do not read this!!
No, really. I mean it. I had to work for 10 hours to get participation points for my leverage big bang challenge over at leverageland, and it's ten hours of complete and abject crap. Now, I know only that only about five people even follow my blog here, so I'm hoping no one even sees this, but if you do... well, its 15 pages of abjest crap. Unbetad, un proof read, terribly written medieval/magic Leverage AU.
You may read the opening peice, a three page prologue of sorts, which is actually good, but after that I will tell you that you have to stop, and if you do not SHAME ON YOU.
There are also two graphics to go with it:
The Blackpol Crest (King Ian, of the Blackpol line, is currently on the throne in this fic, and Sterling walks around with his crest on his cloak.)
And here is Lady Sophia! Who would be later in the story, if I ever continued it (ahaha sorry)
And now, on to the fic!
PROLOGUE
“Sterling” Nate said, his voice low, as he and his old brother-in-arms circled each other wearily in the clearing.
The sun was up, now; the hours Nate had spent waiting for Sterling in the bright clearing leaving the sun almost at its apex. The high angle meant that the rays of light pierced the heavy trees, dappling the bottom of the overhung clearing with a patchwork of yellow and green. The sun glinted off Sterling’s vambraces; Nate’s own, leather tunic was much less startling, almost letting him melt into the browns and shadows of the forest around them, too dense for the sunlight to reach. Despite his sticking to the shadows, though, Nate stood tall, his blue eyes shining out towards Sterling, vigilant and ready for anything.
Sterling was the one dressed in the royal crest, but Nate looked more a knight than the other man ever would.
“That’s Sir Sterling, actually.” Sterling responded, a smirk on his face. “Or have you already forgotten what it means?” He indicated his cloak as he asked, the crest glinting in the sunlight. Nate actually did look at it, the sparrowhawk and the Blackpoll warbler, the first in flight and the second poised at the forefront of the image. Nate saw new decoration around the birds of the crest, meaning either a new house had been joined -through marriage or war - to their kingdom or King Ian had simply let his overgrown ego bleed out into the rest of the castle. Nate wouldn’t have been surprised by either. Or both.
Nate flicked his eyes back to Sterling, his contemplation of the crest taking nothing more than a glance.
“I know what it means” He said, his voice ringing out across the clearing. “It means that you serve the king, no matter what he tells you to do. It means that at his word you will put and innocent to death or raze a village to the ground for a crime its people may or may not have done.” Nate stopped his walking, the two of them squaring off across the way, Nate’s arms crossed. “Now, if you have the time” He said, an eyebrow raised “I’ll tell you what being a knight is supposed to mean.”
“You’re a romantic, Nate.” Sterling returned, his voice dripping with a disdainful amusement at the idea, before his tone dropped to one of pure disdain; “It’s pathetic.” He tacked on.
Nate smirked, staring Sterling down. He was confident enough in his beliefs that Sterling’s taunts washed off him. These last few weeks may have taken a distinctly surreal turn, but he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders because of them, his days brightening as the tavern ale slowly washed from his systems.
“I’ve met stable boys with less naïve ideas of the nobility of serving a king.” Sterling continued, despite Nate’s evident disinterest.
“I don’t think you’ve ever stooped so low as to talk to a stable boy. You surely wouldn’t want to risk infecting yourself with your humanity”
“Not to mention horse dung” Sterling agreed, a smirk on his own features now. “Honestly Nate, if you’re hoping to appeal to my kindness and compassion, your senses have been more addled in the taverns of Carmarthen than we were lead to believe.”
“Well it was worth a try, I suppose” Nate shrugged.
There was a pause, the two men watching each other across the clearing. After a few seconds, they simultaneously shook their head in a “no, not really” movement. “So, Nate!” Sterling announced, quickly, turning and walking around the clearing, his eyes on the grass at his feet. Nate knew not to trust when Sterling looked unaware and matched his movements, starting their wary circling of each other over again. “Where have you been, recently?” the knight continued.
“Oh, around.” Nate said, shrugging. “I woke up in a small village near Amberley keep, uh… two weeks ago?” the two men continued to walk, but Nate looked away from Sterling and up at the trees, feigning intent though into the matter. Sterling didn’t even bother to grace the act with a glance. “I travelled north for two days, then took rest at a Tavern somewhere - not sure where. I meant to stay the night but ended up left a few days. Then… let me see…” Nate sighed dramatically, drawing an annoyed glance from Sterling. Suddenly, Nate stopped. “Oh, yes, then I stole a case of gold from a Baron with the help of a thief and an ex-bandit, helped a sorcerer escape the law and ran off into the night to start a life of crime.”
Nate had, with no small effort on his part, avoided looking at Sterling through the ‘confession’, but now glanced at the man with a face he hoped portrayed how hard he was refraining from asking if Sterling was serious. Sterling stared back with a murderous glare, the schooled expression making Nate wish he had looked over, just to see the look of inevitable surprise the knight had worn when Nate had started talking - the one that, by now, he had wiped from his face. Nate continued on, despite the violent promise the look made.
“Sterling, I have done nothing in these last few days that I haven’t been doing this last year. When I heard you had left the keep on a quest to find me, as the barmaids took great joy in calling it, I had to meet you and put you out of your apparent befuddlement. Yes, I was in town when the Hayfield manor was robbed, but I don’t know anything about it!”
Sterling turned to face Nate, full on, and didn’t bother to hide the fact that his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Nate wasn’t cowed; he didn’t believe Sterling would draw on him unless Nate acted first.
“Stay away from the investigation into this, Nate.” Sterling warned.
“Why would you possible think I wouldn’t?”
“Because you were in Farliegh” Sterling growled, and Nate felt his insides go cold - but he didn’t react. “And in Dunster town, staying just below the tavern. You were even seen around Hever at the time of the fire.”
That fire was not my fault Nate thought, wishing he could defend himself because really how were they supposed to know the crazy Lord would rather see his collection burnt than stolen. He didn’t say any of this to Sterling, however, staying stonily silent, gracing the knight with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. If the man had connected the dots, nothing Nate could say would save him, and if he had yet to work it out Nate could well condemn himself with hasty words. He let Sterling lead the conversation. He was, after all, yet to draw his sword.
“I know what you’re doing, Nate.” Sterling warned
“Do you?”
“You’re trying to prove your nobility again.”
“Am I?” Nate returned, the new view throwing him off a little. Somehow Sterling had not only failed to work it out, but had reached an entirely incorrect conclusion. Proving his honour? Nate could work with that.
“You are. You want to return to the service of our king. You’ve been trying to solve these crimes and bring them to justice, thus showing the king and his knights that you are worthy again.”
“How is it working??” Nate asked, placing the smallest amount of hope into his voice that it sounded as if it was an accident that he let it slip. He wondered, for a moment, if he had learnt these skills of deception in the last few weeks or in his service to the crown. It spoke volumes of the knighthood he had held that he couldn’t really tell.
“Well you haven’t managed it yet” Sterling smirked, and Nate looked away as if spurned, hoping that Sterling would allow the ‘victory’ to let his guard down further. Nate had no plans, but anything that let the Knight think he had the upper hand would strengthen nate’s position. “But there are enough men in the kingdom fighting for the law despite not belonging to the crown that we understand the merit of it. Tavern brawls are more often broken up by the local man than the Blackpol crest.”
“Are you telling me I can keep doing what I’m doing?” Nate asked, with some measure of internal amusement.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to tell you that you have to stop being a questing man, or vigilante, or whatever it is you think of yourself as. Continue fighting for the crown, or whatever you think of yourself as doing that helps you get up in the morning, if you really feel you must. However.” Sterling’s eyes darkened “The king is worried for your state of mind.”
Nate raised an eyebrow “How touching.”
“Hardly. By that, I mean, we don’t worry about you but the people you may face. And thus, the king has decreed that should you kill a man, you will face trial as a murderer, with no care for your personal ideas of justice.”
“A normal man would be given some level of forgiveness were the one he killed a thief or outlaw. He may even be paid and thanked for his service to the land.” Nate would never consider killing another man, except maybe the king - who was too out of reach. For now. However, he needed to state the complaint, it was expected of him. He and Sterling were dancing, nothing more.
“Then you understand the extent to which we no longer trust your judgement.”
“You’ve been saying ‘we’. You have become even more of a snake in the king’s ear, I presume.”
“If you do manage to capture the people responsible for a crime in the kingdom, and have evidence,” Sterling continued, ignoring Nate, “you will give both to a trusted bounty hunter and allow him to bring them to the king. You are still forbidden from the castle, town and immediate lands therewith up to six leagues around. That has not and will not change soon.”
“So I will gain no reward for my work.” It is not a question, but a conclusion.
“You should have considered that before you threw the crest back into the face of your king.”
Nate glowered at Sterling, and there was no acting this time. Sterling knew the reason Nate had spoken so out of turn to his king to such an extent as he was committing treason.
“Oh, grow up, Nate.” Sterling said, with distaste “It was a bloody battle. People die in battles. Sometimes they’re children.” Nate still didn’t bother to speak. He had had this argument with Sterling enough times, along with tens of others. “You are lucky the king did not have your tongue, or hand, for the way you spoke to him. Most would not have made it out of such a confrontation intact, forget with no more than a banishment and a healthy pay-off. Be thankful”
“I would be more thankful if I had my son at my side.”
“Look, Nate, I liked you. I’m sorry about Sam, and I’m sorry it tore you and Lady Magdeline apart. But it’s time for you to move on, don’t you think?”
“How do you know I’m not?” He wasn’t.
“Because I know you. I knew you. Just…” Sterling glared at him, then turned to go. “Stay away from the Manor. Go elsewhere, leave town. We don’t need your help.”
“Wait…” Nate looked down as he thought, hearing Sterling stop at the edge of the clearing. “Why am I to stay away from this one entirely, but am allowed to try and help other people?”
“This is a matter of the king.”
“I thought just gold was stolen. And it wasn’t the kings, even. This would normally be investigated, but not with such secrecy.”
“yes, secrecy - it is not for you to know.”
“You know how good I am at finding stuff out. Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”
Sterling glared at Nate, who shrugged.
“I would run you through if you came to the manor again, after I’ve warned you like this.”
“Or you could just tell me.”
“…There was an artefact stolen along with the jewels. Something of great power. The thieves probably don’t even know what they have. Now will you go?”
“Sure” Nate said, with a grin at Sterling’s back “I’ll be long gone by the end of the day.”
Long gone with a chest of gold and an artefact of great power. But Sterling didn’t need to know that.
REST OF THE STORY
this is where it gets crap
Elliot stormed into the small camp his band were set up in, glaring around the clearing with murderous intent. His eyes alighted on Parker, the slim thief sorting through her lock pick collection and tossing any broken tools. She glanced up under his gaze, raising her eyebrows in that somewhat manic looking way she often does.
“Where’s Hardison” Elliot growled, his fists at his sides.
“Yeah, what?” Came a voice from inside one of the tents, to Elliot’s left, before Hardison stuck his head out with bleary eyes. He had been napping. Of course he had been.
“Were you asleep?!”
“Uh, yeah, but that’s okay, I can talk.” Hardison said, missing the point entirely. He pulled himself out the tent, straightening out his tunic and belt once he stood up with a stretch.
“Why’d you need to sleep” Elliot demanded, his rocky tone belying that there wasn’t worry there, but anger. “You said you slept well last night.”
Hardison watched him with barely concealed panic. He flicked his eyes to Parker and then back to Eliot before she even had chance to shrug. His own shoulder twitched up. “I don’t know, man, I was tired.”
“It wasn’t because you went into the woods last night to do your…” Elliot waved at Hardison in general “Stuff.” Hardison raised an eyebrow.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“There were some farmers wives at the tavern in town. Talking about someone seeing a warlock in the forest last night!”
Hardison’s lips formed a surprised O, before he clamped his mouth shut. “That… could have been anyone. Lots of warlocks round here.”
“Not really” Parker piped up, having tidied her lock picks and started watching the two of them like they were a travelling troupe.
“Who’s side are you on?!” Hardison demanded of her, and she grinned a fleeting smile and shrugged again, her eyes wide and glittering with amusement.
“He was a Moor” Elliot growled, dragging the conversation back on track. Hardison scewed his mouth in a way that said he was trying to think of something sensible to divert his attention.
“Yeah, there are less… yes, that was me.” Elliot glared. “I needed to get my head straight, okay! Something’s really off with this place and I couldn’t sleep!”
“You couldn’t sleep so you decided to put the whole damn crew in danger by going and chatting to a fox?!”
“It was an Owl, actually” Hardison countered, as if it made any difference at all. “And I checked! I made sure there was no one about!”
“Oh, yeah, sure, cause you’re so aware of your surroundings all the time.”
“No, man, I mean I checked” He waved a hand towards his head for a moment, glaring at Elliot in a challenge to say that his skills in that area are anything but the best. Hardison was, without doubt, the best warlock an honest thief could find without being stuck either with an evil madman or some lout who spent the whole time angsting about how being a warlock was illegal and boohoo they’re theives everything they do is illegal.
Elliot still returned Hardison’s glare, in full force, refusing to back down.
“Well however it is that they found out, we have to get out of this place, and preferably soon enough to put a few miles between us and here before sundown.”
“But Nate’s a day’s ride away” Parker piped up, concern in her voice, furrowing her eyebrows.
“Exactly.” Elliot growled, throwing his arms up in annoyance. He sighed and rubbed his eyes - Hardison wisely remained silent. Elliot didn’t like this - they had a plan, they were supposed to be able to stick to it. He was nothing if not adaptable, but he hated leaving Nate without Elliot’s skills in tracking or fighting. Nate could defend himself fine, he used to be a Knight after all, but if an angry mob came looking for a sorcerer and Nate got caught in the middle, unable to follow the crew or cover his own tracks from the mob, it would only end badly. This was what Elliot’s job was, and he couldn’t do it with Nate a day away. “He shouldn’t have gone without us!” He growled, more to himself.
“None of us could’ve convinced him, Elliot.” Hardison responded anyway, crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels.
“We don’t have a choice, really.” Parker piped up, standing up with a bounce. Elliot raised an eyebrow in her direction. “We have to go, and Nate can find us later.”
“And how will he find us, Parker? Any clue we leave for him the townspeople’ll see and be able to follow us. And if they bring the knights into it - and might I remind you they are a mere two hours away looking into the theft of a large chest the content of which we are carrying” Elliot indicated the tent holding their spoils - it’ll be even more impossible for us to leave something behind for Nate that won’t lead them right to us!”
“I could leave something for him” Hardison offered, and Elliot glanced uncomfortably at him, weighing the options in his head. Behind him, Parker began packing up as if a decision had already been reached.
“I don’t know, Hardison. It doesn’t seem safe.”
“Okay, look.” The sorcerer said with a glare, “I know you don’t really get my stuff, and so you don’t really trust it, but if you keep refusing to use it and going for more dangerous things instead, I am out of here. I can help with this.” Hardison forced Eliot to look at him, his gaze intense. “So let me.”
The two of them held eachother’s gazes for a few intense seconds. They were a relatively new crew, only a few weeks together, and they had yet to fully find a balance among them. Maybe, Elliot thought, trusting Hardison here would be a step to the team working better together. So he nodded, a grimance on his face, and Hardison returned it with equal solemnity, before turning away to start the spell they would use to contact Nate.
_*_*_*_*_
Nate rode into the town near their camp slowly, his horse tired from the long day’s ride. He was greeted by nods from some townspeople, and glaring mistrust from others, as always was the way with small towns. He was only passing through, on the way to the camp, but wanted to go to the tavern first - he habitually attended the local meeting place when they were camping near towns, to see the lay of the land. He didn’t know whether Elliot would have done the same, in his absence, so he decided to go anyway. He tethered his horse outside, telling the stable boy loitering nearby he wouldn’t be long and would only need hay for his steed. Handing him a copper piece for his effort, Nate walked in and made his way to the bar, nodding to the master.
“A tankard of ale, if you will.” He asked, settling himself on the table nearby. The barman grunted and went about filling his order, giving Nate the chance to glance around the inn. The place was relatively empty, just a few mussed looking man sat around nursing pints and lost in their own thoughts. There was only one barmaid walking about, a busty but tired looking woman with kind looking eyes. She replaced the drink of one of the other customers with a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, evidently aware of what it was that was eating him. The man, an old and thin man with a few days of unkempt beard clinging to his face, smiled back sadly, but didn’t exchange any words with her. Evidently the barmaid was the one Nate would need to talk to for information, rather than the distant and inattentive barkeep.
Soon enough, the maid walked over with Nate’s drink, smiling warmly at him as she placed it in front of him, and he nodded in return when he picked it up.
“Quite empty, today…” Nate said, in question.
“I know, it’s normally fuller. I’m afraid if you want to see what the town is really like, you’ll have to come back in a few days. The town has other things on its mind today.”
Warning bells went off in Nate’s head, as he silently gauged the distance to the camp from here and whether he could warn his team before the townspeople sought the knights in the next town over and told them the faction who had stolen the jewels was here.
“It’s…” The barmaid leant in, conspiritually. “It’s a warlock, they say. Saw him in the forest last night - and he was black skinned, too! We don’t see much of them around here, no one wants to trade this area, so what’s he doing here? He’s gotta be evil, like the kingdom says, everyone in town thinks. Me, I’ve never met a warlock, good or bad, so I figure we just let ‘im move on, you know? But the men o’ the town think if they catch ‘im and get the knights, they’ll have a chance to go to the castle and get knighted. You know them, they’re all about duty. So they’s all off getting ready to go into the forest to catch ‘im at sundown. Freya says they get power from the sun, see, so he’ll be weakest then.”
Nate had listened to the whole speech with a commendably straight face, despite his insides being twisted up in fear. If Elliot and the crew hadn’t had chance to hear this news they could be caught completely by surprise.
“Right.” Was all he said, feigning disinterest. He shrugged and drank is beer. “Well I’m just passing through anyway.”
“Alright then. You enjoy your ale now, and call me if you want anything more.” Nate nodded, then quickly took a few gulps of his drink as she walked away and stood up. He knew such a hasty exit - mere minutes after arriving - would raise suspicion, but his team was more important than what news of his strange activites might reach the knights, and Sterling’s, ears. He tossed a couple of silver coins on the table and turned to go, righting his cloak around his shoulders.
“Hey” The voice halted him at the doorway, and he turned to see the morose man he had see on arrival watching him with sharper eyes than he would have suspected. “Don’t” He said, simply, almost like a warning. Worried the man had somehow worked out his plan, his hand found the dagger in his belt. It wasn’t much, but if he needed to escape it could give him the chance he needed.
“Don’t what?” He asked, still maintaining the façade of a disinterested traveller.
“Oh, don’t give me that. You leave the moment you hear the story? I know what you’re planning.”
“Do you?” There might be a point in the conversation where two word answers wouldn’t be enough, but as Nate edged towards the door he hoped he would be gone by then.
“The townspeople don’t need you. That dumbass warlock is as good as dead already. They don’t need your help.”
Nate let his hand fall from the dagger. “You think he deserves life.” He said with a tilt of his head.
“Warlocks aren’t as bad as the king will have you believe.” The old man said. “We should let them be.”
“Well, don’t worry.” Nate said with a small smile. “I don’t plan on harming him.” He turned to go and walked out the door.
Much. He thinks, contemplating the danger Hardison put them all in going out and practicing where someone could see him. Even if Nate managed to get to them soon, the time they would have to escape before sundown would be minimal, especially with their spoils.
He shooed off the boy tending his horse and mounted quickly. With a swift kick, he was off in the direction of the camp.
_*_*_*_*_
He arrived some half an hour later, his already tired horse huffing with the effort of carrying him so quickly through the unwelcoming terrain of the forest. He promised he would reward the steed well that night, the beast a companion of his ever since he was a knight with King Ian. He approached the camp slowly, allowing his horse to step on the loud parts of the ground - he needed Elliot not to attack him before working out it was him.
Hi effort was misplaced, though - he arrived in the clearing where they had made camp some days before to find it empty, the only sign of their presence the burnt circle in the middle where the fire had sat. He cast around for anything that could tell him where his team was; had another force, more manevolent than the townspeople, found the team and captured them? Hardison would catch a high price, for bounty, especially sold to the king. But no; Nate calmed himself as he noted the lack of tracks leaving the clearing. This was the work of Elliot, trying to avoid tracking, something he wouldn’t have been able to do if he had been caught. So the team had learnt about the danger, somehow, and run.
This didn’t really put Nate’s mind at rest, completely. They were still a new team, really, and there was a chance the group of thieves had decided they needn’t warn Nate and simply go on their own, the chest from their last heist enough of an incentive to cut Nate out. He quickly quashed that thought - he knew this team, despite that they were so new, and new they wouldn’t do that.
“Hardison?” He called, not really expecting anything to come of it but knowing enough about magic to give it a try. If Hardison had left something magical behind for Nate to find, it wouldn’t be able to activate just on his arrival unless Hardison had had a few hours to prepare the spell. Instead, Nate calling Hardison’s name with familiarity (as anyone who knew a mote of magic knew that there was a power in names) was a relatively easy trigger for Hardison to set up on the go, if they had had limited time to flee.
Sure enough, there was a rustle of leaves behind him as a small breeze brushed at the end of Nate’s cloak, prompting him to turn around and find the source. By the firepit, where Hardison’s tent had been, and presumably where he had sat to set up the spell, the leaves rose slowly until there was a swirling mess the height of a man in front of Nate. The spell worked for a few moments, and nate allowed it to gather power and form, knowing that even this simple spell was not one you could expect to be rushed.
Some seconds later, there was a quiet crack, like distant thunder, and the leaves were blown down and away from the figure now standing in their place. There stood Hardison, or a somewhat faded out and thin looking copy. Nate smirked when he noticed the earing the sorcerer always wore on his right ear - a magical piece he had yet to explain to Nate and the team, but which he kept on always anyway - was on the wrong side, and he looked a little skewed. Nate was seeing what Hardison saw when he looked In the mirror, rather than what everyone else saw looking at Hardison. It was a rookie mistake, in an imitation spell like this, but Nate figured Hardison had opted for speed, not quality, and put the misstep out of mind.
The imitation stared at Nate, as if waiting for something.
“Leverage” Nate said, causing the imitation to nod. The spell didn’t need a prompt from the receiver, but their crew had decided early on that the extra piece of security couldn’t hurt. It didn’t take barely any extra effort for a warlock as good as Hardison, and it meant that if someone managed to initiate the imitation they still wouldn’t get the knowledge out of it unless they knew the exact word to say. Hardison had chosen “leverage” thanks to Nate’s habit of seeking some form of it in any situation, and using it to sell their skills more than once. The importance of leverage had been something Nate had lived by for most of his life, but now it had become something of an anthe for the team, too.
“The townspeople are after us. Saw me doing some work in the forest - which is pretty much impossible, by the way, I-“ The imitation paused and glared off over Nate’s shoulder, doubtless where Elliot had been sat when Hardison had been speaking the report for the spell. Mock Hardison grumbled, shrugged, and looked back at Nate again. “We had to scamper, no way of leaving something for you with the whole town on warpath. This was the best way. South to the river, then west upstream to the first village.”
The Imitation flickered, now pointing south, presumably the path they took to the river.
“That could be a two day ride” Nate said to himself, unhappy in setting a rendevouz point they didn’t know previously, instead having to just assume that there was a town upstream and that it was far enough away that the crew would be safe hiding there until Nate caught up. Nate rubbed his eyes - this whole situation was far from optimal, a caconophy of worse cases and what ifs worrying Nate.
“If we’ve travelled three days and haven’t reached a town, we’ll camp there for you. We’re riding through the night after we pack up, now. Once we put some distance between us and here, tomorrow, we’ll start travelling as normal.
‘As normal’ didn’t just tell Nate the speed the team would be travelling, and whether they would be stopping at night, but also the types of places they would make camp, the protection measures they would take, the times they took watch and to what extent Elliot would work to cover their tracks. It was strange that, after just a few weeks as a team, they knew the way the crew ran completely and could trust their own knowledge of eachother at all times. When they had first joined up they had been a mess of mistrust and judgement, their first job leaving them double crossed and as angry at eachother as they were at the man who had played them so completely. Lord Dubenich was small time landowner from the south east, his name showing his somewhat Saxon heritage even more than the shady and secretive way he had met with Nate to tell him of the team he was putting together. Nate, still believing in the code he had been taught, raised a knight, had been reeled in by Dubenich’s speech about how he had been wronged by the local lord and his people were dying for it, Dubenich’s court unable to help them in their time of need. The winter had been hard, this year, a number of kingdoms weakened from a blight that had hurt them all equally. There had been enough kingdoms left starving that desperate measures were being taken across the land to exchange supplies and grain that Dubenich’s story of stolen food had been perfectly believable. The team had artfully cleaned out the supplies Dubenich had directed them to, believing them to be the supplies stolen from Dubenich’s land, and faithfully returned them to their employer.
Who had quickly attempted to blow them up.
It had taken a hugely elaborate plan to double cross Dubenich back, but in the end they had liberated the food back from the Lord - learning in the process that the grain had been the last of that owned by the Lord they had taken it from, and Dubenich had hoped both to Bolster his own supplies and weaken the land on his border, bettering the chances of success for the war party he had been putting together. It was underhand, but not unseen among the bloodthirsty politics of Britain; either way, Nate and the team weren’t going to stand for it. You don’t doube cross Sir Ford, and you certainly don’t use his son to do it.
They had also used the help of Lady Sophia, a beautiful Lady thief from Nate’s past, as the face of their revenge. Sophie had since returned to court, maintaining her double life with the slick efficiency she carried everywhere. Nate put her from his mind - he didn’t need to think about her. She was a woman who worked alone, and with no staple partnership, and she had been the only one who hadn’t returned to him after that first mission. Nate thougt about her often, having expected her to make her way to him in time, but evidently he had miscalculated her.
That first job had turned his remaining crew into a team, but despite the site of a team of knights returning the grain to it’s proper place and distributed fairly, Sophie hadn’t returned.
Nate was broken from his reverie by the sounds of men in the forest behind him. They were some distance away, speaking with brash and loud voices and crashing through the forest. Nate glanced up at the treeline, seeing the sun begin to dip below, and shook his head. The townspeople had evidently lost their patience, the young men too intent on being heroes to bother with any real technique. Not that waiting would have meant much - Hardison’s power waned at sunrise, not sunset, and even then it was more that it removed any constant spells, rather than weakening Hardison’s skill at, say, throwing fireballs. For example, the imitation spell would collapse on it’s own at sunrise, even if it was left in perfect condition. Either way, nate set about hiding it.
“Hide” he commanded it, and the spell destructed in a moment, collapsing in on itself and rustling the leaved around where it had been. Nate strode up to the spot and ran his foot across it, destroying the lines and runes drawn into the ground below the leaves. He shoved some leaves across it and knelt down beside the fire, picking up one of the sticks. Soon enough, the sound of the townspeople arrived, sticks and pitchforks and a few swords gripped tightly in their hands. Their momentum faltered, however, when they saw only Nate - at their front stood a boy barely out of his teens, who had been running ahead of the group ducked low to the ground. Now, he crouched to the floor and began inspecting the ground. Evidently he had been the tracker who had led the mob to the camp from wherever it was the Hardison had been seen, but Nate wasn’t worried that he would be able to follow the group, not with Elliot’s skills in covering tracks. While the boy sought the way the crew took leaving the camp, Nate and those at the front of the mob - in reality barely a group of 20 or 25 men - eyed eachother up, the men wary and Nate with a quickly put on air of haughtiness.
“Who are you?” Someone asked, Nate’s gaze quickly seeking out the man who spoke, a young and strong looking man, and one of the few holding a sword, too. Although he didn’t look old enough to hold any authority in village life, he evidently had some skill in battle, and was more outspoken, and for the reason the townspeople appeared to be following him, however unaware of their own actions.
“Who is in charge here?” Nate asked, throwing a wrench in their works from the get-go. He had no intention of starting a fight, or even raising suspicion, but it was always a good technigue to disorient a group, somewhat, before attempting to manipulate them, because it only took one announcement of “that’s a lie!” for the whole group to gain confidence and momentum.
As he had expected, the townspeople looked among themselves, murmering in pairs and threes with no evident consensus. The young man who had spoken looks as though he has had the rug ripped from under him - he could no longer speak for the group without appearing as if he believes himself in charge, which would more than likely offend the elders of the group. In turn, the more elder men present, most of them wielding pitchforks or scythes, looked as if they were going to step forward but were cowed by the young man and the others in the group who held swords. The group shuffled in the disarray only found in such haphazard mobs. Nate dove in, using it to his full advantage.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. My name is Sir Sterling, and I’m one of the knights from the town just west. I had hoped to capture this warlock here, but it would seem he has already eluded me. By his tracks, he went north east, and I am unable to follow him so far from my post…” Nate sighed, the town now watching him avidly, the shine of hero worship in the younger men’s eyes. He looked northeast, in the opposite direction of the river and the crew’s intended destination.
“Perhaps…” A younger boy in the crowd, who hadn’t been one of the few caught out by Nate’s question of authority, gulped and stepped forwards. “I think, Sir, we could go after them for you!”
Nate raised an eyebrow at him, then looked at the rest of the crowd.
“Well, if you think you could… the knights would certainly appreciate the help… But…” Nate grimanced.
“We would manage it, Sir.” The sword wielding man from before announced, stepping forward and raising his sword somewhat. “We would do the town proud and capture this man for the crown.”
“Well.” Nate said, suppressing his smile, “That is commendable.” He nodded, and the man retured it. As Nate walked away, leading his horse west, the townspeople turned northeast.
ooOOoo
Nate circled around to the river after an hour’s ride, confident that the mob would be long gone on the false path he had set them on, and turned west when he reached the banks. He rode through most of the night, only sleeping when the moon neared the treeline, and the dawn waking him an hour later. He didn’t hasten too much, knowing the crew could be two days ahead of him now and he would gain nothing from working his horse out on this day and being unable to travel at a good speed for the rest of the time.
An hour or so after dawn, Nate saw the beginnings of a town with a groan - with the distance from the town where Hardison had been seen being so short, it wasn't enough to protect the team from the people after them. Even with the mob misdirected so completely by Nate, there was nothing to stop the rumours spreading and reaching a town so close by. Elliot would never have let them stop there, not for more than an hour or so, which meant that their trail was cold, Nate unable to catch up unless they had found a way to leave something for him to follow. Nate didn't think the team needed to scatter, and he didn't want it to be forced on them because of a simple mistake. He dismounted at the centre of the village, this one slightly smaller than the last but still having a tavern at it's centre. Nate appraised the building - it didn't look to have any official rooms, most of it's patrons were probably local people with a home a short walk away. Despite that, it more than likely had something equatable for when a traveller like Nate does pass through.
The ex-knight sighed, dismounting, and tied his horse up outside, patting it on the side of the neck and taking his sword to strap to his hip. He didn't think anyone in this town intended to harm him, but he was on high alert at the moment, split up from his team and persued by the rumour mill that could have he and the crew executed on site, if it reached the knights. It didn't hurt to be paranoid, at times like these.
He walked in to the tavern with a straight back, hoping to get across his high-class background. In a town like this, even hinting that he might hold some form of official position was often the best way to get people to listen to him. He had only been greeted amicably on the way towards the tavern, so counted that this wasn't a town particularly repressed or plundered by those in power.
Sure enough, the man running the tavern - who Nate could only identify because he hadn't anyone else with him, rather than that he looked particularly menacing or domineering. He was, in fact, washing a table when Nate walked in, but stopped to level him with a bright smile when he saw the way he held himself.
"Hello, sir!" the tender smiled, and Nate could only be amused by the flattery, approaching the man and shaking his hand in greeting.
"Hello. I was wondering if I could hire a room for an hour? Somewhere private." the bartender leant back on his heels and looked Nate up and down, a ponderous - but not unfriendly - look on his face.
"You don't happen to be friends with the bloke who came in here a few days ago? Asked me the same question? 'e held himself like a knight too, though wasn't too happy when he called him so."
"Sometimes even knights can't travel in all their mail."
"On something secret, are you, sir? Just came from the east?" the man's eyes sparkled with interest, evidently believing Nate and the man - who Nate could only imagine was Elliot - were knights traveling incognito back from the rather unfriendly border to the east. Nate didn't refute the assumption, as always allowing the other party to draw their own, incorrect, conclusions.
"Just tell me where you directed my friend."
"Oh, of course! Right!" the man dropped his cloth on the table and indicated behind him, before turning and walking into the back room behind the tavern. It's a simple space, a roll at across one side and a collection of boxes and kegs on the other side. It wasn't the best situation, but more than private enough to Elliot to hide something for Nate. This was moving away from the crews usual habits, when split up, but it was something they had done once or twice on jobs - they always hid clues and messages in similar places, hard to find if you don't know they're there but increasingly recognizable to Nate, having exchanged things in this way a few times now. The moment he walked in, he saw the rafter where anything Elliot would have left would surely be hidden. Schooling his expression, Nate turned to thank the man and ask for privacy.
He was faced with a sword to his throat.
"Tell me where the sorcerer is!" the bartender snarled, his previously friendly expression curled aggressively now. Nate put his hands up placatingly.
"What sorcerer?"
"Don't play dumb" the man warned, shifting his grip on the sword. Nate noted that his hold on the weapon was amateur, the hold of someone more used to wielding the weapon to intimidate but rarely having used it against a professional. If Nate could draw his sword, or even find a better position to defend with what he could reach, he would take the man out in a heartbeat - but it took no expertise at all to run a man through when you have him backed against the wall and a sword at his throat.
"I mean you no harm, my dear man" Nate said, calmly, as if he wasn't the one with the glaring disadvantage.
"Just tell me where he is!" the bartender seemed agitated, almost as scared as he was aggressive.
"Why do you want a sorcerer? You have no business there."
"everyone has business with sorcerers, Sir," now the honorary was scathing, an insult, if that were possible "Take them to the king and you'll be set for life!"
"And why do you think I am with him? Why do you even think he passed this way? I doubt an enrobed man would stroll through a town so loyal to the king as this."
"After your friend, a day after he rode out, a man came 'ere and told me he had intended to leave something for someone, you, I presume," the bartender snarled at him, looking him up and down. "He told me he meant to leave something so his friend could find them. Cause they're after a sorcerer!"
Nate furrowed his eyebrows - what man could that be, who knew the way they worked so intimately? It was entirely unlikely that the crew had been followed or listening in upon - they were said to be the best of the best for a reason. This was a worrying development, to be sure.
Not that Nate would be able to think on it if the manrun him through.
"Alright, you have to believe me. I am a knight-“ Nate wondered if his constant obsession with maquarading as a knight was telling of his state of mind “And I am here on the business of the king. Did you think, maybe, that the man who talked to you was a sorcerer himself? Even just a fugitive?”
The sword at Nate’s throat dropped a little, as its owner considered this possibility, but snapped back to place after barely a moment, and before Nate could act.
“Then why did he tell me to go tell the knights when I know where the sorcerer was!?”
Nate allowed his worry and fear to show through completely on his face. “Did you go tell the knights?”
“No! Had to wait fr you, didn’t I? Take you to them!”
“Oh thank god!” Nate said, the barman confused at Nate suddenly acting guilty where before he denied it all. “You don’t want to tell the knights!” Nate explained “The man in charge, one sir Sterling - he’s a bloodthirsty cockroach, and would sooner run you through on sight than let you waste his time!” Nate removed one of his gloves, quickly, and began to roll up his arm. “You see this!?” He brandished his forearm, a short but deep looking scar standing out there. The bartender ogled it with fear, his attention on the sword dropping. “I got that because I used his cloak by accident and got it muddy!” He had actually gotten that from a group of bandits, while in the king’s service, but he didn’t see the harm in lying to save his own neck - literally.
The bartender leaned in, lowering the sword a little more, to take a look at the stab wound with deep interest. Nate took the opportunity. Using the reinforced cuffs hidden under the arm he hadn’t taken off, he batted the sword to the side and brought the scarred arm off, punching the man, hard, in the face. He stumbled back, the sword in his hand coming free with the smallest tug from Nate. Dropping it in favour of his own sword, Nate drew his weapon and held it, much more professionally, at the man’s throat, their positions now reversed as he cowered against the opposite wall.
“Where is the package my friend left.” Nate growled, pretty sure that, by now, a suspicious man would have searched the room extensively. The bartender quailed.
“Its in my pocket! My pocket!” He wailed, his head thrown back and away from the sword - a stupid move, as it bared his throat to the sword, but Nate wasn’t about to correct him. He deftly searched the barman’s pockets, pulling out a leather pouch. He stuffed it in his own pocket, not bothering to open it here.
“What is it!? Is it a charm? A totem? Whaat?”
“It’s my wife’s” Nate growled. “Sterling and the knights had it taken from me some years ago, and only now have I been able to retrieve it. There is no sorcerer, there was never any danger to you. But the knights of King Ian are bloodthirsty and intemperable. Forgive me that I had to include you in this.” With that, Nate drew back his sword and, with the butt, hit the man on the head. He went down without a sound.
“You should be thankful I’m not one of King Ian’s knights.” Nate warned his prone form. “or I would kill you to keep you quiet.”
The lie about his wife would be enough to keep the man from running to the king and endangering Nate, and nate held little remorse that it might leave the man terrified of Sterling’s men for the rest of his life - little could be gained from increased time with those men.
Nate rode out of town at a canter, ignoring the calls from disgruntled residents as he called for them to move out the way. He hoped to avoid inciting a mob in this town, as well, after him for beating up their tavern keeper; he preferred to move with stealth, nowadays, and it wouldn’t be hard for Sterling to start noticing if he and his crew managed to piss off three leagues worth of villages. The leather pouch burned a whole in his breast pocket, Nate desperate to use it and learn of his crew, the strange informant that had told the bartender of them weighed on Nate’s mind heavily - could he have caught up with the crew already? Could he present a real danger to them all?
Yeah well I told you it was crap. I'm just getting participation points here.
You may read the opening peice, a three page prologue of sorts, which is actually good, but after that I will tell you that you have to stop, and if you do not SHAME ON YOU.
There are also two graphics to go with it:
The Blackpol Crest (King Ian, of the Blackpol line, is currently on the throne in this fic, and Sterling walks around with his crest on his cloak.)
And here is Lady Sophia! Who would be later in the story, if I ever continued it (ahaha sorry)
And now, on to the fic!
PROLOGUE
“Sterling” Nate said, his voice low, as he and his old brother-in-arms circled each other wearily in the clearing.
The sun was up, now; the hours Nate had spent waiting for Sterling in the bright clearing leaving the sun almost at its apex. The high angle meant that the rays of light pierced the heavy trees, dappling the bottom of the overhung clearing with a patchwork of yellow and green. The sun glinted off Sterling’s vambraces; Nate’s own, leather tunic was much less startling, almost letting him melt into the browns and shadows of the forest around them, too dense for the sunlight to reach. Despite his sticking to the shadows, though, Nate stood tall, his blue eyes shining out towards Sterling, vigilant and ready for anything.
Sterling was the one dressed in the royal crest, but Nate looked more a knight than the other man ever would.
“That’s Sir Sterling, actually.” Sterling responded, a smirk on his face. “Or have you already forgotten what it means?” He indicated his cloak as he asked, the crest glinting in the sunlight. Nate actually did look at it, the sparrowhawk and the Blackpoll warbler, the first in flight and the second poised at the forefront of the image. Nate saw new decoration around the birds of the crest, meaning either a new house had been joined -through marriage or war - to their kingdom or King Ian had simply let his overgrown ego bleed out into the rest of the castle. Nate wouldn’t have been surprised by either. Or both.
Nate flicked his eyes back to Sterling, his contemplation of the crest taking nothing more than a glance.
“I know what it means” He said, his voice ringing out across the clearing. “It means that you serve the king, no matter what he tells you to do. It means that at his word you will put and innocent to death or raze a village to the ground for a crime its people may or may not have done.” Nate stopped his walking, the two of them squaring off across the way, Nate’s arms crossed. “Now, if you have the time” He said, an eyebrow raised “I’ll tell you what being a knight is supposed to mean.”
“You’re a romantic, Nate.” Sterling returned, his voice dripping with a disdainful amusement at the idea, before his tone dropped to one of pure disdain; “It’s pathetic.” He tacked on.
Nate smirked, staring Sterling down. He was confident enough in his beliefs that Sterling’s taunts washed off him. These last few weeks may have taken a distinctly surreal turn, but he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders because of them, his days brightening as the tavern ale slowly washed from his systems.
“I’ve met stable boys with less naïve ideas of the nobility of serving a king.” Sterling continued, despite Nate’s evident disinterest.
“I don’t think you’ve ever stooped so low as to talk to a stable boy. You surely wouldn’t want to risk infecting yourself with your humanity”
“Not to mention horse dung” Sterling agreed, a smirk on his own features now. “Honestly Nate, if you’re hoping to appeal to my kindness and compassion, your senses have been more addled in the taverns of Carmarthen than we were lead to believe.”
“Well it was worth a try, I suppose” Nate shrugged.
There was a pause, the two men watching each other across the clearing. After a few seconds, they simultaneously shook their head in a “no, not really” movement. “So, Nate!” Sterling announced, quickly, turning and walking around the clearing, his eyes on the grass at his feet. Nate knew not to trust when Sterling looked unaware and matched his movements, starting their wary circling of each other over again. “Where have you been, recently?” the knight continued.
“Oh, around.” Nate said, shrugging. “I woke up in a small village near Amberley keep, uh… two weeks ago?” the two men continued to walk, but Nate looked away from Sterling and up at the trees, feigning intent though into the matter. Sterling didn’t even bother to grace the act with a glance. “I travelled north for two days, then took rest at a Tavern somewhere - not sure where. I meant to stay the night but ended up left a few days. Then… let me see…” Nate sighed dramatically, drawing an annoyed glance from Sterling. Suddenly, Nate stopped. “Oh, yes, then I stole a case of gold from a Baron with the help of a thief and an ex-bandit, helped a sorcerer escape the law and ran off into the night to start a life of crime.”
Nate had, with no small effort on his part, avoided looking at Sterling through the ‘confession’, but now glanced at the man with a face he hoped portrayed how hard he was refraining from asking if Sterling was serious. Sterling stared back with a murderous glare, the schooled expression making Nate wish he had looked over, just to see the look of inevitable surprise the knight had worn when Nate had started talking - the one that, by now, he had wiped from his face. Nate continued on, despite the violent promise the look made.
“Sterling, I have done nothing in these last few days that I haven’t been doing this last year. When I heard you had left the keep on a quest to find me, as the barmaids took great joy in calling it, I had to meet you and put you out of your apparent befuddlement. Yes, I was in town when the Hayfield manor was robbed, but I don’t know anything about it!”
Sterling turned to face Nate, full on, and didn’t bother to hide the fact that his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Nate wasn’t cowed; he didn’t believe Sterling would draw on him unless Nate acted first.
“Stay away from the investigation into this, Nate.” Sterling warned.
“Why would you possible think I wouldn’t?”
“Because you were in Farliegh” Sterling growled, and Nate felt his insides go cold - but he didn’t react. “And in Dunster town, staying just below the tavern. You were even seen around Hever at the time of the fire.”
That fire was not my fault Nate thought, wishing he could defend himself because really how were they supposed to know the crazy Lord would rather see his collection burnt than stolen. He didn’t say any of this to Sterling, however, staying stonily silent, gracing the knight with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. If the man had connected the dots, nothing Nate could say would save him, and if he had yet to work it out Nate could well condemn himself with hasty words. He let Sterling lead the conversation. He was, after all, yet to draw his sword.
“I know what you’re doing, Nate.” Sterling warned
“Do you?”
“You’re trying to prove your nobility again.”
“Am I?” Nate returned, the new view throwing him off a little. Somehow Sterling had not only failed to work it out, but had reached an entirely incorrect conclusion. Proving his honour? Nate could work with that.
“You are. You want to return to the service of our king. You’ve been trying to solve these crimes and bring them to justice, thus showing the king and his knights that you are worthy again.”
“How is it working??” Nate asked, placing the smallest amount of hope into his voice that it sounded as if it was an accident that he let it slip. He wondered, for a moment, if he had learnt these skills of deception in the last few weeks or in his service to the crown. It spoke volumes of the knighthood he had held that he couldn’t really tell.
“Well you haven’t managed it yet” Sterling smirked, and Nate looked away as if spurned, hoping that Sterling would allow the ‘victory’ to let his guard down further. Nate had no plans, but anything that let the Knight think he had the upper hand would strengthen nate’s position. “But there are enough men in the kingdom fighting for the law despite not belonging to the crown that we understand the merit of it. Tavern brawls are more often broken up by the local man than the Blackpol crest.”
“Are you telling me I can keep doing what I’m doing?” Nate asked, with some measure of internal amusement.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to tell you that you have to stop being a questing man, or vigilante, or whatever it is you think of yourself as. Continue fighting for the crown, or whatever you think of yourself as doing that helps you get up in the morning, if you really feel you must. However.” Sterling’s eyes darkened “The king is worried for your state of mind.”
Nate raised an eyebrow “How touching.”
“Hardly. By that, I mean, we don’t worry about you but the people you may face. And thus, the king has decreed that should you kill a man, you will face trial as a murderer, with no care for your personal ideas of justice.”
“A normal man would be given some level of forgiveness were the one he killed a thief or outlaw. He may even be paid and thanked for his service to the land.” Nate would never consider killing another man, except maybe the king - who was too out of reach. For now. However, he needed to state the complaint, it was expected of him. He and Sterling were dancing, nothing more.
“Then you understand the extent to which we no longer trust your judgement.”
“You’ve been saying ‘we’. You have become even more of a snake in the king’s ear, I presume.”
“If you do manage to capture the people responsible for a crime in the kingdom, and have evidence,” Sterling continued, ignoring Nate, “you will give both to a trusted bounty hunter and allow him to bring them to the king. You are still forbidden from the castle, town and immediate lands therewith up to six leagues around. That has not and will not change soon.”
“So I will gain no reward for my work.” It is not a question, but a conclusion.
“You should have considered that before you threw the crest back into the face of your king.”
Nate glowered at Sterling, and there was no acting this time. Sterling knew the reason Nate had spoken so out of turn to his king to such an extent as he was committing treason.
“Oh, grow up, Nate.” Sterling said, with distaste “It was a bloody battle. People die in battles. Sometimes they’re children.” Nate still didn’t bother to speak. He had had this argument with Sterling enough times, along with tens of others. “You are lucky the king did not have your tongue, or hand, for the way you spoke to him. Most would not have made it out of such a confrontation intact, forget with no more than a banishment and a healthy pay-off. Be thankful”
“I would be more thankful if I had my son at my side.”
“Look, Nate, I liked you. I’m sorry about Sam, and I’m sorry it tore you and Lady Magdeline apart. But it’s time for you to move on, don’t you think?”
“How do you know I’m not?” He wasn’t.
“Because I know you. I knew you. Just…” Sterling glared at him, then turned to go. “Stay away from the Manor. Go elsewhere, leave town. We don’t need your help.”
“Wait…” Nate looked down as he thought, hearing Sterling stop at the edge of the clearing. “Why am I to stay away from this one entirely, but am allowed to try and help other people?”
“This is a matter of the king.”
“I thought just gold was stolen. And it wasn’t the kings, even. This would normally be investigated, but not with such secrecy.”
“yes, secrecy - it is not for you to know.”
“You know how good I am at finding stuff out. Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”
Sterling glared at Nate, who shrugged.
“I would run you through if you came to the manor again, after I’ve warned you like this.”
“Or you could just tell me.”
“…There was an artefact stolen along with the jewels. Something of great power. The thieves probably don’t even know what they have. Now will you go?”
“Sure” Nate said, with a grin at Sterling’s back “I’ll be long gone by the end of the day.”
Long gone with a chest of gold and an artefact of great power. But Sterling didn’t need to know that.
REST OF THE STORY
this is where it gets crap
Elliot stormed into the small camp his band were set up in, glaring around the clearing with murderous intent. His eyes alighted on Parker, the slim thief sorting through her lock pick collection and tossing any broken tools. She glanced up under his gaze, raising her eyebrows in that somewhat manic looking way she often does.
“Where’s Hardison” Elliot growled, his fists at his sides.
“Yeah, what?” Came a voice from inside one of the tents, to Elliot’s left, before Hardison stuck his head out with bleary eyes. He had been napping. Of course he had been.
“Were you asleep?!”
“Uh, yeah, but that’s okay, I can talk.” Hardison said, missing the point entirely. He pulled himself out the tent, straightening out his tunic and belt once he stood up with a stretch.
“Why’d you need to sleep” Elliot demanded, his rocky tone belying that there wasn’t worry there, but anger. “You said you slept well last night.”
Hardison watched him with barely concealed panic. He flicked his eyes to Parker and then back to Eliot before she even had chance to shrug. His own shoulder twitched up. “I don’t know, man, I was tired.”
“It wasn’t because you went into the woods last night to do your…” Elliot waved at Hardison in general “Stuff.” Hardison raised an eyebrow.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“There were some farmers wives at the tavern in town. Talking about someone seeing a warlock in the forest last night!”
Hardison’s lips formed a surprised O, before he clamped his mouth shut. “That… could have been anyone. Lots of warlocks round here.”
“Not really” Parker piped up, having tidied her lock picks and started watching the two of them like they were a travelling troupe.
“Who’s side are you on?!” Hardison demanded of her, and she grinned a fleeting smile and shrugged again, her eyes wide and glittering with amusement.
“He was a Moor” Elliot growled, dragging the conversation back on track. Hardison scewed his mouth in a way that said he was trying to think of something sensible to divert his attention.
“Yeah, there are less… yes, that was me.” Elliot glared. “I needed to get my head straight, okay! Something’s really off with this place and I couldn’t sleep!”
“You couldn’t sleep so you decided to put the whole damn crew in danger by going and chatting to a fox?!”
“It was an Owl, actually” Hardison countered, as if it made any difference at all. “And I checked! I made sure there was no one about!”
“Oh, yeah, sure, cause you’re so aware of your surroundings all the time.”
“No, man, I mean I checked” He waved a hand towards his head for a moment, glaring at Elliot in a challenge to say that his skills in that area are anything but the best. Hardison was, without doubt, the best warlock an honest thief could find without being stuck either with an evil madman or some lout who spent the whole time angsting about how being a warlock was illegal and boohoo they’re theives everything they do is illegal.
Elliot still returned Hardison’s glare, in full force, refusing to back down.
“Well however it is that they found out, we have to get out of this place, and preferably soon enough to put a few miles between us and here before sundown.”
“But Nate’s a day’s ride away” Parker piped up, concern in her voice, furrowing her eyebrows.
“Exactly.” Elliot growled, throwing his arms up in annoyance. He sighed and rubbed his eyes - Hardison wisely remained silent. Elliot didn’t like this - they had a plan, they were supposed to be able to stick to it. He was nothing if not adaptable, but he hated leaving Nate without Elliot’s skills in tracking or fighting. Nate could defend himself fine, he used to be a Knight after all, but if an angry mob came looking for a sorcerer and Nate got caught in the middle, unable to follow the crew or cover his own tracks from the mob, it would only end badly. This was what Elliot’s job was, and he couldn’t do it with Nate a day away. “He shouldn’t have gone without us!” He growled, more to himself.
“None of us could’ve convinced him, Elliot.” Hardison responded anyway, crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels.
“We don’t have a choice, really.” Parker piped up, standing up with a bounce. Elliot raised an eyebrow in her direction. “We have to go, and Nate can find us later.”
“And how will he find us, Parker? Any clue we leave for him the townspeople’ll see and be able to follow us. And if they bring the knights into it - and might I remind you they are a mere two hours away looking into the theft of a large chest the content of which we are carrying” Elliot indicated the tent holding their spoils - it’ll be even more impossible for us to leave something behind for Nate that won’t lead them right to us!”
“I could leave something for him” Hardison offered, and Elliot glanced uncomfortably at him, weighing the options in his head. Behind him, Parker began packing up as if a decision had already been reached.
“I don’t know, Hardison. It doesn’t seem safe.”
“Okay, look.” The sorcerer said with a glare, “I know you don’t really get my stuff, and so you don’t really trust it, but if you keep refusing to use it and going for more dangerous things instead, I am out of here. I can help with this.” Hardison forced Eliot to look at him, his gaze intense. “So let me.”
The two of them held eachother’s gazes for a few intense seconds. They were a relatively new crew, only a few weeks together, and they had yet to fully find a balance among them. Maybe, Elliot thought, trusting Hardison here would be a step to the team working better together. So he nodded, a grimance on his face, and Hardison returned it with equal solemnity, before turning away to start the spell they would use to contact Nate.
_*_*_*_*_
Nate rode into the town near their camp slowly, his horse tired from the long day’s ride. He was greeted by nods from some townspeople, and glaring mistrust from others, as always was the way with small towns. He was only passing through, on the way to the camp, but wanted to go to the tavern first - he habitually attended the local meeting place when they were camping near towns, to see the lay of the land. He didn’t know whether Elliot would have done the same, in his absence, so he decided to go anyway. He tethered his horse outside, telling the stable boy loitering nearby he wouldn’t be long and would only need hay for his steed. Handing him a copper piece for his effort, Nate walked in and made his way to the bar, nodding to the master.
“A tankard of ale, if you will.” He asked, settling himself on the table nearby. The barman grunted and went about filling his order, giving Nate the chance to glance around the inn. The place was relatively empty, just a few mussed looking man sat around nursing pints and lost in their own thoughts. There was only one barmaid walking about, a busty but tired looking woman with kind looking eyes. She replaced the drink of one of the other customers with a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, evidently aware of what it was that was eating him. The man, an old and thin man with a few days of unkempt beard clinging to his face, smiled back sadly, but didn’t exchange any words with her. Evidently the barmaid was the one Nate would need to talk to for information, rather than the distant and inattentive barkeep.
Soon enough, the maid walked over with Nate’s drink, smiling warmly at him as she placed it in front of him, and he nodded in return when he picked it up.
“Quite empty, today…” Nate said, in question.
“I know, it’s normally fuller. I’m afraid if you want to see what the town is really like, you’ll have to come back in a few days. The town has other things on its mind today.”
Warning bells went off in Nate’s head, as he silently gauged the distance to the camp from here and whether he could warn his team before the townspeople sought the knights in the next town over and told them the faction who had stolen the jewels was here.
“It’s…” The barmaid leant in, conspiritually. “It’s a warlock, they say. Saw him in the forest last night - and he was black skinned, too! We don’t see much of them around here, no one wants to trade this area, so what’s he doing here? He’s gotta be evil, like the kingdom says, everyone in town thinks. Me, I’ve never met a warlock, good or bad, so I figure we just let ‘im move on, you know? But the men o’ the town think if they catch ‘im and get the knights, they’ll have a chance to go to the castle and get knighted. You know them, they’re all about duty. So they’s all off getting ready to go into the forest to catch ‘im at sundown. Freya says they get power from the sun, see, so he’ll be weakest then.”
Nate had listened to the whole speech with a commendably straight face, despite his insides being twisted up in fear. If Elliot and the crew hadn’t had chance to hear this news they could be caught completely by surprise.
“Right.” Was all he said, feigning disinterest. He shrugged and drank is beer. “Well I’m just passing through anyway.”
“Alright then. You enjoy your ale now, and call me if you want anything more.” Nate nodded, then quickly took a few gulps of his drink as she walked away and stood up. He knew such a hasty exit - mere minutes after arriving - would raise suspicion, but his team was more important than what news of his strange activites might reach the knights, and Sterling’s, ears. He tossed a couple of silver coins on the table and turned to go, righting his cloak around his shoulders.
“Hey” The voice halted him at the doorway, and he turned to see the morose man he had see on arrival watching him with sharper eyes than he would have suspected. “Don’t” He said, simply, almost like a warning. Worried the man had somehow worked out his plan, his hand found the dagger in his belt. It wasn’t much, but if he needed to escape it could give him the chance he needed.
“Don’t what?” He asked, still maintaining the façade of a disinterested traveller.
“Oh, don’t give me that. You leave the moment you hear the story? I know what you’re planning.”
“Do you?” There might be a point in the conversation where two word answers wouldn’t be enough, but as Nate edged towards the door he hoped he would be gone by then.
“The townspeople don’t need you. That dumbass warlock is as good as dead already. They don’t need your help.”
Nate let his hand fall from the dagger. “You think he deserves life.” He said with a tilt of his head.
“Warlocks aren’t as bad as the king will have you believe.” The old man said. “We should let them be.”
“Well, don’t worry.” Nate said with a small smile. “I don’t plan on harming him.” He turned to go and walked out the door.
Much. He thinks, contemplating the danger Hardison put them all in going out and practicing where someone could see him. Even if Nate managed to get to them soon, the time they would have to escape before sundown would be minimal, especially with their spoils.
He shooed off the boy tending his horse and mounted quickly. With a swift kick, he was off in the direction of the camp.
_*_*_*_*_
He arrived some half an hour later, his already tired horse huffing with the effort of carrying him so quickly through the unwelcoming terrain of the forest. He promised he would reward the steed well that night, the beast a companion of his ever since he was a knight with King Ian. He approached the camp slowly, allowing his horse to step on the loud parts of the ground - he needed Elliot not to attack him before working out it was him.
Hi effort was misplaced, though - he arrived in the clearing where they had made camp some days before to find it empty, the only sign of their presence the burnt circle in the middle where the fire had sat. He cast around for anything that could tell him where his team was; had another force, more manevolent than the townspeople, found the team and captured them? Hardison would catch a high price, for bounty, especially sold to the king. But no; Nate calmed himself as he noted the lack of tracks leaving the clearing. This was the work of Elliot, trying to avoid tracking, something he wouldn’t have been able to do if he had been caught. So the team had learnt about the danger, somehow, and run.
This didn’t really put Nate’s mind at rest, completely. They were still a new team, really, and there was a chance the group of thieves had decided they needn’t warn Nate and simply go on their own, the chest from their last heist enough of an incentive to cut Nate out. He quickly quashed that thought - he knew this team, despite that they were so new, and new they wouldn’t do that.
“Hardison?” He called, not really expecting anything to come of it but knowing enough about magic to give it a try. If Hardison had left something magical behind for Nate to find, it wouldn’t be able to activate just on his arrival unless Hardison had had a few hours to prepare the spell. Instead, Nate calling Hardison’s name with familiarity (as anyone who knew a mote of magic knew that there was a power in names) was a relatively easy trigger for Hardison to set up on the go, if they had had limited time to flee.
Sure enough, there was a rustle of leaves behind him as a small breeze brushed at the end of Nate’s cloak, prompting him to turn around and find the source. By the firepit, where Hardison’s tent had been, and presumably where he had sat to set up the spell, the leaves rose slowly until there was a swirling mess the height of a man in front of Nate. The spell worked for a few moments, and nate allowed it to gather power and form, knowing that even this simple spell was not one you could expect to be rushed.
Some seconds later, there was a quiet crack, like distant thunder, and the leaves were blown down and away from the figure now standing in their place. There stood Hardison, or a somewhat faded out and thin looking copy. Nate smirked when he noticed the earing the sorcerer always wore on his right ear - a magical piece he had yet to explain to Nate and the team, but which he kept on always anyway - was on the wrong side, and he looked a little skewed. Nate was seeing what Hardison saw when he looked In the mirror, rather than what everyone else saw looking at Hardison. It was a rookie mistake, in an imitation spell like this, but Nate figured Hardison had opted for speed, not quality, and put the misstep out of mind.
The imitation stared at Nate, as if waiting for something.
“Leverage” Nate said, causing the imitation to nod. The spell didn’t need a prompt from the receiver, but their crew had decided early on that the extra piece of security couldn’t hurt. It didn’t take barely any extra effort for a warlock as good as Hardison, and it meant that if someone managed to initiate the imitation they still wouldn’t get the knowledge out of it unless they knew the exact word to say. Hardison had chosen “leverage” thanks to Nate’s habit of seeking some form of it in any situation, and using it to sell their skills more than once. The importance of leverage had been something Nate had lived by for most of his life, but now it had become something of an anthe for the team, too.
“The townspeople are after us. Saw me doing some work in the forest - which is pretty much impossible, by the way, I-“ The imitation paused and glared off over Nate’s shoulder, doubtless where Elliot had been sat when Hardison had been speaking the report for the spell. Mock Hardison grumbled, shrugged, and looked back at Nate again. “We had to scamper, no way of leaving something for you with the whole town on warpath. This was the best way. South to the river, then west upstream to the first village.”
The Imitation flickered, now pointing south, presumably the path they took to the river.
“That could be a two day ride” Nate said to himself, unhappy in setting a rendevouz point they didn’t know previously, instead having to just assume that there was a town upstream and that it was far enough away that the crew would be safe hiding there until Nate caught up. Nate rubbed his eyes - this whole situation was far from optimal, a caconophy of worse cases and what ifs worrying Nate.
“If we’ve travelled three days and haven’t reached a town, we’ll camp there for you. We’re riding through the night after we pack up, now. Once we put some distance between us and here, tomorrow, we’ll start travelling as normal.
‘As normal’ didn’t just tell Nate the speed the team would be travelling, and whether they would be stopping at night, but also the types of places they would make camp, the protection measures they would take, the times they took watch and to what extent Elliot would work to cover their tracks. It was strange that, after just a few weeks as a team, they knew the way the crew ran completely and could trust their own knowledge of eachother at all times. When they had first joined up they had been a mess of mistrust and judgement, their first job leaving them double crossed and as angry at eachother as they were at the man who had played them so completely. Lord Dubenich was small time landowner from the south east, his name showing his somewhat Saxon heritage even more than the shady and secretive way he had met with Nate to tell him of the team he was putting together. Nate, still believing in the code he had been taught, raised a knight, had been reeled in by Dubenich’s speech about how he had been wronged by the local lord and his people were dying for it, Dubenich’s court unable to help them in their time of need. The winter had been hard, this year, a number of kingdoms weakened from a blight that had hurt them all equally. There had been enough kingdoms left starving that desperate measures were being taken across the land to exchange supplies and grain that Dubenich’s story of stolen food had been perfectly believable. The team had artfully cleaned out the supplies Dubenich had directed them to, believing them to be the supplies stolen from Dubenich’s land, and faithfully returned them to their employer.
Who had quickly attempted to blow them up.
It had taken a hugely elaborate plan to double cross Dubenich back, but in the end they had liberated the food back from the Lord - learning in the process that the grain had been the last of that owned by the Lord they had taken it from, and Dubenich had hoped both to Bolster his own supplies and weaken the land on his border, bettering the chances of success for the war party he had been putting together. It was underhand, but not unseen among the bloodthirsty politics of Britain; either way, Nate and the team weren’t going to stand for it. You don’t doube cross Sir Ford, and you certainly don’t use his son to do it.
They had also used the help of Lady Sophia, a beautiful Lady thief from Nate’s past, as the face of their revenge. Sophie had since returned to court, maintaining her double life with the slick efficiency she carried everywhere. Nate put her from his mind - he didn’t need to think about her. She was a woman who worked alone, and with no staple partnership, and she had been the only one who hadn’t returned to him after that first mission. Nate thougt about her often, having expected her to make her way to him in time, but evidently he had miscalculated her.
That first job had turned his remaining crew into a team, but despite the site of a team of knights returning the grain to it’s proper place and distributed fairly, Sophie hadn’t returned.
Nate was broken from his reverie by the sounds of men in the forest behind him. They were some distance away, speaking with brash and loud voices and crashing through the forest. Nate glanced up at the treeline, seeing the sun begin to dip below, and shook his head. The townspeople had evidently lost their patience, the young men too intent on being heroes to bother with any real technique. Not that waiting would have meant much - Hardison’s power waned at sunrise, not sunset, and even then it was more that it removed any constant spells, rather than weakening Hardison’s skill at, say, throwing fireballs. For example, the imitation spell would collapse on it’s own at sunrise, even if it was left in perfect condition. Either way, nate set about hiding it.
“Hide” he commanded it, and the spell destructed in a moment, collapsing in on itself and rustling the leaved around where it had been. Nate strode up to the spot and ran his foot across it, destroying the lines and runes drawn into the ground below the leaves. He shoved some leaves across it and knelt down beside the fire, picking up one of the sticks. Soon enough, the sound of the townspeople arrived, sticks and pitchforks and a few swords gripped tightly in their hands. Their momentum faltered, however, when they saw only Nate - at their front stood a boy barely out of his teens, who had been running ahead of the group ducked low to the ground. Now, he crouched to the floor and began inspecting the ground. Evidently he had been the tracker who had led the mob to the camp from wherever it was the Hardison had been seen, but Nate wasn’t worried that he would be able to follow the group, not with Elliot’s skills in covering tracks. While the boy sought the way the crew took leaving the camp, Nate and those at the front of the mob - in reality barely a group of 20 or 25 men - eyed eachother up, the men wary and Nate with a quickly put on air of haughtiness.
“Who are you?” Someone asked, Nate’s gaze quickly seeking out the man who spoke, a young and strong looking man, and one of the few holding a sword, too. Although he didn’t look old enough to hold any authority in village life, he evidently had some skill in battle, and was more outspoken, and for the reason the townspeople appeared to be following him, however unaware of their own actions.
“Who is in charge here?” Nate asked, throwing a wrench in their works from the get-go. He had no intention of starting a fight, or even raising suspicion, but it was always a good technigue to disorient a group, somewhat, before attempting to manipulate them, because it only took one announcement of “that’s a lie!” for the whole group to gain confidence and momentum.
As he had expected, the townspeople looked among themselves, murmering in pairs and threes with no evident consensus. The young man who had spoken looks as though he has had the rug ripped from under him - he could no longer speak for the group without appearing as if he believes himself in charge, which would more than likely offend the elders of the group. In turn, the more elder men present, most of them wielding pitchforks or scythes, looked as if they were going to step forward but were cowed by the young man and the others in the group who held swords. The group shuffled in the disarray only found in such haphazard mobs. Nate dove in, using it to his full advantage.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. My name is Sir Sterling, and I’m one of the knights from the town just west. I had hoped to capture this warlock here, but it would seem he has already eluded me. By his tracks, he went north east, and I am unable to follow him so far from my post…” Nate sighed, the town now watching him avidly, the shine of hero worship in the younger men’s eyes. He looked northeast, in the opposite direction of the river and the crew’s intended destination.
“Perhaps…” A younger boy in the crowd, who hadn’t been one of the few caught out by Nate’s question of authority, gulped and stepped forwards. “I think, Sir, we could go after them for you!”
Nate raised an eyebrow at him, then looked at the rest of the crowd.
“Well, if you think you could… the knights would certainly appreciate the help… But…” Nate grimanced.
“We would manage it, Sir.” The sword wielding man from before announced, stepping forward and raising his sword somewhat. “We would do the town proud and capture this man for the crown.”
“Well.” Nate said, suppressing his smile, “That is commendable.” He nodded, and the man retured it. As Nate walked away, leading his horse west, the townspeople turned northeast.
ooOOoo
Nate circled around to the river after an hour’s ride, confident that the mob would be long gone on the false path he had set them on, and turned west when he reached the banks. He rode through most of the night, only sleeping when the moon neared the treeline, and the dawn waking him an hour later. He didn’t hasten too much, knowing the crew could be two days ahead of him now and he would gain nothing from working his horse out on this day and being unable to travel at a good speed for the rest of the time.
An hour or so after dawn, Nate saw the beginnings of a town with a groan - with the distance from the town where Hardison had been seen being so short, it wasn't enough to protect the team from the people after them. Even with the mob misdirected so completely by Nate, there was nothing to stop the rumours spreading and reaching a town so close by. Elliot would never have let them stop there, not for more than an hour or so, which meant that their trail was cold, Nate unable to catch up unless they had found a way to leave something for him to follow. Nate didn't think the team needed to scatter, and he didn't want it to be forced on them because of a simple mistake. He dismounted at the centre of the village, this one slightly smaller than the last but still having a tavern at it's centre. Nate appraised the building - it didn't look to have any official rooms, most of it's patrons were probably local people with a home a short walk away. Despite that, it more than likely had something equatable for when a traveller like Nate does pass through.
The ex-knight sighed, dismounting, and tied his horse up outside, patting it on the side of the neck and taking his sword to strap to his hip. He didn't think anyone in this town intended to harm him, but he was on high alert at the moment, split up from his team and persued by the rumour mill that could have he and the crew executed on site, if it reached the knights. It didn't hurt to be paranoid, at times like these.
He walked in to the tavern with a straight back, hoping to get across his high-class background. In a town like this, even hinting that he might hold some form of official position was often the best way to get people to listen to him. He had only been greeted amicably on the way towards the tavern, so counted that this wasn't a town particularly repressed or plundered by those in power.
Sure enough, the man running the tavern - who Nate could only identify because he hadn't anyone else with him, rather than that he looked particularly menacing or domineering. He was, in fact, washing a table when Nate walked in, but stopped to level him with a bright smile when he saw the way he held himself.
"Hello, sir!" the tender smiled, and Nate could only be amused by the flattery, approaching the man and shaking his hand in greeting.
"Hello. I was wondering if I could hire a room for an hour? Somewhere private." the bartender leant back on his heels and looked Nate up and down, a ponderous - but not unfriendly - look on his face.
"You don't happen to be friends with the bloke who came in here a few days ago? Asked me the same question? 'e held himself like a knight too, though wasn't too happy when he called him so."
"Sometimes even knights can't travel in all their mail."
"On something secret, are you, sir? Just came from the east?" the man's eyes sparkled with interest, evidently believing Nate and the man - who Nate could only imagine was Elliot - were knights traveling incognito back from the rather unfriendly border to the east. Nate didn't refute the assumption, as always allowing the other party to draw their own, incorrect, conclusions.
"Just tell me where you directed my friend."
"Oh, of course! Right!" the man dropped his cloth on the table and indicated behind him, before turning and walking into the back room behind the tavern. It's a simple space, a roll at across one side and a collection of boxes and kegs on the other side. It wasn't the best situation, but more than private enough to Elliot to hide something for Nate. This was moving away from the crews usual habits, when split up, but it was something they had done once or twice on jobs - they always hid clues and messages in similar places, hard to find if you don't know they're there but increasingly recognizable to Nate, having exchanged things in this way a few times now. The moment he walked in, he saw the rafter where anything Elliot would have left would surely be hidden. Schooling his expression, Nate turned to thank the man and ask for privacy.
He was faced with a sword to his throat.
"Tell me where the sorcerer is!" the bartender snarled, his previously friendly expression curled aggressively now. Nate put his hands up placatingly.
"What sorcerer?"
"Don't play dumb" the man warned, shifting his grip on the sword. Nate noted that his hold on the weapon was amateur, the hold of someone more used to wielding the weapon to intimidate but rarely having used it against a professional. If Nate could draw his sword, or even find a better position to defend with what he could reach, he would take the man out in a heartbeat - but it took no expertise at all to run a man through when you have him backed against the wall and a sword at his throat.
"I mean you no harm, my dear man" Nate said, calmly, as if he wasn't the one with the glaring disadvantage.
"Just tell me where he is!" the bartender seemed agitated, almost as scared as he was aggressive.
"Why do you want a sorcerer? You have no business there."
"everyone has business with sorcerers, Sir," now the honorary was scathing, an insult, if that were possible "Take them to the king and you'll be set for life!"
"And why do you think I am with him? Why do you even think he passed this way? I doubt an enrobed man would stroll through a town so loyal to the king as this."
"After your friend, a day after he rode out, a man came 'ere and told me he had intended to leave something for someone, you, I presume," the bartender snarled at him, looking him up and down. "He told me he meant to leave something so his friend could find them. Cause they're after a sorcerer!"
Nate furrowed his eyebrows - what man could that be, who knew the way they worked so intimately? It was entirely unlikely that the crew had been followed or listening in upon - they were said to be the best of the best for a reason. This was a worrying development, to be sure.
Not that Nate would be able to think on it if the manrun him through.
"Alright, you have to believe me. I am a knight-“ Nate wondered if his constant obsession with maquarading as a knight was telling of his state of mind “And I am here on the business of the king. Did you think, maybe, that the man who talked to you was a sorcerer himself? Even just a fugitive?”
The sword at Nate’s throat dropped a little, as its owner considered this possibility, but snapped back to place after barely a moment, and before Nate could act.
“Then why did he tell me to go tell the knights when I know where the sorcerer was!?”
Nate allowed his worry and fear to show through completely on his face. “Did you go tell the knights?”
“No! Had to wait fr you, didn’t I? Take you to them!”
“Oh thank god!” Nate said, the barman confused at Nate suddenly acting guilty where before he denied it all. “You don’t want to tell the knights!” Nate explained “The man in charge, one sir Sterling - he’s a bloodthirsty cockroach, and would sooner run you through on sight than let you waste his time!” Nate removed one of his gloves, quickly, and began to roll up his arm. “You see this!?” He brandished his forearm, a short but deep looking scar standing out there. The bartender ogled it with fear, his attention on the sword dropping. “I got that because I used his cloak by accident and got it muddy!” He had actually gotten that from a group of bandits, while in the king’s service, but he didn’t see the harm in lying to save his own neck - literally.
The bartender leaned in, lowering the sword a little more, to take a look at the stab wound with deep interest. Nate took the opportunity. Using the reinforced cuffs hidden under the arm he hadn’t taken off, he batted the sword to the side and brought the scarred arm off, punching the man, hard, in the face. He stumbled back, the sword in his hand coming free with the smallest tug from Nate. Dropping it in favour of his own sword, Nate drew his weapon and held it, much more professionally, at the man’s throat, their positions now reversed as he cowered against the opposite wall.
“Where is the package my friend left.” Nate growled, pretty sure that, by now, a suspicious man would have searched the room extensively. The bartender quailed.
“Its in my pocket! My pocket!” He wailed, his head thrown back and away from the sword - a stupid move, as it bared his throat to the sword, but Nate wasn’t about to correct him. He deftly searched the barman’s pockets, pulling out a leather pouch. He stuffed it in his own pocket, not bothering to open it here.
“What is it!? Is it a charm? A totem? Whaat?”
“It’s my wife’s” Nate growled. “Sterling and the knights had it taken from me some years ago, and only now have I been able to retrieve it. There is no sorcerer, there was never any danger to you. But the knights of King Ian are bloodthirsty and intemperable. Forgive me that I had to include you in this.” With that, Nate drew back his sword and, with the butt, hit the man on the head. He went down without a sound.
“You should be thankful I’m not one of King Ian’s knights.” Nate warned his prone form. “or I would kill you to keep you quiet.”
The lie about his wife would be enough to keep the man from running to the king and endangering Nate, and nate held little remorse that it might leave the man terrified of Sterling’s men for the rest of his life - little could be gained from increased time with those men.
Nate rode out of town at a canter, ignoring the calls from disgruntled residents as he called for them to move out the way. He hoped to avoid inciting a mob in this town, as well, after him for beating up their tavern keeper; he preferred to move with stealth, nowadays, and it wouldn’t be hard for Sterling to start noticing if he and his crew managed to piss off three leagues worth of villages. The leather pouch burned a whole in his breast pocket, Nate desperate to use it and learn of his crew, the strange informant that had told the bartender of them weighed on Nate’s mind heavily - could he have caught up with the crew already? Could he present a real danger to them all?
Yeah well I told you it was crap. I'm just getting participation points here.