Chapter 4
Valtteri stood amongst the bloody remains of the winemaker and his guards. The negations had not gone as well as he had hoped. Valtteri wiped at the gore from his leather pants with a sigh. The remaining Lowmen were still gathered in the main room downstairs, returning alone, splattered with blood, would not help his cause.
The mission had started well. Valtteri had found the the guards on the road leading up the hill to winery and had convinced them that he was looking for refuge from the gangs that roamed the lands.
The guards had brought him back to meet the winemaker, a man of many more years and experiences then his guards. The moment Valtteri had stepped into the rooms the winemaker immediately noticed the deep red eyes that betrayed Valtteri’s nature and before Valtteri could say a single word the winemaker had called his men to arms.
Now the room was silent, the fight done. Valtteri went to the window and looked out, it led to a roof that looked sturdy enough to hold his weight. He turned back to the bloody mess, there was no reason to stay, so he opened the window and crawled out on to the roof.
It had taken a full day to reach the vineyard and now he was at a lost at what to do next.
The game was not going to be as easy as Valtteri had thought, the Lowmen had always frightened easily and that made them unpredictable. But he would not be so easily deterred, he just needed to change his approach, when he arrived at his next destination, the trading post he decided, he would be more cautious.
Pushing eastward through the night, Valtteri, found the banks of the impassable Sulla River bathed in the light of dawn. He remember the trading post being above the vineyard on the map and had to hope the drawing was accurate.
The waterway lay bare, clean and unbroken except for the occasion branch that had gotten caught in its flow. A year earlier, when Valtteri had last seen it, the river was a constant flow of barges coming downstream full of goods for trade.
Valtteri moved quickly through the long grass that whipped at his shin. This was a dangerous place, an archer with any skill could easily catch him from the plain or the other bank, there was little he could about it but move as quickly as he could from cover to cover hoping he would not catch anyone’s attention.
Luckily, the river was free souls looking for a fight and Valtteri reached the trading post as the sky turned a deep red. He held himself low to the ground to hide from the eyes of that watched from the makeshift barricades surrounding the settlement.
A few torches lit up the barriers that protected the main road that approached from the west. Beyond them, Valtteri could see the faint outline of Lowmen with something attached to their backs, maybe a bow or shield, it was hard to say in the low light.
A small thicket which sat by the road was the only cover in sight. Valtteri, moved to the brush, took out his hand axe and hacked at the tangle of growth to make himself a small nest inside. A few stray branches and vines of the brush sealed the entrance way behind him. Valtteri sat cross legged in the nest and let his mind become blank. He locked the muscles of his body and slept, exhausted after the days of travel.
The dawn sun woke Valtteri as it rose behind the buildings of the trading post and he saw it fully for the first time. A few dozen small, buildings clustered around a square plaza, a common water fountain in the centre. The main road led straight to the square across it, at the entrance, a simple wooden arch straddled the road. Beyond the square, in the distance, sat the large warehouse, the heart of the settlement. Two large, wooden cranes used to move goods onto barges poked just above the rooftop on the far side of the building. Beyond the warehouse sat the fast flowing water of the river.
The guards looked haggard in the morning light, leaning, lazily, against the barricade or a random stick they had picked up during the night. There were nine watching the front gate and the barricades. Three of the guards had clustered together and were talking quietly, the others stood and just stared at the emptiness of the land.
The guards, suddenly, jumped to life as a man with a strong beard and heavy armour burst out from behind the buildings, shouting orders. The guards shook themselves from their positions and walked inside the gate, as eight fresh guards appeared from the warehouse.
Valtteri focused on the bearded man, who was now shouting something at the new men who were wandering towards the entrance. Some of them started to jog towards their posts as the harsh words caught them, while others started to walk slower.
The bearded man’s armour was well crafted and held the remains of an large insignia that had been scratched at until it was hard to read. He had been someone before the collapse, but that did not matter now, what did matter was certainly the captain of this militia.
Valtteri turned his attention to the subordinates of the group, some were equipped with bows, others with finely crafted swords and wooden shields with barely any scratches or cuts into the painted surfaces. Their armour was less well crafted, seeming to be tattered pieces of leather and cloth sown together in haste.
The men settled into their positions and the captain vanished behind the buildings. As the day passed, the sounds of wooden weapons cracking against each echoed from within the ring of buildings, accompanied by the sounds of a single man shouting.
Midday came and the sounds of training ended. The guards changed again and the captain reappeared still clad in his armour, Valtteri tried to make out the insignia again, but was unable.
The captain had seemed to have worked out his aggression and now simply stared at the empty hills and plains that stretched out beyond trading post. Valtteri sat cross-legged and motionless in the small clearing he had made for himself, studying the man. Valtteri felt like he could use this one, he may not run from his eyes as easily as the others, but Valtteri wanted to be sure.
The dusk came and the guards changed, the captain yelled some more at the men before heading back into the ring of buildings and vanished inside the warehouse. The building had several large doors once used to accepted the caravans that had brought goods from across the kingdom, all of them were now barred shut with planks. Two normal sized doors at each end of the building were being used by the guards as they came and went.
The light died and the night came, the Lowmen started to light the torches in front of their barricades.
Valtteri emerged from the thicket, he hurried through the short grass to the left of settlement, keeping himself low. As he came around the side of town he spotted a lone guard watching the north, after a short while the guard vanished between the buildings. Another guard appeared a short time later.
Valtteri watched the guards cycle a few more time before deciding he could cross the distance before a guard was replaced by another.
Valtteri crouched in the grass and waited until the time was right then he leapt from his position and sprinted towards the town as fast as he could. He needed to be inside the town perimeter before the next guard appeared.
Valtteri pushed himself up against the cool brick of a small house, panting, he looked around. After a few moments he saw the orange torchlight wash over the wall of the next house. Valtteri pushed himself up against the brick and as a boy of fifteen years, emerged at the end of alley, torch in hand, he stopped for a moment and looked into the field. He took a small bell from his pocket and rang it once.
Valtteri, froze and held his breath readying himself for another bloody mess, the light illuminating his red eyes and hard face, but the boy simply continued to stare out at the plain unaware of the large Child that stood just a few feet behind him.
When the light was gone Valtteri started to breath again and turned his sights on the ally that led to the main square. Valtteri moved down the two walls and looked into the main square. The small fountain in the middle of square bubbled to itself. He could see the warehouse, there were only a few high windows that were not covered, through which he could see the dim light of lanterns.
There was a stable where the main road met the square. It was a larg
e stables with room to house three or four caravans as well as room for several more horses. Valtteri could easily find a vantage point within.
Valtteri moved across the dark square to a small wooden door that led into the stable. He tried the handle and it turned freely. He moved inside and was hit by the strong smell of unclean hay and horse manure left to rot over the months.
A single window above the large doors let the moonlight into the space. Valtteri found a barrel and wooden crate, placed under them window and climbed up. As Valtteri pulled himself up to the sill, pieces of empty bird nests fell to the ground below.
Valtteri counted eight orange lights moving through the settlement. Eighteen smalls houses and seven other buildings that may have been stores or small offices of traders, none had lights in their windows. All of Lowmen seemed to have moved into the large warehouse that sat directly across from the stables. That was all there was to Valtteri’s new trading post, but it would still be a fine start to his kingdom.
The guards patrolled as Valtteri watched from his vantage point and he slowly deciphering the patterns of their movement. Three guards for the left of the town, three guards for the right, nine watching the main approaching, two more moved randomly between the houses. Every so often the guards on the outer edge of the town would ring their bells before moving on.
The Lowmen were not soldiers, they were the rough looking men raised on farmers with poorly groomed hair and scattered beards. They had strong, round bodies from farm work not the slender, muscular forms sculpted by days of swing swords and manoeuvring shields. He wondered how far their training had come, they had the numbers on him, for sure, but perhaps not the skill. And then Valtteri chastised himself, he was not hear for a fight.
The moon had hit its zenith when the door of the warehouse opened, spilling light into the town square, the captain strode out from inside. As the captain crossed the town square Valtteri pulled himself back into the shadows and lowered himself from his perch.
The captain walked past the stables and his deep voice cut the night air just outside the stables.
“Anything?” asked the captain.
“Nothing. Another quiet night, looks like,” a voice replied.
“Good,” said the captain.
There was a pause.
“You,” the captain suddenly screamed into the night, “why are you here? Where are you meant to be?”
The voice trailed off as the captain stormed off away from the stables. There was the sound of a man yelping and a short scuffle.
Valtteri pulled himself up slightly over the sill to see what was happening. The torches in the town had come to a stop, then there was a torchlight running frantically to the right side of town.
“Back to it,” screamed the captain the voice echoing against the wall of warehouse.
The torches started moving again, some in the wrong direction.
After a while the two voices next to the stables started again.
“I have told you to watch those two,” growled the captain.
“They’re just boys,” snapped the other with an anger growing in his voice.
“There are no more boys,” yelled the captain, “start doing your job.”
“I’m not here to listen to your lectures, I’m here to watch the gate” challenged the voice, “I have a whole night ahead of me, so unless you want to do it, get inside!”
There was the sound of boots on gravel and Valtteri saw the captain stomping across the square, though he did not return to the warehouse, he turned to the left and entered one of the dark houses.
Valtteri lowered himself and moved back to the small door at the side of the stables. He waited for the gap in the patrol’s pattern and left the stables, heading quickly to the house immediately next to the stables. He tried the door and, as he expected, the handle turned and the door open.
The guards had just finished one of their rotation when Valtteri left his the stables, the one who randomly walked the allies had found a corner to sleep in. Valtteri made his way through the night and reached the door of the captain’s house. He turned the handle and open the door slightly before retreating back to a nearby house. The guards cycled again and Valtteri moved back to the captain’s door, it was closed again, just as he had hoped. He open the door and listened. The heavy breathing of captain came from inside.
Valtteri entered, inside the room had become chilled by the night air that had entered earlier, the captain lay under a thick, woollen blanket, unmoved now by the cold that followed Valtteri. The large figure moved across the room lit only by the silver moonlight.
Valtteri found the armour against the wall and inspected the insignia, closely. Cut into the armour were the outlines of two snakes twisted together, the left snake held the head of the right in its mouth, the symbol of the city guard of Hawkescliff.
Valtteri smiled to himself and shook his head. The Black Snakes, as they were called in the city, were as renown for their laziness as they were for their corruption. The single shield stamped into the shoulder of armour was likely a marking of low ranking officer.
Valtteri looked at the snoring lump across the room from him. This captain was nothing then a lowly guard that had fled his post at the first sign of trouble. No wonder he spent his days blustering at the others, the man was merely imitating the Heart who once spent their days doing the same within the guardhouses of Hawkescliff. This creature had no real knowledge of leadership and likely did not even know how to use his sword, a good thing he had tricked the farmers into taking up the blades for him.
But, then he thought went to the friends.
Nerys would already have the people of Finestone singing her praises by now. And Sayjin was surely already beating his followers into submission in the way he always did. Valtteri knew he did not have the time for a new target.
He took what he was looking for in the belt on the floor, an exquisite dagger with a well crafted handled, mostly a bribe from a now-dead noble, and left the house, leaving the door open.
The coward was a risk, but he would have to do.