Story Interlude 2: Bad Comfort (2/2)

So she gambled. “If we're north of Pads village, then we're where I think we are.”

That surprised him. “Who the hell do you know- nevermind. Yes, you've got south then. I'll be taking Renick and Lana and Zara. The rest of you are under your acting commander. Go saddle up.”

The Knight's horses had been battle trained, and spared the worst of the stampede. Cecelia, who didn't have one, got the loan of one of the more steady draft horses, a stout loaf of bread baked with dried meat and vegetables, a waterskin, and a couple of minutes to eat her ration bar before they departed. She used the rain to soften the tough comestible, and chased it down with slugs of water. The stuff was horrible, but eventually the hungry condition evaporated from her status screen, and that was all she asked of it.

“Horsemanship,” she muttered, as she vaulted up into the draft horse's saddle. It stamped and trotted uneasily, unused to being directly mounted. She soothed it as she could, as it bucked and turned, trying to convince her to get back down. “Oh stop that. Here... Favored Mount.” It felt weird to be saying that when she wasn't riding Reason, but it did the trick well enough, and the horse settled as her buff rolled over it.

No skill up this time, which was a pity. She really needed more practice with this one. It was a level 15 skill and she'd only been that level for a few months.

Once she was sure of it, she dismounted and lead it over to the other knights, already kneeling in a circle, the old ritual, the familiar custom. Without saying a word she knelt, until Tane nodded. Eight blades hissed free from sheathes, and eight helms pressed against the hilts as they held the swords out, points down before them.

“Our Code to mind, our foes to fall,” Tane said, as the rain slicked down his armor.

“To Gods, King, and Crown, we owe our all,” the rest of the Knights chorused in unison.

“Obey royal decrees of the land, against the loyal raise no hand,” Tane spoke, as thunder rolled in the distance.

“Obey the King, shield the weak. Let no treason our lips speak.” The rest finished, Cecelia joining in happily.

This was truly what separated them from other warrior jobs... the Knight's skill, Code of Chivalry. Other jobs could fight, sure, but knights always fought for something. And whatever code they chose when they began their career, the longer they kept to it, the more it gave them.

In Cecelia's case, what it gave her was a nice round buff of thirty to all her defenses. Most of the other trainees had more, thanks to higher levels in the class. But all it took was one slip, and the skill reset back down to one, and her buff fell to nothing.

Graves and Kayin and Morris fell in behind her as she left the camp, riding down the swampy, well-used road south.

“So who the hell do you know in Pads?” Kayin said, finally. “That's the sticks, the middle of nowhere.”

“I'd rather not say,” Cecelia said. “It's possible they're not there anymore. And uh, they might not be... on the right side of things. We might have to fight them.”

If this was Mordecai trying to get back in contact with her, then he definitely wasn't on the right side. But she didn't want him captured and tortured again. This was... complicated.

She couldn't let the opportunity pass by, though. Someone had risked a lot to deliver that message to her. What did they want her to see?

The rain slackened as they rode, but the sky remained soggy gray, wet wool gray, and the road twisted, taking them past stockaded farmsteads.

“So how does this work?” Kayin asked, after they passed the third steading. “Should we be going up and knocking on doors?”

“No,” Cecelia shook her head. “Per the Articles of the Cylvanian accord, any order of military requisition must be presented to the local lord. This place will have a Baron, or something. We'll talk to him.”

“Really?” Morris said, sneering as they passed a field full of serfs digging in loose rows, muddy faces brown and open mouths pink as they stared at the passing knights. “And how will we know which one's the Baron?”

“He'll be the one who isn't totally covered in shit,” Graves said, and the Knights laughed. Celia didn't.

The fields were big, and looked well-kept. But everyone in that field was scrawny and thin. Most of them were moving slowly, and a few looked far, far too old to be out there.

Sure, it was Spring and they'd just gotten through a long winter, but... a farm that size should be able to provide for everyone there.

Something was off.

Three hours down the muddy road, they finally came to Pads. It was little more than a collection of a few dozen huts, on the edge of a forest. Smoke billowed up from smokeholes, all save for five chimneys, all on the same house. It squatted on the highest hill, the only building in the village made of stone, sprawling and painted, with high walls around a grove of carefully-kept trees.

“There's the noble,” Cecelia said. “Has to be.”

“Those are peach trees,” Kayin said, frowning. “Weird choice.”

“Why's that?” Morris asked.

“They don't grow well in this part of the valley. They must take a wicked amount of care to get that big.”

“Eh, maybe they've got a Kossite cleric running the show or something,” Morris shrugged. “More for us to take back for the convoy, then, if that's the case. Come on, let's get this over with.”

*****

“I'm sorry, it's simply out of the question,” Baron Colm Comfort said. “We have no reserves left after the winter. We simply cannot spare enough to make a difference.”

“I see.” Cecelia turned from the portly man to look over the sitting room, adorned with a random assortment of fine goods. Mismatched candlesticks of gold and silver clashed next to chairs and couches of all makes, each of them made with the finest cloth and craftsmanship. Paintings of everything from flowers to landscapes to people adorned the walls.

It didn't match, and Cecelia thought she knew why. “Why don't you tell us how much you can spare, and we'll decide if it's enough to make a difference.”

The Baron rubbed his face, sending his three chins wobbling. “Well, I, er, I'd have to consult my ledger. Check the storehouse. That would take some time, and I don't know if I'd want to delay you so long-”

“Oh, it's no trouble,” Cecelia said. “The convoy's not going anywhere without food. But they can last a day or two without us. I trust you have no problem with us staying the night while you check.”

Oh, he didn't like that at all. But nonetheless, he offered a smile that showed rotten teeth. “I'll see what I can do. Yes, certainly.”

“We'll go hunting while you do that, see if we can scrape up something so you don't have to stretch as far. I trust you've a spare room or something we can store our armor in? It's hard to sneak up on game in full plate, after all.”

Kayin inhaled sharply, next to her. She heard Morris shift, felt the intensity of his gaze on her.

The Baron's mouth closed, and the older man stared at her, gears turning behind his eyes. “Of course. Would you like me to send my huntsman along with you?”

“Absolutely. Just give us some privacy to shuck out of our armor, and we'll be happy to follow your man into the woods.”

“Of course, of course. Right this way!”

The Baron's basement was full of kegs and racks full of wine and ale.

“Cecelia?” Morris asked. “Do you know what you're doing here?”

“Mostly.” Cecelia frowned. “Did you ever see that much gold in your life?”

“No way he's come by that honestly,” Kayin said, “but is it any business of ours?”

“He was trying to get us out of here pretty quickly,” Graves rubbed his goatee. “Why?”

“Hiding food, obviously,” Morris snickered. “Probably in his gut.”

“That's part of it. I need to see his ledger.” Cecelia nodded. “And I want to give him a chance to try to kill us.”

Silence fell over the basement.

“Wait, what?” Morris asked.

Kayin grinned. “I like it.”

“How loud are we going, here?” Graves asked.

“Depends on how he plays it,” Cecelia decided.

Morris looked between the other three knights, confused. “Did I miss something?”

Cecelia grinned. “Not really. Here's the plan...”

*****

Baron Colm Comfort hadn't gotten to the age he was by taking chances. But this one... this one was less of a chance, and more of a free meal.

They'd come right to him. And then they'd even taken off their armor...

Pity about the horses, but he couldn't risk anyone checking after them, now could he? He'd wait until nightfall and send four of the lads south into the woods, wearing their armor and riding their horses. The mouthbreathing serfs wouldn't know any different. Then the lads could come back with the armor, and the horses would be set free to roam.

Armor could be disenchanted and sold. Horses couldn't.

He stretched out a hand to touch it... and drew it back. It was a little too neat. He had to be sure.

Up to the top of the house then, peering through the spyglass he'd gotten, watching the woods. He wasn't lying when he told them his huntsman Jacob was the best at his job. They just hadn't asked what Jacob's job was. Not that Colm would have told them it anyway. Bandit was a much-maligned profession.

Twelve minutes later, he saw glass wink against the sun, from one of the tallest trees in the eastern forest. He smiled, fanning himself with a fine silken fan, before closing it with a “Snap.” Knights out of armor versus two dozen well-trained bandits, striking from ambush. It had ended in the only way possible.

Hells, the best of them were up to level seven. Against four unarmored young knights? No chance for the youths at all.

Then he started in surprise. There were forms moving out of the forest. Stepping from the shadows of the trees, heading toward the hill, toward the manner. “What the devils?” Colm said, bringing the spyglass around and focusing in on the oncoming group.

And his heart fluttered, as he recognized them.

Those were Jacob's band. Only they were moving slowly, drunkenly...

...and, as the Baron watched blood ooze down from one's face, to fall down slack lips, he realized that they were pretty beaten up. In fact, given their visible injuries, they looked, well, dead.

Realization struck him, and he bolted to his feet, hurried downstairs, wheezing all the way. A trap! It had been bait, and he'd fallen for it! They had backup out of town, somewhere, and the ambush had been ambushed!

He got down to the basement, locking the door behind him, and went to the wine rack, pulling a bottle out of a certain spot, and hearing the mechanism groan and shudder, before the wall opened up. Beyond lay the darkness of his escape route, and the choicest of his treasures.

But, then... he could get some small measure of vengeance before he went, and get a few more reagents and crystals for his trip, now couldn't he?

He turned back to the suits of armor piled in the corner, smiling-

-and found them standing, swords leveled at him.

“What? What is this?” He bellowed, stepping backwards toward the tunnel.

A mouth formed on one of the helms. “Before I was a knight, I was an animator,” Cecelia spoke. “I animated these before we left the basement. Then it was Dollseye to let me see through my animi and Magic Mouth to tell you exactly how screwed you are.”

“I see! You've animated all four of them. And one of you's a necromancer too, to raise my men!”

“Obvious, really. You've been working with the local bandits, preying on the trade routes,” Cecelia's voice filled the room, as the armor advanced in unison, slowly. The fat Baron backed up, step by step as they came. “What sort of man does that? Not one that pays his honest taxes, or looks after his serfs. You've been stealing, stealing from the crown, and stealing from your own people.”

“I did what I had to!” The Baron roared. “The Crown? Don't make me laugh! The Crown takes its taxes and leaves us to our own devices! Everything goes to the war effort now, and nobody guards the roads or the settlements! They don't care if monsters attack us, or if bandits prey on us. There is no help for the weak! The only way to survive is to be strong ourselves, and everything this village has, every day it survives it owes to me and to my friends... who you just slaughtered.” Colm sneered. “But you won't take me! I know animi. Animi can fight, but they're not great at it.” He stopped walking, sneering now, feeling his confidence return. “I can get to them, and all it'll take is one touch to disenchant each one. I'll survive and they'll be dust. What of your precious armor then, hm?”

“They might be slow, yes,” Cecilia spoke as the armor clanked on with endless patience, “but I've got a friend, and she's quick as death. That's the name for it, right?”

“Fast as Death,” spoke a voice behind the Baron and he jumped, whirled to see Kayin behind him, a pair of knives in her hands and a mad grin on her face. “Got you, fat boy.”

“What? How... I saw you leave!”

“Yeah. And you didn't see me sneak back after we beat the shit out of your huntsman. He spilled your plans. You saw the mirror, right? He was really eager to cooperate after Cecelia animated his pants and started up the nutcracker special.”

Feet upstairs, thumping on the door. A distant groaning, that he knew from experience in his younger adventuring days. Zombies.

“You've met our assassin. She's the least of your worries. Before he was a knight, Graves was a necromancer,” Cecelia continued. “If you don't surrender we'll kill you, he'll tuck your soul into something horrible, and you'll be trapped in a rotting shell forever.”

“Animator, Necromancer, Assassin... Who the hell are you people?” Colm shrieked. “Next you'll be telling me that dopey-looking youth with you was a goddamn model!”

“No, he's just a knight. Twenty-five levels worth,” Cecelia said. “Unfortunately for your bandits.”

The Baron's mouth shut. He hastily reassessed the odds.

“I surrender.”

“Good boy,” said Cecelia. “Now let's talk about food again...”

*****

Sergeant Tane blinked, as he watched the four wagons roll in from the south. Yoked to the fattest oxen he'd ever seen, each one of them was laden to the brim with bags, and each one had a grinning Knight sitting on the buckboard, guiding them in.

“You're late,” he said, glancing up to the darkening sky... then down to the bound, fat figure in the last wagon. “Who the fuck is that?”

“The former Baron of Pads,” Cecelia said. “Guilty by his own admission, and his own records, of theft, treason against the crown, and preying upon the weak. His own people told me everything. Ah, they've got an alderman now, until the Crown can appoint someone new out there.”

“Might take a while.” Tane said. “He confessed willingly?”

“Yes, after he tried to kill us.”

“Oh. Well that's simple, then.” He nodded to Renick. “Take Lana and go execute this son of a bitch. Behind the latrines, I'm thinking.”

“Yes sir.” Renick nodded to Lana, and the two moved forward.

Tane watched Cecelia's face turn pale, as the man shrieked and screamed behind her. “Wait, what? We don't have the authority to do that!”

“We're a military convoy to the front,” Tane explained. “We can't spare the guards to bring this man back to Castle Cylvania for a trial, and I don't see any witnesses, which means you can't go back to profess his guilt. I'm not going to feed a traitor food we can take to the front instead. So he dies.”

Cecelia looked back to her companions. Kayin shook her head. “He tried to kill us, Cecelia.”

Graves nodded to support Kayin. “He's horrible. Coming from me, that means a lot, right?”

But it was Morris who seemed to shake her the most. “Yeah, it's not exactly in accordance with the old laws, but... we've got field authority, right? And our Code of Chivalry doesn't say we have to follow the laws, just the King and the Crown. So it's okay if we do this.”

“We...” Cecelia licked her lips. “We should follow the laws, too.” She whispered, as Renick and Lana hauled the shrieking Baron away, avoiding her eyes. “If we don't, who will?”

“He got stupid and he got caught,” Tane shrugged. “If it wasn't us, then someone else would have got him anyway. Really, he brought this on himself. And that's the end of it, Dame Ragandor.”

She watched him go, watched them drag him off into the treeline, and only closed her eyes as the fat man's screams rose up, then fell silent.

When she looked back, Tane was next to her, his eyes understanding. “Come on then,” he murmured, hopping up next to her and taking the reigns. “You did good. Don't let that trouble you.”

“He was supposed to get a trial,” Cecelia said. “He should have gotten a trial.”

“He did, more or less. He had it when he tried to kill you and failed. The truth of it...” Tane said, looking away. “The truth of it is that things are messy right now. Chaos everywhere, rebels and traitors all around us. They know the law. They try to use it against us. The King's way is a hard way, but it's the only way to us. And if you don't like it, milady, then you're welcome to return your armor. And go back to the castle, while we sort it out.”

Cecelia took a deep breath. She raised her gauntlet to her face, and stared at it. Then closed it into a fist. “No. I did something today. Something good. That village is better off in charge of themselves. And I'm not going to run out on my friends. I can help them. I can help everyone.”

Tane nodded. “Good. Then I've got news for you. Messenger imp came by today, checking on us. Your Steam Knight suit's arrived at Fort Bronze.”

“That's the last stop before the front, right?”

“Yeah. We'll drop the food off there. Then it's into action. But not against the dwarves.”

“Wait, what?”

“I'll tell the others when we're together, but I might as well tell you now. There's been a rebel uprising, just southeast of the Fort, in another shitty frontier village. Some little fishing town called Outsmouth...”