Chapter 2 - Ride of the Red Wolves

Magan nods again at Branok's words. "Yes, though it seems you don't approve. Do you think we have no cause for haste? Has past experience not shown us that when we linger on this work, things go wrong?" 

Branok shrugs. "If the years have taught me anything, it's that you rarely get further along the path that the Gods have lain out for you by rushing it. Perhaps the discoveries that we have made along the way are all part of their plan." The old man shakes his head and laughs. "It matters not. Shall we return to the others?" Outside the temple, a ship sailing down river and out to sea catches Goewyn's eye while she guards Isolde. It looks strangely familiar... Back by the carriage, the caravan draws ever closer, now clearly far larger than it had appeared in the distance. Armed riders lead wagons laden with cages, heading east into Saxon lands. Scared eyes stare from within and skeletal hands clutch at the bars. This is a slave train.

Glöyn is in the middle of telling a story to Isolde that her mother used to tell her when something in the bay catches her attention... a ship... that mast... tingles and pins run down her spine... Her voice trails off as her eyes widen and she whispers softly. "...Gruffydd..." Her heart begins racing and her mouth is suddenly dry. Her hands shaking she kneels down next to Isolde. "Little one, I-we must go now. There is something I must see. This is very important." Her head flips from side to side as she looks up at the large temple. No, it's too big... She spots several folks milling about... She fishes into a small pouch on her belt, drawing out a silver piece. "You! Come here, please, I beg you!" She rushes over to a nearby common folk, shoving the silver piece into their hand. "I beg you, take this money, it is yours. Go into that temple there, seek out a man called Magan. Tell him that Glöyn is taking the child to the docks and will meet him there. Go now! Quickly!" She rushes back, takes Isolde's hand and smiles. "Trust me, Isolde, but I need you to run with me as fast as you can. Are you ready? You must keep up!"

Magan steps through the door, still talking to Branok. He looks over to see an urchin running towards him and his heart almost bounces out of his chest with panic when Gloyn and Isolde are not stood exactly where he left them. He looks across the street to where they had stepped for a better view, his senses bred by years in the wilds hone in immediately. ... "Ready? You must keep up!" The panic raises itself once again in his chest, manifesting in his voice clapping like thunder over the vowels and hissing like a snake over the soft s's.  "She must what? Have your senses deserted you?" As the volume of his voices rises, so to his stature appears to, taking over the street with his anger. "You are given one moment of trust, to look after a charge for me and you seek to run with her? You will stand where you are!"

Glöyn spins around, twirling her spear towards the booming voice of threat until she recognizes Magan's voice. "Magan! Oh, the Aesir are with us! I must go! That ship!" She spins and points with her spear towards the vessel leaving the harbor. "I think that is the slaver's ship that took my brother! I must know! He could... I have never been this close to them! You must understand, Magan. He is only a child! He needs me!" For the first time since meeting the young woman, there is a break in her calm demeanor and the sense of frustrated panic is clearly evident on her face. "I cannot linger, Magan. There will be word of where they head at the docks!" She smiles down at Isolde and passes her little hand over to Magan. She is already starting to move towards the harbor. "Wait for me not, I will catch up to you! Or should you wish, you can wait for me at the docks!"

"Hold!" Magan's aspect shrinks to his usual size as he calms.  "You rush without engaging your head. Such folly will get you killed." He reaches out a hand in friendship. "Now I promised if our path crossed with theirs, that I would help you get your brother back. Now here it seems the gods have laid your destiny in line with ours and..." He looks at Branok with a grin and a wink, "We no longer believe in coincidence do we? The gods lay out these hardships for a reason. It is perhaps all part of their plan. Now let us go together, and calmly yes? Running up, all in a panic will have nobody looking to answer your questions."

Glöyn looks between the departing ship and Magan’s hand. “I need to get closer before it gets too far to make sure it’s the right ship. I promise to stop and wait for you all at the dock, but I must move fast now .” Before Magan can say anything more or try to restrain her, young Glöyn sprints off in a blindingly fast sprint that would prove impossible for the others to keep up even without little Isolde to slow them down...

Magan lets out a huge sigh. Looking at Gawen and Branok he says "We cannot leave her in this. We should follow." He picks up Isolde with a big grin to calm any anxiety and puts her atop Ealing. Climbing up behind her he clicks his heals to send her down the street towards the docks.

Glöyn slows to a fast walk as she closes to a distance where there can be no doubt as to the ownership of the vessel. Tears start to gather at the corners of her eyes which she angrily wipes away with shaking hands. She was so close! The urge to rush off and steal a small boat to row up to the slaver ship and slaughter them off in their sleep was nearly overwhelming, but she knew herself well enough to know that she could not possibly kill them all before the simply swarmed over her... Instead she watches the ship as it continues to move out of the estuary, barely blinking and keeping a close eye on the ship, making notes on any possible points that she could use to get aboard or any gaps in the movements of the slavers while she waits for Magan and the others. She tries to swallow the massive knot in her throat down, but it refused to budge and the threat of tears was ever present. 'This is not a time for tears. This is a time to watch and learn. They will pay, but not this day. Soon.'

Bringing his horse in beside where Gloyn has stopped, Magan dismount and moves to place a gentle hand on Gloyn's shoulder.  "We will ask at the place they were docked about their numbers, cargo and destination. Perhaps someone saw or heard something. Stay close though,we don't want to get separated in the city."

Not trusting herself to speak around the knot in her throat, Glöyn doesn't remove her eyes from the vessel and simply nods at Magan's words. She stands there, quiet and stoic, for several minutes until the ship is lost to sight. She lets out a heavy sigh of defeat, her shoulders slumping from the proud stance in which she normally carries herself. With his hand upon her shoulder, Magan can feel the shuddering of each breath as she fights against the overwhelming frustration of failure. She stands there for several moments, gathering up the will to keep moving forward and not collapse to her knees with a scream of anguish and begin sobbing. The shaky breaths stop as she mutters the iron fortitude that she had built up over the last several years as she straightens her shoulders and turns to Magan. Her eye, still wet, but clear with purpose lock with his. "Thank you. You have my word, I will stay with you now." Together they all move towards the area where the slaver ship would have come to shore either with their wares or to gather supplies... Either way, someone there would know how many there are, where they were headed next, and if they sold any of their 'goods' here...

Few seem willing to discuss the ship and those who own it, and talk of the vessel appears to inspire fear in most. However, a little silver does loosen some tongues. The vessel is known as the Albion , and frequents the Severn channel. They bring slaves through Caer Odor and drive them out east to sell to the Saxons. Men, women and children of all kinds are trafficked by the Red Briar .

Guthric was too busy with his sport to notice the far off caravan approaching, but Gann's frantic scramble heralded its approach. Curious, he moved to the corner of the carriage and peered out. His hand gripped the bow tighter and he gave a quick whistle, "Fang! Claw!" His hounds rushed over and took their place at his side. "Get my shield there, thank you." Claw rushed over, took the wood protector, and dragged it over to the Pict. A quick survey of his quiver came up with a half dozen arrows left; twice as many were stuck to his makeshift target. He spoke against the carriage wall, trying to stay unnoticed from the road, "Gann, who is this?"

"Ei do not know them." there's a hoarse whisper from the inside of the carriage. "But they are armed. Do not draw their heed." The last thing Gann remembered before instincts took over and he sought cover were just five riders in the distance. But he heard more and more of them and among the staccato of hooves he recognized the chatter of carriages and the clang of metal. He reigned control over his breathing and briefly exchanged another glance with Theli to ensure she was calm and still, and he slowly crouched until he almost felt the rough wood against his chest. Where the thick wool was wrapped were tied against long iron nails was a tiny slit of an opening enough for him to peek outside. He counted with bare twitches of his lips, his breath held. Ten riders, well armored. Carriage, four of them, drawn by oxen. Cages. So many cages, he stopped counting. Slavers. Gann's eyes stared unblinking as he felt the compassionate caress of a humble companion of his earliest memories. The thick sour smell of unwashed bodies piled against each other against the grind of the metal was instantly recognizable and ever-present. The hunger. The drudgery. The despair. The chains, their grip cold and tacky. He had to peel his eyes off to breathe again. His mind raced to repress the flood of recollections like a raging river and his thoughts rowed a boat against its current. He fought off opportunities as his hand gripped hard the handle of his blade, all of them hysterical and unhinged. Your claw is worthless, your teeth have no bite. You only have your eyes and now more than ever, she needs them. Use them while you can. Keep your word. He swiftly pressed his head against the wood again and studied the procession outside desperately trying to catch a sign of a boy, a youth like himself a spindle of moons ago, with a particular likeness to her. He notes few younger slaves that, lumped and shaking with the carriage, have accepted their fate. Their faces and chestnut brown hair brown and caked with grime and scar. His eyes soak all detail and then something on the carriages draws his attention away...

Glöyn and Magan move through the town near the river, asking the small folk about the slavers and she confirms what she already knew... these were the same ones that had taken her brother. There was a sense of fear from the people about these vile men and Glöyn could appreciate that, while she herself had no fear of them, only a burning and furious hatred of them, she understood. It took a bit of silver, but she was able to start loosening some tongues and she discovered that the Red Briar had indeed unloaded several cages worth of slaves here. At that news her skin prickled and she turns to Magan with wide eyes. "We must ride! Perhaps... maybe we can catch them? We should examine their strength! He might be with them, Magan. Are we done here?" She looks at him with pleading, desperate eyes.

As the cage-laden wagons roll on down the road, those by the carriage notice a particular symbol emblazoned in red paint along the sides of the slavers' carts. A circle of twisted thorns.

Kara, upon realizing what they were, snorts and turns back to the group. Her facial expression showed her clear lack of respect for those men, for while slavery was not an issue to her people, slaves were generally from the conquered people of other lands, and these looks enough like each other to have been neighbors. That, and you kept only the slaves you bought or caught yourself, no one really went around hawking their wares unless it was a meeting time or festival. She ask to Guthric "There is some festival in the nearby town yes? Why so many conquered people?"

Magan looks back into Gloyn's eyes, his own sadness reflected in hers. He glances down at Isolde, remembering the circumstances in which he found her. Looking back at Gloyn he places his hand back on her shoulder and nods. "Yes, we are done here. We will chase them down and catch them too. Large slave caravans cannot move quickly, besides we are heading into saxon lands ourselves, and once we are there, they are on my ground." He clenches his other hand into a fist. 

No immediate response is given. Kara is met with the Outlander staring intently at the cages. The whites of Guthric's eyes were gone, swallowed up by amber irises and enlarged pupils. The side of hip lip curled to reveal the tips of fangs where teeth had been. The Pict's hand was wrapped around his bow with white-knuckled fury. "Why..."  His voice trembled, almost cracking, "Why are they in cages?..."

"If your brother is among them, we'll do all we can to free him," agrees Gawen. He had little experience with either slaves or slavers, and Glywysing - in common with many of the small kingdoms on the Western coast - had been as often a target for seaborne raiders as it had a trading partner with them, but he knew Branok was right. If the gods had seen fit to bring them to Caer Odor at the same time as the men who took Glöyn's brother, their task seemed clear.

Guthric and Kara's arms draw watchful glances from some of the riders as they pass, but little more. Soon the caravan has rolled by the carriage and on down the road to the east.

Once he can no longer hear anything but a distant rustle of hooves Gann launches himself off the carriage almost starting Theli in his sudden stride. He hops outside and approaches Guthric and Kara, eyes on the distant slaver train. After holding his breath for long, he pants huskily with teeth bared and his eyes intent. His callous hand grips on his blade. "Has anyone looked at the youth? " He inquires both. "I saw two of labor age, brown-haired both of them. Have you seen others, or younger?" He looks at the pict, then hopefully meets Kara's look. A god-chosen, guided by the spirits and those atop the Æsir, must be able to see truer than mortal men.

Guthric can't take his eyes off the retreating caravan train, "I see nothing."  He looks to Gann, back to the train, then to Kara, "Why...?"  He pleads. Too many questions spin through his mind to decide which one should come first.

Gann is boiling with reawakened memories and emotion, his bared teeth - a triplet missing on the right side of his jaw - gritting hard to leash and contain them. The others can sense a peculiar mix of distress and choler, too strong to be caused by the mere sight of others' plight. He turns away to reign on his temper.  "Glöyn spoke of her brother taken by slavers." Gann faces the distant sprawl of Caer Odor. "Young one... all I know. Magan knows more. We must tell them first once they return."

Glöyn looks at Magan and Gawen, nodding. "Then let us ride. I have nothing more here, for now. Those on that ship will face my wrath another day. Perhaps we could make a stop along the way. I would like to gather some poisons that could be useful to us in removing the threat of these slavers."

Magan nods. "Make it quick. We should aim to catch them by nightfall."

It doesn't take long to track down an alchemist's shop near the river. The shop-front facade is of blackened, tarred wood, and a scratchily written sign reads Ealdians Elixiere  in scratchy white letters. The inside of the shop is gloomy and smells of smoke. Dried frogs hand from the ceiling and pots of dried herbs line the shelves. A wizened old woman stands behind the counter working at a mortar and pestle. She watches her customers as they enter with a single beady eye that follows them wherever they go.

Guthric goes about camp gathering his belongings, "We can't wait, we should find them now. If we wait, they get away."

Kara shakes her head and then questions her companions " While it seems to be of ill taste to you, does this not happen to the loser of fights? It is common for my people. Though cages are rare, they happen sometimes."

Still visibly agitated, Gann stops still when he hears Kara's answer. He feels a response was called for, one that asks what fight had those boys lost to suffer life of no will, but he couldn't summon the confidence. Gods among spirits are those only capable of true mercy and great cruelty, unquestionable. The god-chosen wield both. "Guthric." He looks around by the carriage spotting one of the pict's animals. It sounded foolish what he was about to say for few had trained their companions for such feats. "Can you have one of your dogs follow them and until the sun is ready to set, then come back and lead us? The grass is tall, and so are the nearby forests thick. It should not draw attention."

Glöyn nods as she begins asking around to find an apothecary, which was not all that difficult in the massive city. The young lass from the rugged mountains of Carneddau near Llyn Dulyn cannot help but gape at the absolute massive size of this city and the number of people within. It was not long before she found what she wanted. The smell to some was overpowering and acrid, but to Glöyn it was reminiscent of a the home she grew up in and it set in her a longing that she had not felt in many a moons. She stops in the threshold of the door for a moment, taking a deep drink of the scent with a melancholic sigh before stepping up to the old woman. "Good morrow, Hlǣfdīġe." She removes her herbalist satchel and places atop the counter. "I will be on a journey and seek to replenish some of my supplies. I am short of rosemary, caraway, lavender, wolfsbane, and perhaps if you have anything from the lands of Frankia... or beyond?" She smiles sheepishly.

Guthric seems puzzled and conflicted by Kara's acceptance of slavery, "When a pack is beat, they follow the new pack. The ones who don't get left behind or killed. This just doesn't seem the same." Gann's proposal did carry a bit of weight. However no pack ever leaves one to do a job alone . He calls Fang and Claw over and sits close with his arms over their shoulders, "You both follow them until it gets dark, then come back here. Tell us what you see and where they stop to sleep."  Strangely, the dogs seem entirely lucid and stand with Guthric. He rummages through his pack, produces a cloth-wrapped parcel of dried meat for the hounds. With the two fed, the Pict takes a shirt from his pack and ties it on the base of a sapling nearby, "Smell for this when you come back." Fang and Claw pause a moment, then rush off in the direction of the caravan.

"Herbs from across the sea don't come cheap, young lass," the crone replies with a crooked grin. Her voice croaks melodically, like an old toad. "Though, I do have most of what you seek..." She gestures to a nearby array of baskets filled with dried herbs. Glöyn sees most of the healing remedies she is searching for, but no wolfsbane.

Glöyn smiles and nods. "Of course." She will spend a moment gathering the basic herbs she uses on a daily basis and then looks back at the old woman. "What do you have from across the sea? I have a wolf problem I'm looking to deal with that prey upon my sheep. Wolfsbane is always good if that’s all you have, but perhaps you have something stronger?" She removes several silver coins from her pouch and holds them up to examine them before dropping them to the countertop. "So, what have you?"

A slow smirk grows across the old woman's face as Glöyn's coin hits the worn wooden counter-top. "I do carry some supplies from across the water... although you may need to lace some meat with the poison. Wolves won't eat dried wolfsbane by themselves." She reaches under counter and produces a small clay pot of dried herbs.

Glöyn smiles as she looks at the clay pot. "How many silver for this?" She flinches and visibly blanches at the price laid out by the old woman. "I... don't not have nearly that amount of silver, Hlǣfdīġe... " She glances over to Magan who shakes his head slowly, either indicating he also does nor or was not willing to part with what equated to a small fortune. It was, quite honestly, more money than Glöyn had conceived of existing with her. "I apologize for wasting your time, Hlǣfdīġe. I will take my herbs and should the day come when I acquire such wealth and am still in need of your services, I will return." She deposits the silver for the healing remedies, hanging her head a bit at the wasted time on all ends. "Let us go, quickly, mayhaps we can still catch them on the road."

The ride back to the carriage takes about forty minutes. By the time Magan, Glöyn and the others return, the caravan is long gone.

Gann goes silent and returns to scouring the short distance around the carriage, his attention often drawn back at the far sprawl of Caer Odor. Once he spots familiar horses in the distance, he lets the others know then before they can halve the distance he jogs ahead to intercept their stride. He stops by Glöyn's horse and without giving her a moment to inquire he speaks with the brusque formality of a field report, sparing no detail but wasting not a heartbeat to opinion. Ten riders, well armored. Carriage, four of them, drawn by oxen. The cages. The slaves, a crude estimate of their count from one side only. The boys, young and of labor age, the tan of their skin, the clotted color of their hair, the marks on their faces. And as he turns to Magan, he speaks of the sign adorned on the carts. The circlet weaved of thorns. Once left out of breath, he steps aside to allow their horses to continue towards the carriage, following by their side.

Guthric's large form stands waving adjacent to the wagon as Magan, Glöyn, Branok, and Isolde return. Gann rushing off mean they were likely told already what was seen,  he wasted no time either, "Fang and Claw are following them. We can beat them at night."

Magan nods in thanks to Gann's information and smiles at Guthric. "I agree, night is our best chance. We can move fast and perhaps release some slaves to overpower them. We must move quickly though to take advantage."

Glöyn's skin prickles in anxiety and nerves as she listens to the report. "How long gone are they?!" So close now... so close... they will die. It was sworn, they must die. She fights the nerves to immediately kick her heels into the flanks of her horse and ride off after them, learning from her mistake in the forest while watching these warriors. "Yes, the cover of night would be best. Should we try to infiltrate their camp first? Or kill their watch and then after to free the slaves?" Her words spill forth rapidly as a large smile fights its way to her lips, inspite of her attempts to appear grim. She glances at Gann and Guthric. "Thank you... both of you."

"Let us see what we find." Magan closes his eyes, searching for their distance from him. Examining the ground where they have trodden, working out their speed and number.

Ten riders, eight oxen and four wagons, moving south-east down the road at a steady pace... they must be three miles on by now. A couple on foot as well, more on the wagons.

Kneeling with a finger on the dirt track Magan exhales deeply. A glint flashes in his eye. "They have just 3 miles on us. We can raid their camp this very night. We must move now though." Magan stands and sets to helping Branok move the cart around. 

Within a few minutes the carriage has been turned and the group is back on the road, riding south-east in pursuit of the slaver caravan. Although, at their normal travelling speed they seem to only be keeping pace with the Red Briar. At this rate they should make  Aquae Sulis by the end of the day, which also seems likely to be their quarry's destination.

Guthric's elation at the hunt practically spills like a river, "Haha! Good, good! We hunt tonight, and we make the Great Wolf proud!"  The Pict quickly scours the camp, scrounging the arrows he can from his tree target and throwing his things in a ramshackle heap within the carriage. Practically abandoning his horse, he rushes to the road and begins sniffing the ground and air, wiping handfuls of dirt and mud across his face and neck. When finished on the ground, he looks far, sighting the distance for any particular way to shorten the gap to their prey.

With the wagon rolling, Magan looks at the tracks and back at their own group again. He tugs on his beard, tangling his fingers up deep within it as he often did when making decisions he wasn't comfortable with. "As we are, our wagon will move no faster than theirs. We must see where they go though." He pauses again, deep pain in his expression, he hesitates but he knows what must be done, there is only one logical division. "Guthric, Gloyn and I will ride ahead. Our horses will make gains on their group and we are all able to remain unseen by their group if necessary. Kara, Gann, Gawen, you shall remain and keep our own safe. We shall wait for you when we know where they camp and shall not engage without you unless necessary." He look pointedly at Gloyn. "Do not place us at risk in this, or we shall leave you alone." He drops his horse back a moment to talk to Theli quietly through the window. "I am sorry my love. I have just got you back and I leave you for the second time in a day. These are pressing things though and I fear I am left with no choice."

Gawen waits for Magan to finish with Theli, before dropping back next to him. "If your intention is to remain hidden from our quarry, I'd like to accompany you scouting ahead - I know of some druidic lore that may help us remain unheard and unseen, should it be necessary."

The Pict had considered a retort, but kept silent long enough to consider his own point. He would push to leave horses behind and hunt on foot, but speed was essential now to cut distance. He quickly resigned himself and rushed to his horse to stow his weapons and mount up. We should move quick; catch up and wait for a good place."