The Town Council
Midnight on the fifth of High Sun, 1493
Without another word, the party raced from Ma Marigold’s hearth toward the Bailiff’s residence. They finally understood Illyad’s vision and knew Caris Flyte’s life was under threat. Den tore ahead, arriving in the Market Square just in time to see the pale rider dismount from his skeletal horse.
Caris stood in front of the Bailiff’s residence, her sword already in her hand. Skeletons emerged from the shadows at the edge of the square; outnumbered, Caris permitted herself a small smile of anticipation. At her back was Eldo Temple, the red-headed Goliath deputy. He touched her back and she said: ‘Go inside, Eldo. I have this. If I fall, take the prisoner and flee. I will not have his death on my conscience.’ Eldo ran, and Caris raised her sword like a duellist. ‘Finally,’ she said, ‘something to fight.’
The pale rider, a hobgoblin wight from some ancient barrow, dragged a wickedly barbed sword across the cobbles. ‘Thief,’ he said, ‘you should bow before me.’
‘I am Xalik cul Zhan, loyal hound of the huntsman, and general to his army. You would rob my tomb, disturb my rest, but worse still, you have stolen the land from us.’
Caris slid her foot fractionally to the side, adjusting her stance in anticipation of an attack.
‘While we, loyal dogs of the Great Huntsman, have slumbered in the barrow, you have undone this world. This was a place of wildness once. Now it is a teeming anthill. A hell of straight lines and furrowed fields.’
The wight leapt onto the dais at the centre of the square and spread his arms wide.
‘I can no longer hear the honeyed words of the River King; the baying of the Wild Hunt; nor the howls of the North Wind. Where are the gentle whispers of the Man in Black? Return our grave goods, and we will leave you to this ruined place.’
As the skeletons at her back closed in, Caris narrowed her eyes. ‘Bring it on,’ she said. The party swarmed into the square, joining the fray.
Den leapt onto the dais, bringing himself face-to-face with the wrathful dead. He feinted at it, then his arm snaked out and plucked the copper whistle from about its neck. The brittle, ancient leather thong snapped, and the artefact came free. Ilyad raised one crooked finger and cast a hex on the barrow wight, before blasting it with a bolt of eldritch energy. Featherfew muttered an incantation and transformed his staff into a heavy cudgel; swinging it, he reduced a skeletal soldier’s skull to fragments.
The wight slashed at Den, cutting him deeply, before opening his rotted jaws unnaturally wide; through yellowed teeth he dragged in air, and Den felt his soul strain against its mooring. The wight had attempted to suck his very spirit from out his body. Meanwhile, the Skeltons formed around Caris, stabbing at her from all sides. She slashed at one, but was outmatched. Burley went to support Den, striking the undead commander. Pebbles kept his distance, firing off bolts of arcane energy.
The battle continued, until the wight raised his sword over his head, and rallied his troops. From the north and east, horrific reinforcements arrived. The animated corpses of Carp Barlow, Gurgis Smolk, and Lobelia Smith joined the fray. Their eyes were sightless white orbs; Lobelia still wore the tatters of her ruined nightgown. Carp and Gurgis pinned down Den and Burley, while Lobelia flailed at Pebbles.
Den disengaged, waving the whistle as he ran to the west, attempting to draw the wight to him. When it did not follow, the halfling blew a short blast on the wicked thing. Sadly, it did not grant him influence over the undead, but rather summoned another skeleton, who swung a tarnished copper sword, knocking him to the ground. Pebbles too fell, struck down by a blow from the deathly Lobelia.
Burley raced to Den’s side, reviving him with a draught of the healing elixir the friends had liberated from the still in the Old Wood. Caris cut down the skeletons and advanced on her opponent. They traded blows, each wounding the other. Featherfew swung his staff and spontaneously shouted a battlecry: ‘For the Widow of the Wilds!’ He surprised himself and the wight, who narrowed its eyes, glaring at this tribute. The friends surrounded Xalik Cul Zhan, as Ilyad and Den struggled to revive Pebbles. Den shook his friend, causing the halfling’s eyes to flutter open.
‘What’s happening?’ Pebbles murmured. ‘Oh,’ he said, and raised a swaying hand. A bolt of fire shot forth, consuming the wight. His ancient body was engulfed in flame, burning quicker than old parchment. A horrifying, howling blue spectre rose from the ashes, before scattering to mist upon the breeze.
In the aftermath of the fight, the friends explained all that had happened to Caris Flyte. She withdrew a tarnished copper coin that had been tucked into the back of her belt. ‘Damn it to hells,’ she muttered, before wheeling about and marching into the Bailiff’s residence.
‘Robbie was right about one thing,’ she said, ‘this was a murder. Or at least an attempt.’
‘Not Carp, or Gurgis, of course,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘but someone threw a coin into Moorcraft’s house, hoping he’d be cut down by the dead. Then they tried to do the same to me, knowing that I would work out who they were.’
The party were nonplussed. ‘It was Eldo Temple,’ she said, pushing open the residence’s door, ‘His gaffer owes money to Moorcraft. He’s told me that himself enough times. He watched you in the stables, then took the coins from Linny Stringwinder. He saw his chance, and acted quickly. It was too rash by half.’
The residence was empty, and the cell door swung wide. ‘He’s cut his losses,’ Caris said through gritted teeth, ‘he’s freed Gedrick. I imagine that he’ll deliver him to John Shade. In exchange for shelter amongst the Poor Boys.’
‘This is very disappointing,’ Caris said ruefully, ‘I’m going to need a new deputy.’
The seventh of High Sun, 1493
The friends were invited to a specially convened meeting of the Town Council. Ma Marigold, Sir Hugo Dyer, Father Enther Kendrick, Caris Flyte, and Axel Moorcraft, sat around a weathered wooden table in the old Trades Hall. The friends sat silently to one side - Sir Hugo had warned Ilyad that she and her friends should not speak out of turn.
Moorcraft initiated proceedings, declaring that the first order of business was the most significant. The party held themselves with nervous anticipation, expecting to be accused and excoriated for snatching the papers from the moneylender’s desk. Instead, Moorcraft proposed a memorial to Gurgis and Lobelia: a statue that he would pay for himself, to sit at the centre of the Market Square. Ma Marigold shook her head, saying that Devlin’s Dower had never had much time for monuments, but relented in the face of the rest of the Council’s enthusiastic approval. Moorcraft asked the party whether the statue should be carved from wood, hewn from stone, or cast in bronze. The party agreed that stone was appropriate.
Caris Flyte then suggested that the town expand the deputies of the Earl’s Men and place permanent guards on the two bridges to check all cargo coming into the Dower for risky contraband like these cursed grave goods. Moorcraft agreed, demanding the implementation of a levy on all market stalls to pay for these sentries. Pebbles, Ilyad, and Den opposed this measure, while Burley and Featherfew did not resent the additional protection these guards might offer their families. Those against failed to persuade Sir Hugo and Ma Marigold; though they managed to convince Father Kendrick, who pondered why the old should dictate to the young. The motion was approved, but only on a trial basis.
Having bided his time, Moorcraft now complained of Den’s attempted theft of his papers, demanding that he be censured for his behaviour. Pebbles successfully convinced the assembled elders that Den had only been protecting Moorcraft’s property. But Den was unable to let things lie, declaring that he had intended to confiscate the papers, feeling that Moorcraft’s desire to reclaim his property, even while under threat from a giant, zombie bugbear, was suspicious. An heated argument raged. Sir Hugo attempted to subtly persuade his daughter to keep her peace, but when she interjected, Caris Flyte furrowed her brow and hesitantly pointed out that one amongst the friends had already been convicted of theft.
An uneasy silence fell. Ilyad stared at Caris, deeply wounded. Moorcraft glowered smugly. But Father Kendrick attempted to soothe the ill feelings. He acknowledged that the town owed a debt to the young friends, pointing out that the loss of life would likely have been much higher without their intervention. ‘The enthusiasm of youth,’ he said, ‘might lead to hasty action, but that should not undo their bravery. Perhaps some time apart might allow tempers to cool?’ He suggested the party be deputised to perform some task that might take them out of the Dower for some time.
The Council meeting broke up. Feelings hurt, the friends left with their hearts hardened against Flyte and Moorcraft. The irony that these were the two lives that they had worked so hard to save was not lost on them. The friends were not averse to the idea of leaving town: Gander was still missing; the cursed grave goods needed to be taken out of town; Lord Skittering was out there somewhere; as was the bandit prince, John Shade. To the north, the Monkton family had dammed the Hollow Brook and flooded the town of Sallow. But most pressingly, Ilyad’s name needed to be cleared…