Far and Wide

I turned around, and there he was: Carver.

“Are you leaving Strandburgh?!” he Asked.

“I am. How are Vedel, Gerner and the others?”

“They've pulled themselves together again. And they grumble about the fact that you're just gone.”

“Come on. After what happened?”

“They are good men!”

“I know.”

“Where are you going?”

“Some town called Frone to the south.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I'm working for the Mareeve, this time for real. They made me a thane after what has happened.”

“So are the Churls your enemies now, as Hern said?”

“Like I said, only if they get in my way. I won't go against you of my own accord.”

“Even if the Mareeve orders you to do so?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Will you take me with you?”

“Huh? What about the Churls?”

“I've learned everything I can from them. Master Nixie isn't here anymore either. And you were going to teach me how to be a swordsman, weren't you?!”

“If that is what you wish for, Carver,” I replied, unable to suppress a smile.

The boy smiled back at me; I led the way, and he followed me.

After a brief search, we found Baduith standing by a carriage, already pacing back and forth impatiently.

“Finally! But?! Who's that boy? What's going on?!”

“My swain, Carver. He’ll come along. Carver, this is the Reeve of Frone, Baduith...”

“Baduith Molter. Isn't he a little too old to be the swain of a thane?”

“It is what it is.”

“Oh well, whatever. Hop in—we've got to go.”

The carriage driver nodded to us as we got in.

At first, silence reigned between us passengers, and the clatter of hooves, the creaking of the carriage, and the many noises of the city’s underburghs accompanied us, until the latter was lost to the sounds of nature.

“One of the sellswords will be accompanying us starting from that village you mentioned?”

“Yes, Swarehurst. Quaint little place. We will stay there for the night.”

“Tell me something about him.”

“Oh, I don't really know. Was the last one to join. Recommended by the Bureeve.”

“And the wigh? Why is it important to this quest?”

“It’s dedicated to Nathna, the wife of Fald. The wighman will provide us with warding talismans against the bloodcurdling howl of Managarm.”

“Managarm?” Carver interjected.

“The elfin beast of the Werewood.”

“I’ll explain it to you later, Carver. How long will it take to reach Frone?”

“Four to five days.”

“Can you tell me anything about the other two sellswords?”

“One is a lorthane of Eol, a weathered hunter whom no one can outdo with a bow and arrow. The other is a skilled fighter who has recently distinguished himself around Frone, by taking care of bandits and wild beasts. The holy warrior is called Elmstan and the adventurer Fingwine.”

I had gathered enough information for now, so I explained to Carver what Mirrond and Dahadir had already told me.

During a somewhat longer stop, I practiced with Carver while Baduith sorted through his belongings in the carriage and the driver watched us with interest after tending to the horses. Otherwise, the day passed without incident.

Darkness had not fallen yet when we arrived in Swarehurst. But soon it would.

Fields stretched far and wide. There didn't seem to be a soul in sight.

The village was situated right on a river that divided it into two parts. On one side of the stream stood about forty farmhouses, including two larger barns. On the other side, nestled on a hill and surrounded by wooden palisades, lay a large hall, another barn, and a third building about the size of one of the regular farmhouses.

Our carriage came to a stop in front of the gate to the fortified section.

“Who goes there?!” a voice called down from the palisade.

We got out, and Baduith stepped forward.

“Baduith Molter, reeve of Frone!”

“What's your favorite drink, Reeve Molter?!”

“Clear spring water, friend!”

“It’s him! Open the gate, lads!”

Amid a loud creaking, we were granted entry, and a small man with his hair tied in a knot at the side came toward us. Guards armed with clubs walked on either side of him.

“Greetings, Reeve Molter. I am the hundredman of Swarehurst, Gilgand Palm. But tell me, who is accompanying you there? Shouldn't there be just three of you?”

“Please excuse the inconvenience, Hundred…”

“Just call me Gilgand.”

“Then please call me Baduith, friend. The lord thane here has this swaine in his care whom the Shireeve and I didn't know about beforehand. If there isn't enough room, I'll spend the night in the carriage.”

“Of course not, my friend! Come on in. I just wanted to put my doubts to rest. It can't get any weirder than with a Cantish witch in my village, can it?” said the hundredman with a laugh.

A witch? Could it be?

Together with the Hundredman and his men, we strode toward the great hall and entered it.

A large number of logs were burning brightly in a big fireplace in the center of the building. The heat radiating from the fire drove away the cold that had crept unnoticed into my bones and made me realize once again that spring had only just begun.

And sure enough, there she was, sitting all alone by the fire—Fion!

A few men and women were seated around the hall, but no one was sitting near her. The people of Swarehurst seemed troubled. Some of them gave us quick nods and then turned back to their drinks, muttering among themselves.

My scarred witch didn't seem to have made any friends. Once again, she showed a lot of skin. Definitely too much for a bunch of farmers.

“Is everyone acting all glum just because of the witch?” I asked.

“What are you thinking? She might not really fit in here, but that's not the cause of my people’s low spirits.”

“Then what is it, Gilgand?” Baduith questioned our host.

“Bandits. They showed up here yesterday. A few of the men had asked the witch for help, but she doesn't want anything to do with it unless we pay her.”

“Just a bunch of bandits? Surely you have enough men to handle them!” the Reeve added.

“No, these aren't your typical petty thieves or robbers. It’s a large band, and some of them were very well equipped. All in all, there must be about thirty of them. They've set up camp not far north of here and have already beaten up one of my men.”

“And you're not going to ask us if we'll help you?”

“I had planned to save that for later, after you'd had your fill of our food and warmed yourselves by our fire.”

“Then let's save that for later. I'd like to speak with the witch first. Alone. Gilgand, Baduith, Carver, excuse me.”

So I walked over to Fion. I was curious to hear what this curious woman had to say, and how she would behave toward me. Would she put on that act of annoyance again? What a lovely little dance. Wasn’t it?