the Leathermines

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There was a drip that was intermittently falling on Laun’s forehead.  It was cold and the trail down her face made her shiver.  There were bird sounds and a small rustling in the leaves near her.  Laun opened her eyes to a grey light filtering through the trees and bushes around her.  The small animal near her shoulder bumped into her, squeaked and ran back through the leafmold.

Laun carefully stretched in the cloak and felt where her wounds had stuck to her clothing.  The shoulder cut tore open as she moved and Laun could feel the blood trickle down her skin.  Her feet were still in the boots, though some stones and twigs had worked their way in making it painful to move until she was able to pull them off and shake out the intruders.  The linen socks were soaked with sweat and some mud, but they made the boots work better so she left the soiled things on as she pulled the boots back over her sore and slightly swollen feet.  The drops from the leaves overhead whenever Laun shook the surrounding trees was cold on her exposed skin, making her shiver again.

Braving the shower from above, Laun pushed aside some of the branches to look outside her little safe place.  It was misty gray outside with a vague light that comes with a morning after a well needed storm.  There were bird sounds and more leaf movement, but all from small animals.  Laun pulled out a small journey cake from the backpack and sucked on it as she looked through another part of the foliage.

There was only nature that morning.  No sign of the bandits.  Laun gathered up herself and carefully pushed through the weak spot in the bushes.  She tried to pull herself through as the cloak became stuck on something and she was afraid to rip the fabric.  Pushing herself back, she found what she was caught on and decided to take the cloak off.  The backpack, cloak and sword were pushed out of the copse before Laun followed them. »Read More

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It was about an hour until sunset when Laun started to hear hoofbeats in the distance.  They grew louder and louder until Laun realized that it was the bandits that were riding toward her.  She dove off the road-trail that she had been on and into a mire of blue-grey mud.  She saw glimpses of what seemed to be one hundred men on horseback galloping by as she sank up to her knees in the mud.  She had barely missed a large log when she had leapt in and tried to stay behind it as the men rode past.  The shouts and hoofbeats had been quieted by distance and the curve in the road for more than twenty breaths when Laun focused on the cold mud she was sinking into.

It took longer for her to get out of the mud than it had taken for the bandits to ride by.  She had to take off her backpack and throw it onto the road, hearing the pottery baking container breaking as it hit.  At least she had eaten the pie, but it was a shame. She was hoping that the ale that was left had not also broken.  Her cape was next off her shoulders and onto the road, though the grey mud was already caked onto the bottom third of the cape inside and out.  The next ten minutes or so was taken up by holding onto the top of one boot and moving her whole leg and then holding the top of the other boot and moving her whole leg until she could pull herself out of the mud filled ditch.  By the time Laun stood on the road, all of her and what she was wearing was covered with the mud.  Laun felt thoroughly disgusting.

“Why me?” Laun wondered to herself.  She knew that she was on the right road to find where the bandits had their hideout.  She figured that it would take a horse no more than half as long to go to and from anywhere than a person on foot, even heavily laden with loot.  It had been 5 days of travel, some slower than others, and the bandits had consistently been out every night she had been traveling.  She knew that the hideout had to be close.  Had to be. »Read More

The first warnings of the raiders came too late.

The Castle of Lord Salam-Dir would fall to the merciless bandits before the night was over.  There was little that could have been done as plans made long ago were not to be stopped.  There was a Festival and Tourney being held by a Lord several day’s journey from the Salam-Dir castle.  Less than forty people were left to defend the keep because of it.  Most of the people left in the mains were too old or frail to travel to the Festival and so did not defend the huge castle and keep for long.  The only warrior there was the Lord Salam-Dir himself who had stayed to see to his recently deceased wife’s mourning vigil.

Moonless night was covering the approach of the raiders.  It was only as the wave of men battered against the first gate that anyone knew anything was wrong.  Peace had been across the land for over a generation.  There was just the old man, who had been the gatekeeper since before the last conflict in the land, at the outer courtyard gatehouse.  He was the first to die.

The raiders attacked as the Lord Salam-Dir was preparing to vigil the night over his wife’s body.  The still form of his wife was draped with a simple pale linen shroud on the altar. The jewels he had given her over the years glinted through the thin fabric in the candle light, bright against her grayed skin.  The Chamber of Death was in the lower part of the main tower below the noble family’s apartments.  It was mid summer and even the inner stone of the castle radiated the heat of the cloudless skies, but to Vami Salam-Dir, the cold of winter and death had settled into him even before he heard the scratch on the door. »Read More