Chapter 11

Ruby the glee-maiden plucked away at the strings of her gittern half-heartedly trying to find a set of ad-hoc chord arrangements that could be coaxed into anything resembling a tune. It didn’t help that she was bone-weary and fighting even to stay awake on her stumbling horse, the pair of them travelling face first into a biting cold wind that promised a freezing rain in the morning, not very many hours away now.

The quality of her music wasn’t improved by the fact that Ruby had never even touched this instrument before yesterday, let alone trained upon it, or had even much bothered to even try and tune it before taking it for an all-night ride in the damp and cold. It probably could also be factually stated that she wasn’t quite a duly licensed member of the gleeman guild, nor had even taken apprenticeship with them either, but if pressed, she could with some honesty state that she had been accepted by the lessor Guild of Entertainers ... although the guild parchment bearing that privilege didn’t actually bear her name and signature upon it.

Petty details. No one at this time of night, about two hours before dawn, was going to be reading anything, let alone fine print, on a misty night with nearly no moon visible. Besides, odds were that at least four out of five bandits couldn’t read or write their own name anyway, and those were the sort of customers that she was in search of that night. From the sound of the approaching horses, reckoned it was about time for the performance to begin.

“Halt and deliver!” A mostly disembodied voice shouted out from the gloom in front of her. There was something of a harder shadow there in the foggy mist ahead of her, and also approaching her from three other directions and Ruby with a loud audible sigh halted her weary mount. Cradling her instrument with her left hand, she cast a quick fire-light spell upon her right hand to cast forth a bit of comforting light around her, slightly illuminating the fog. This spell also had the benefit of demonstrating to everyone that she could wield magic and thus was not to be trifled with.

“And deliver just exactly what? A song? Oh, why not ... it might keep my throat from freezing up entirely,” Ruby exclaimed angrily,

Oh, it’s a fine thing to sing,
Singing is the thing,
It brightens ev’ry thing,
When dark and dreary
It helps you on the road;
When you have a heavy load,
Singing is the thing to make you cheery.

“There, now that you’ve had your tune,” Rudy said with another loud sigh, “can you lead me in the direction of the nearest inn? I need mulled wine ... about a ha-tun of it, just so that I can start maybe feeling my frozen fingers again!”

“Oh, just great...” a voice muttered from her left side, perhaps about fifteen feet away from her, “a traveling minstrel.”

“And likely to have fuck-all upon her,” another voice to her right side agreed.

“Well, there’s still that left to us, so go take her horse and bind her and then we can enjoy a bit of sport with her before wasting her later,” the leader out in front of her decided, with a small hint of uncertainty in his tone. The idea of losing two or even three of his minions (or himself) to a magic-wielder was a very unprofitable trade-off for a small bit of sport and he was having obvious second and third thoughts about the wisdom of this, even before his men moved forward to seize the entertainer.

“I am marked by Gléagerád,” she calmly said ... and that was quite the end of that idea, all of the bandits immediately agreed.

In a world where the vast majority of the gods could rarely even be bothered to acknowledge the prayers of their most senior high priests, let alone even hear the voices of their mundane followers, there were three very notable exceptions. If a bandit fucked with the priests of Yfelde Soð, the God of Justice, their knights would hunt you down to the ends of the world, making it their primary mission in life to make you die like a dog. No profit there! Same with making sport with the priestesses of Árfæsliss, the Goddess of Mercy, as every other religious order would then mark your head for extermination ... including the assassins of Ámyrðria. No one was insane enough to want to mess with them!

The penalties for pissing off Gléagerád, the patron deity and protector of bards, glee-men (and glee-maidens) and other entertainers, were said to be if anything, even worse ... the legends suggested the payback would be far, far more horrific.

“Ok, we’re done here lady, but we’re still taking your horse,” the leader snapped with anger and annoyance.

“Ummm, boss ... her horse is about done for,” the minion on her right said, giving the poor weary beast a few comforting pats on its neck. “It’s blowing wind, even now standing at a halt, and I think I can count every single one of its ribs. It can barely carry her and would drop within a mile carrying any of us. Fit only for the knackers, it is.”

“It was the only horse for sale in Nordholm within my budget,” Ruby laughed, “which was indeed about close to fuck-all. Needs a long rest and a week of good feeding ... now, where the fuck in this wilderness can I find a good inn?”

“‘Round here, none to be found ... at least now,” the rider on her left advised her as he paused before joining the leader up in front. “Can’t go to Baad ... there’s plague there, they say, forbidden to everyone.”

“Nope, Baad’s entirely off limits,” the leader agreed, “so you can’t go to Baadport or Baadholt ... those are the orders. Randburg is probably the closest city. Go to the crossing in about two miles and take the road due west and keep following it. That would be a good two days ride ... likely longer for your sad beast.”

“And that’s far longer than this poor creature can keep moving its feet. I kept thinking there would be a tavern somewhere along this miserable stretch of road, but I’ve seen nothing all night! Look, I’ll make a deal with you then ... my mount and I need a rest, so take me to your camp and feed me a hot meal and let me get a bit of rest, and then I’ll give you some first-rate song and dance afterwards for your hospitality ... but no hokie-pokie stuff ... unless I get much more warmed up inside with some decent wine, clear?”

“Clear enough,” the leader agreed, wheeling his horse around, “our camp is just off of the road and we can be there in about twenty minutes. It’s been a late night for us as well and we could all do with a bit of mulled wine and a hot meal before we take bed at daybreak.”

As hidden campsites went, this bandit camp rated at being near perfection. It lay in something of a hidden small valley between three hills and had a small nearly invisible ravine on the northern side with fresh water and a deep sunken camping site with heavy brush and small tree growth where a decent sized campfire could remain lit for hours, invisible to anyone outside the surrounding hills. Up the nearest and tallest hill at the northeast there was plenty of good brush cover where a watcher could see the crossroads where the Nordmore coastal road ended, meeting the road between Baadholt to the west and Baadport a few miles to the east.

A troop of cavalry could ride to within a quarter-mile of this camp, or even less, and see nothing ... and they had done so, at least twice, the bandits had laughed as they showed off their well-concealed camp to the glee-maiden.

“Joachim, go relieve Eckel on top of the hill, but do so quietly ... if he’s been asleep again on the night watch, I’ll cut off one of his fingers! Goswin will relieve you at about noon.”

Ruby let the bandits cook up their early morning meal and only pretended to be disappointed that it was an oatmeal porridge. It was hot and filling, and would stick to the ribs, she had to admit and she was far too cold to much care about any sort of food, unless it was piping hot. Her underfed horse was enjoying the grazing with the other bandit mounts and seemed entirely willing to stay put there indefinitely, even without the long neck lead tied to a tree. Like her, it was probably too tired, cold and hungry to move another foot until long after dawn.

Idly, Ruby pulled out one of her silver flutes and began piping a few northern airs, and with rather more skill and talent than her earlier exercise with the gittern had demonstrated. Cold stiff fingers and all, at least the soft melodies were recognizable now. Lulled somewhat to drowsiness, the bandits wasted little time after eating their breakfast in rolling out their blankets and bedrolls and climbing into them, save for their leader, who was taking the first day watch inside of the camp. A few moments later a new arrival, who must have been Eckel who had been keeping the night watch on the hill, quickly ate his own warm breakfast and was soon asleep as well in his bedroll. Soon as daylight began slowly warming the tips of the hills surrounding their hiding place, there was no one awake except for Ruby and the bandit leader.

This suited Ruby’s current desires just fine, now that she’d had a hot meal inside of her.

“Is someone pushing through those small trees and brush between those two hills to the southwest?” She asked with a note of curiosity, “the wind is from the northeast, I think, so why is the brush waving the opposite way there, or does the wind swirl here, inside this little valley in all directions?”

A fair enough question, the bandit leader wondered himself as he focused his eyes in that direction in the rosy gloom of the first light of dawn, unaware to the last as ‘Ruby’ had drawn a long thin dagger and expertly thrust it in-between his ribs and directly into his heart. She had put a hand over his mouth as she’d thrust, but it was unnecessary as the bandit leader died immediately at her feet without uttering a sound. The rest of the band, all asleep in their bedrolls, quickly and quietly had their throats slit, leaving none alive in the camp, except for Joachim, on morning watch up on the hill. Under the pretext of bringing him a bowl of warm-ish oat mush, Ruby had no trouble at all also delivering him a cold dagger into his back instead, as he laid hidden flat on the ground, watching the roads. Her work now completed, she then sat and ate up all of his breakfast as well. ‘Waste not’, she muttered to herself.

This bandit band of six soldiers had been fairly well disguised as highwaymen and had been an annoyance for over a week, their hidden campsite too cleverly concealed for her inexperienced scouts to locate, until this trap was set for them. Now that this band was accounted for, Rudy took a minute to change out of her bright red performer’s wig and traveling entertainer’s costume for Lucie de Mont’s more habitual attire of grey leathers. Once she was happily ‘herself’ once more, she rummaged about in Ruby’s saddlebags and upon finding the shawm, a trumpet-like wooden instrument, gave it two long low-sounding toots from on top of the nearest hill and didn’t have to wait longer than ten minutes for her relief party of four riders to arrive.

“Glad to see that you could handle this pack all by yourself,” Walter said, giving Lucie a respectful nod of greeting. “Even with the dark night there was enough fog to keep you well out of sight while we were trailing behind you. Might have still missed this ravine entirely, searching for their camp and you, if we hadn’t had someone on foot last night just barely keeping you in sight and marking the trail with sticks. Still might have overlooked this hidden gorge anyway, if you hadn’t sounded off your horn. Got to admit that it was the perfect spot for them to watch the coastal road and eastern crossroad! The best camp we’ve encountered yet so far!”

“It was very well hidden,” Lucie agreed, “and now we can clear out every trace of this this lot of so-called bandits and wait for the next group to rotate back here again in a week or so. Double-check my reasoning here, but since their daytime scout uses the bigger hill to the northeast for spotting and largely has their eyes fixed to the road to the east and northeast, there should be lots of nice cover for a sneaky sort of guy to use the brush and cover to the southwest to sneak in take out that guy, while the rest take out the sleepers in the main camp here ... the next time they use this place.”

“Easier and simpler than following you as bait all night long,” her lieutenant agreed, “but together we did clear out two entire camps of six soldiers each this way last night, and since we now know where they’re making their camps at, sure ... we can keep watch easy enough and take them out in daylight from now on, probably without even a real fight that way. We’ll clear out the base now, as planned, no blood or bodies and nothing to hint at a fight, but leaving the camp otherwise as normal, even with some wood stacked by the firepit to welcome the next newcomers. Then I’ll have the guys do a few dry practice runs, taking out the scout first and then sneaking into to do the guy on day watch, then finally the sleepers. We’ll run the drill all day, if needed, until I think they can do it perfect, the first time. Then tomorrow, bring in the other hunter-killer team to run the drill also, until the next batch of fake bandits shows up. Wash, rinse and repeat, over and over again, at both of the hidden camps we’ve found ... until Egner’s more veteran scouts realize they’ve been set-up and move all of their forward camps and operating bases again. It’s almost been too easy, so far.”

“What I saw of these two groups of soldiers last night,” Lucie said, “I wouldn’t be too worried for a little while yet. Neither group had anyone I’d rate as having above provisional home-guard level training. Definitely none were veteran cavalry, let alone experienced scout level soldiers. At a guess, I’d rate everyone from both of those camps as being sweepings from the brig or disciplinary stockades, including the sergeants. Not a terrible idea I suppose, to sort out your own troublemakers by sending them across the border to play ‘bandit’. I bet they even all volunteered! All fine and good for us, until some bright officer eventually realizes that none of their bad-boys are returning and that they need to send in professional scouts, or worse ... some of their ranger units. Some guy in the earlier band I cleared out was muttering about their elite ranger unit that was sent last summer to their far northwestern frontier, to help deal with the tribal barbarians in the forests of Arnhavn.”

“I’ve vaguely heard of that area,” Walter said, “nothing there but swamps and forests so dense that there are almost no paths or roads and you can’t see ten feet in front or behind you, all filled with insane demon-worshiping pagans who paint themselves up with burned tree bark, and nail up their victims in their sacred tree groves and conduct blood rituals so perverse that it would make even your blood run cold, Lucie. Oh, but the rivers are said to run yellow with gold and the furthest northern shores are awash with amber, they say, so of course Lord Egner wants to conquer it too.”

“Sounds like misfortune we don’t want or need, especially right now, but I think we’re likely to face just their local troublemakers until at least the first snows fall ... which really could be anytime from now on. Besides, when they start sending us their trained military professionals, it will likely become pretty clear and obvious ... they might start taking out a few of our scouting or hunter-killer bands first!”

“If you think for a minute that I’m going to eat that congealed mess, well ... nope,” Ruby shuddered, and not just from the frozen cold of the windswept snow. “You are all professional soldiers, from the looks of you, and look at the slop you’re eating! Dried meat boiled with dried beans ... no salt, no seasoning, no fat or oil, and nothing that even resembles a vegetable! I know men won’t willingly eat anything green or stuff that might be accidentally classified as healthy for you, but you could have at least put some onions into the pot, to make the gruel a little less cohesive and perhaps more digestible?”

“Sorry Miss Ruby, again for the very limited accommodations we have available, as I fear we have no onions, or even potatoes and such at present,” the scout captain responded with a slight sigh. Already their ‘guest’ had been more challenging to deal with than he’d expected, and her presence alone was a constant distraction to his men that he was already finding inconvenient. ‘Needs must’, he muttered to himself, as it is not quite every day that a scouting party find a near-freezing glee-maiden out in the middle of the wilderness, quite lost and with her mount visibly near collapse.

“My gratitude again for your timely rescue, good captain,” she smiled, offering a full stage-worthy bow with all of the flourishes of her gloved hands and a merry jingle of her belled cap, “but I must insist that the fare you are feeding your men is such that I would hesitate to offer it even to condemned men. If I might offer you a few items with gratitude for my rescue, I believe that you will find a sack of stew-worthy provisions in my packs. The left one behind the saddle, I do believe. There are green onions, a few potatoes, a couple of tiny carrots and even something that a farmer a few weeks ago insisted were radishes, but the bite of it is rather too strong for my tastes ... but perhaps with beans it could be made tolerable, or not ... as you should choose.”

“Bernard, quit stirring that mush and go check her left rear pack,” he called out, “and look the stuff over. Your family busted sod and had a farm, as I believe you mentioned once, so you’ll know how to recognize and use root vegetables?”

“Yes, Sir, I would indeed,” the young soldier acting as camp cook agreed as he went over to collect Ruby’s farm-bought produce. “As she said, Sir ... a half dozen small onions with their greens, ‘coupla taters and carrots. And I’ve seen those radishes before too, a southern variety, really hot, burns worse even than horseradish, but it would brighten up the stew,” he admitted.