this expedition into the Hungry Mountains, and Alseta certainly approves our opening of those fanggates and exploring the Garrison of Arith-Zind. And do I regret the trouble I caused you all after we set out, and the bloodshed that ensued.”
He turns to Alagor, his companion from the Freedom Town. “I’m riding south for Lastwall. Care to join me, or do your fortunes lie within the dangers of the Hold of Belkzen?”
After a few minutes hustling at the fastest speed Commor can manage, the trio are able to overtake the rest of the group. A few seconds transition sees Leodograine remounted on her rouncey, and Commor back upon his horse, though no longer in control as the horse's reigns are held by Pellius.
In the dying light, Freedom Town's low profile breaches the horizon.
“Well my fellows, it’s time for us to part ways... I’m riding south for Lastwall."
Pyotr watches, but does not interfere. The knight feels a twinge of guilt allowing the trickster to depart without facing justice. But, he accepts that the "justice" meted out in Freedom Town would be more than what is deserved for Khozin's crime.
"Aye, yer free to head to Lastwall, but not on a horse under Deramil's care. You're welcome to try an' barter for a mount at the caravan, of course." Bonegrit clops along atop Amiro, eager to get back to the homestead and see Dierik back to waking life.
"I'm sure they'd be willin' to take ya on formal-like if it strikes yer fancy. Never know when a deft pair o' hands might come in handy in Belkzen, yeah?" The ranger makes no move to block or intimidate Khozin. The man is free to do as he pleases as far as Bonegrit is concerned. He also knows he can ride him down without much effort if he tries to make off with the horse.
"Ride? That's optimistic of you, isn't it? Im sure you could talk to Deramil about buying that horse. But Im also sure he wouldn't accept stolen Sharpe coin to pay for it."
“A fair point. But like I said before, the belt pouch you took from me was not coin stolen from Skaraben.”
He points to the spare steed, the warhorse once ridden by the mighty Tarkh . “Were you really planning to return that horse to the Sharpes? There’s three hundred in gold in that pouch. It’s yours for the horse. You likely won’t get a deal that good back in town.”
Watching Delkaneth move to block him, Khozin holds up his hands.
“But it’s not worth getting upset over. I can walk just as well as the next man.”
"I'm sure they'd be willin' to take ya on formal-like if it strikes yer fancy. Never know when a deft pair o' hands might come in handy in Belkzen, yeah?"
Khozin smiles warmly, seemingly genuine surprised and touched by the half-orc’s offer. “It’s good to know this trip hasn’t solely been about making enemies. But as a key and a lock, I think we’re a stiff fit. Good luck to you, but as far as I’m concerned, Belkzen’s a door barred shut.”
Yeah, I was saying the same thing:
... no longer in control as the horse's reigns are held by Pellius.
Is he not able to ride at all with Pellius leading? Or am I misunderstanding your quibble?
"I could wish for a better example," Pyotr tells Leodograine as she rides near. He points to Khozin. "That man is a thief. If we returned him to Freedom Town he would be tortured and killed for the theft of an insignificant bauble."
"Sometimes you must decide what is more important: 'The Law' or 'Justice'. I wish I could give you a perfect answer, but I have not yet found it."
"In the morning, I will return the ring, but not the thief. I hope he finds penitence in Vigil, or wherever his road leads."
Pellius shrugs at the passing of judgment of Khozin. he certainly didn't trust the man but he also disliked the Sharpes and stealing wasn't a capital offense.
He kept his eyes on the rogue as he rode away and made sure the reins to the horse that Commor was riding were well in hand.
Bonegrit shrugs and says "If yer askin' me, I'd sell it an' be done with it. He needs the horse, and we can use the coin. It's a more than fair offer."
"The horse is 'spoils of combat' like anything else and therefore ours by rights. Nothing says we can't sell it to anyone we want..."
"The horse is ours to sell," Pyotr agrees, "but, that money is not Khozin's to give. It's stolen. Much of it, anyway."
"I have laid claim to what I care for. And like it or not, I have no hope of returning all the gold, if Khozin even knows who he stole from. If you wish to sell the horse, I will not stand in the way. But, I want none of his ill-gotten gains."
Pyotr retrieves Khozin's purse from his gear, weighing the heavy bundle of gold within. "He is being truthful about the amount, if nothing else." He hands the pouch over to Bonegrit.
"You fought well against dangerous foes," Pyotr says to Khozin. "Your actions saved our lives. I would not dishonor myself or my allies by surrendering a companion to ignominious death." Without any further word Pyotr turns Hammer and spurs him away, collecting Leodograine in his wake.
The knight rides close by Agtharda, who seemed to get lost in all the activity around the group. "You have my thanks for taking part in this expedition. We have one last duty to perform. Let us deliver these twincaps to Kelya. I have no doubt Dierik Ironcoffer will wish to extend his thanks to you, when he is made hale and whole." Pyotr offers Agtharda a rare, tusk-filled smile.
Bonegrit chuckles. "Hells, if the sound of ill-gotten coin doesn't suit ya, maybe we can call it a 'Idiots-What-Tried-To-Kill-Us Tax'."
The lanky half-orc nods to Khozin, a final appreciation for his hand in getting the horses safely back to Dierik's laager. It is a marked departure from the ranger's earlier opinions of the scoundrel, though the brief encounters with those the half-elf had wronged have done their fair share of lifting in recoloring Bonegrit's thinking. No doubt, were he to stick around, they would continue to find their fair share of trouble. His worth was proven in the end, however, and he wishes the fool well. More importantly, he wishes to get back to the wagons and see his friend back to health.
Bonegrit urges Amiro into a canter, tailing after Pyotr.
Bonegrit chuckles. "Hells, if the sound of ill-gotten coin doesn't suit ya, maybe we can call it a 'Idiots-What-Tried-To-Kill-Us Tax'."
"That's a tax I"m a bit familiar with, and collect it gladly."
Pyotr smiles and taps the blade of his glaive. "Much of that has been collected. More was paid in blood. I will not draw any further from that well."
"It was not a bad price for the horse, though."
Khozin smiles to all of them, slips elegantly from the saddle of Deramil’s horse, walks across to Tarkh’s mount, puts a foot in the stirrup, and vaunts himself astride the stallion. As he turns the beast southwards, another voice halts him.
“Just a moment.” Alagor raises his hand, his face troubled. He sighs. “There’s no doubt Khozin caused a lot of trouble for all of us, and stealing from Skaraben Sharpe is about the dumbest thing he’s done on a long list of foolishness. But he’s also been a good friend to me as I’ve tried to get by here in the Freedom Town. He’s made a powerful enemy within those walls, and I’d at least make sure he gets a safe distance away from here before he strikes out alone.”
Alagor also dismounts, far more awkwardly than the half-elf, and goes to join Khozin, climbing into the saddle behind him.
“You’d best ride,” he instructs Khozin, before turning once more to look at those with whom he’s formed a bond of blood. “I hope those mushrooms do the trick, and Dierik recovers swiftly. Don’t be surprised if I reappear in your camp a few days hence, but if the caravan is ready to depart don’t wait on me.”
Alagor raises an arm in salute, his greatclub and twin greatswords dancing in their harnesses as Khozin kicks the tired horse into a canter along the trail leading towards Lastwall.
The party continues on towards the Freedom Town and Dierik’s encampment. As they get within walking distance of the Vigilgate, it’s Agtharda’s turn to rein in her horse.
"You have my thanks for taking part in this expedition. We have one last duty to perform. Let us deliver these twincaps to Kelya. I have no doubt Dierik Ironcoffer will wish to extend his thanks to you, when he is made hale and whole."
Agtharda nods in return to Pyotr’s smile, her own ugly features hidden in the depths of her cowl. She reaches into her sack and retrieves the three mushrooms claimed in the Garrison of Arith-Zind, which she places carefully in Pyotr’s waiting hands. Then the half-orc dismounts, handing her reins to Leodegraine, and begins to walk up the gently sloping hill towards the Vigilgate.
With that, Pyotr, Delkaneth, Bonegrit, Pellius, Leodegraine and Commor ride back into the caravan’s encampment just as real darkness is beginning to shroud the land.
One of the guards spots their approach, and his cry quickly rouses the camp. Second Master Santrian is at the forefront of those running out to meet the party. “Were you successful?” he asks earnestly.
• Tharkon was captured, his gear sold, with the promise to turn him over to Marshall Oswald should he survive whatever punishment the caravan exacted upon him.
• Skaraben Sharpe’s stolen ring was returned to the caravan and the care of Second Master Santrian.
• The fallout from Lunt’s mugging leads Delkaneth to fully embrace his role as the ‘Wood Devil’. It terrifies the captured muggers, who agree to do his bidding, but his scare tactics appear to have damaged his friendship with Karannah. And perhaps some people in the caravan now believe Del to be a little deviltouched.
• Anything else I’ve forgotten?
“Were you successful?” he asks earnestly.
"We were." The ease of tension in Pyotr's voice is evident. "Kelya and Zriorinta should be able to fashion a cure from these." He hands the twincaps over to Santrian.
"What is the state of things here?"
Bonegrit quickly sets to the task of rounding up the horses and seeing them back to the care of First Master Deramil. From the alacrity with which the half-orc works, one might think him fearful of a boulder suddenly descending to crush the beasts before he can get them properly tethered.
Happy to be back in the caravan, Pellius is hardly able to contain a silly grin on his face, "Aye, we have what we came out to seek."
He looks around at the consterned faces, "How's Dierik? Any trouble from the Sharpes?"
"Kelya and Zriorinta should be able to fashion a cure from these."
Kelya is amongst those gathered to welcome the adventurers home. “We can try our best, though my healing skills are a blessing of Desna’s rather than any knowledge of herbalism. But maybe Zriorinta can guide me.”
“But I see your quest has not been without harm.” she continues “Delkaneth, Pyotr, Bonegrit, gather close to me and receive the healing light of Desna.” As the three warriors comply, Kelya whispers a prayer and a surge of white healing light flashing about their wounds.
"What is the state of things here?"
"How's Dierik? Any trouble from the Sharpes?"
Dierik’s state remains much as it was,” explains Santrian as he leads the adventurers to their paymaster’s tent. “No worse yet no better.”
“Skaraben Sharpe was here, in the company of Marshall Oswald. He took back his ring, and Pellius’ promise of Khozin in chains. I see he is not among you. What befell the thieving half-elf?”
As they trail Santrian wearily through the laager, things in camp remain much as remembered, except the formerly despondent wagonhands are transformed by their heroes’ successful return, uttering cheers and applause on all sides. Shambles trots over to Bonegrit and licks his hand in greeting.
Tharkon remains a prisoner, though given a little more comfort – rather than bound spread-eagled across a wagon wheel he is tethered by a short length of chain to one of the heavy sixbulls. A plate and pitcher show he has at least been fed in the days since the adventurers left. His expression is neutral and guarded as he regards the return of the party.
Bonegrit rounds up the loaned horses and sees them back to the care of First Master Deramil, who is waiting for the return of his charges. After a careful assessment of the three horses, including a pause and a raised white eyebrow as he notices the faint, now-healed scar on the foreleg of the horse Alagor rode and lamed, he turns to the half-orc, smiles, nods, claps Bonegrit on the shoulder and leads the mounts away.