( from the journals of the wanderer, Ryld Hune... )
6.
T h e I N C I D E N T a t
t h e S P R I N G B U C K I N N
t h e S P R I N G B U C K I N N
In which a chance detour leads our heroes to a mysterious crime and an unlikely forest inn on a secluded road... one that holds many secrets. Add in some oddball locals, inscrutable foreigners, rowdy bandits, and one well-dressed stranger with an intriguing offer... but this would only be the beginning...
It looked like we were going to spend the day on the road again. It was nice to have a horse to ride on, though my back wasn't quite used to sitting in the saddle for so long. The clouds suggested we'd get a hard rain very soon. I wasn't sure any of us knew where we were headed next. The next town? It was okay. The company was nice, even if we didn't speak much.
I felt as if I was seeing the same large raven nearby - always perched somewhere, looking at me. Was I imagining it, or was the bird following us for some reason?
I drifted off often while we traveled. Not into sleep, mind you, but when I hear the whispers, I need to listen carefully to decipher them. Sometimes they can reveal secrets to me... or remind me of things I seemingly have always known, even if I couldn't explain how. I felt my powers growing. I felt a fire burning inside, growing more intense.
The downpour came on suddenly, and we were thoroughly soaked. We stopped at a small ravine with a river. The main road continued on the other side, but the old wooden bridge was washed out. The river was swollen and fast-moving from the spring melt, and with lots of debris. It would have been too dangerous to try to cross, but there was a sign posting a detour - a smaller mud road running upriver through the woods.
I wondered who was posting signs around there? Half the folk living in those parts probably couldn't even read.
We had little choice but to take the wooded path. The trees cut some of the rain, but not enough, and the path was uneven and mostly muck. Mirko talked to Iskra the whole time. I don't recall the conversation. Sometimes it's better to ignore Mirko. He's good in a fight, but I'm pretty certain that most of his stories are a pack of lies.
After traveling for some time, I noticed something on the road... a shred of torn, embroidered red leather. Nearby, we then found blood in the rainwater on the path. Thinking someone might be hurt, we looked around, and Iskra went deeper into the woods to investigate.
It's a good thing that Iskra is as tough as she is. She stumbled right onto a wolf that was feeding. I didn't see it happen, we only heard a snarl and a yelp, and found her with the wolf dead at her feet and blood on her sword. She didn't look very happy about it.
We'd stumbled onto a grisly scene. The wolf had dug up a man's body hidden under leaves and dirt... and it wasn't just one. Looking around, we found five more bodies - stripped, half-hidden, with marks of sudden violence on their bodies. The last one was still alive... barely.
Iskra tried to help the man but he was far too gone. I think I saw her reach out with magic - tendrils of life, a transference of energy of some kind - but somehow different than my own gift. I am still amazed by the abilities of my companions. In my travels, I'd never met anyone else like them. Different, like me. I wondered how many more there were?
The man rasped out his last words. Something about finishing his mission. They'd been ambushed by shadowy enemies out of nowhere. They never saw them coming. He succumbed to his injuries, but at least Iskra eased his pain. As he breathed his last, we saw a small medallion fall from his clenched hand. It seemed he'd been clutching it close... or hiding it. On it was molded a complicated crest that none of us recognized, but I did see the shape of the two-headed raven, the symbol of the Vos peoples. What could it mean?
I couldn't quite make sense of it. I knew there were clues, but we were missing the piece that pulled it all together; the torn piece of red leather; six people ambushed, murdered, stripped, their bodies hidden in the woods; and a dying man with a mission he would never finish.
We weren't sure how much further we needed to travel up the road before we found another crossing. It didn't really matter. There was no sign of the rain stopping, so it was best to get on our way.
As twilight came on, the rain did not stop, but we came upon an old waystation along the road. There was a barn and a mossy, shabby longhouse with an old deerskull above the door, and a sign that read "Spring Buck Inn." It seemed a strange thing to find out in such a remote place, but it had clearly been there for a long time. Smoke emerged from a crumbling chimney, and we were desperate to get out of the rain, so we tied our horses under an awning and decided to go inside.
Before entering, I saw a large raven watching again from the trees. Was it the same one I'd been seeing for the past couple of days? It was rather large, brooding, always always alone, which seemed strange for araven. I resolved to look for it again, in case it was still there by morning.
The interior was surprisingly large, with a stone hearth at the center, and an upper walkway leading to tiny rooms. The road must have been well-traveled once to support an inn of that size, but now it looked (and smelled) old and broken down. Even so, we were surprised to see that we weren't the only ones who had come seeking shelter.
In the common room, we saw a table of three Malocovian pilgrims. Another table was occupied by four dubious-looking men with swords and axes.
Across the room, a man sat alone. He was well-dressed, with dark hair, a mustache, a saber at his hip.
In the other corner, a half-dozen Phinska nomads sat together - since so many were displaced by the war ten years ago, it wasn't unusual to see them on the roads, but these Phinskas seemed odd in a way I couldn't put my finger on.
We sensed immediately that something was strange here. The inn was gloomy and silent, and we felt every set of eyes watching us... even as they watched each other. The innkeeper was a middle-aged woman who greeted us when we entered. Mirko was quick to flash some coin and put on airs, but she barely reacted when he flipped her an entire gold piece. In my experience, the common folk hardly ever see a full gold coin, but she didn't even blink.
Mirko himself took no notice of this, and went straight to the bar. He ogled the younger barmaid and started talking at the burly bartender. Iskra and I opted to be less conspicuous and headed for a corner table near the Phinskas, so we could see the whole room.
The stew was barely cooked, and the ale was weak, but weirdly expensive for this old ruin. Was it run by bandits? And why did the innkeeper's family seemingly take no notice of Mirko's gold? I knew something was not right.
The Phinskas were very strange, too, even for foreigners. At one point, the entire group of them stood abruptly, as one, without a word between them. All but one retired to their chambers above, while the last one walked out into the wet night. What for?
Everything felt wrong here.
Only one person approached us after the scuffle - the lone stranger. He bought us a round to thank us for defeating the bandits, and we learned his name was Novacs. Lowering his voice, he asked if we were for hire. He was disturbed by the situation, and said he felt he needed protection. He said he'd tell us more if we met him in private. We all agreed to retire to our rooms, and then to secretly meet with Novacs later. The man had a smarmy manner, but we suspected he might know something about what was going on here. I was feeling tired from using my powers, but I certainly didn't want Mirko doing the talking this time - he may know how to fight, but he can be as dumb as a rock, and untrustworthy as well. It might be worthwhile to take Novacs up on his offer, but not before he shed some light on things.
Little did I know that our night would only become stranger...
I felt as if I was seeing the same large raven nearby - always perched somewhere, looking at me. Was I imagining it, or was the bird following us for some reason?
I drifted off often while we traveled. Not into sleep, mind you, but when I hear the whispers, I need to listen carefully to decipher them. Sometimes they can reveal secrets to me... or remind me of things I seemingly have always known, even if I couldn't explain how. I felt my powers growing. I felt a fire burning inside, growing more intense.
* * *
The downpour came on suddenly, and we were thoroughly soaked. We stopped at a small ravine with a river. The main road continued on the other side, but the old wooden bridge was washed out. The river was swollen and fast-moving from the spring melt, and with lots of debris. It would have been too dangerous to try to cross, but there was a sign posting a detour - a smaller mud road running upriver through the woods.
I wondered who was posting signs around there? Half the folk living in those parts probably couldn't even read.
We had little choice but to take the wooded path. The trees cut some of the rain, but not enough, and the path was uneven and mostly muck. Mirko talked to Iskra the whole time. I don't recall the conversation. Sometimes it's better to ignore Mirko. He's good in a fight, but I'm pretty certain that most of his stories are a pack of lies.
After traveling for some time, I noticed something on the road... a shred of torn, embroidered red leather. Nearby, we then found blood in the rainwater on the path. Thinking someone might be hurt, we looked around, and Iskra went deeper into the woods to investigate.
It's a good thing that Iskra is as tough as she is. She stumbled right onto a wolf that was feeding. I didn't see it happen, we only heard a snarl and a yelp, and found her with the wolf dead at her feet and blood on her sword. She didn't look very happy about it.
We'd stumbled onto a grisly scene. The wolf had dug up a man's body hidden under leaves and dirt... and it wasn't just one. Looking around, we found five more bodies - stripped, half-hidden, with marks of sudden violence on their bodies. The last one was still alive... barely.
Iskra tried to help the man but he was far too gone. I think I saw her reach out with magic - tendrils of life, a transference of energy of some kind - but somehow different than my own gift. I am still amazed by the abilities of my companions. In my travels, I'd never met anyone else like them. Different, like me. I wondered how many more there were?
The man rasped out his last words. Something about finishing his mission. They'd been ambushed by shadowy enemies out of nowhere. They never saw them coming. He succumbed to his injuries, but at least Iskra eased his pain. As he breathed his last, we saw a small medallion fall from his clenched hand. It seemed he'd been clutching it close... or hiding it. On it was molded a complicated crest that none of us recognized, but I did see the shape of the two-headed raven, the symbol of the Vos peoples. What could it mean?
I couldn't quite make sense of it. I knew there were clues, but we were missing the piece that pulled it all together; the torn piece of red leather; six people ambushed, murdered, stripped, their bodies hidden in the woods; and a dying man with a mission he would never finish.
We weren't sure how much further we needed to travel up the road before we found another crossing. It didn't really matter. There was no sign of the rain stopping, so it was best to get on our way.
* * *
As twilight came on, the rain did not stop, but we came upon an old waystation along the road. There was a barn and a mossy, shabby longhouse with an old deerskull above the door, and a sign that read "Spring Buck Inn." It seemed a strange thing to find out in such a remote place, but it had clearly been there for a long time. Smoke emerged from a crumbling chimney, and we were desperate to get out of the rain, so we tied our horses under an awning and decided to go inside.
Before entering, I saw a large raven watching again from the trees. Was it the same one I'd been seeing for the past couple of days? It was rather large, brooding, always always alone, which seemed strange for araven. I resolved to look for it again, in case it was still there by morning.
The interior was surprisingly large, with a stone hearth at the center, and an upper walkway leading to tiny rooms. The road must have been well-traveled once to support an inn of that size, but now it looked (and smelled) old and broken down. Even so, we were surprised to see that we weren't the only ones who had come seeking shelter.
In the common room, we saw a table of three Malocovian pilgrims. Another table was occupied by four dubious-looking men with swords and axes.
Across the room, a man sat alone. He was well-dressed, with dark hair, a mustache, a saber at his hip.
In the other corner, a half-dozen Phinska nomads sat together - since so many were displaced by the war ten years ago, it wasn't unusual to see them on the roads, but these Phinskas seemed odd in a way I couldn't put my finger on.
We sensed immediately that something was strange here. The inn was gloomy and silent, and we felt every set of eyes watching us... even as they watched each other. The innkeeper was a middle-aged woman who greeted us when we entered. Mirko was quick to flash some coin and put on airs, but she barely reacted when he flipped her an entire gold piece. In my experience, the common folk hardly ever see a full gold coin, but she didn't even blink.
Mirko himself took no notice of this, and went straight to the bar. He ogled the younger barmaid and started talking at the burly bartender. Iskra and I opted to be less conspicuous and headed for a corner table near the Phinskas, so we could see the whole room.
The stew was barely cooked, and the ale was weak, but weirdly expensive for this old ruin. Was it run by bandits? And why did the innkeeper's family seemingly take no notice of Mirko's gold? I knew something was not right.
We decided to strike up a conversation with the Malocovian pilgrims, but their path was the same as ours - they'd taken the same detour by the collapsed bridge, which led them here.
Not too long after, we heard more horses outside, and a gang of rough-looking men came through the door. At the head was a loud-mouthed lout with a big sword on his shoulder, swaggering around like he owned the place. It wasn't surprising to see him greet the other armed toughs who'd already been gathering there.
Mirko headed up the stairs after paying for a room, but stood on the walkway above, watching. He must have sensed something was about to happen, because that's when things got messy. The leader of the group introduced himself as Jerzy the bandit, and began to bully the other patrons with his gang, demanding that everyone give up their valuables. Mirko's fine clothes and coinpurse had actually drawn quite a bit of attention from the bandits at least... this wasn't going to end well.
Mirko started bantering with their leader, and then I think he actually threw a flask of olive oil at his feet. Or was it lamp oil? I swear he was trying to get us all killed. And then he dragged Iskra and I into his grandstanding, claiming we were his bodyguards! I resolved to have words with him about this later!
All told, there were ten or so brigands strutting around, threatening people and brandishing weapons. A few came to our table and tried to give Iskra a shove. I guess she doesn't look that strong, but I knew that was a mistake. I could feel the anger growing inside me.
Not too long after, we heard more horses outside, and a gang of rough-looking men came through the door. At the head was a loud-mouthed lout with a big sword on his shoulder, swaggering around like he owned the place. It wasn't surprising to see him greet the other armed toughs who'd already been gathering there.
Mirko headed up the stairs after paying for a room, but stood on the walkway above, watching. He must have sensed something was about to happen, because that's when things got messy. The leader of the group introduced himself as Jerzy the bandit, and began to bully the other patrons with his gang, demanding that everyone give up their valuables. Mirko's fine clothes and coinpurse had actually drawn quite a bit of attention from the bandits at least... this wasn't going to end well.
Mirko started bantering with their leader, and then I think he actually threw a flask of olive oil at his feet. Or was it lamp oil? I swear he was trying to get us all killed. And then he dragged Iskra and I into his grandstanding, claiming we were his bodyguards! I resolved to have words with him about this later!
All told, there were ten or so brigands strutting around, threatening people and brandishing weapons. A few came to our table and tried to give Iskra a shove. I guess she doesn't look that strong, but I knew that was a mistake. I could feel the anger growing inside me.
Iskra went for her shortswords, but two of them tackled her and a third struck her. The room started to feel hot. I swear I smelled brimstone. Iskra managed to shake off her attackers and I stepped in front of her. At first they laughed at me. Then I unleashed the burning, and they stopped laughing.
Fire leapt forth from my hands, scorching everything in front of me. One man caught the full fury of the flames, and died screaming while the others tried weakly to shield themselves.
Everything started happening very quickly at that point. An arrow suddenly appeared in the neck of one brigand, though I couldn't say who loosed it. The Phinskas perhaps? Mirko stayed on the upper walkway, taunting everyone below. Men were on fire, people were yelling, and more brigands were attacking us.
Their leader, Jerzy, decided he wanted a piece of Mirko, but when charged up the stairs at him. Mirko simply emptied a bag of ball-bearings onto the steps from the landing. Jerzy went back down the stairs, , this time faster, and on his head. It was... comical.
I am not strong, didn't want to risk the thugs grabbing me. Instead of fighting, I left my knife in its sheath, and channeled the mystical powers within me through my voice. With only a word, I imposed my will over theirs and compelled them to grovel at my feet. No sooner did they fall to their knees, than two of the nearby Phinskas darted forward and calmly slit their throats like they were killing sheep. The cuts were skillful, with no hint of hesitation or mercy. It surprised even me in the moment.
The remaining bandits were stunned and shaken. I'm sure they expected none of this. Iskra warned the last two to stand down. They saw things had fallen apart for them, and bolted for the exit... but they never made it. The quickest of them had barely touched the door when they were both felled by arrows loosed by the Phinska hunting bows. The Phinskas were cold and precise, moving as one.
That is also when I noticed the torn edge on one of their coats... embroidered leather, dyed red. I began to suspect that our mystery killers from the road were actually right there in the inn with us.
Jerzy was furious at Mirko now, and bounded back up the steps. Mirko danced across the balcony, moving in and out of the shadows. Jerzy only briefly lost sight of him, but it was enough to allow Mirko to lunge out of the darkness to stab him under the arm with his rapier. Then he slipped over rail of the walkway, and disappeared again into the shadows underneath.
Wounded and humiliated, Jerzy must have had enough. For a big man, he moved quickly, and he raced across the inn toward the exit... but I stopped him in his tracks with a hurled bolt of force. He looked around and realized that he was now very much alone. His tune changed rather quickly, and he surrendered. He put up his hands up and tried to joke with us, apologizing for interrupting our evening while inching toward the door.
But Mirko wasn't finished with him. Instead of simply killing him, he had decided to humiliate the man. At swordpoint, he demanded that Jerzy retrieve every last one of his spilled metal ball-bearings. And so we all watched in silence, seemingly forever, as this moron was forced to scrape and pluck every last ball-bearing off the floor. It was amusing in the end, and even the lone stranger with the mustache, who had remained silent all this time, took the opportunity to taunt this failed bandit with a bearing he had missed. Finally Jerzy handed Mirko his refilled bag of ball-bearing, and with a bit more groveling, Mirko allowed him to leave.
Still, the incident did nothing to break the tension in that room. The innkeepers were quick to drag the bodies of the bandits outside, and in moments everyone had returned to their tables, to resume eyeing each other suspiciously, as if nothing had happened. I feared I may have overdone it. I need to learn to control my anger in these situations, but sometimes the rage inside me burns like bile, and I can't help myself. What did I see in the eyes of the other patrons, now that I had revealed my sorcerous gifts? Was it fear? Or was it something else?
I was now sure there was something very off about this inn and the family of proprietors. The food was quite poor, either inedibly charred, or very nearly raw. The bartender especially clumsy, barely able to hold a mug without spilling the contents. Was he drunk? Did he lose the use of his hands? Or was he merely in shock after the killing? The whole lot of them seemed peculiar... distant. Iskra tried to speak to some of them, but the older woman who ran the inn did all the talking, and sometimes glared at the others in order to keep them quiet.
Fire leapt forth from my hands, scorching everything in front of me. One man caught the full fury of the flames, and died screaming while the others tried weakly to shield themselves.
Everything started happening very quickly at that point. An arrow suddenly appeared in the neck of one brigand, though I couldn't say who loosed it. The Phinskas perhaps? Mirko stayed on the upper walkway, taunting everyone below. Men were on fire, people were yelling, and more brigands were attacking us.
Their leader, Jerzy, decided he wanted a piece of Mirko, but when charged up the stairs at him. Mirko simply emptied a bag of ball-bearings onto the steps from the landing. Jerzy went back down the stairs, , this time faster, and on his head. It was... comical.
I am not strong, didn't want to risk the thugs grabbing me. Instead of fighting, I left my knife in its sheath, and channeled the mystical powers within me through my voice. With only a word, I imposed my will over theirs and compelled them to grovel at my feet. No sooner did they fall to their knees, than two of the nearby Phinskas darted forward and calmly slit their throats like they were killing sheep. The cuts were skillful, with no hint of hesitation or mercy. It surprised even me in the moment.
The remaining bandits were stunned and shaken. I'm sure they expected none of this. Iskra warned the last two to stand down. They saw things had fallen apart for them, and bolted for the exit... but they never made it. The quickest of them had barely touched the door when they were both felled by arrows loosed by the Phinska hunting bows. The Phinskas were cold and precise, moving as one.
That is also when I noticed the torn edge on one of their coats... embroidered leather, dyed red. I began to suspect that our mystery killers from the road were actually right there in the inn with us.
Jerzy was furious at Mirko now, and bounded back up the steps. Mirko danced across the balcony, moving in and out of the shadows. Jerzy only briefly lost sight of him, but it was enough to allow Mirko to lunge out of the darkness to stab him under the arm with his rapier. Then he slipped over rail of the walkway, and disappeared again into the shadows underneath.
Wounded and humiliated, Jerzy must have had enough. For a big man, he moved quickly, and he raced across the inn toward the exit... but I stopped him in his tracks with a hurled bolt of force. He looked around and realized that he was now very much alone. His tune changed rather quickly, and he surrendered. He put up his hands up and tried to joke with us, apologizing for interrupting our evening while inching toward the door.
But Mirko wasn't finished with him. Instead of simply killing him, he had decided to humiliate the man. At swordpoint, he demanded that Jerzy retrieve every last one of his spilled metal ball-bearings. And so we all watched in silence, seemingly forever, as this moron was forced to scrape and pluck every last ball-bearing off the floor. It was amusing in the end, and even the lone stranger with the mustache, who had remained silent all this time, took the opportunity to taunt this failed bandit with a bearing he had missed. Finally Jerzy handed Mirko his refilled bag of ball-bearing, and with a bit more groveling, Mirko allowed him to leave.
Still, the incident did nothing to break the tension in that room. The innkeepers were quick to drag the bodies of the bandits outside, and in moments everyone had returned to their tables, to resume eyeing each other suspiciously, as if nothing had happened. I feared I may have overdone it. I need to learn to control my anger in these situations, but sometimes the rage inside me burns like bile, and I can't help myself. What did I see in the eyes of the other patrons, now that I had revealed my sorcerous gifts? Was it fear? Or was it something else?
I was now sure there was something very off about this inn and the family of proprietors. The food was quite poor, either inedibly charred, or very nearly raw. The bartender especially clumsy, barely able to hold a mug without spilling the contents. Was he drunk? Did he lose the use of his hands? Or was he merely in shock after the killing? The whole lot of them seemed peculiar... distant. Iskra tried to speak to some of them, but the older woman who ran the inn did all the talking, and sometimes glared at the others in order to keep them quiet.
The Phinskas were very strange, too, even for foreigners. At one point, the entire group of them stood abruptly, as one, without a word between them. All but one retired to their chambers above, while the last one walked out into the wet night. What for?
Everything felt wrong here.
Only one person approached us after the scuffle - the lone stranger. He bought us a round to thank us for defeating the bandits, and we learned his name was Novacs. Lowering his voice, he asked if we were for hire. He was disturbed by the situation, and said he felt he needed protection. He said he'd tell us more if we met him in private. We all agreed to retire to our rooms, and then to secretly meet with Novacs later. The man had a smarmy manner, but we suspected he might know something about what was going on here. I was feeling tired from using my powers, but I certainly didn't want Mirko doing the talking this time - he may know how to fight, but he can be as dumb as a rock, and untrustworthy as well. It might be worthwhile to take Novacs up on his offer, but not before he shed some light on things.
Little did I know that our night would only become stranger...
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