The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Verita.
A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap Off 65 80.'
The gully continues 'Eyes hurt? Turn Color OFF!! (regular story dates)
Astinus says 'Enter the main library here to view only the author list.'
Astinus gently places a brief catalogue on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Verita' scribed in dull brown ink.
Author: Verita Date: Sun Feb 11 22:56:46 2024 Subject A quiet afternoon
Zepheron es-Rignar dug his fork into the black ground, turning up a dozen oblong, golden shapes. "Excellent. Look at these, Verita."
"They're potatoes, all right," Verita said as she thrust her own fork into the ground. "So are these." She tipped the fork and emptied them into the basket. "Praise the gods."
Zepheron moved a step to the right, and stabbed at the ground again. "Verita," he said as he worked, "I can tell that you are bored."
"They're potatoes, Papa."
"Yes, but they are abundant. Each one is wealth for the clan." He shook his fork into the basket, flicked clumps of soil off the end. "Verita, tilling the soil and tending the flocks are honorable professions, no matter what you might hear to the contrary."
"It's dull, Papa."
"Oh, there is no glory in potatoes, sure." He wiped sweat off the auburn fur between his horns. "But there is honor. There can be no progress if the people are not fed."
"This is drudgery," Verita said as she struggled through a particularly clay-ridden patch of soil, turning up another handful of yellow orbs.
"Many of our people would say that this is the work of slaves," Zepheron said. "That we are best left to better things. Well, there's a reason that our family left Mithas. But never believe it, Verita. Where is the honor in capturing the small and weak and bullying them into working for you? Where is the challenge? Look around this farm. Is there anyone here who does not CHOOSE to be here? The farmhands are paid with honest gold for their labor. And they are loyal to me. A slave has no loyalty, nor respect for his master. Those things must be earned, and they cannot be earned in such a way. No, Verita, everyone here working for me WANTS to be working for me."
"I don't," Verita said with a mischievous glint in her black eyes. But she continued to dig the potatoes.
Zepheron laughed. "Well, you are almost of age. You could leave. Go and join the Dragonarmies as so many of our people are doing."
"Never, Papa."
"Or fend for yourself in the forest. You are free as can be."
"No, Papa." Verita smiled to herself as she dug. "But I wish it wasn't so dull, that is all. Even watching the sheep is more interesting than digging potatoes."
"Hard work builds strength." Zepheron looked at the horizon. "Speaking of which, Verita, I see that the sun has fallen below the weathervane. You have worked hard. You may go and train with Mum."
Verita put down her fork and picked up her axe. "Thank you, Papa."
"And tomorrow, shepherd duty."
"Thank you, Papa. See you at dinner."
"Train well, Verita." Zepheron's eyes were drawn, briefly, to a silhouette moving quickly across the plains in the distance -- riders, at least a dozen of them, followed by more figures on foot. He inhaled and shook his head. Then he buried his fork in the ground again.A few local farmers had for the past month been reporting missing and mutilated stock, and lately there had been three attacks on Zepheron's sheep. "Time for a tracking lesson," he said to Verita. "Pack up your crossbow and let's go." After a day's slow and careful travel through the Estwilde wilderness, Zepheron knew that they were close, and he left one of the ragged sheep carcasses out in a clearing while they watched and waited. Verita was almost ready to fall asleep when suddenly she noticed movement.
"That's the one," Verita said in a barely-audible whisper. A tawny cat was silently descending from a boulder about 40 yards away.
"Think so?" Zepheron murmured.
"Has to be. The way those sheep were torn open at the belly -- had to be a cat. Gods, she's a big one, too." She raised her crossbow and trained it on the mountain lion. "I've got her."
"Wait. Don't." Zepheron put his hand on Verita's arm.
"What?"
"Look at that." He pointed to the boulder. Scrambling down were two spotted kittens, following their mother, more or less, distractible as they were by everything that moved. "You mustn't kill her."
"Gods above, Papa, are you really so soft?"
"You kill her and you will sentence those two to slow death by starvation. That is dishonorable."
"Three less of them in the world to eat up our sheep, by my counting."
"If we kill her, more will soon move in to take her place. No, let her be."
"I can't believe you sometimes -- I really can't."
"I have a better idea. Come home. Trust me."
"After all of that work!" Verita snorted. "It had better be a good one."Lita de-Rienzi washed her hands in the ceramic basin at the house's entrance, then knelt next to the hearth before a small altar. The altar consisted of two bas-reliefs, one made of marble and carnelian, inlaid with a copper spider; the other sparkling, silvered, with an ornate golden image of a gryphon. She picked up a taper and put it into the fire, and ignited the stick of incense in its holder below the spider. She placed the taper beneath the gryphon, bowed, and sat for a minute in meditation. Then she rose to her hooves and took the kettle from the fire, preparing two cups of strong, spiced tea.
Verita took one and dipped her horns in thanks. She took a sip. "Mum. Why is Papa the way he is?"
Lita's mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. "What do you mean?"
"Why is he happy digging potatoes?"
"He is an unusual minotaur."
"Why wouldn't he let me put a crossbow bolt through that cat's neck today?"
Lita shrugged her shoulders. "Your father admires fierce beasts, and he finds them more interesting when they are alive."
"And you, Mum. You could have been a champion. You told me. So why come here and run a training school when all you get for students is humans who spend their days grubbing around in the dirt?"
"Well, the short answer is because I loved your father." Lita took another drink from her cup. "But sure, I could have fought in the Circus, and found
death or glory, some position of leadership in the government. Looked over my shoulder always for the next person who would stab me in the back, and answered to whomever was bigger and stronger than me..."
"Could have had power --"
"...or I could have had freeodm. I could decide my own fate."
"But here, in the middle of nowhere --"
"I run my school. I pass on the gifts of strength and honor to these funny little dirt-farmers, and they pay me in gold. And with the income from Zepheron's vegetables and his fruits and his wool and his mutton, Shinare smiles on us, every day."
"Papa said that on Mithas, we'd have slaves to do the work."
"Yes." Lita set down her cup, and walked to the bookcase. "We've taught you a lot about our people as best we could. It's important to us, with you growing up so far away. Do you remember the story of the Graygem? It's been a long time." She ran her finger along the spines of the books until she found the one she wanted, and pulled it off the shelf.
"Of course. The Graygem escaped from Reorx, and turned the strongest-willed of the Ogres into Minotaurs. We were once the same."
Lita sat down again and opened the book to a colorful two-page illustration of an Irda family. "And the Ogres then were noble creatures. Beautiful. Until they were cast down, made into the stinking brutes we know today. But not all of them." She turned the page to reveal a portrait of a noble blue-skinned male. "Not Igraine and his followers. They escaped that fate, and somewhere, their descendents live. The reason is because Igraine acted with honor."
Verita nodded. "After his slave saved his daughter's life, he freed them."
"And saw more profit and loyalty and production as a result. He was rewarded. The others, those who called him a heretic, they were punished by the Gods." She closed the book. "We are descended from the Ogres, it is true. But they are descended from the people of Igraine. Now, what path shall we walk to be truest to our ancestors? On this, our people disagree. But you can be sure that your father and I are not the only ones."Zepheron strode into the kitchen, shaking a jingling leather pouch high in the air. "What we need is a deterrent," he said. "I have a job for you, Verita."
"As long as it doesn't involve digging in the dirt."
"No, no. Commerce! Go into town. Go to the stables. Ask for Gavia. She breeds dogs. I want you to buy the two biggest, ugliest mastiffs she has." He tossed the pouch across the room and Verita caught it.
"If you think it'll work, Papa."
"Watch and see. A cat's a thief, not a plunderer. She wants an easy meal. We must make it a little less appealing for her so she'll go somewhere else to find her dinner."
"Like to the pig farm down the road?" Verita said.
"Ah, well, it's up to them to protect their herds as they see fit."
"All right." Verita finished the mutton and rice on her plate and wiped her mouth. "I'll leave right away. It'll be more interesting than hanging around here with the sheep, anyway."
"That's the spirit. But be careful what you wish for. We wouldn't want it to be TOO interesting."
"Well, that's what these are for." Verita slid a bronze shortsword into the sheath on her hip, then took a medium-sized silver battle axe off the wall and strapped it onto her back. "Walk proud," Lita said.
"I should be back just after sundown."In the seaside town of Lyceum, Verita stopped at the general store to buy a few odds and ends -- a new shirt, a ball of twine, and a hunting knife with a handle made from elk antler. Then she went to the stables and procured the dogs, great muscular big-headed slobbering things, a dun one and a black one. She led them down the road home on a pair of long leather leashes, the setting sun casting long shadows on the packed dirt path. They were good- tempered animals, stayed at her side, didn't bolt or pull at the lead. "I'll call you Vigilance," she said, "and you Constance. You'd better be worth the money." She patted Constance on the haunch.
Verita slowed as she noticed a group of figures on the road ahead -- goblins, by the looks of them, wearing the uniforms of the Dragonarmy. "Here now?" she murmured to herself, an uneasy feeling welling inside her. She drew closer, and the goblins didn't move.
"Heel," she said, and Vigilance and Constance looked back at her dumbly, dog-smiles wide, tongues flopping from their jowls. "Well, we'll work on that," she muttered. "Just -- come, all right? Come here. Come, come."
As she approached the group, they didn't seem to be moving out of the way. Rather, they had stopped talking and were looking at her. She came within a few yards of them. "Sit," she said, and Constance did. "One of you has learned that, anyway. Vigilance, SIT! Excuse me, please. I must pass. I am on my way home."
The biggest of the five goblins looked back at the others and started to laugh, and the other four joined in. "Look at what we have here! A minotaur girl!" He gave her a yellow smile. "This is a toll road now, minotaur girl."
"A toll road? Don't be ridiculous," Verita snorted. "Move aside, now. I have no quarrel with you. I must get these hounds home to the farm."
"A minotaur farmer! Imagine that, my boys!" He smacked one of his comrades on the back, knocking his helmet off. The other goblin grabbed his helmet and gave his leader a shove and a curse in some unknown tongue. The leader knocked him on the head with an iron-gauntleted fist and cursed right back. Then he turned back to Verita. "This road is used by the Dragonarmy now. You got to pay a toll for cluttering up our thoroughfare with your dogs."
"What a pile of rubbish. Move aside, please."
The goblin leader frowned and took a step towards Verita. "You'd best learn some respect, now, minotaur girl. The Dragonarmy is coming, and they don't take kindly to such cheek." He took another step. Constance and Vigilance started to rumble from deep within their chests, and the goblin leader hesitated for a moment, eyeballing them warily.
Good dogs, Verita thought. "I've been on the road all day, I'm weary, and I'm just trying to get home. Let me pass."
"Pay up first."
"Look, I haven't any money. I spent it all in the town on these two brutes. They cost a pretty penny too. Purebred war dogs, the woman said."
The goblin sneered and planted his feet. His four companions shuffled a little closer. "If you can't pay in gold, minotaur girl," he said slowly, "perhaps a pint of milk will do."
The other goblins roared with laughter. "I got a pail and a three-legged stool right here!" shouted one of them.
Verita snarled and brought her hoof down on his foot as hard as she could, simultaneously unsheathing her sword. Instantly, all hell broke loose. The goblins were upon her, and the two dogs lunged for the nearest throats. Enraged, Verita tried to slash at the leader, but her motion was interrupted by a hand-axe that suddenly battered her left shoulder. Constance had a goblin by the arm and Vigilance had one pinned to the ground and was snarling and snapping at his face. The three remaining goblins ignored their comrades that were being mauled by the dogs, and focused their attention on Verita. She blocked the swing of a mace with her right arm and kicked at the nearest goblin with her left hoof, then swept her short sword down toward the leader's neck. The one with the mace went for her legs, trying to topple her, and the leader's second-hand man attempted to grapple and immobilize her sword arm. They were no match for her size and strength, however; she caught the mace-wielder in the chest with a vicious kick, sending him flying, and she easily lifted the goblin on her arm into the air and threw him to the ground on his back, knocking the wind from him. The leader came at her with sword drawn, and she parried his attack, but each time she slashed or stabbed at him, he seemed to dissolve and reappear a foot away -- sneaky little bastards, goblins! She cursed and threw down her sword, going for her battleaxe, something with a little more reach. He went low and slashed open her right thigh and she bellowed in pain, but with the adrenaline that flooded through her, she swept the battleaxe in a wide arc and caught him in the side of the head. He fell to the ground, bleeding.
"Vigilance. Constance. Come! Come, dogs!" she gasped. "Oh, you idiots don't know your names; I just gave them to you. Come! Come on!" She whistled. The dogs lifted their heads and came galloping back to her.
She looked around her, panting. The leader was sure dead. The pool of blood around his head was gradually growing bigger. The two that the dogs had dealt with wouldn't be reporting back to their command posts, either. The one she'd kicked in the chest lay gasping for air in the road, and she limped over to him. He looked up at her, choking, terror in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, and picked up her sword and slashed his throat. The one she'd thrown from her sword arm...was nowhere to be found. "Damn it."
Verita scanned the horizon, making sure that no others were coming, then she took the new shirt and the twine ball out of her pack, ripped the shirt into long strips, and made an improvised binding for her bleeding thigh. The other minor lacerations on her legs and shoulder could be dealt with later. She picked up the dogs' leads, still trailing behind them. "Well," she said. "Come on. Let's go home.""Oh, mercy! Verita! What in the Abyss happened?!" Zepheron ran to meet Verita, followed by Lita, and they supported her on either side as they guided her into the house. Zepheron grabbed the dogs' leads and led them behind him.
"I got into a fight with some goblins," Verita said. "Dragonarmy uniforms."
"Dragonarmy?" Zepheron frowned and exchanged a solemn look with Lita.
"Yes. Claimed it was the Dragonarmy's road now. Claimed there was a toll. Don't think they were acting on orders. Think they were a bunch of thugs taking advantage of their uniforms. I didn't have any money. They...they insulted me, and I..."
"You defended your honor," Lita said, helping Verita sink onto a kitchen chair. "As you should."
"If it hadn't been for the dogs, I...there were five of the little bastards."
Lita gingerly removed the blood-soaked, improvised bandage and inhaled sharply. "That's noteworthy."
"Does it need sewn up?" Verita said, wincing as the cold air nipped at the wound. The adrenaline had subsided from her system and allowed the full volume of the pain to assert itself.
"That might be for the best," Zepheron said, low, staring at the red gash. "I can try to do it, or we can send for Calina."
"No, please, I can't stand that fraud and her endless prattle about Mishakal," Verita groaned. "You do it, Papa, please."
"Well, all right...I'll get my needle and thread."
"Mum," Verita groaned, "one of them escaped. I killed four of them, but one of them ran away."
"You did your best," Lita said soothingly. "Battle is chaos."
"I'm worried."
"Worrying is a waste of energy."
"If he comes back, if he figures out where we live..."
"Then we will deal with him."
"It will be my fault."
"YOUR fault?" Lita laughed shortly. "Did YOU start this, Verita? Did YOU stop an innocent passerby and attempt to rob them? Did YOU insult a stranger?"
"No, I...I didn't start it," Verita said. Zepheron re-entered, carrying a small medical kit and a large flask of dwarf spirits. Lita helped Verita to her feet and guided her over to the sofa, easing her onto her back. "But I wish to Kiri-Jolith I would have finished it."
"Think no more about it," Zepheron said shortly. "You defended your honor. It unfolded as the Gods willed it. You did your part." Zepheron splashed spirits into the wound, and Verita clenched her teeth and hissed. Then he handed the rest of the flask to her, and she took a generous swig. "Take this, too," he said, taking a piece of thickly braided sheepskin out of the medical kit.
"Thanks," Verita said, and placed it between her teeth.
"Hold still, now, and try to act like a sheep," Zepheron said. "Because that's what I'm used to." Verita laughed weakly through her teeth, clenched around the sheepskin. With a practiced hand, Zepheron began to close the wound. Lita gathered up the dogs and guided them to the hearth and began to check their hides for battle damage, speaking to them in low, comforting tones, as Verita bit down on the sheepskin, balled up her fists, and inside her head, went somewhere else -- a mountainside pasture, caressed by cool and gentle breezes, all silent except for the quiet tinkling of the bells on the sheep's collars.Life soon resumed its easy pace on the farm. Verita's leg began to heal, although she would walk with a limp for some time. She soon resumed her training with Lita as well as her duties on the farm, busying herself with watching the flocks and training Constance and Vigilance. They proved themselves to be able guard dogs, and Zepheron lost no more sheep to predators. Although there were whispers among the neighbors about Dragonarmy activity in the area, Verita and her parents did not run into them again on any of their subsequent travels, and Verita gradually slid the encounter to the back of her mind.
It was one of those perfect summer evenings, the sun hanging low in the sky, the air beginning to cool, the hum of insects everywhere. Zepheron was working in the vegetable gardens near the farm entrance, digging weeds, bare-chested. Verita had just finished a training session with her mother, and they relaxed on the front porch, drinking cool water, basking in the thick, lazy atmosphere while the dogs lay panting nearby in the warm dirt.
They almost didn't notice the rider approaching.
A human man wearing a Blue Dragonarmy uniform approached on horseback. He was flanked by two other riders, and followed by at least ten footsoldiers, humans and goblins and dwarves, by the looks of them. Lita sat up, eyes locked on the newcomers. Zepheron put down his hoe and stared at them.
The rider waved a hand. "Hail, farmer."
"Can I help you?" Zepheron asked.
He was tall, with bold, dark eyebrows, pale skin, and high cheekbones. "I am Sub-Commander Karolan of the Blue Dragonarmy."
"Zepheron es-Rignar."
Karolan looked around. "Lovely farm you have here. And today, I am offering you a chance to play a key role in the operations of the Dragonarmy in this area."
"I'm not interested in playing any role with the Dragonarmy."
"Oh, but this farm is in an ideal location for us. Good, rich land, access to the river, ample room for an encampment. Soldiers DO need to eat, after all. We'd like you, Zepheron, to be a part of something great. Hand over your farm to us. You can still work the land, but you'll be working to feed the Dragonarmy. And you'll be well-compensated for the land, of course."
The minotaur shook his head. "[yAbsolutely not. If you want my food, you'll buy it like everyone else. I'm not just selling my farm to you."
Karolan frowned. "That is not what we had in mind." His horse began to paw at the ground, and he tugged at the reins. "This is a rather large operation, Zepheron. Do you farm this all yourself?"
"With my family. And hired hands."
"Under the Dragonarmy, there'd be no more need to pay employees. And your, uh, beautiful little wife and daughter," he gestured vaguely at the two enormous minotaur females on the porch, "would be able to live the life of leisure that they deserve. You'd be provided with laborers, you see."
"Slaves, you mean."
"Well, yes, of course. Isn't it the minotaur's birthright to benefit from the labor of those weaker than him?"
"Some of us believe that. Others walk a different path."
The sub-commander's face began to fall into a sneer. "What do you produce here, anyway?"
"Mutton. Wool. Vegetables."
"Not, er..." He failed to hide a smirk. "Beef, dairy?" This produced a wave of snickering and murmuring among the footsoldiers.
"The insolent little --" Verita started to rise, reaching for her sword.
Lita placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hold, Verita."
Zepheron's brow darkened and he stared at Karolan. "No, sir. No beef or dairy. But perhaps I can interest you in some low-hanging fruit, as you seem to be an expert in grabbing for it."
Karolan chuckled disdainfully. "Reconsider my offer. You won't find a better one, I promise you."
"Look, I've told you I have no interest in handing over my farm to you," Zepheron said, picking up his hoe. "If you want to do business with me, we can negotiate terms, but you cannot simply come here and take my land away from me."
Karolan straightened in his saddle, looking down at the minotaur. "I don't think you quite understand what is happening, Zepheron. I've told you that the Dragonarmy requires this land. And as we now have domain over this area, we will be occupying it, whether you agree to it or not. The question is how you choose to be compensated."
"Verita," Lita said quietly, "take one of the horses and go."
"What?" Verita hissed. "I won't. A minotaur doesn't run."
"I've told you my answer," Zepheron said. "And my answer is no. What you choose to do now is between you and your goddess."
"Verita, go," Lita said. "Into the woods. Leave. This will not end well."
"That's dishonorable!"
"We are greatly outnumbered. Our clan cannot be victorious today. But go, and perhaps we can prevail tomorrow." Lita rose to her feet, keeping her eye on the rider. "Please, Verita, go. Go, gain strength, find friends, and avenge this injustice."
"Zepheron, this is my last warning. The Dark Queen's army takes what it needs."
"I've told you my terms, Karolan. Do business with me just like anybody else, and we can make a deal."
"Mum, I can't just --"
"GO. You are the last. You are not even of age. For the sake of our clan's survival, GO."
Verita gave her mother a momentary, steely glare -- but when she saw the desperation in her mother's face, her resolve crumbled like shortbread. "I'm sorry," she said, and ran for the barn. She quickly saddled Merit, her favorite shire horse, threw herself into the saddle, and blasted out the barn's rear exit like a gnomish rocket, not looking behind her.
She didn't see Karolan produce a hand crossbow and shoot her father in the chest.
She didn't see her mother, a berserk whirlwind flanked by the massive baying forms of Constance and Vigilance, fell 5 of the footsoldiers with her battleaxe before she was finally slain.
And she didn't see the goblin, the one with the familiar face, studying the ground at the back of the barn, searching for a trail.The wilds surrounding the farm were dense and great, and Verita rode until it became too dark to see where she was going. She found a clearing and hitched Merit to a tree, then began to gather some deadwood to start a fire. She piled the wood and began to unpack some firestarting materials from her saddlebag, then thought better of it and put them away, feeling reluctant to attract any attention to herself. Instead she sat on a log and allowed herself to cry, to grieve her parents, to mourn the life she would never have again. When she felt wrung and empty, she took a drink from her canteen, unrolled her bedroll, and tried to sleep.
Her eyes opened. She stared into the forest canopy for a few moments, then pushed the events of the previous day to the back of her mind as she crawled out of her bed and rolled it up again. She spent the morning hunting for game and the afternoon gathering anything that she could find that was edible. As she worked, she heard the voice of her father.
"Animals walk where it's easy to walk, unless they're being chased. The forest is full of roads, if you know where to look."
"The true foolscap mushroom -- great eating. The false foolscap -- you'll be in the latrine for a day or two. The only surefire way to know the difference is to place it on a piece of paper for an hour. The true foolscap will leave only light-colored spores behind, but the false foolscap will leave behind something that looks like pepper. Remember that, Verita, and don't eat it unless you're sure."
"You've got to understand what a beast wants. If it wants to eat you, then you show it that you aren't an easy meal. But sometimes it doesn't want to eat you. Sometimes it wants your respect. Before you react, take a second to try to understand."
"Gather the umbels of the gemweed when they are just about to open. Just like this, you see? Not tightly closed, but not in full bloom. They're good fried in or roasted. Check them for spiders first, though. I don't think your mum will ever forgive me for the one she found in her dinner."
"A beast is incapable of evil. He has no malice in him. That bear eating the calf alive -- he doesn't have the brains to think about its suffering. He is hungry, and that is all that he knows. He lives in a world that is governed by his senses. He is noble in his way. But us -- the gods gave us the means to think of more than our stomachs. Walk the path of evil, and you spit on that gift from the gods."
As Verita sat before her campfire that night, roasting the two squirrels she'd managed to catch with a meager pile of mushrooms and berries, she pored over her options. Two things were clear to her.
Number one -- she was no ranger. It was autumn now, and the forest was rich with game and edible plants, but the winter was coming, and she'd die if she stayed here. She'd have to go to a city to find work, to get food, to stay warm.
Number two -- she wanted to kill the next person that she saw in a Dragonarmy uniform.
She cursed the paltry supplies in her saddlebag, wished she'd better heeded her mother's advice -- "Pack a bag, just in case. You never know what might happen." There were so many things at home that she wished she'd had time to grab before leaving. Her compass, her whetstone, her sewing kit, an extra flask of lamp oil, twine, comb. If she could get into the house...no, it wasn't worth getting her hopes up. It would be crawling with soldiers. But if she could at least get into the cellar unnoticed, there was food down there, tools and supplies...
Maybe her parents had survived. It wasn't so inconceivable. Maybe she could find someone, anyone, who could help her figure out what to do next.
She ate, then laid out her bedroll and began planning a route back home.She took side roads home, and that added a day to her journey, but she thought it prudent. She ran into few other travelers, but when she was getting close, she spotted someone a good distance down the road ahead. They weren't wearing a uniform, and were riding a small pony, so she stood her ground. There was something familiar about the way they carried themselves in the saddle...
"Oh, it's Ansil. Ansil, Ansil, Ansil!"
"Good Gods above, is it Verita? Does she live?"
"Yes, it's me, Ansil!" She tugged Merit's reins and approached Ansil at a trot. He was a human, though he was so small and quick they used to joke that he must be part kender. One of their oldest farmhands. He'd been around for as long as Verita could remember. Always used to bring her back a a piece of candy when he went into town.
"You'd better get out of here!" he said in a low voice once their horses were side by side. "They've been asking after you."
Verita's stomach dropped, but she clenched her jaw. "I hope they find me. I'll kill every one of them I see."
Ansil exhaled through his pursed lips, and shook his head. "Don't be such a minotaur, youngster. Your honor is one thing, but you've got a whole life to live, and there's a whole hell of a lot more of them than there are of you."
"What happened -- um -- Ansil, my parents..."
Ansil frowned and cast his eyes down. "Murdered."
"Oh, gods. I -- I thought so, but..."
"Only word for it. The bastards. They've taken over everything. Everyone who turned up for work that next morning -- well, they're still working on the farm, only they ain't getting paid for it anymore and they can't leave. I was lucky I drank too much the night before and tried to sneak in to work late. I could see something wasn't right as soon as I got there."
"Slaves." Verita frowned.
"Your father wouldn't like it, not a bit."
"I don't like it either." She snorted. "Perhaps I'll pay them a visit."
"With respect for your honor and everything, don't be an idiot."
Verita stared at the old man and chuckled at his cheek. He was right, of course. She was one young warrior, not even of age, with hand-me-down gear and an old battleaxe that needed honing, and they were a well-trained and ruthless army detachment. There was absolutely nothing she could do. She sighed. "But I'm up a creek, Ansil. I've got nothing but what's in my saddlebags. If I could just fight my way in there for a bit, there's things I could collect that would help me a lot."
"Well, don't go fighting your way in. Look, come there with me. I wasn't always a farmhand, you know. I, um, I know a little about getting in and out of places without being seen."
"I don't know. To go in like a thief...but then again, it IS my home." "Right. It ain't stealing if it was stolen from you. Come on. We both know the old place better than they do. I'll get you in there without being seen."They rode side-by-side down the road to the old farm, Merit the shire horse dwarfing Ansil's little Icewall mare.
"Are they going to have checkpoints set up or anything?"
"In a place like this? No. They don't have the resources. Your farm is at the back end of nowhere."
"Yeah." Verita sighed. "I think that's how Mum and Dad liked it."
"Access to the Vingaard is the thing it has going for it. It's a nice little hideout for them. Quick transportation to many points around Estwilde and Solamnia. And of course, the food source."
Verita growled. "When I think of those dirty little goblins pawing through my things..."
"Best not to. Just get in, get as many of those things as possible, and get out."
They approached the farm at nightfall and hitched the horses in a wooded area nearby. Ansil motioned Verita to follow him, and hiked to the top of a hill that overlooked the farm, a place where she liked to play as a child. They observed the farm for a while. Verita saw a large hobgoblin overseer walk through the fields, rounding up the farmhands, ordering them back to one of the barns, where she supposed they slept. Then, gradually, a few bonfires flared into life here and there around the farm.
"Now's when they drink," Ansil whispered. "There will be one or two patrols making the rounds around the farm, but they'll be bored. They won't be expecting anything. And, of course, there'll be guards on the barn where the hands sleep. Your cellar -- should be a pretty clear shot, I imagine."
"We're not going to loot the cellar," Verita said calmly.
"We're not?"
"We're going to get into that barn."
"Hang on, I didn't sign up for --"
"None of them signed up for this, either. We're getting them out of here. Do you know how to kill someone...quietly?"
"I want absolutely NO part in--"
"If you don't know how, it's all right -- I'll just kill them loudly."
"Damn you, minotaur!" Ansil punched Verita in the shoulder.
"Leave if you want to and I'll handle it myself. You're right -- you didn't sign up for this. But my mother and father left Mithas because they didn't want slaves. They were Mum and Dad's loyal workers for years. And your friends, I might add. I can't just leave them here."
Ansil let out a long sigh and then repeated, "Damn you, minotaur," but in a resigned whisper. "All right. I'll help you. Have you got a crossbow?"
"No. I've only got my hunting bow."
"Are you a good shot?"
"Decent."
"Decent isn't good enough."
"Are YOU a good shot?"
"Used to be. Not since my vision started going."
"Well, looks like it's on me.""Oh, I don't like this..."
"You're in it now. Come on." They crept down the hillside and moved through the shadows toward the old familiar farm. Approaching the barn, an unhitched wagon afforded some cover. There was one guard, an ogre or half- ogre by the looks of him, posted at the entrance. He was about fifty yards away, and the light was going fast as the sun set.
"You've gotta get him right through the neck. He can't make a sound.x"
"Right through the neck. I can do this."
"In this light? Really?"
"Bet I can." Verita raised her hunting bow, took a deep breath, said a quick prayer to Majere, Kiri-Jolith, Sargas, and any other gods who might have been listening, and fired.
THUNK! The arrow struck the side of the barn just above the guard's head. He grunted and looked around, drawing his sword, and yelled an alarm in some uncouth tongue to his comrades.
"Shit."
"Oh, no, oh, no oh, no, this is not good."
"No kidding. Well," Verita said, reaching back for her battleaxe, "guess we're fighting our way in there --"
"No, you idiot! I'll handle this! Stay there! Meet me at the horses later." With surprising nimbleness for an old man, Ansil slipped off into the brush. A moment later, a deafening flatulent sound issued from a patch of shrubbery twenty yards away. The guard, and three others who had joined him, pointed towards the shrubs and charged that way. Once they were there, peering under the bushes, another sound, a demented whoop, came from a clearing further off. A hoot, a cackle, an animal howl, a thrown rock. He was leading them on a merry chase, and they were becoming more furious with every diversion.
The guards thus occupied, Verita stole from the wagon to the barn door. It was secured with a large padlock. She frowned. Guard chasing after Ansil probably had the key. She shrugged, took her battleaxe off her back, and hacked through the door with four quick blows.
The interior of the barn was dark and smelly, and whimpers and groans of dread could be heard throughout the room. "Everyone stay quiet," she said in a hushed, but urgent voice. "The guards are occupied. Get out of here. Go to your family. Then go far away."
A buzz of excited whispering rippled through the barn.
"Verita!"
"I'd know her voice anywhere."
"Thank the gods, you're alive!"
"Go, go, go. Get out of here. Ansil's keeping them busy. I don't know how much longer he'll be able to."
The farmhands, looking a little ragged but otherwise unchanged, began hurrying out the barn door. There was Kellen, Garrick, Leandra. Tavian, who stopped and gave her a quick bearhug, murmuring "Thank you." More people, people she'd never seen before -- brought in to work the fields, she supposed. She watched them scatter in all directions, made sure they escaped into the wilderness, then she lit a lantern and took a quick inventory of the barn. Nothing good in here -- nothing good left near the slaves.
She exited, and scanned her surroundings. There was no one nearby. Maybe she could still get to the house.Drowning her lantern, clinging to the shadows of buildings, she made her way towards her family's home. Just the cellar, that was all. There were things she could use in the cellar. A bonfire surrounded by figures blazed far away -- she could hear laughing, music. They were relaxed; they didn't suspect anything. A bored-looking goblin guard stood at the front door. The cellar door was on the side.
Unlocked! She could hardly believe their carelessness. She slipped inside. Little had changed. Perhaps they hadn't had time to loot this area yet. She snapped up as many supplies as she could hold. Rations, healing herbs and poultices from Mum's emergency kit. Whetstones, lamp oil, fishing gear. A small stash of emergency money that she knew about. Everything secured in her pack, she cautiously peered out of the cellar door. Finding no activity, she emerged and began to make her retreat towards the woods.
Suddenly, something as heavy as a sack of topsoil dropped onto her from the eaves above, wrapping arms and legs around her torso. Small, bony hands dug fingers into her eyes. She bellowed with pain and flailed wildly at the attacker, disoriented. A knife pressed at her throat and she clawed at it desperately. She felt a trickle of blood run down her neck...
WHAM! An enormous weight barrelled into the both of them, toppling Verita and her attacker into the dirt. The knife skittered out of her attacker's hands into the dirt, but he was still wrapped around her, gouging, jabbing -- and then something ripped him off of her. Verita scrambled away, panting, rubbing at her eyes. She heard screams and the crunch of bones. When the grey fog began to subside from her vision, she saw it -- the massive black form of Constance, holding a goblin by the throat, shaking him back and forth as if he were vermin in the grain stores. His body was limp. Constance dropped him and trotted to Verita, sniffing her, bathing her face with her prodigiously wet tongue.
"Thank you, friend," Verita murmured, scratching the huge dog on the neck. "I guess your comrade didn't make it. I know that he died with honor." She crawled over to take a look at her goblin assailant. The face was familiar. It brought her back to that walk home with the dogs, so many weeks ago, that first encounter with the Dragonarmy and its crooked elements. That was the one that got away.
She rifled through his pouches and pockets, found a little gold and a couple of gemstones, plus a few keys that she took just to make the remaining occupiers' lives more difficult, and stood up. "Come, dog," she said. "Owe you my life twice now. If I can find any decent food, you're going to get some." With Constance tailing behind her, Verita left the farm for the last time and headed back for the copse where the horses were tied to see if Ansil was still in one piece.She gave Merit a pat on the haunch, and gave an oat-and-nut energy ball from the emergency rations to her and Firefly, Ansil's pony. She listened for a moment for rustling, footsteps, any sign that she had been followed. Then she sat cross-legged on the ground and waited, nervously, with Constance. It wouldn't be long before the whole camp was in an uproar over the escaped slaves.
It wasn't by accident that they'd chosen this place in particular for the horses. It was hidden away, a place not many knew about, and it was a special place for her father. It was where he came to pray. Mum favored Majere, the disciplined fighter, and Shinare, the patroness of profit earned fair and square. Dad was an odd minotaur. Here, almost invisible, blending seamlessly into the terrain, were his altars to Zivilyn and Chislev, made of the branches of saplings interwoven into simple and elegant bowers. A few offerings of found animal skulls, dried flowers, and porcupine quills were all that remained of his worship; any food offerings were eaten by the beasts almost immediately after they were left behind. She could almost see the pale image of her father, kneeling, leaving behind a carcass or a basket of foraged berries...
A hoarse whisper shattered her reverie. "Bull-head, you owe me."
"Ansil!" She scrambled to her feet. "I do. I'll have to think long and hard about how I'm going to repay you for that. Did you lose them?"
"No, I led them all back here to get you." He scratched Firefly on the neck and she whinnied a soft greeting. "I saw the barn door with the big hole through it. Did everyone get out?"
"Yes, all of them."
"Good. Then let's mount up and get far away from here before they come looking." He stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over Firefly. "That big ugly beast coming?"
"I owe this beast my life, too. I'll tell you about it when we get out of here." Verita started to mount Merit, then cast one last look back at the woven bower. She reached into her saddle bag, pulled out a pouch full of ground nuts, and scattered them under both altars. Then she climbed on Merit's back and rode out without a word, Constance panting and slobbering and galumphing behind on long, strong legs.
After trotting down the dark path in silence for a while, Ansil said "That was a brave and stupid thing you did, you know."
"I know it."
"Your Mum and Dad kept to themselves. Their farm, their business. Never expected them to raise a hero."
Verita scoffed. "Don't call me that. They were loyal employees. It's what they deserved."
"They were my friends too. Shouldn't have had to twist my arm to help them."
"Well, you're right, it WAS very stupid."
"That hound came to your rescue then?"
"Yeah. Goblin jumped on me. Like a wildcat clinging to my head. He was going to cut my throat. Constance got him."
"Guess she didn't like her new masters much, either."
"So what's your plan now?"
"Plan? I haven't got a plan. I haven't got a job anymore. I guess I'm coming with you."
Verita turned and raised an eyebrow at Ansil. "I've just been kicked out of my only home and I'm wanted by the Dragonarmy. Do you think that I have a plan?"
Ansil laughed. "Seems like you make your plans as you go."
"Guess I'll have to." She stifled a yawn. "Do you think we've been riding long enough that we can make camp? I'm dead in the saddle."
"Think so. But let's not have a fire tonight. It's a good thing we have the dog to keep watch."
They quietly made camp and each fell into a deep sleep.When Verita woke up, Ansil was already awake, studying a worn road map. "Coffee?" he said, tapping a tin pot at his side.
"You got up, lit a fire, and made coffee without me even knowing?"
"Yeah. You better learn to be a lighter sleeper now that you're a fugitive." He poured a steaming cup and handed it to her.
"Thanks." She took a sip and shuddered -- he brewed it strong. "Making travel plans?"
"The way I see it, our best choice is to head west for Solamnia," he said. "Then we'd be in friendly territory. Good access to ports; we could work long enough to get passage on a boat, get even further away."
"Seems a good notion to me. I've always wanted to see Palanthas..."
Constance suddenly lifted her head, her ears perked. A short, low "WUFF" burst out of her. Instantly, Verita was on her feet, battleaxe drawn, and Ansil rose to a crouch with his hand on the handle of his dagger. "Who goes there?"
Two figures emerged from the trees. Verita relaxed -- she recognized them. Constance's tail began to wag. "Garrick. Leandra! What are you doing here? You nearly scared us half to death."
"Speak for yourself," Ansil grunted. "I wasn't scared at all."
"We're coming with you," Garrick said shortly.
"Coming with me? What are you talking about?"
"There are no jobs back there unless you want to work for free or fight in the Dragonarmy. There's no way to make a living. I'm leaving."
"But why go with me? I don't know what I'm doing."
"That makes two of us, then."
"Three," Ansil added.
"What about you, Leandra?" Verita turned to the human woman who stood silently behind Garrick. "What about your husband?"
"My husband is dead," she said shortly. A silence ensued.
"I'm sorry," Verita said quietly. "What happened?"
"When I didn't come home, he came to the farm to get me. He argued with the overseer. It got heated and the overseer killed him."
Verita winced and looked down. "That's terrible."
"I don't want to stay in an empty home," Leandra said. "There's mercenaries and slavers all over the place. That kind of man -- a woman living alone..." She trailed off. "So when Garrick said he was going to find you, I came with him."
Verita clenched her jaw and growled, a rage beginning to simmer inside her and take the place of her sorrow. She got up and paced back and forth across the camp a couple of times, fists tightened into angry clubs.
"What are you thinking, Verita?" Ansil said warily.
"This is good farmland," Verita said slowly. "Good farmland full of good people."
"Yes, that it is. A shame."
"It WOULD be a shame," Verita said, "to abandon it to these -- these --"
"What do you mean, WOULD be?"
"-- brutes. To leave the innocent people here unprotected and let them ravage the land. It would be a real shame."
"Verita --"
"Which is why I've decided not to leave."
"There's my bullheaded young friend again," Ansil said, shaking his head. "What are you going to do, live in the woods? Sleep on the ground?"
"Certainly not. Not on the ground. We'll have to procure some tents." Verita wrung her hands, her mind spinning. "And wagons, and more horses. Move from place to place. We'll have to be ready to disappear at a moment's notice."
"I don't know why you keep using the word 'we.'"
"It wouldn't take long for us to get some real money," she continued, ignoring him. "All we'd have to do is take a supply wagon or two. Quick and quiet."
"So you're becoming a highwayman?"
"No. I'm becoming the biggest pain in the arse the Dragonarmy will encounter here." Verita unsheathed her sword, took a whetstone out of her pack, and began to sharpen it. "And I hope that you'll join me."
The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD
Astinus points to the massive wall of books behind him and bids you to make a selection.
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