Padded leggings with the same hidden chainmail cover her legs. Waxed canvas trousers are tucked into knee-high boots. Last comes the sword belt and her blades. A coin pouch gets tucked into her linen blouse to hold the spending money Gethin gave her... An oiled and waxed, deeply hooded leather cloak is rolled up and tied with thongs to be attached to her saddle. A belt knife is added to her sword belt, as is a small hatchet. Her most critical clothing is carefully packed in saddlebags that are lashed together with emergency food and provisions.
Most everything is going on the packhorse, but Emlyn has insisted on having a few things with her just in case something happens, and they become separated. Sweeping up her gear, Emlyn swings by the kitchen stores to see if there’s anything she can swipe as a treat for her mare. Nosing around, she only finds a few beets still stocked on the larder shelves. Shrugging, she grabs them and heads for the barn. Plopping down her gear, she gets her mare out of the stall and starts to curry her.
She offers up the beet, and the mare sniffs tentatively and snorts. Shaking her head and tossing her mane, the mare chomps into it and starts chewing, and in a few moments, beet-stained slobber splats onto the barn floor. Thinking quickly, Emlyn grabs the lead and hauls her outside. Laughing, she finishes up currying and hoof cleaning and starts saddling her mare. Hunting around for a rag, she wipes her mouth off and has her drink some water before putting the bridle on. Lastly, she lashes her saddle bags, bed roll, and big, leather weather cloak to the saddle.
She goes to clean up the beet-slobber and finds Benger saddling his gelding.
“Let me clean this up,” she grins, “and I’ll saddle up the pack horse.”
“What happened?” Benger asks.
“Nothing much. I couldn’t find anything, but a beet to give her as a treat before we leave.”
“Found out that was a bad idea, I see,” Benger grins back.
“Not really. She loved it,” Emlyn shrugs, “Next time, though, she gets that particular treat outside where I don’t have to clean up her slobber.”
Emlyn quickly cleans the barn floor and packs down more clay to cover the divot. She fetches the pack horse and leads him outside. He gets the other half of the beet and munches placidly while she curries him and readies him for the journey ahead. The packsaddle goes on, and Emlyn goes to fetch the packs. She finds them unbalanced, so she starts doing some quick repacking. When she’s done, she starts loading and lashing the packs onto the horse in more balanced pairs.
Benger watches closely as she hefts the heavy packs and moves quickly to help her.
“Let me do that,” Benger grins, “Otherwise, you’ll be dozing in your saddle before nightfall.”
“I sewed some old chainmail into the gambeson and chausses between the layers of padding so that it won’t bulge or clink,” she whispers as they haul on the ropes to secure their gear to the pack horse. "Don’t worry, I have another set I can swap out if these turn out to be too tiring.”
“We are going into the mountains,” he replies, “The thin air will make you tire more quickly. Don’t wait until you’re too tired to change. I won’t tell you not to wear it, but I will say be careful. The robbers will have had slim pickings for a few months now, so that we might run into highwaymen.”
“In that case, I should probably fetch something I wasn’t thinking of taking,” she grins, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Taking off at a slow trot, she heads for her room. When she reaches it, she quickly shoves a dagger into each boot and grabs a quiver and her bow from the corner. She stops and considers for a moment, “I’ve never seen a village that was unhappy to have fresh meat this time of year. Maybe we can take a little time to do a bit of hunting on the way there.”
A quick rummage in a drawer and she’s got her cat's claws. An extra pouch is added to her belt. It’s padded and holds a few emergency potions that Davilla made for her. As she starts jogging back, Benger meets her, leading the horses.
“I thought I’d save you a jog,” he says with a grin, “since we have to come this way anyway. Taking the bow after all?”
“Yes,” Emlyn nods, “It seems like a wise precaution. If nothing else, we might get to do a bit of hunting.”
“Not much moving around this time of year,” Benger shrugs.
“Elk or moose will be headed down the mountain looking for graze that’s not frozen over or snowed under, so if we’re going up….,” Emlyn trails off, “I’ve never known a village to be disappointed about getting fresh meat at Mid-Winter.”
They saddle up and head out of Harito. Benger points out different parts of the city that she likely hasn’t seen yet, along with places to eat, shops for small necessities, and other incidental items. Once outside the city, quite a few people are on the road, clearly heading home for the Mid-Winter festivities.
“It’s hard to think about highwaymen.” Emlyn grins, “When everyone seems so happy to be headed home.”
“The patrols are more frequent here,” Benger explains, “since the duke’s palace is here.”
Emlyn nods in understanding. As they get further away from Harito, many of the other travelers have taken different roads, and the happy crowd has thinned considerably. As they pass the next crossroads, the crowd thins yet again, and the road begins the first of its many uphill climbs. Near the top of the hill, the road makes a curve to avoid a giant boulder. As they round the curve, Emlyn spots a group of dirty, disheveled men almost encircling a group of travelers, and her eyes narrow. Benger puts out a restraining hand.
“Too many,” he mouths to her.
“Why wait until we have to fight them alone?” she whispers back. Benger considers this and nods.
Dropping his hand, he gestures for her to proceed. She kicks her mare into a trot and approaches the group, stopping in shouting distance. Benger comes to a halt just behind her and to her left. The birds and crickets fall silent as loud rustling sounds emanate from the forest that lines the left side of the road.
Seemingly relaxed, Emlyn leans on her saddle pommel and grins at the party, “Jathon, is that you? I’m so glad we caught up to you.”
A teenage boy disentangles himself from the group and approaches her calmly and speaks quietly, “We’re being robbed, Sera Nia. These men took my little brother to ensure that we comply.”
Emlyn nods and makes a hand signal to Benger under the guise of adjusting her hair.
Speaking equally quietly, she says, “Any idea how many there are?”
“More in the forest... but no,” he whispers back.
“Well, introduce me to your family,” Emlyn nods, speaking more loudly, “You’ve told me so much about them, I can’t wait to meet them, especially your little brother. I hope he’s as adorable as you’ve made him sound.”
Benger stares hard at the group for a moment, and the meaning of what he thinks is her hand sign for “hostage” is suddenly clear.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“He’s… ah, not with us at the moment. These men were kind enough to escort him into the forest to answer nature’s call,” Jathon says smoothly and gets an almost imperceptible nod of approval from Emlyn.
Emlyn calmly walks her horse toward the group and stops just short of the encircling men. Flashing a smile at the travelers, she pretends not to overhear a remark from the bandits about dining on horse that evening. The mare doesn’t pretend not to hear it and stamps, snorting. Emlyn calms the horse, and she quiets quickly.
“So, Jathon, it’s up to you to make introductions,” she grins.
Still leaning on the pommel, she turns so that the bandits can’t see her face and pretends to scratch at her nose.
Whispering to Jathon, she directs him, “Get my friend and go find your brother once I draw them off, but wait for me to start.”
Nodding, Jathon wanders over to Benger, “Will you also be joining us for dinner?” Jathon asks.
Benger nods thoughtfully, eyes still on the seemingly relaxed and oblivious Emlyn. Jathon returns to Emlyn and begins calling his family over one by one and introducing them. Suddenly, the bandits find that they’re no longer encircling their erstwhile captives.
At the same time, Emlyn chats with the family happily and animatedly, seemingly oblivious to the rustling in the trees as more men arrive. As the men on the road start to move, so does Emlyn. She knees her mare into action while stringing her bow. Before her mare can cover the distance between the family and the men, six shots are off. Five have resulted in screams of pain, and one loud thud of a body hitting the forest floor. Two more start out of the forest, but quickly thrown knives drop them as soon as they clear the foliage.
Ducking her head through the bowstring, Emlyn draws her blades and plows into the group of bandits. Once the group on the road is either trampled or skewered, Emlyn launches her mare at the forest. Thinking she means to try to ride through the heavy underbrush, the bandits, still in hiding, chuckle. Instead, the mare runs just to one side of a large tree, and as the mare passes it, Emlyn pulls herself into a crouch on the saddle and leaps, disappearing into the foliage. The cat's claws, which Lokrag had forged for her, are attached to her boots and hands.
The springy steel allows her to extend the claws to hook into a tree or retract them to allow her to release her grip. Emlyn finds a vantage point where she can ensure that her mare returns safely to the road. Nocking an arrow, she takes out a man crouching at the side of the road. Leaping to another tree, she continues to hunt the bandits. Their numbers thin rapidly, but the tell-tale whistle of an incoming arrow forces her to move to another tree. Moving swiftly from tree to tree, she runs through the forest canopy, chasing the other archer. Each time she starts to lag or tire too much, a mumbled prayer restores her, and she’s forced to reduce her mental count of remaining spells yet again.
Breathing hard, Emlyn stops, not seeing any sign of movement in front of her, and begins to look around. On seeing one of the other trees behind her move, Emlyn realizes that she’s overshot her mark and passed the other archer. Doubling back, she finds herself in a vantage point in a nearby tree, but above him. While the archer is busy studying his back trail, looking for signs of movement, Emlyn thinks quickly and decides that she needs his quiver. She launches herself directly at him.
She latches onto the tree bark with one hand and its cats' claws, and grabs at his quiver with the other as she kicks at his feet. He tumbles from the branch on which he was crouched, and there are cracks and thuds as he plummets toward the forest floor. Emlyn digs her cats' claws into the tree and comes to a sudden stop, winding herself from the hard smack as she impacts the tree trunk. Mumbling another prayer, she grimaces as she reduces her count of remaining spells yet again as another blue nimbus rolls across her.
Hearing fighting, she changes her trajectory through the trees to head toward the sounds of Benger shouting at the bandits to stay back. She finds Benger and Jathon in the middle of what is the bandit’s camp, fighting almost back-to-back over a small boy. Eyes narrowed, Emlyn nocks an arrow and starts firing. Once she’s fired a few arrows, she leaps to another tree and starts picking off more of the men. A few of the men consider breaking off the attack and trying to climb trees to push her away from the conflict. Emlyn calmly picks them off as they’re climbing and returns to whittling down the numbers surrounding Benger and Jathon.
Finally, the bandit leader bestirs himself and steps out on the ledge of a cave.
“My archer will be here soon,” the man bellows, “and you’ll pay dearly for all of this.”
Pulling an arrow from the other archer’s quiver, Emlyn shouts back, “I don’t think so. Take a look at the fletching on this arrow. Your archer isn’t coming.”
With that, she shoots, and the arrow lodges squarely in his thigh. He howls in pain and looks down, eyes widening even more as he realizes just whose arrow is now protruding from his flesh. Moving again, Emlyn continues firing with an occasional arrow at the bandit leader each time he seems to try to move too much.
When the group is down to just a handful, she leaps nimbly to the ground and rolls to absorb the impact. She comes up on her feet and launches into a sprint to close the distance. She slams into the first one and punches with her dagger. Dragging the slice as she extracts the dagger, she knocks the man down and stomps on him before gutting her next assailant. She crouches, spinning and hamstringing the next man, which causes him to drop to his knees. Pulling out her other dagger, she cuts his throat while she’s still turning.
One of the men swipes at her with a sword, but she grabs his wrist, steps inside his guard, and stabs quickly under the breastbone. Blood burbles out of his mouth, and she throws him aside. Twisting the dagger free, she hefts his sword for balance and throws it, taking down the man who thought to run. The last two surrender, and Emlyn ties them up. With quiet descending on the camp, Emlyn checks Benger and Jathon for injuries.
As she does so, she hears a pounding from inside the cave and faint shouts. “What in the name of the Goddess now?” she groans.
The little boy looks up at her, “They’ve got enslaved people chained up in there. They were going to march us all over the mountain to Zoran Bay and sell us there. They didn’t have me chained up because all the shackles were too big.”
Kneeling, she tousles his hair with a smile, “You’re a big, brave boy, and if your brother wanted to join our order, I’d happily endorse him. When the time comes for you to choose a vocation, come see me.”
“Let’s go see about freeing some slaves,” she turns into the cave. Stopping at the entrance, she turns back, “See if you can find keys on that asshat. I hear chains rattling. He’s got some explaining to do, so don’t kill him or any of the others just yet.”
She heads deeper into the cave where she finds large iron rings set into the cave wall, and grimaces. These caves were constructed to accommodate large numbers of captives.
“Just how many of the travelers who go missing end up in the Zoran Bay slave market?” she muses to herself as she keeps walking.
Rounding a bend, she comes into an open cavern that reeks of human refuse. Some two dozen people are chained to the wall. Most don’t even have enough slack to stand.
One girl looks up at her, and hope is written on her face, “Gods above, you’re… you’re not one of them. Are you here to save us?”
“By Mithras,” an older man grumbles, “it's about time. I’ve been praying for tendays.”
“Mithras didn’t send me,” Emlyn says levelly, “I will set you free, but I am in service to the Goddess Morrighu. Perhaps you should consider converting to a more attentive deity.”
An older woman next to him, elbows him sharply, “That sounds like a lovely idea. I think your temple is in Harito, isn't it?”
“It is,” Emlyn nods gravely, “and should you desire conversion, please tell them that Nia sent you. Now, let's see what we can do about getting all of you out of this place.”
Benger jogs up behind her with his face pressed into the crook of his arm against the stench.
“How in Hades did those dolts ever think that this lot would be able to make it over the mountains this time of year?” Emlyn grouses, “They’re simply not dressed for it and so weakened by being poorly cared for, they’d be lucky to get over the mountains with any of them still alive, and anyone who did survive the trip would be frostbitten. It’s the wrong time of year for a trek like that.”
The young girl pipes up, “They said that they had clothing and mules for us.”
“Do you happen to know where this clothing was kept?’ Emlyn asks.
“Yes, Sera Nia,” the girl replies with a head bob.
“No need for titles. Nia will do just fine.” Turning to Benger, she says, “See if Jathon’s family can help set up a camp here for the night. We have to get them fed, bathed, clothed, and on their way – preferably back to Harito. We could use a few more able bodies to help with all of this.”
Nodding, Benger hands her the key ring and hastens away from the stench. Emlyn crouches down and starts trying out the keys. When she finds one that works, she points it out, and all the captives quickly unlatch themselves.
Raising her voice, she shouts, “Go outside and have a seat while we try to find you some clean clothes.”
Grabbing the girl, Emlyn nods, “Show me where these clothes are kept.”
The girl bobs and retrieves the key ring. Squeezing through what Emlyn had taken for a crevice in the rock, the girl leads her to a door.
Sorting through the key ring, the girl picks out another key and opens the door. “Everything that they take from people gets put in here. They said that they had winter clothes for us in here.”
She throws open the door, and there are trunks stacked haphazardly in piles taller than Emlyn. Emlyn starts throwing open the trunks and finds several that contain all manner of jewelry, as well as a set of silver tableware.
Finally, toward the back of the room, she finds some that seem to contain winter gear. “Find something for yourself and then go down to the river to bathe and change. You can help prepare a meal.”
“I know where they keep their food, too,” the girl says helpfully, “They used to make me work around the camp. I was willing to do it, as it allowed me to steal food so I could try to stay healthy. They didn’t like the sick ones. Anyone who got sick was taken away and never returned. I don’t know what they did with them, but they were terrified of sickness spreading and not having anyone to sell.”
“Not a word to anyone about what else is in here,” Emlyn cautions, “We don’t need a lot of chaos. I need to decide what to do with all of it. Pick yourself out a set of clothes.”
Midwinter is a time of celebration in many cultures. What's your tradition? Let me know in the comments.