A horse is a horse, of course, of course

[Deleted]

Floras 8th

They stole his horse. He couldn't believe it! They actually stole his horse right from under his nose!

He stormed out of the stables. "Leon!" He shouted at the stableboy. "My horse! It's gone!"

"Oh," said Leon, "That it is, sir."

"Where's it gone?" 


"Um, well."

"Leon, you're helping me find that horse. Get Troile and the dogs." The boy stared up at him, mouth agape. "Come on!"

"You'll be going with us, sir?"

"You're damned right! It's my Bellemere we're talking about!"

It had been such a beautiful horse. Its pure white matched Henri's shock of hair, and when they galloped together, it was freedom. They would go along the hilly plains, and down the road towards other lands. He would take it to the laketown to feed on the alfalfa that grew there by the river's banks, and relax himself, staring up at the clouds. He imagined one a powerful warrior, the other a noble archer. Were they foes, lovers? He could not tell. They would pass above him through the doppled canopy, disappearing as they faded into blue.


Bellemere would always tap his side with its nose when it was done feeding and it was time for Henri to wake up. They'd ride back into town together, stay a night. Henri had a girl in the laketown, name of Selly, which was short for Selene, but no one called her that. She was a helper in her mother's general store; her father was a hunter who would poach out on the other side of the lake. She was the only girl in the laketown, but he'd been honest with her about the others. Maybe she didn't love him quite so much, but at least the two had a respect of each other.

Troile and the two dogs came rushing out behind Leon. Troile himself was an older, adept-looking guard, with the unfortunate curse of a terribly doggish face--and this morning it was granted with an especially haggard expression, as he'd drank himself silly the night before on the cheaper wine. They knew not to take the expensive wine--it was a commodity, not for drinking.

"Oy, yer horse's gone?"

"Yes. Bellemere. Do you think we can find him?"

He laughed. "'course. But who's 'we'? It'll jus' be you'n the boy followin' me aroun' the countryside."

"I'm up for it. Leon?"

"Sir," he stood up straighter. It was precious--the boy thought the Cordays had power beyond what they had gained from their wealth and kindness to others. Troile was under no false impressions.

"Wha'ever," he said, and looked at the ground. "Look at the steps--mind 'em--lead out from the stall to the road. Clear as mud. Now, the dogs need a scent, so--"

They'd already caught it, and were following the hoofprints out from the enclosure to the highway, which went along in front of the manse. Henri and Leon followed close behind Troile as they walked down the main road, which lead to the town of Old Farsica.

---

Learning: Tracking

[Deleted]

"You know," Leon said, "I'm pretty sure 'clear as mud' means the opposite of--"

"Shh," Troile said. "They've got to pick up the scent." They were walking through the crowded market; three-story houses stood, rickety-looking things with supports propping them up all over. The wood had worn hard over time, and in the cracks of stones, moss grew. But here in the market, people set up the same stalls they'd set up for over a hundred years, passing it down through the families, never getting better and never getting worse.

Without knowledge being shared, society was stagnant. But none of them recognized it. They valued knowledge; but literally, as a commodity, not a universal value. They raised their kids with only some knowledge, and viewed it as an edge in the competition against everyone else. They competed within the town, changed prices to undercut others, but their products never got any better. "You know," Henri thought, "Someone ought to teach these--"

"RUBBISH!" A fat woman leaned out the window, halfway down the street from them. Seconds later, an enormous rain of brown slop tumbled out from a bucket in the window, landing in an enormous puddle on the ground.

"Awh, hell," Troile said. "Why now? Now the dogs've lost it. Shit!" He kicked a bucket by the roadside.

Henri looked around for a solution, and then back up. The woman was crouched over the edge, again, her dark mole only an accent to the crude, brown cigarette spewing ash from her dried lips. "Excuse me," Henri said, "Madame! May I have a word?"

She looked down, and spit. "Yeah, what?"

"If it pleases you, could you please tell me if you have seen, sometime in the past day, a white horse being taken down this road."

"Yeah," she said. "Two ugly beaters took and left down that road, there, sent the chickens packin' as they went. Coop sent the gendarme after 'im, dunno if they caught." She spit again. "I'd ask Guv Bryleigh if I was you, wot, I reckon he'd oughta know where thems beaters went off with that horse. I fought it was a unicorn at first, but them's just legends and all, but still, hardly c'see it in the black, it wasn't so bright. Now rug off or ye'll get the cold ears, scat."

"Great, thank you!" Henri said, and followed Troile down a block, and then as he turned, down another block. The dogs were no longer trying to find the scent. "What did she say?"

"Two men came by with the horse last night. They were running, knocked over a chicken coop. Its owner sent the police after them, that's all she knows. We're going to see the constable."

"Oh, okay," Damn, I really need to get this "Talking to Common People" thing down.

He looked at Leon. He'd never paid attention to the boy before. Maybe, just maybe, Henri's own lack of caring was part of the problem. Maybe he could do something, and he just wasn't. He was too busy, of course, much too busy. But if he could help... why not? "You gotta look at me while you're thinkin'?" 

"Oh, right, sorry," he said. Well, yes, actually, in this case, yes.

---

Learning: Tracking, Steward

[Deleted]

The three of them walked into Constable-General Bryleigh's office, leaving the dogs with Leon, outside. They growled at him a little bit, but seemed to calm down before the door was shut. 

"Oh," said Bryleigh as they entered. "Hm! Sir!" he rose from his seat, lumbering to a standing position. He stroked his moustache by impulse. "Corday's boy. Henri, is it?"

"Yes, sir," Henri said, respecting the fat man's position but not his disposition. "We've a missing horse."

Troile spoke up. "We've heard your men saw two bandits make off with a horse. Did they catch it?"

Bryleigh came around the desk, shuffling uncomfortably in the fine britches. They were far too nice, in Henri's opinion, for a man in Bryleigh's position. As well, his office was decorated excessively well. It looked like the inside of Henri's own home. "Ah, no, but it was reported to me." He came over to a wooden cabinet, and withdrew a paper from atop a stack. He spoke as he read it. "Yes, ah, they were unable to catch up."

Henri frowned. "Well, which way did it head?"

"Both men alit the horse and rode north-northwest, towards the Kushfires." He smiled. "Anything else?"

Henri shook his head, solemnly, given up on his hopes. "Thanks, that will--"

But Troile's teeth were too gritted to stand it. He slammed a fist on the man's desk. "You idiot! Who were those men? Do you have any idea the value of that horse? Its lineage can be traced to Pegasirio, steed of the Windcaller. They won't use that horse for their own devices. They'll sell it, and use the funds. For fuck's sake, it's got unicorn blood. We don't want funded bandits in our territory, do we? They'd out-arm your guards with the money they--"

"Okay, okay," Bryleigh said. "Look, Troile, I'm not certain their identities. Nor where they might go. But if you want to find any of that out, you ought to go see Mons Rimine. He's a sharecropper on Wheatfield's farm, north of here." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Whenever we've got a bandit problem, we ask him, and he seems to have the answers. I can say no more."

Troile turned, and left without thanking the man.

Henri looked bewildered. Shit, he said. Bryleigh seemed angry. "Thank you for your service," he said. It would do no good to have a disloyal Constable-General. How could he improve their relations?

"No need," Bryleigh said, as he came back to his chair and slumped into it. "It's my job, after all. Or supposed to be... Just don't tell him I sent you. Please."

"Yes, sir," Henri said. "I would hope that you and I can start off on good relations. We need to ensure that our Duchy is safe, and that its people are well-protected. If any threat exists that prevents you from doing your job, I hope to remove it. We shall meet again soon, on a better occasion." He started out.

"Yes, sir. Oh, and Henri," the Constable said. A waver was in his tone, as if he was unsure if he should say what was next on his mind.

The boy turned around. "Yes?"

"Your... mother. She has been crying to the asylum guards, that she might see you. They're getting upset. Perhaps... ah, perhaps..."

"What?"

"Pay her a visit, Henri," he said. "For her sake."

Henri frowned, turned, and left.

Never.

---

Knowledge: Relationships, Tracking

[Deleted]

"Troile," Henri said as they walked North out of town, "That was all a complete lie, about Bellemere."

"Yes, Lord Henri. But that wasn't the point--what mattered was, he knew it was true. You know, the gendarmes are severely under-armed, here." He shook the dogs on their leash. They were searching for any scent, again, but it seemed as if they'd forgotten the smell. "We should've grabbed a strip of cloth, or a scrap from a saddle."

"Yeah," Henri said. "They're under-armed? So that's why... whether Bellemere was special or not, it'd help them overpower his men, that's what you're saying."

"Yes. That's how you get the answers you want--you make 'em see what would happen if you don't."

It seemed such a tough way to live life, such an awfully blunt way to negotiate. Henri wasn't sure if he agreed with it. It wouldn't be the best way to earn respect especially not in his station--he couldn't go around threatening people to get what he wanted, like Troile could. Troile had no reputation to uphold, as a kennelmaster. He was intelligent, sure--they were making progress on his literacy--but he wasn't tactful at all. How could Troile negotiate with someone who was on equal footing? Or, in fact, who had more power?

Bryleigh might've been a spineless, corrupt man, but Henri believed even the worse could be reformed. "It's mutual benefit," Henri said, whispering aloud.

Leon turned. "Sir?"

"Mutual benefit, you know--it's not something our kennelmaster has over Bryleigh, it's that he knew they both wanted something. Avoiding armed bandits. But what if the Gendarmerie were armed, Troile?"

Troile flexed his jaw. Henri smiled with the joy of knowing that Troile's brain was turning the question over. "Well, they'd've caught the bastards, then," he muttered. That was good enough. "That's Mons' hut, if memory don't fail me."

It was a little shanty, a bleak lean-to on the side of a broken windmill. An ugly-looking hunchback swaddled in black leathers tended to a tiny crop of wilting beanstalks behind his farm. They'd been planted haphazardly there. The wheat on the other side of the mill looked even worse-tended. "I don't trust him," Leon whispered.

As they got closer, the dogs growled their agreement. Something seemed off about the warty hunchback.

"Mons Rimine?" Henri wagered. The cock-eyed man turned around. His eyes were blank, same flat color as the dusty sky above. "Oh."

"Boy," the hunchback said, turning from the beanstalk. "Can't you see I'm busy? Leave me be for a day." He grumbled, and went back to... feeling stalk's leaves for any bugs. How strange. He picked an aphid off and crushed it between his knobby thumb and clawed forefinger.

"Sir," Leon said, "If it ain't too much of a bother, know ya which of 'dem bandits out by the Kushfire might've run off with a horse a day past? Please, sir, we'd all so very much appreciate the help." Oh right. Politeness. A useful skill.

The hunchback coughed, wiped the phlegm from his face, and rose from his position. "Much kinder than Bryleigh's boys. And with fewer rocks. He couldn'ta sent you, then. Or did he?"

"Y--"

"No, he didn't, sir. We heard of you from the--" Henri looked at Troile and Leon, who were both clueless, "--sorry, sir, must've forgotten the name of the... Cooper." He was trying hard to speak with a lower vernacular. "The beaters, uh, went and knocked the coop over, and well, we thought it best to bring justice. Find the beaters, wherever they're hiding." He nearly gave up at the end.

"A'right," he said, "A'right. Good, then. Fucker owes me ten coppers for last time." He gestured West. "Now, there's some caves over there, yes, yes. If you head straight sunset-wise from here, you'll have to walk Fordeth-ways to get to the proper caves. Some bandits like to hide things there if they're on their way to Fordeth. I'd say it'd be a good idea to head that way, yes, but make sure you're quiet." He thought for a moment. "By chance, do you have any dogs? I thought I heard a growl, but I'm not hungry."

"Yes," Troile said, "Two dogs."

"Ah! The ever-silent Troile. Then I must be in the presence of my lord." He made a show of bowing. "I thought as much. You see, two men came by here last night, woke me up with the sound of a horse whinnying. I spoke to them for a bit, asked 'em what they were doin' and why I shouldn't ring the alarm, since the only time I've ever heard a horse whinny like that is when my Lordship's caravan is heading Fordeth-ways--" he gestured to a small bell by the side of the lean-to, "--an' see, they left me a hat. As a parting gift. Quite sweaty, though, so I haven't put it on..." He smiled with great mischief. Henri understood.

After he went inside to get the hat, brought it out, and gave a bit of it to the dogs, the group was on their way again.

---

Learning: Tracking, Steward

[Deleted]

When all was said and done, Henri would look back on the next few hours as one of the drastic changes in his life--the first of many. If only he had paid closer attention.

It was near night by the time they reached the Kushfire range proper, but the hills had grown larger and broader in the meantime. The sweaty-hat trail had brought them to where the mountain peaks could be seen in the distance, and had stopped just below one hilltop. They could see the steep, blackish stone beyond, and orange-tinted smoke floating up in the valley between them.

As Henri and Troile rested, it was the job of tiny Leon to shuffle-climb up and peer over the hilltop, watching the camp as still as a stone until the time was right. He watched as the bandits laughed and clinked their beverages. The tents were arranged in a semi-circle, facing outwards, and centered around a fairly large bonfire. He counted twelve bandits, as they wafted in and out of their six tents. Barrels and boxes were stacked up between the tents, but to one of the outermost, there was a white horse, tied up. Bellemere was eating from a small trough, for the moment pacified. Another horse stood near another tent, lapping up some water.

The cave itself was much smaller than he'd anticipated, more of a depression into the black stones, but it was only one of several--the others were deeper, but seemed relatively untouched, whereas this one was strewn about with rushes and foot-beaten ground. It looked more like a trading post than anything else. All the same, it was highly defensible, and all the bandits were armed with crude weapons--pitchforks and stone-slingers, the likes of which any child or simple farmer could have made.

And now, there was only one bandit out, stoking the fire and occasionally giving it another log. When Leon came back, Troile was staring out to the other hillsides. Leon told him all that he had seen, as Troile sipped from a canteen. "Can you handle the dogs, boy?" Troile asked. Henri was still asleep, hands behind his heads as if he'd been looking at the stars.

Leon gulped. He didn't want to be here on his own, even though he could see anything that would creep up on him from the surrounding hillsides. "Yes, sir." He looked at the dogs, who were sleeping peacefully on the ground.

"Good," Troile said, and slapped a flea from his arm. It fell dead to the ground. He nudged Henri. "Wake up, my Lord. We will go down soon."

Henri stretched, yawned, and pulled himself up with Troile's help. "Is Bellemere safe?" he asked.

"Alive and fed," Leon said, "But be careful, sir. Much more than two bandits down there."

"Troile, can you handle them?"

Troile shook his head. "Of course not. I'm unarmed, sir. But we won't be fighting them--that'd be incredibly stupid. We will buy Bellemere from the man on watch."

"What?"

"We'll trick him, of course. I've been planning this." He smiled. "Leon, keep the hat and return with the dogs to Old Farsica. If we are not back before morning, you should retrieve fifteen men from Bryleigh and bring them back here, with whatever arms they can muster. Understand?"

"Y-yes," Leon said. There was much more than an ounce of doubt in his voice.

"Where are we going?" Said Henri.

"We must come around the North side of this hill." He started walking along the hillside, outlining his plans as Henri followed. "From what Mons said, these bandits stay here as traders, selling their wares to those who come by. Like a black market of sorts; and since those who come by this way are going far off-road, they can be sure they are selling only to those who know how to avoid authorities."

"So, we will be two travelers, coming from the Northeast."

"Yes. That said, we are going to Morith. And as the journey has been quite the annoyance thus far, we're in need of a horse. That's why Leon and the dogs couldn't come--they wouldn't believe any of that." He jumped over a rock. There was a change in direction, as they rounded the northern side of the hill. Troile started walking downhill. "We'll come through this valley, and happen to see the lights of their camp."

"You think they'll believe us?"

"Well, we only need to convince the one. We've got no arms or armor, and now we're heading the proper direction. Just play along with whatever happens, you need to learn how to lie well sometime." They came around the hillside from the valley, passing under what hours ago was the shadow of the blackstone Kushfires. They were drawn to the lights of the bandit camp.

As they approached, the bandit watchman--no, watchmen--saw them. They both stood up, and drew their swords. Quietly, one spoke. "Who y'be?"

"Two trav'lers o'th'way from up mount'nside down Morith-ways, aye," said Troile, perfectly capturing the accent. The two men came around to inspect Henri and Troile, silently, sniffing and eyeing their clothing. They seemed to be paying extra attention to Henri. He wondered if he'd worn his house's colors. "Been a mighty 'ard walk, it has. And 'f'course, the crow flies at midnight."

One of the men grabbed Henri by the neck, placing a hand over his mouth, and the other jammed his fist into the boy's stomach. When he struggled against their grip, they shoved him on the ground, and kicked him in the head. He stopped moving... but he was playing dead. He listened to them talk.

"Can't believe the shithead fell for it all. Funny thing, he demanded that I track you out--I never had to 'discover' it was gone."

"Gods be good," the bandit said, "Now, we've got til sunset to get out, right?"

"Right," Troile said. "As much as you can, load up with me on the white one. And you two can ride with whatever you wish on the brown. I trust you've already pocketed as much as you can carry?"

"Yes," the other bandit said, and Henri heard the shaking of coins. He felt sick, and it was more than just from being punched in the stomach. He'd been stabbed in the back, too.

There was some moving around, he could hear--very quiet shuffling, not knowing exactly what was going on. It seemed like they were picking the most valuable items to run off with. It all made sense now, it was all coming together. Mons knew Troile, he knew they had dogs, and Bryleigh was afraid of Mons. Mons just so conveniently had a scented hat. Everything had lined up far too perfectly. Troile had even known intimate details about the Gendarmes, and had drawn far too much about the bandit's camp from what little Mons had conveniently mentioned. Shit, he thought.

"Let's tie him up, the others will have something to ransom when the Gendarmes get here." That was Troile. The bastard. Henri felt himself dragged over, heard some hooves moving out of the way. The rope went around his foot. Troile knelt to the ground. "Fuck you," he whispered in Henri's ear, "You piece of shit. Maybe if you cared about any of us house-servants, you'd've known not to ever trust me. I hope they slit your throat when they see the Gendarmes coming." He spit on Henri's face.

Minutes of silence later, and after eight sets of hooves beat across the ground, they were gone. All that was left was the crackling of the fire.

---

Learning: Tracking, Lying, Tactics

[Deleted]

...sweee...

Was that a whistle?

...sweee...

There it is again!

Henri pursed his lips together and blew. Sweee.

There were no sounds, no return whistle, only silence. Then the sound of quickly-padding feet. "Sir Corday!" The shout rang in the caves. He opened his eyes and sat up.

"Leon!" he whispered as loudly as possible, "Be quiet!"

"Sir Corday," Leon said as he reached him, out of breath. The dogs came just behind him. "I saw it all, and... I wasn't sure if you were alive. I came as soon as I thought they were really gone... I can't believe Troile--" the sound of something stirring came from inside one of the tents.

"Help untie me, quick," Henri whispered. "We need to leave, as fast as possible."

"Sir... I'm not sure how to untie it."

Henri looked. The knot was complicated, and tied tight around his ankle. But it was hooked into the ground with a relatively small wooden stake, which it was strung through where there was a hole. "Kick at the stake," Henri said, "Where the hole is."

He watched the dogs as they sniffed around the camp, inspecting everything. He saw when the bandit came out of the tent, stumbling in just-waking drunkenness. Henri's eyes went wide. He had a pitchfork, and was making eye contact. "Sic," Henri said, and the dogs' ears perked up. "SIC!" he said, loudly and in a commanding voice. The dogs leapt, and ripped into the man's legs. He kicked at them, but he'd have no hope.

"Piece of--" the man kicked one of the dogs, but it leapt right back up, sinking its teeth into his hip. "HELP! HELP!" The sounds of the rest of the camp waking up filled the caves with sound. "Get this mutt offa me!"

Leon kicked the stake one last time, and with a hard crack, the top came off. Henri stood up, and grabbed Leon. But he  felt resistance. "We have to go, now."

"The dogs," Leon said, "They'll kill the dogs."

It was all too confusing, too rushed. Adrenaline was working into his under-worked muscles. "Leon, NOW." Henri started running, but Leon lagged behind. The dogs had gone for the pitchfork man's throat, but as Henri looked back, he could see a man with a slingshot taking aim. The rock soared past both of them and off into the distance. Henri stumbled as he started running without looking. Leon stopped to help him up. "We have to run," Henri said.

"Every living thing deserves a chance," Leon said, after he helped Henri up. But he turned, and ran back towards the camp.

"Leon, NO!" The boy got hit with the next rock. Henri started running after him. "Idiot! You're worth more than the dogs!" But he was still going. The dogs had started attacking the slingshot man, but more bandits appeared out of the tents. Leon hobbled through the pain. He grabbed the horse's trough, strained, and dumped it onto the fire.

In the sudden darkness, Henri couldn't understand what happened. He couldn't help but come closer. The night was black, with only a sliver of moon. But the dogs could see in the low light, and based their attacks on smell. He heard only growls, and shouts of pain. "Someone get the boy!" "What boy?" "Devil dogs!" But one by one, the voices disappeared.

"Heel," Leon said. Henri came to where the fire had been.

"There's... none left," Henri said.

"Yeah... We killed them all," Leon said.

There was a long pause. What was there to say? It was something incredible. Humans, without the proper tools, were so weak. The jaws of dogs overpowered the pitchforks of men--especially when it was too dark for men to work together and use tactics. Leon's practical brilliance had completely overshadowed Henri. But more than that, he knew the dogs' capabilities, and had trusted in them more than Henri had.

"You know... I happen to be in need of a new kennelmaster." Henri smiled in the dark.

---

Floras 9th

The two rested in the tents until sunrise. After looking at Leon's leg, and checking for anything they could carry--turning out nothing--they decided to head east-north-east. It would get them to the road fastest, where they could hopefully happen upon some travelers with healing abilities, or some medicine man from whoever ruled that northern duchy; Henri couldn't remember their name. It would be slow going, as Leon only had one leg, and Henri had to help him walk.

They figured going this way, also, would ensure they didn't run into Mons again. Besides that, it was easiest to walk straight into the direction the sun was coming up, rather than a little bit south, and possible end up too far south. This way, he knew they'd run into the road and be able to avoid Mons--or worse, Troile and those men. He had no clue where they'd go... Morith?

In his heart of hearts, though, he swore that he would get revenge on Troile. That dog-faced traitor will pay.

---

Learning: Relationships