The scribe nearly jumped out of his skin when the torch crashed into the fireplace and bounced onto the hearth. Forgetting his paper and the spilled wine, he bolted for the entry shaft to alert Castile.
–
Seraphina
Castile and a half-dozen men armed with crossbows burst into the room!
There was a woman in high boots and an emerald green riding jacket standing on the hearth, dusting soot away from the bosom of her jacket.
She shouted up the chimney, “HOLD ON!” then turned to face the men, her right hand on her hip and her left extended in greeting. The jewel on the pommel of her longsword, sticking up over her shoulder, glinted in the lantern light.
“Hello fellas”, Sera greeted the soldiers with a genuine smile.
“Listen sugar, you never learned not to break a man’s lock?” said Castile. He had drawn Sundenkrieg and the sword was glowing like it was on fire.
“My name is Seraphina. Who is in charge here?”
“I am. Castile, Bastard of Mithra.”
“They couldn’t break your lock, but we found this chimney,” Seraphina gave a deep bow, “Nice to meet you.”
“Not so much,” Castile snarled, “What do you want?”
Keeping a rope taught in her left hand, Sera looked Castile in the eye, “I am with some fellows who have been asking about a band of mercenaries traveling back and forth this way.”
The woman gave two hard tugs on the rope and stepped backward into the fireplace. Bracing her feet against the back wall, she called out over her shoulder, “I’ll tell them there are only ghosts down here! Come see me in Samichi.”
With that she started walking up the back wall. As she disappeared up the chimney, Castile heard her call out, “You owe me dinner, young man!”
—
Castile
Castile moved carefully forward, his men still had five crossbows trained on the fireplace. Seeing a bare steel dagger in the fireplace, he moved closer.
“It’s not magic, nor was she a sorcerer,” the glowing sword Sundenkrieg whispered, suddenly deciding to speak, “but she did carry some magic.”
“You couldn’t have mentioned this sooner?” Castile spat, exasperated.
“You weren’t in danger,” the sword replied, as Castile bent to pick up the dagger, It was fine quality steel, with an elaborate “S” worked into the leather of the grip. The garnet on the pommel matched the stone on Seraphina's longsword.
Castile whirled on his toes, “You men keep a watch on this fireplace. Capture anyone who comes down that chimney!”
Then, shouting at the young man who had just appeared in the doorway, “Scribe! Go prepare two pigeons for Kastav!”
Castile stalked out of the cantina, slamming Sundenkreig back into its scabbard. He returned to the entry shaft and the rest of his garrison. He gave instructions for a crew to begin to prepare the hoists. It would be dark in a couple of hours and he wanted to follow these ‘fellows’.
—
At the top of the shaft, Castile released the iron bar that held the trapdoor closed. The one thing, he reflected, that allowed him to meet a woman, rather than who knows how many soldiers. He lifted the trapdoor and eased his way out. Rising into a crouch he quickly peered in every direction. The sounds of the summer evening were all around, crickets and songbirds.
Castile motioned for the rest to follow, dispatching two of them to go check the trapdoor in the building off to the south. That one doesn’t have a bar, he thought, ruefully.
While they ran off Castile and the others began to scout the area. The sun was down behind the Serpentine and darkness was rapidly falling under a sky full of dark clouds moving in from the south. Castile noticed that something had been scratched on the surface of the trap door, an odd star-like symbol:
Deciding to consider it later, he got back to the task at hand.
“Quickly, we’ll lose them if it starts raining!”
Castile followed the trampled grass north. The intruders were not being careful. There appeared to be about a dozen men or so, on foot, from the amount of trampling they did. Returning from their errand the two crossbowmen reported the second hatch was secure. They all began to run.
A quarter mile from the ruined village they found a spot where a wagon had stood for some time. Now the tracks to the north were easier to follow, even in the failing light. The crushed grass led north, then east, around the woods that closed off the end of Ghost Town Vale.
They followed the trail around to the spot where the mill stream exited the wood. Here there were obvious signs of a crossing. The stream was only 12 feet wide and maybe three feet deep, but the bank was deep. It had obviously taken some effort to get the wagon across, as the banks on either side were torn up and partially collapsed. Castile saw the track of another horse, in addition to the draft horse pulling the wagon.
Castile crossed the stream, sinking up to his shins in the soft sand. The water came up over his waist. He clambered up the other side, to see the wagon tracks parallel the stream eastward.
A steady rain began to fall. Castile slid back down the bank, back into the creek, and waded across once more. “Let’s go back,” he said to the men, “they’re getting rained on too. I imagine they’ll follow the water all the way back to Samichi.”
‘Besides,’ he thought, ‘She said she would be in Samichi.’
Castile and the men double-timed it back to the tower. He had notes to write for Kastav.
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