Belney the Supplicant

Chapter One, Where We Introduce Three Young Adventurers on A Fateful Day.

(Note to readers: If you stay with me for the intro, chapter two gets interesting and by chapter three I suspect you'll be glad you came.)

(Also: This is my first published story, anywhere, so here's to beginnings!)

Our story begins in a little town sitting contented on windy bluffs above a rushing river. Lunsmuir was just a bit bigger than a village. It had two taverns, where beds were occasionally let to strangers, and a town stables, which kept busy a harrier. There were two blacksmiths- one specializing in the implements of farm and field, the other in the tools of war and the hunt. So you see, it was a proper town.

Situated as it was on the bluffs above the Rugged River, it commanded a fair view to the South and West, of plains and pastureland dotted here and there with stately oaks. To the North and East the rose low hills, lightly forested and rocky- though folks farmed in some places, and raised sheep. In town, the scattering of houses along haphazard paths were simple and common to the small kingdom of Shebar- thatched roofs and walls of mud and straw. Sturdiness was necessary for the cold winters, which usually brought at least one decent snow.

Approaching one such house, on a fall evening just at dusk, as the light grew dim, came a young woman hurrying. She floated into the little house grateful for the warmth and food smells within. Her clothes were damp but not dripping, and she was flushed from the road. She made straight for the dinner table and commenced to fill a plate with what had been left for her. Knitting in a chair near the fire, her mother watched her wordlessly. The girl was too old to scold. Old enough to make her own decisions and besides- breezing in for late dinners was one of her trademarks, and it could be worse.

Nothing tastes as sweet, Lenya decided- as a plain warm dinner after you've almost been killed. The bread is softer, the chicken pie more succulent. Even the pitcher of well water has a freshness that feels miraculous. Lenya's nervous system had gone from adrenaline overload to the tremble and shake of processing to the calm warmth of acceptance. As the third and final child of a soldier and an herbalist, she knew she had a reputation for recklessness and bravery borne of her need to prove herself. Maybe also the lighter touch of parents tired and distracted. She knew she'd have been been voted kid most likely to end up dead in a ditch, but she shrugged it off. The town elders could go spin up a rope.

Lenya, if you were to ask her where she'd been, as her mother did that evening, would say she'd been out deer hunting with Belney and Tholeus. Belney being one of the traveling minstrel's daughters and Tholeaus being the only son of stalwart blacksmith Arlen. The truth though, was a shade different. If you'd been watching them that morning early, at first light- you'd have seen them converge at the second Oak north of town. You'd also see, shortly thereafter, the merchant's guild caravan rolling out of the North gate. Picking up decent speed toward the Alliance road as the frost rose off the grass. And in pursuit the three raced, on game trails parallel and behind the town road. Using their woods-craft skills and their young strong legs, they barely left a trail.

What would they want with the caravan? It had been in town two days and two nights, surely they could have availed themselves of the traders then? These three, or rather, one in particular, was a clever and careful young lady. She needed to do her business outside the walls of town. To be away from the eyes and ears of her curious neighbors. And so they ran. If they'd taken horses, they'd have had to account for their business.

But wait, you'd say, what do these youngsters need with contraband? What are they up to? Maybe you'd take a guess that someone among the three wanted one of those coveted apprenticeships in the adventurer's guild. An act of recognized daring and skill could get a

young townie into that interview. And maybe those sort of acts are best accomplished with the odds stacked in one's favor. The tools and tricks that can tip the hand of luck in one's favor can sometimes be bought. Someone among those three had been earning, with her wits and what the goddess had given her. And she'd been saving.

So there the three of them are, approaching the caravan stopped at its midday rest. Lenya the brave, with her light wavy hair, freckled cheeks and big bright eyes, all nerve and calculation. Tholeaus the steady, sandy hair and big open face, just barely grown into his broad shoulders and long legs. And Belney third, not the obvious beauty of her friend, solid, sturdy and shrewd, her dark curls tied back and her features carrying the warm olive tones of the southland. Their breath is calm now as they stroll in, the tone of caravan's barking dogs announcing them as strangers but not a threat.

Four hired swordsmen have risen to appraise the visitors. The eyes of the four show detached curiosity. In addition to the warriors there are two traders and a hooded spell-caster with a youngish air. The first of the traders is an older woman, tall and well dressed, who sets down a bowl of salted vegetables. The second is a diminutive and balding Alushian in the ornate tunic of a tradesguilder. This is who Lenya points herself toward when she speaks.

Merkahsis, (she seems to know his name) We're sorry to disturb your lunch, and to come all the way out here. Discretion demands caution..

Of course, of course! Says he. Come, come!

He beckons the three to join him as he swings up into the back of his finely decorated wagon. One of the swordsmen rises and follows, as his job demands. The warrior smiles at Tholeaus, appreciative of the young man's companions, and the momentary distraction they give. Tholeaus returns his gaze steadily.

Smoke balls, vey charms, sleep dust. Lenya lists off the items that she seeks.

The traders eyebrows raise just slightly as he turns to open drawers and cabinets, offering the prices and care of each and offering suggestions on similar sorts of items. This one seems inclined toward that which might turn a skirmish in one's favor or ruin someone's day. It was prudent for her to have made the trip, he thought. This shopping list would have led to trouble with the constable in town. He wrapped up her items and took her coin with a quiet briskness. If he was concerned for the youths, he didn't show it. He hoped he might see them again in the spring, to spend more coin. What they got up to in the meantime was none of his concern. His own children were tucked away in Cenai City far to the east, aimed he hoped at bureaucratic jobs in the capital, where the real money sits.

Lunsmuir, positioned squarely in the Shebar kingdom of the Green Alliance, is a weeks journey from any truly frightening wilds. There are local human outlaws and trouble to be found like anyplace, but goblin trouble is rare this far West, and Orc war parties have recently been occupied with their revenge crusade against the Red Claw League. Kids will be kids, murmured the trader, as he latched his cabinets and drawers.

The three with their bag of goodies started back toward town. Two crows could be seen then. They flew by, and seeing the three, they circled once and flew back, thirty degrees off from where they had originated. It was the sort of thing that these three might have noticed, if they hadn't been distracted. And if they did they might have picked up their pace- but truth be told it likely wouldn't have mattered. It was just shitty luck.

The two crows flew promptly to a spot twelve minutes away, at the base of a rocky hill. There they landed near a trio of small figures, sitting cross legged in the shade of a tree, perfectly still in a line. If you'd looked their way from afar, or even a few yards away, you mightn't have seen them. So still were they, and so much did their color and tone match their surroundings. One of the crows hopped right up to the middle figure and made a funny little croak like a pebble landing in a pool of water. The strange heavily lidded oval eyes of the figure opened a little and they regarded each other for a long moment. Long enough for a piece of information to pass- a fragment of memory- or maybe a hazy impression. Then into a pouch went a long fingered hand swiftly and out it came with two big nuggets of meat. These were tossed to the crows, who swallowed them without formality and flew off.

Then commenced a quiet conversation between the seated figures, the sound of which would have made your neck hairs stand up for its hissy raspy sharpness, and the flash of sharp canines that could be glimpsed. The brief chat, for all its strangeness- did not sound rushed, or urgent. Here's the truth of it: These three wouldn't prefer to take any action at this midday hour, whatever sporting news the crows brought. It gives a wicked headache, the brightness of the day does. Because these three are goblins, who prefer the dark. If they're motivated however, they will grit their teeth and bear the headache. Hence the conversation. They weren't enraged goblins, thankfully. Not even angry. They were curious goblins that day. If curiosity can be attributed to their kind. Who's to say? Maybe they were just weighing the odds out loud. People, some people of the human variety, say that goblins are stupid. Like lesser animals. Those ideas really only persist among folk who haven't dealt directly with them, perhaps to ease their fears. For those who have, fears blossom and multiply freely.

When a decision was reached among the three goblins that day, they stood in unison and swayed, their long necks swung back and forth, the ragged edges of their beaded leather loincloths swaying with them. In a few moments a particular stomping and rhythmic grunting began, long thin arms raising toward the sky in unison and then falling together as they stomped their long clawed feet in a pattern that was only theirs to know. The skin of the three was a light dusty green and hairless. Bumpy and rougher was their skin where the wind and weather struck it, smoother like that of a frog in their protected places. They were small in stature and rather thick bellied, small like a seven year old, but with ropy muscles and tendons visible. If you saw them move you'd realize at once the danger they present- for their bodies move like water and strike when they wish with a speed like snakes that can scarcely be seen between where they just were and where they're going.

The stomping and grunting and circling- prescribed for for this particular sort of excursion far from home in the daytime, stopped as quickly as it started a minute later. Off they went then in haste, encumbered only by light bows with quivers of little arrows, thin curved daggers, and clusters of little wooden tubes through which minuscule darts might be blown. Their course was set to intersect fatefully with the three young humans. Goblins haven't much taste for an even fight, but their predatory nature draw them like magnets to the young, to the weak, and to the wounded- particularly to the young.

Lenya, Tholeaus and Belney didn't feel quite the same sense of urgency on their return journey. They'd make it home before dark, most likely. The rush of success on their planned mission filled them with jubilation and they chattered excitedly to each other about plans as they alternated between running the downhills and hiking the short climbs.They followed their own trails home along the far side of the river, staying off the road, so to not be seen by possible townsfolk coming and going. The season had seen rain, so the river rolled along swiftly. Their path would come and go from it, from the willows and cottonwoods along the water up to the oaks scattered above.

Tholeaus, as the afternoon deepened and they rounded the last bend toward town, a scarce half hour's jog away, was explaining to Lenya how a part of the winter's upcoming plan might be problematic. He felt himself justifiably to be the group's primary protector, and as such he tended to try to apply the brakes and add ever more safety planning to their schemes. These roles had coalesced years earlier, with Belney being the wild card. Her family's seasonal migrations as bards took her away from town for sometimes half the year.

Len, if we follow the agent out next month like you want to do, Tholeaus began again.

There's too much of a chance the rest will ride down to meet him..

We'll need to wait for snow regardless, Tholeaus. Lenya replied.

I'm stopping for a pee, was Belney's interjection, and so they did.

Tholeaus and Lenya lingered looking at the river below them, letting their breath slow and stretching their legs. Their heads turned as their friend walked back from where she'd squatted and from behind her they heard a strange piercing cry. The rest happened in a blur.

First Belney turned and screamed. Before her were the small darting figures of green goblins approaching swiftly at weird angles. Their sharp ears and bald heads were recognizable, but none of the three youths had ever seen a goblin before, so their hearts all jumped up into their throats together. Belney fell back with eyes wide as saucers and scrambled into a run. little foxtail burrs followed her. At least that's what they looked like, sailing in the air. Little darts like bumblebees. Most fell around or didn't land true to pierce skin, but one did, in the little gap in her clothes at her waist, between her pants and heavy shirt. She ran past Tholeaus as he drew his dagger instinctively. Lenya meanwhile had reached into her bag with her recent acquisitions and did a thing without hardly thinking that basically saved their asses. She threw a smokey-flash-bang. Thats the term in plain english for a little device made from a goose egg hollowed out and packed with various stable explosives infused with magic. Its proper name was something like Qendeurbellinsh in Gellish, and reflected the pride of Gellish craftsmanship, learned as it was from neighboring Elves, with whom they had wisely cultivated good relations over the centuries.

It was money well spent for Lenya, because when it landed between the goblins, it took a few moments for them to get their wits back. They were not expecting this sort of response from what they had taken to be soft unseasoned youths.

Into the river! Shouted Lenya, but Belney was already in mid air. She surfaced briefly a few yards downstream. Lenya followed, clutching her bag and hoping the contents would survive the soaking. Tholeaus backed slowly away from the cloud of smoke and whizzing sparks that the goblins found themselves in. Sheathing his dagger he said a little prayer of thanks for the quick wits of his friend. She never failed to surprise him and his loyalty had been earned many times over.

The goblins for their part didn't wallow long in losing their prey. They looked for a moment down the stream at where the three had gone. One began a slow guttural chanting, which the others joined as they carefully picked up the darts that had been thrown. All darts but one, which was presently still embedded and beginning its foul magic with Belney in the river. Goblins have their own tricks, and the trouble for these humans was not over by a long shot.