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Second Draft
Bilbus the Great walked briskly along one of the smaller side-streets of Londoun, the sprawling metropolis at the mouth of the River Llwelyn in the Kingdom of the Five Crowns. The sky above was black, another cool mid-spring night for the coastal city. A slight breeze carried the faint but distinctive scents of the nearby Vasmar, a vast inland fresh-water sea.
The darkness overhead did not extend to ground level. Lanterns hanging from regularly-placed poles gave the roadway feeble illumination. The occasional long shadow added to the motley colors of the wooden and stone and brick faces of the tightly-packed shops and homes of this middle-class district.
Bilbus paid only passing attention to the buildings along the road. He was more interested in avoiding any other people on the streets. At this hour, few honest men would be about in the town. The only businesses still open for customers were the innumerable taverns and public houses of the city. Bilbus passed one, half-listening to the cacophony of voices and music ringing out from the open, welcoming doors. Most other nights, Bilbus would stop in and tip a pint with the regulars while looking for an easy mark to relieve of some coin. Tonight, however, Bilbus would not stop. He was already late for a meeting with friends.
Hearing the distant approaching rattle of chain armor behind him, Bilbus quickly ducked down an unlit alleyway. Bilbus's soft boots created nary an echo as they stepped on the cobblestone pavement. Stopping near several moldy crates, he pressed his body against the once-white wall of a darkened two-story shop. The black leather of his armor contrasted with the wall, but the shadows were deep enough in the alley to allow Bilbus to disappear nonetheless.
After a long wait, the trio of night watchmen passed the alley. The three were typical of their type -- burly men with unkempt hair poking from under steel caps. Noisy chain maille armor served more as a warning to thieves than as protection from a would-be attacker. Two of the guards carried spears that were slightly taller than the men who wielded them. The third, the nominal leader of the guards, had a single-handed sword at his hip.
Bilbus was sometimes amazed that Londoun, the capitol of the Kingdom of the Five Crowns, had common footmen for a town watch. Before he had actually spent time in the city, he had expected some of the King's own guards to patrol the city, or perhaps contingents from either the Knights of the Sun or the Church of Kells' formidable Knights of Kells.
On second thought, I'm glad they're just run-of-the-mill footmen. At least I can evade them easily.
Bilbus had had his share of run-ins with the local constabulatory. While he considered himself a good thief, even the best of thieves made mistakes. Bilbus had managed to avoid capture twice in the past week alone. Maybe it's time to visit another town for a few weeks. Give me a chance to get my rhythm back.
Bilbus waited until the rattle of the maille armor had faded before he cautiously poked his head out of the alleyway. The town watch was well away down the winding road, no longer in sight. Half-grinning to himself, Bilbus continued on his way.
Bilbus was en route to the Tapped Keg Tavern, a seedy drinking establishment a mile away in a lower-class section of Londoun. Bilbus had taken to spending some time there not for the atmosphere, which was dirty, but for the privacy. The regulars at the bar were a sullen lot who tended to mind their own business and ignore visitors. More importantly, the Tapped Keg was ignored by the Londoun Thieves' Guild. Bilbus didn't want a run in with the Thieves' Guild, and he didn't want his friends to have one, either.
He was going to meet Rishala of Orkney and the Lady Adria del Quintin. Bilbus was looking forward to seeing both of them again.
Bilbus met Adria several weeks ago on the Alban Eiler, the Spring Equinox. She showed up at the Salty Anchor, a tavern near the hundreds of docks of the Londoun waterline, during the "Eiler Wake", an excuse thieves used to get together and mourn the approaching shorter nights of summer with strong drink and rowdy play. A stunning woman with blonde hair and a constant glimmer of danger in her eyes appeared at the doorway of the tavern. Adria immediately captivated Bilbus, who spent a good deal of the evening trying to figure out who Adria was and what she was doing. She never would give Bilbus a straight answer -- not that he expected one from anyone associated with thieves -- but Bilbus probed anyway. Even stranger, she carried herself like a noble, even in a den of thieves like the Salty Anchor. She turned out to be as fast with her feet with as she was beautiful, as Bilbus discovered when the two managed to get involved in a bar fight during the "Eiler Wake".
Adria turned out to have other surprises. She invited Bilbus and Rishala to her flat, and Bilbus was learned that this vivacious woman really was a noble, in town for a few months to see the world before her father married her off to cement an alliance with another noble family.
Bilbus still hadn't discovered where she learned to use her feet and rapier with such deadly finesse. Rishala had mentioned something about her being more complex than Bilbus already credited her.
Rishala was another enigma. Bilbus still remembered meeting the Caledonian early in the spring. Bilbus had spotted a fool walking with a blatantly bulging coin purse, happily lollygagging as he stopped to look at buildings, and storefronts, and pigeons on the roofs. Bilbus felt it a moral imperative to cut the man's purse. Such a well-learned lesson would serve the man well in later years, Bilbus decided.
However, when he was carefully cutting the fine leather strap holding the purse to the man's belt, the man grabbed Bilbus's wrist and turned to face him. "You can have whatever's in this purse for a story!"
Bilbus had been confused. The man caught Bilbus in the act of stealing. Worse yet, the man had Bilbus by the wrist. Short of violence, Bilbus couldn't escape. Instead of calling for help, the man wanted a story? All Bilbus could think to say was "What?"
The man repeated slowly, as if talking to a child. "If you tell me the story of how you became a thief, you can have my coin purse. Otherwise, you can speak to a constable."
Unsure of what the man was doing, Bilbus agreed. "All right..."
Still holding Bilbus's wrist, the man started walking. "Let's find a tavern and get a drink." He turned back to Bilbus as he walked. "Now tell me, just what makes you a great thief?"
Bilbus still wouldn't admit it to Rishala, but when Rishala asked Bilbus that question, Bilbus decided to adopt "the Great" as part of his name.
Rishala talked to Bilbus for a great part of that first day, asking about Bilbus's past, and his favorite taverns, and what sort of female acquaintances Bilbus kept. For his part, Rishala told Bilbus that he was a wandering story-teller from the hilly lands of Caledonia, east of the Kingdom of the Five Crowns. He was in Londoun to learn local stories.
Over a month later, Rishala still passed time with Bilbus. He had never explained to Bilbus's satisfaction why he wanted to spend time with the man who tried to rob him, but Rishala did tell good stories, and he found creative ways to embellish his retelling of Bilbus's exploits.
Bilbus refocused his attentions from his quiet reverie when he heard a commotion coming from an alleyway to his right. The flicker of a lone lantern in the alley cast shadows onto the street. Stepping quietly to the edge of the nearby building, Bilbus peered cautiously around the corner.
Four rough men formed a semi-circle around a boy -- Bilbus guessed his age near ten -- whose back was pressed against the damp wall of the neighboring building. One of the ruffians spoke.
"I know you have some money, little one. We've been watching you and your master. He may be a Knight, but he's not here to protect you now, is he. Give us your purse, and we may let you go home tonight."
Bilbus took a couple of quiet steps away from the alleyway and glanced over his shoulder along the road. There's never a city watch when you need it. A white trellis on the face of the building caught his eye. Some vines twisted around the white crosshatching of the wooden decor, climbing past the second story to the roof of the building. I'm going to regret this, Bilbus thought as he placed a foot on the trellis. It gave a little, but, after a couple of bounces, Bilbus decided it would hold his weight.
He started climbing, wincing with each slight creak of the wooden structure. At the top of the trellis, Bilbus swung a leg over the flat edge of the roof. The startled cooing of a pair of pigeons threatened to give the thief away. Bilbus froze, listening to the shuffling and voices in the alleyway. Satisfied that the ruffians were none the wiser, Bilbus slowly crawled to the edge of the roof overlooking the alleyway.
One of the ruffians had lifted the boy by the front of his shirt. "Where is your coin purse?" the man growled, his face inches away from the boy's.
Tears running down his face, the boy raised his empty hands and tried to speak.
"What's the matter, boy? Lost your voice?" The man threw the child against the far wall of the alleyway. The boy collapsed to the ground, curling his legs to his chest and looking up at his assailants fearfully, his body shaking from sobs.
Bilbus sat up on the rooftop and quickly untied the cover flap to his travel pack. He fished around inside the leather bag, taking care not to alert the men on the ground below him. Finding what he wanted, Bilbus pulled a bundle of cloth from his pack. Unwrapping the cloth, Bilbus lifted the small pottery jar of lamp oil within.
While the men below continued roughing the boy, Bilbus threw the pottery jar to the stones behind them. Two of them turned, looking for the source of the crash. As one of them looked at the shards of pottery in the oil, Bilbus concentrated on the oil. Drawing on Heka, the magickal energy of the universe, Bilbus focused strands of energy into the oil.
One of the men looked up to the rooftop, spotting Bilbus. Losing concentration on the weaves of Heka, Bilbus released his grasp on the magickal energy. The dweomer he was attempting to fashion fizzled, creating a few sparks near his fingertips.
Quickly jumping to his feet, Bilbus shouted down to the men. "Leave the boy alone!"
The man who had been roughing the boy looked up from the pottery shards he stood over.
"Scrawny roof-rat, mind your own business. This doesn't concern you, and you don't want it to!"
Concentrating again, Bilbus quickly weaved flows of Heka into the oil. Bilbus grinned slightly as the weave shaped correctly and quickly heated the oil. The pool flashed alight without warning to the ruffians below. As the ruffians looked at their comrade's burning pant leg, Bilbus jumped to the ground behind them. By the time they turned around to face him, Bilbus was standing with rapier in hand.
Bilbus bent his knees and dropped his left foot back a half-pace. He pointed the sharp tip of his blade at the nearest swashbuckler, still three paces away. With a grimace, Bilbus realized all of his opponents were well armed. The leader of the group, the leg of his pantaloons now smoldering, smiled as he produced a broadsword. The three-inch-wide blade reflected the lantern light dully as the man took a step towards Bilbus. To the left of the leader, another swashbuckler drew a rapier. It was no match quality-wise for Bilbus's: even in the flickering light, Bilbus could see dark spots of neglect on the intricate caged hilt surrounding the man's hand. The blade itself was pitted and dinged from far too many fights without maintenance. The remaining two fighters produced the short stout-bladed swords popular as a civilian weapon in the northern Kelltic lands. One of these two swordsmen turned to watch the boy, while the other joined his two companions facing Bilbus.
Ooops, Bilbus thought as the rapier-wielding ruffian stepped towards him. As long as they can't get behind me, I can hold them off. Maybe.
The rapier-fighter lunged towards Bilbus, stamping his right foot well forward as he tried to drive the tip of his battered blade into Bilbus's midsection. Bilbus side-stepped, easily beating the over-extended blade aside with his own rapier. The assailant was unable to recover his guard position as Bilbus drove a riposte into the man's right arm. The man stepped back, cursing loudly in his native Kelltic, and dropped to one knee, dropping his weapon.
Bilbus recovered into a high ward, watching as the broadswordsman and the shortswordsman both approached. The giant hulk swung his sword in a wide horizontal swath, expecting to overpower Bilbus's lighter sword readily and cleave Bilbus in two. Fortunately for Bilbus, this swordfighter was not particularly experienced. He swung his sword out to the side to give the blade more speed before it hit. The telegraphing of his attack gave Bilbus plenty of time to take a small step backwards and to turn his rapier to an oblique angle, deflecting the fast-moving broadsword higher while Bilbus leaned back, just out of reach of the blade.
The shortswordsman closed to fight Bilbus. As the ruffian circled quickly to cut at Bilbus's exposed left side, the thunder of horse's hooves echoed through the narrow alley. A large roan horse charged from the street behind Bilbus. It ran past Bilbus, slamming into the shortswordsman, knocking that attacker to the ground. Without slowing, the horse slammed into the other shortswordsman just as the man started turning away from the boy. The fighting stopped as Bilbus and the ruffians turned to watch the horse.
The guard bounced off of the wall, leaving a dark, damp spot where his head hit the rough stones of the building. He fell to the ground at the feet of the horse. The ugly roan reared, snarling, and drove its steel-shod fore hooves into the man's chest.
Stunned, the combatants watched as the horse turned its head to stare at them with one eye. The ruffians turned to look at Bilbus, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. They turned back to the horse, still trying to figure out where the large horse came from. Seeing an opportunity caused by their distraction, Bilbus thrusted his rapier at the broadswordsman. The blade missed its mark when the swordsman half-turned to face Bilbus. Bilbus flashed a brief grin and stepped back a pace, widening the distance between him and the broadswordsman.
The leader of the gang finished turning to face Bilbus, holding his sword slightly off to the side. His companion with the short sword started to circle wide. The rapier fighter staggered to his feet and leaned over to pick up his rusting weapon.
The roan turned to face the rapier fighter. It lunged forwards, butting its head into the chest of the human and shoving the unarmed man into the stone wall of the building. The horse then bared unnaturally sharp teeth and bit the man's neck. With a rough shake of its head, the horse tore out the man's throat, leaving the mortally wounded ruffian to slide to the ground, eyes wide in shock as his hands fumbled across the red, wet mess that was his neck.
Realizing that the horse behind them was far and again more dangerous than the scrawny man to their front, the two remaining swordsmen turned to face the horse. The horse bared its now-red teeth, its ears laid back flat against its head. The larger man circled to his right, trying to get behind the horse. He held his broadsword in a high guard position, from which he could cleave the horse's haunches. Ears still flat, the horse shifted its stance slightly. It suddenly slammed both of its hind hooves into the man's chest, sending the ruffian flying into the brick wall opposite the boy. The broadsword fell to the ground, clattering noisily in the confines of the alleyway as its owner slumped to the ground, blood already trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Bilbus quickly thrust a stoccata at the remaining ruffian, driving the tip of the blade just below his opponent's ribs in a rising motion. Just before the blade touched his opponent, Bilbus felt the sword suddenly slow, as if it had met invisible resistance. Even so, the blade plunged deep through the man's back. Bilbus recovered from the thrust into a low ward, holding the hilt of his rapier just outside his right thigh, the tip still directed at his target's upper torso. The man shouted in pain and stumbled as he turned to face Bilbus, his weapon already forgotten as it fell to the ground.
At that instant, the horse slammed its snout into the man's back, knocking him to the ground.
Bilbus kneeled next to the rapier man, quickly scanning the bleeding man for any purses or other valuables. There was a finely-wrought steel chain necklace around the man's neck. Bilbus set his rapier on the paving stones for a moment while he removed the necklace from the dying man. "You won't need this much longer."
Bilbus looked up at the horse. It was standing next to the boy, its head lowered and prodding gently against the boy's shoulder. Bilbus tensed for a moment as the boy looked at the roan. A smile crossed the boy's face as he stood slowly, rubbing his lower back as he looked to Bilbus.
Bilbus glanced at the horse briefly before looking back at the boy. Bilbus risked a smile, hoping to look non-threatening in his black leather armor. The boy returned the smile and walked past Bilbus towards the street. The enormous horse walked past Bilbus, one menacing eye scowling as it looked at the human crouched on the stones. Bilbus tried to smile at it, hoping the expression was somehow not hostile. The horse snorted noisily and continued into the street, following the boy.
Bilbus picked up his rapier and wiped the sticky tip of the blade on the body in front of him. He stood as he heard the clatter and rustling of fast-approaching night watchmen in their maille armor. "Of course they show up now," Bilbus muttered to himself as he returned his rapier to its scabbard at his hip.
Bilbus ran into the street, looking for the guardsmen. They had yet to reach this street, but Bilbus saw the large roan turning the corner at one end of the block. Bilbus set out at a trot to follow the horse. He turned the corner just before the night watch rounded onto the street Bilbus had just vacated, two blocks away.
Bilbus quickly closed behind the horse and the boy. The boy was walking next to the horse, glancing from time to time at the lanterns flickering from their poles overhead. Bilbus slowed four paces behind the horse and the boy, looking from one to the other uncertainly. After one more look around at the dark windows of the buildings on both sides of the narrow roadway, most of them closed against the cool breeze, Bilbus looked at the boy once again.
"So, who are you? Who is your master? Why did they want to rob you?"
The boy ignored the questions. The horse turned its neck to look back at Bilbus, disdain on its long visage. The horse snorted once, flicking one of its ears, before turning back to face the road ahead of it. Bilbus slowed, giving the horse an extra two pace's distance.
The boy and the horse walked through the winding streets for twenty minutes, turning almost at random, as far as Bilbus could tell. It took Bilbus a few of those minutes to realize that the horse wore neither halter nor lead rope. It simply followed the boy, walking beside him like one would expect a pair of humans to do. At times, it seemed to be leading the boy, turning when the boy didn't or going straight when the boy turned. Every time, the boy followed the horse instead of insisting that his route was right.
At long last, the three returned to a major avenue. The street was far better lit, and there were even raised stone walks on both sides of the cobblestone roadway. The boy and horse stayed on the empty road, but Bilbus opted to walk along the roadside walk. The stones of the road were well worn, with ruts already forming in some of the stones where countless carriages had passed. In contrast, the broad paving stones of the walks were still rough, despite years of feet.
Ahead, noise of an inn's common room emptied onto the streets. Rowdy shouts and cheers rolled along the empty avenue as light spilled from the open doors. The sign overhead swung in a slight breeze, the creaking of the rusted chains lost in the raucous sounds coming from within. A lantern with a large reflective hood hung above the sign, casting its light on the dark green face of the sign and the golden yellow three-pointed Kelltic knotwork star painted on the face of it. The distinctive knotwork and the writing beneath it on the sign identified the building the Triknot Inn. The front wall of the building was still white, the closely-fitted stones creating a smooth surface. The wooden frames around the door and windows were green with bright yellow Kelltic knotwork patterns intertwining throughout.
The roan turned down an alleyway towards the inn's stables without any prompting from the boy. The boy walked right into the common room of the inn. Bilbus followed the boy into the noisy common room, trying not to lose sight of him. Inside, Bilbus looked around for the boy.
He spotted the boy easily, standing by a round corner table. Sitting at the table were three men. One looked like a knight -- even sitting, he carried himself like a trained warrior. His back was towards Bilbus, and his dark, slightly curled hair fell below his shoulders, hiding his face. The large sword leaning against the table next to him had an emblazoning on the pommel that Bilbus recognized. Great, the boy's friend is a Knight of the Sun. The Sun Knight was tall, and well-muscled. He wore a stout leather jacket, not the heavy plate armor or maille common to the Sun Knights. He leaned back and tipped a pewter mug into the air, emptying the mug in several quick swallows.
Also sitting at the table was a slender man with straight black hair. His skin had an olive complexion, and the eyes appeared slightly slanted. Bilbus realized he was staring at the man; most people from the distant continent Azir didn't wander outside Londoun's Alien Quarter. The man had an exquisite sword on his hip. The scabbard was curved slightly, and the handle was straight, without the counter-balancing pommel of most Avillonian swords. Bilbus grinned slightly at the prospects of using the sword. Blades from Azirian island-nation of Karasimi were reputed to be fast, sharp, and well-balanced. The man had a calmness about him. It wasn't the same as the coiled spring of the Sun Knight; it was serene, not dangerous. Glancing again at the sword at the Azirian's hip, Bilbus held little doubt the man could be dangerous if he chose. Who is he? What is he doing wandering the town? Although the average Londounite would be loathe to admit it, there was a certain degree of xenophobia in the city. Bilbus had seen it sometimes when he was talking and he slipped into his distinctive southern Brytho-kelltic dialect.
The third man gave Bilbus the most alarm. His blonde mop of hair, large frame, and distinctive leather armor gave all indications of one of the vile Javik Raiders. These barbarians preyed on merchants plying the trade routes of the Vasmar, and occasionally had the gall to raid coastal villages of the nations on the southern shores of that vast inland sea. May they all rot in the Nine Hells. Especially the Fourth!
To Bilbus's surprise, the boy didn't stop next to the Sun Knight. Instead, he waved to the Javik and pointed to the rear of the inn, towards the stables. The Javik excused himself and followed the boy, who was already weaving between men and women while walking towards the rear door of the common room.
The boy's attackers had mentioned money. Still, a Javik wasn't likely to be too rich. Unless he'd just sacked another merchant, like they did when they killed my family.
Bilbus still seethed when he thought of the Javiks. He was nearly eleven when he learned that his family had been killed by Javik Raiders. His father had been a merchant, plying the sea lanes of the Vasmar with goods from distant lands. His father and mother often sailed together; she managed the books while he ran the ship. They had been sailing to the dwarven kingdom of Clemendeev when some bloodthirsty Javiks boarded their ship and killed them and their crew.
The local lord threw Bilbus out of his family's home, laying claim to the lands his father had accumulated over years of hard work. Bilbus was taken south and dumped in Brallian, the capitol of Eiresud, far from his family's home. He had grown up in a Church orphanage until he was old enough to strike out on his own. During those years in the orphanage, he had learned to sneak out of the compound, and ultimately teamed up with a young pick-pocket who introduced him to the Thieves' Guild.
Bilbus had spent years with the Thieves' Guild in Brallian, until one of his talents nearly got him killed. Bilbus had learned, mostly on his own, how to harness the incredible powers of Heka. Through trial and many errors, he had learned how to focus the strands of magickal energies about him, to direct them into weavings, and to use Castings he found described in old, dusty books hidden in Church libraries.
Heka use was universally despised in the Kelltic lands. Due to a curse from the Dark One, a powerful king who fought the Kellts over two thousand years ago, many powerful mages went insane and leveled cities. The memory of those terrible days that followed close on the heels of the defeat of the wise King Uther Paendroeg by the Dark One's hordes still lingered in the collective consciousness of the Kelltic nations.
As a result of the curse, most Kelltic people still hated and feared Heka use. Even though the taint had been cleansed over the years as the natural balance of Heka reasserted over the dark energies of the curse, few people in the Avillonian continent trusted anyone who could control Heka. The only Heka users who were trusted were priests, for the gods granted Heka directly to priests.
Bilbus was given a harsh reminder of the loathing Kellts had for Heka use when the Brallian Thieves' Guild discovered that Bilbus knew how to channel Heka. They poisoned him and left him for dead. Were it not for his young pick-pocketing comrade, Twitchy the Rat, Bilbus would have died. With the help of Twitchy and his pirate friend, One-Legged Pete, Bilbus escaped Eiresud for the distant city of Londoun in the Kingdom of the Five Crowns. If it weren't for being thrown out on the streets by the very nobility who became rich because of Bilbus's father, Bilbus would never have been nearly killed by the Thieves' Guild. And if the Javik hadn't killed his family, the nobility would never have thrown Bilbus out onto the streets.
Now, Bilbus found himself following a Javik Raider out of the back of the Triknot Inn. He was consciously aware of the weight of his rapier on his left hip, and the dagger at his right. He hoped that the barbarian could not feel Bilbus's glare on his back. Still, the street thieves did mention money.
The stables behind the Triknot Inn were clean. Very little hay covered the oak planking on the floor. There were several lanterns casting warm illumination in the main hallway along the near face of the building. Eight large stalls filled the far side of the building. Four of them were occupied. The sinister roan stood idly in the stall nearest the large double doors on the near end of the building. At the far end of the hallway from the stall a stable boy stood, staring towards the horse's stall and rubbing a large welt on his arm.
The Javik and his boy stood by the four-foot tall door to the horse's stall. The Javik turned to face Bilbus as Bilbus stepped on the wooden flooring of the stable.
Bilbus stopped several paces away from the Javik and put his fists on his hips, puffing his chest like a peacock strutting. "I'm Bilbus the Great. Perhaps you've heard of me?" Bilbus had made a bit of a name for himself in Londoun as a con artist -- not as a particularly successful con artist, however, try as he might.
The Javik stared at Bilbus for a long moment, his right thumb hooked behind the large dagger hanging at his hip. Bilbus consciously maintained eye contact with the barbarian, doing his best to avoid looking at the dagger or the hand-and-a-half sword hanging from the man's other hip.
"No," the Javik finally responded in a slow voice.
Bilbus deflated visibly. "Didn't think so. I saved your boy and the horse from some unsavory types in an alley about half an hour ago. They were trying to rob the boy."
The barbarian smiled. "You saved him?" He jerked his thumb towards the roan in the stall behind him. Bilbus looked towards the ugly horse as it bared its teeth, exposing bits of wet red flesh stuck between sharp teeth.
"Well, the horse did help a little."
"Look ... Bilbus, was it? I may not be the smartest guy here," the horse started nodding his head, apparently in agreement, "but even I don't buy your story... I tell you what. Let's have some ale and you can tell me about how you saved Merek and Farran. Come on back into the inn."
Bilbus followed the Javik back into the noisy Triknot Inn. The barbarian took his seat in the corner of the room, behind the round table. Bilbus grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table and set it by the table with its back towards a wall. Bilbus sat down and looked at the three other men at the table. They returned his gaze until the Javik started speaking.
"Eric, Sturm, this is Bilbus."
"Bilbus the Great," Bilbus corrected.
"Right. Bilbus the Great. He says he rescued Merek and Farran from some bad men."
The Azirian smiled, still looking at Bilbus. The Sun Knight continued to stare, a scowl on his face and his arms crossed.
"Yes, well. The horse did help some."
The Azirian snorted, choking back a laugh.
The barbarian continued. "I am Kasey Bittrand of Sulster." Bilbus looked at the man. Sulster was a Kingdom province, not part of the jarldom of the Javik. Bilbus took a second look at the dagger on Kasey's hip, finally getting a clear look at the dagger's pommel. Bilbus recognized the distinctive six-pointed star of the Knights of Kells, the Shield of the Church of Kells. He barely stopped himself from choking. I'm sitting with a Sun Knight and a Church Knight? He looked again at the Azirian. So, who in the Nine Hells are you, foreigner?
A barmaid walked up to the table, her serving tray holding four silvery mugs. A cream foam had puddled around the pewter mugs, creating a small moat of dark ale. Bilbus smiled at the young woman, his eyes lingering on the well-filled bodice. She hardly noticed him, her eyes fixed on the Church Knight the entire time, even as she placed mugs in front of the other three men.
After she placed Kasey's mug in front of him, she brushed a long lock of dark brown hair from her face. "Anything else I can offer you, sir?" Her forward lean and pursed lips made it clear to Bilbus that she wasn't offering anything from the inn's menu.
Bilbus choked on the rich ale. I never realized service here was this good!
Kasey smiled at the woman, friendly but not interested. "No, I think that's enough for now, lass." He looked to his companions. "Or was anyone hungry?"
Bilbus and his two companions shook their heads. The barmaid's smile slipped a little, but she turned and left the table, swaying her hips as she weaved between other tables of rowdy men.
Kasey continued his introductions. "Bilbus, this is Sturm Sunblade. He's a Knight of the Sun."
"I can tell," Bilbus replied, eyeing the Sun Knight.
The fall of Camelough and the death of King Uther Paendroeg signaled the end of the Golden Era of Avillonia. Many of the social structures of the era collapsed or changed radically as the survivors of the Dark One's invasion tried to keep their societies from sliding into complete oblivion. The Sun Knights formed during the early Ans -- years, in the Old Tongue -- After Camelough Fell. They were originally the few surviving remnants of King Paendroeg's elite Camelough Guards Legion.
Reformed as a military order, the Knights of the Sun kept alive the traditions of protecting the populace. They pursued the remains of the Dark One's armies, chasing the ragged bands of inhuman orcs across the fertile fields of the former Five Crowns Alliance. For over two millennia the Knights of the Sun have lived by their motto, "Keep the edge sharp, the armor ready, the eyes alert".
Sturm uncrossed his arms at last, taking the pewter mug in front of him and drawing a long drink from it. "Bilbus."
"Yes?"
Sturm nodded to himself and took another swallow of ale.
Kasey continued. "This is Eric Ithell. His father is the lord of Armagh. He's in town to visit for a while before stopping by his home. He travels a lot."
Eric nodded to Bilbus. "Well met, Bilbus the Great."
Bilbus returned the greeting. "Well met, Eric Ithell."
Eric arched one eyebrow at Bilbus. Bilbus pretended not to notice. Arrogant nobles. They always expect everyone else to lick their boots.
Eric held his mug with both hands, almost contemplative. "Kasey said you rescued Merek and Farran?"
Bilbus nodded. "Yes. Well, these four large men had pinned Farran to the wall, and were roughing him up ..."
Kasey interjected. "The boy is Merek. Farran is the destrier."
"Oh. So, these men had Merek against the wall. I decided that four large men on one little boy was certainly not a fair fight. I interrupted them and started attacking. I yelled to the boy to run, but he couldn't. I guess he was too scared by the violence before him.
"It was quite a fight. One of the men decided to keep Merek pinned in the alleyway. That's where Farran came in. He trampled the swashbuckler. I've never seen horses do that sort of thing before."
"He is a warhorse, Bilbus," Sturm said.
"Yes, well. I've never seen it. I don't spend much time with knights and their ilk. I've also never heard of a horse tearing a man's throat out."
"That explains the meat stuck between his teeth," Kasey said absently. "I hope Merek can get that out before Farran's breath starts stinking again."
Bilbus looked at the Church Knight.
"Sorry, Bilbus. Please do go on."
"What does Merek do, anyway, Kasey?"
"He takes care of my armor and Farran."
"How hard is it to take care of leather armor, Kasey?" Bilbus looked over the studded leather Javik Raider armor.
"I have lots of armor," Kasey replied. "I don't wear it that often, but I get dragged away to meet with Church officials or lords who think I should appear in all that nonsense. It takes a lot of work to keep that much metal oiled and clean."
Sturm sat forward. "You know, there is a benefit to belonging to an Order that doesn't have to follow the Church's rules. The Knights of the Sun just have to stand ready to defend the world against the Dark One's minions. None of this 'Oh, little Farmer Aleg is not paying proper homage to the Church as he passes our doors. Please explain to him how to be a good little sheep!' nonsense."
"Sturm, you know that's not what we do. Our charge is to protect the Church and Her holdings against Her enemies. We don't enforce the dogma. The Commanders of the Order won't allow it."
"Maybe so," Sturm allowed. He turned to Eric. "Eric, aren't you glad you weren't dragged into the Holy Order?"
"They probably wouldn't have had me. I have Azirian blood in me, after all," he paused. "Hey, do any of you have plans for Beltane next week? My father is putting on some celebrations, and he sent me an invitation. It should be fun. Games, contests, food, ale..."
Maybe some money, too? Bilbus idly wondered. The spring celebration of Beltane ushered in the beginning of the growing season. It also was a fertility festival, a major social event for single men and women. Beltane was one of the quarterly major celebrations of the Kelltic peoples. While few of the Kellts continued to worship in the formal manner prescribed by the Church of Kells, they still paid proper homage to the gods. The four annual Fire Festivals were the only contact most Kellts had with the Church.
Bilbus smiled. "It sounds like fun, Eric. Do you mind if I bring a couple of my friends?"
"No. Go ahead and bring them. What say we leave day after tomorrow? That gives us plenty of time to get to Armagh before the celebrations begin."
Bilbus placed his empty mug on the table. The effects of the alcohol were just starting to set in. Ever since the Thieves' Guild poisoned Bilbus, he had been unable handle alcohol in significant quantity.
Kasey waved to the brunette bar maid, who was still staring at Kasey from across the crowded room. She smiled and weaved through the crowd, to stop at Kasey's side.
"Lass, get my friend Bilbus else something to drink." Kasey looked to Bilbus "Might I recommend the house special?"
Bilbus paused only briefly. "Okay. House special it is!"
The barmaid rolled her eyes. "Scotch in the Valley it is..." she said as she walked back to the bar, taking much longer to return to the bar than she took to reach the table.
When she returned to the table, she carried a clear bottle nearly full of an amber alcohol. Bilbus noticed the top of a small crystal glass poking from the top of her dark bodice, the bottom of the glass buried in her cleavage. The barmaid filled the glass, then withdrew it from her cleavage and handed it to Bilbus.
"Bilbus, make sure you tip her well," Kasey said. "She complains about doing it, but Scotch in the Valley gets a single-malt whiskey to the perfect temperature."
Bilbus quickly slammed the amber liquid into his mouth, and he nearly gagged at the mouthful of hard liquor. In the moment before his tongue turned numb, Bilbus could taste the strong peat flavor of the scotch along with hints of apples and barley. Almost before the first mouthful hit his stomach, he could feel the warming effects of the alcohol. He took a few more sips, much more gingerly than the first, and finished the glass. He fumbled briefly as he put the empty glass onto the table.
Sturm looked at Bilbus. "What do you do for a living, Bilbus?"
Bilbus started explaining, describing a fictional job he occasionally used as a cover for his less-than-legal occupation. Kasey and Sturm exchanged glances as Bilbus talked.
When Bilbus stopped his rambling monologue, Sturm looked again at Kasey. "Did you understand any of that?"
"He sings, I think he said." Kasey's brows furrowed as he mentally replayed what Bilbus had said. Bilbus did say something about singing several times.
Kasey again flagged down the attractive barmaid. When she leaned next to Kasey, he asked, "Karrie, lass, what did you give him?"
"Just the usual -- twelve-year Glen Kelpie."
"Maybe Bilbus can't hold his liquor," Eric pointed out, a half-smile crossing his face. "He could be a lot of fun at the Beltane celebration."
Bilbus turned to Karrie, speaking in a slurred voice, "Hi... I'm Bilbus the Great... Have you heard me? Ummm... Of me?" Karrie rolled her eyes and walked away from the table. "Hey! Haven't you heard of me? Some day you will! Really! I'm great! How are you?"
Well after the middle of the night, Bilbus found himself still sitting with the two knights and the Azirian. Karrie had refused to serve him any more alcohol, and Bilbus was left nursing a large bowl of hot tea. Sturm was talking about a battle he had fought against a group of orcs threatening a village in the southern extents of the Kingdom of the Five Crowns, near the Middle Ranges separating the Kingdom from Eiresud.
The common room was far less crowded than when Bilbus arrived. There were still several groups of men surrounding tables, and one of the barmaids had retired for the evening. Some musicians whose efforts had been lost in the noise now had instruments out, playing some slow, calming music.
Bilbus watched one of the other patrons rise from the bar and stumble along the wall towards the table Bilbus sat at. The man was unwilling to range far from the stabling influence of a wall, and his hand reached desperately for it after every step. Seeing the table with four men in his way, the drunk set out across the open floor, cutting the corner of the room for the front wall of the building. Almost to the wall, he stumbled, falling across Bilbus's lap.
"I'm so shorry," the man managed as he slowly pushed himself back to his feet. He continued stumbling towards the door, his hand again reaching for the wall for support.
Reflexively, Bilbus patted at his pockets and belt. His hands found something amiss, and he looked down at his belt. A freshly-cut thong of leather marked where a pouch of coin had been seconds earlier.
"Hey! That man cut my purse!" Bilbus stood quickly, regretting it immediately as the room slowly spun around him. Concentrating, he pointed at the man, now by the front door of the inn. "Stop! Thief!"
Kasey and Sturm both stood, Sturm turning quickly around to face the cutpurse. Kasey's voice boomed in the now-quiet inn. "Stop, he said!"
The drunk glanced over his shoulder, looking at Bilbus and the two knights. He suddenly stood straight and ran out the open door, into the darkness of the night. Both knights ran past Bilbus, Sturm leaping over an empty chair as Kasey dived past one of the other patrons of the inn.
One of the other men in the common room moved towards Sturm, his empty hand out to grab Sturm's shoulder. His dark hair was somewhat tussled, and his clothes were slightly wrinkled from hours of camaraderie in the Inn. "Come, friends. What's the problem here? Let me buy you a round."
Sturm lowered his shoulder, tucked his arm against his ribs, and slammed into the man, knocking him aside. The half-pace delay in Sturm's charge allowed Kasey to reach the door first.
Outside the front door, Kasey immediately spotted the diminutive man rushing northwards towards the distant docks of the city. Winds from the north carried a brisk chill from the distant arctic mountains, far more than a thousand miles to the north across the Vasmar. In his warm leather armor, Kasey didn't even notice the breeze.
Out of the confines of the building, Kasey opened his stride to full length, closing on the thief before the thief reached the nearest intersection. Now a pace behind the thief, Kasey grabbed the man's shoulder and jerked backwards while stopping. The thief's upper body stopped quickly, while his legs continued, leaving the cutpurse lying on his back, his head by Kasey's large boots.
As his eyes focused on the armored giant above him, the thief realized that the second knight had caught up as well. In desperation, the man produced a small knife from a sheath hidden within the loose cuff of his left shirtsleeve. He pointed it towards the knights standing above him, a sneer of defiance on his face.
Fast footsteps echoed along the road. The thief tilted his head upwards, to peer between Kasey's shins at Bilbus. Seeing the small knife in the man's hand, Bilbus started moving his own hands, using the subtle secret hand-talk of thieves. It isn't worth it, friend.
The thief's knife fell to the cobblestones.
"Let's see what we have here," Kasey said as he started searching the now-passive thief. He lifted the man's cloak and found several pockets sewn along the lower back of the cloak. When Kasey stood again, he held a pair of coin purses. "Bilbus, which one is yours?"
"The heaviest one!"
Kasey started to toss the larger bag to Bilbus, but Sturm stepped between the Church Knight and the mountebank. "Uh huh. You mean the one that says 'Lord Briscane'? Not the one that says 'Bilbus'?"
"Mine doesn't have my name on it."
"Neither does the smaller one. That larger bag has someone else's name on it. So, you meant to say that the smaller bag is yours."
"That's what I meant."
Kasey tossed Bilbus the smaller purse. He heard footsteps echoing on the paving stones from near the Inn. "Well, thief, it looks like the town watch will take care of you tonight."
Sturm shook his head as he turned towards the approaching people. "They're not wearing maille, Kasey. It's not the night watch."
Kasey turned around, looking towards two approaching men. Both slowed as they neared the four people on the street. One carried a stout quarterstaff. He glared at Sturm, who had shoved him aside in the Triknot Inn. The other man, shorter and less clean than his comrade, carried a shortsword at ready.
Both approaching men looked at the thief, still on his back in the middle of the road. Bilbus watched the man with the quarterstaff start shifting his hands on the wooden pole, signing a question towards the cutpurse. Bilbus shifted on his feet, drawing the attention of both approaching men. He shook his head slowly and started signing. These two are knights. Find easier prey. The men stared at Bilbus until Kasey spoke.
"Is there a problem here? We just recovered my friend's purse from this thief."
Kasey stepped towards the two men, his hands spread low and wide, empty. He walked between the men, continuing towards the inn. The man carrying the staff tensed, his knuckles nearly white as he readied a strike. Bilbus pursed his lips and shook his head. When the man looked at Bilbus, Bilbus raised his right hand to his chin, fingers shaping, Your funeral, fool. The would-be assailant looked over his shoulder at the blond knight and relaxed his grip. The staff sounded loudly as the end of it touched the cobblestones. The man leaned against it for support. The swordsman, who had watched the entire exchange with some confusion, shrugged his shoulders and sheathed his blade. He walked towards the cutpurse on the ground and extended a hand to the man.
Kasey called over his shoulder, "Come on, Bilbus, Sturm. It's getting late."
Bilbus looked over to the burly Sun Knight, then started walking towards the Triknot Inn.
In a distant part of town, Rishala of Orkney and Lady Adria del Quintin shared a table at the Salty Anchor Tavern. The tavern was not particularly well-kept, with small piles of dirt collecting in corners of the room and several broken chairs piled against one wall.
Adria sighed and rubbed her neck with one hand. She glanced over her shoulder at the clientele of the tavern, most of whom were no cleaner than the building itself. In the flickering lights of the smoky lanterns, most of them were not that easy to see, to Adria's relief.
"Bilbus has such great taste in taverns, don't you think, Rishala?"
Rishala smiled, looking briefly at the beautiful blonde noblewoman sitting across from him before returning his attention to several men leaning against the bar on the far wall. Most of the people in the tavern kept their distance when they saw Adria walk through the front door, as if they were afraid she were deathly ill and contagious. Rishala had taken to serving Adria, since even the bar staff refused to get close to her.
"Well, he is still working on becoming great. Once he's famous, I'm sure he will meet us in nicer inns and public houses."
Adria snorted. "Sure he will."
Rishala watched one of the bar patrons approach, walking unevenly across the level floor. The man stopped next to Adria's seat, swaying, to look at Adria. He pulled one of the empty chairs at the table out, and half sat, half fell into it, his eyes fixed on Adria's chest.
Rishala cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me?"
The drunk waved a finger towards Rishala. "I'm not talking to you." He smiled, a chipped tooth and several stained teeth creating an unappealing visage that contrasted with his well-cut merchant's vest. "Come on. Get rid of this man and let's go back to my place. I'm rich." He lifted a bulging purse and shook it. The metallic jingle of coins sounded in the quiet bar.
Adria looked at the man levelly, one hand dropping into her lap. "Do you think that's enough for me?"
The man grinned and lifted a second coin purse. "I'm really rich! Come on! My wife is away for the evening!"
The drunk dropped both coin purses to drape his right arm across Adria's shoulders. Rishala slowly pushed his chair away from the table as he watched Adria slowly draw one of her many small, sharp knives. The man leaned towards Adria, his face falling towards the open top of her bodice.
Adria ran her left hand along the outside of the man's leg, the blade of her knife just avoiding the fabric of his trousers. Her hand crossed over his lap, bringing the blade between his legs. The man was so rapt with the pale flesh of her neck that he never saw the danger farther below.
Adria jabbed the blade into the inside of the man's thigh, several inches from the groin. The man jumped to his feet and immediately fell over the chair behind him, cursing a stream of epithets worthy of the saltiest of Londoun dockworkers. He pressed both hands against the bleeding wound, cursing Adria and any other women he could think of.
As the drunk crawled away to the hearty laughs of several other tavern patrons, Adria turned her attentions back to Rishala. "When was Bilbus supposed to be here?"
"At least an hour ago." Rishala glanced from the wounded man to the bored noblewoman.
Adria stood, stretching her arms invitingly as she turned towards the wounded man, now sitting with his back against a wall. "I'm tired of this place. Bilbus knows where I live. If he can't keep to a schedule, he can find me there."
Rishala stood as well. "Hopefully he still remembers where he lives, as well. I'll wait for him there, after I see you back to your flat."
"No need, Rishala. I can take care of myself."
"I have little doubt of that, m'Lady. It's still not proper for a woman of your position to walk through this neighborhood unescorted."
"If it makes you happy, Rishala."
Continue to the next chapter: Beginnings
Back to the Book I Index.
Back to the Dark Mysteries Campaign Chapter Index.
Second Draft 08 January 2001
Original Draft 30 August 2000
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