the Leathermines

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The grim task of clearing out the farmer’s huts was not taken lightly as it was a taste of what they were to find in the keep a day away.  Several women, a man and several children were found gutted and left to rot where they had fallen.  The smell should have told them what had happened inside the structures, but the dog lying across the door, guarding the bodies was what caught Edgar’s attention.

The loyal animal had been there for the week and was both happy to have water and wanted to guard his people from these strangers.  The need to slake his thirst won and the wardsmen were able to see the extent of the massacre.

A wide grave was dug for the family they found and they were put in as reverently as possible.  A toy still loosely clutched in a child’s hand was put beside the small form as it was laid to rest with it’s playmate.  The dog laid down next to the grave and continued to guard.

The smell of the summer-rotting corpses was going to linger in those structures for a while, so the wardmen hung a black strip of fabric on the outside of each hut and traveled on.  Two more slaughters were found and taken care of before Edgar found a place he thought would be suitable for the household to camp for the night.

He had almost thrown up when he had first seen the bodies.  For many summers, he had been one of the wards that went out looking for the animals that had run after being shot in the hunt.  Most of the time, it just took some time to follow the blood trail to the body.  Sometimes, the animal was still alive and had to be given mercy.  But on occasion, the animal slipped by and died not to be found for several days.

This was worse.  They had been farmers-people.  The savagery of the kills haunted Edgar as he directed the people with him how to set up to receive the others of the household.  The bloody coup was not just at the top of the Kingdom of the Midlands.  It had reached down and disemboweled those who worked the land, too.  He wished that he had his Lord’s voice to council him, or could send a missive to his father.  Neither were possible, now.

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Edgar was right about the timing for the next day.  Dawn came lazily in the Inn.  The first people up and active being the ones used to pre-dawn activities and who could not sleep any further.  There was a low mist on the ground in the weak light and the dew hardly moistened the dry grasses.  A line of men past the wagons pissing into the bushes was both amusing and concerning to Marie as she looked out her small second story window.  That many people needing to relieve themselves was going to become a flood of problems, in more ways than one.  The chamber pots they had were not going to be enough for the women she had in her bed behind her.  The Innkeeper was surprised at herself for not thinking of it the night before.

The rotund and cheerful form of Marie came out of the Inn towards the group seated by the revived fire.  She held a plater of mugs and day old bread.  The mugs with a warmed cider was appreciatively taken by all awake around the morning fire.

Marie waited for a moment before saying, “Now, I need several of you to dig a privy.”  The small girl holding the shovel came from behind Marie’s bulk and tried to hold out the tool that was almost as big as she was. There were grumbles and chuckles and two of the men, and one of the women, took up the challenge.  A patch near the bushes with a sapling was chosen and within a few minutes, a useable hole was dug, a stave was pushed into the ground and a modesty cloth was draped between the sapling and stave.

Marie went back into the Inn to attend to the mass of potcakes she intended to make.  “Bethany, remember when I brought over those potcakes to your mistress?”  The little girl nodded.  “I’ll show you how you can make them.  All right?”  The tired little girl nodded and followed the directions that Marie gave her.

The smell of food and hot cider and tea woke many more people from their sleep.  The thick curtains were drawn back to let the morning light in, making those who really did not want to awaken do so anyway.  Orgia cursed her bad knee under her breath as she stood from the mat she had been sharing with some of the dancers.  Without missing a step, she pulled back the curtain, tied her apron back on and went to help the Innkeepers feed the household of Salam-Dir.  Disa was also awake, but felt she needed to keep an eye on her mistress, as Lady Laun had slipped out in the middle of the night without her being aware.  Until it was too late.

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Night was again upon the Kingdom of the Midlands.  Markle put out the black banner at the front of the Inn to show that they were not accepting any more guests, and instructed the Salam-Dir wardsman who was standing guard how to use the defenses built into the walls.  Marie borrowed servants from several of the private houses in the crossroads to continuously cook and clean and launder as needed, pulling the thick curtains down over the windows when it became brighter inside than out.

The night had come, calm and sleep were over most of the people in the Inn.  Several hours passed and the sounds of travelers outside on the road died to nothing but night birds and cats searching for the same unwary mice.  Markle could not keep his eyes open any longer and tapped on the shoulder of one of the older wardsmen.  They exchanged places near the front of the Inn’s common room and Markle fell asleep leaning against the wall, not in his bed.  Several of the Salam-Dir servants were in the bed he and Marie shared most nights.  There were people stacked inside and out, the wardsmen keeping watch, something he only remembered from when he was a very young lad.  As Markle fell into dreams of the last war upon the land, several were kept awake at the prospect of the one now on them.

The sleeping drought that Laun had been given had worn off and she was lying among the sleeping forms of many of the dancers of the household.  They had not been obvious about it, but they had become her maids in waiting, her small court.  Disa led them, Orgia acting as Laun’s hands to direct the remaining household.  There was comfort in the breathing and snores around Laun.  It was more comforting that Disa had asked Marie to continue with her new Lady and that Marie had not just accepted that request but had quipped that she had expected no less.

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Geralk was leading his mule through the different groups that were traveling away from the late Festival.  He had been able to get to the Merchant’s tent right before the battle had spread to that area of Lord Falmir’s lands.  The merchants that had not left to see the closing ceremonies were packing up, including the female assistant that Pillar had left at his booth.  Geralk spread the word briefly of what had just happened and the speed the merchants were packing at tripled.  Pillar’s assistant looked at the stuff in the booth and just left.  The last Geralk saw of her was when she paused at the opening to the outside before disappearing into the battle noise.

So, because he was a good person at heart, Geralk had burdened his mule with both his stuff and Pillar’s potions and salves.  But, Geralk was not above selling anything that was strapped to the beast as they traveled from caravan to caravan.  Several of the salves that were labeled were sold to various households, and Geralk was able to glean information as well as a few coins.

The merchant was coming to the last cart in a fairly large caravan when he recognized the shaman striding alongside one of the wagons.  There was a momentary flash of guilt before Geralk called out, “Hoy!  Pillar!”

The shaman turned at the call and stopped walking.  Wagons, servants and horses passed by him until he started his pace with Geralk at his side.  “How be you, Geralk?”

The merchant motioned with his head to the mule.  “Thought you may want some of your stuff.”  A twinkle was in his voice and eye as he said, “You have already paid cartage.”

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Falmir had not expected there to be any resistance when he killed his own father.  He fought the man, more difficult than he thought the old man would be.  The old men with him also were in fighting mettle more than the life they seemed to lead would show.  The peasants and entertainers that the fight pressed into also made it difficult.  Falmir did not mind bloodshed.  He just wanted a particular blood on his knife and the people kept getting too close or directly in the way.

Then the King’s men uncloaked and the odds were much more even.  The hired Greyworlders came to Falmir’s side, but they were all minor thieves and briggands, not the fighting men he needed.  When his own Nephew came out of the crowd and sided with King Dreng, Falmir knew that it could not happen right then.  The coup was not over, but Falmir was not going to be able to crown himself that day.

The King and his men kept pushing through the crowd and Falmir stopped.  He called back his men and breathed heavily as the crowd made space around them.  “Back to the Mains.  He cannot do much now.  And kill any in the King’s green.”

Falmir led the way to his ancestral home, now tainted with his families own blood.   There were only a few groups that resisted them as they went through.  Falmir was certain that there were more of the King’s men ahead, but when they got to where he had seen the Bright, the tabards were on the dirt.  Like other prey he had hunted, they had gone to ground.

Chapter 10 The people of Salam-Dir journey back to the land