Chapter 2 - Ride of the Red Wolves

Magan sizes up the woman in front of him, turning down the bottle, but accepting the fealty. "We need tales, it is true. But they must be reminders to serve the gods and warn of the dangers of the christians and remind people not to accept them or their teachings. Can you do this? I will also need to raise an army, one skilled in articulating the nobility of our cause would not hurt."

The woman spits when Magan mentions the christians.  "That bastards would not bring any good I can tell you that. And never hurted me to appeal the nobility before... except that one time that baron's wife was... specially touched by my songs if you know what I mean. The poor bastard complaining about not being part of it HA! as if his old, fat heart could had taken it..." she smirks.

"Then you are welcome here. We will be glad if your tales I am sure." 

"Then it is settled, no more sitting at the back of the wagon for Eadwyng Mcleud!" she offers her hand and shakes Magan forearm. 

Magan takes the arm in a firm grip, going back to enjoying his food. As the evening wears on he takes the practice swords out to continue Isolde's training, it had been too long. 

The night is quiet and subdued. Today saw a victory, but at great cost. What will tomorrow bring? Fretherne is less than a day's ride north from here, and with it the stockade of the Red Briar. A danger known to some and new to others. The former slaves hunger for vengeance, but also fear for their own mortality. Branok is up early the next day, watching the sun rise over the distant Severn. Isolde still sleeps curled up against Pen's stomach, clearly missing Fang and Claw. Theli stirs against Magan's side as the first rays fall upon them. Slowly, the camp begins to come to life, preparing to set out once more on the road north. For Kara, this means seeking those who can show her the next step on her journey. For Magan, it's the next stop on the road to Kent in Vidarr's name. For Goewyn this is the chance to finally uncover her brother's fate. For many, each new sunrise under an open sky simply means one thing - freedom.

Early in the morning, Magan calls Goewyn to his side. "Scout ahead, see if you can find a good place close to the encampment for us to prepare. See about their defences and warn us of any scouts." He then gets to helping break camp and getting the caravan moving. 

Gann felt grateful that no one had approached him with questions as he dined silently by the waning fire, then withdrew and curtly volunteered for a night watch by the early hours of the next day. He went to sleep almost instantly, in between a thought that went extinguished in an instant. The morning came quicker than he thought, and when enough people were grunting and standing from their beds he took his blade to a small clearing across a score of trees. He stepped into a defensive stance, relaxing his breathing and mentally pictured four men each heavily armed, helm and greaves, circling in at a striking distance. The blade in his hand danced in the cool air, whistling as he braced footwork to swing either high by the shoulder and neck, or low by the knee before shoving forth, much harder done without the counterweight. His conditioned mind flared dull pain where wounds did not exist but the enemy exploited weakness only to be matched with the full swing of the next blow. As they closed in, his frantic motion went into a blur. He felt their kick and he rolled and tumbled, a low counter by the heel, then he pushed back to his feet with a series of swings to secure his engagement range. He struggled to breathe, a deep growling accompanied each strike. He didn't fight to kill. He fought against the inevitable truth. Four men, ax and sweord. Two others armed with bows, from a vantage position. Impossible. He resigned to it eventually, and with this the last of his morning stamina depleted from his aching wrists. Gann returned to the camp to cater to the chores, his tunic glued to his chiseled chest stinking from afar of fresh dirt and pungent sweat. He recalled training for the initiates had to continue, and Gloyn had planned to try out the ranks for scouts and bowmen so he expected to lose some able hands. But he found the camp packing and half-ready for the go, so he joined to help the rest.

Before retiring for the night, Goewyn approached Gann silently, placing her hand lightly upon his shoulder with a smile and a respectful nod before retiring to her own bedroll for the night. Come the morning she was washing down her breakfast with tepid water when Magan approached her. "I will do as you ask." She immediately began gathering all her equipment and mixing some water and dirt into a muddy paste much like she had the previous day. "Shall I go alone? Or take any others with me?"

"Go alone, but be careful. One person will more likely go unnoticed."

Goewyn nods. "This time I won't go shooting arrows at spies." She chuckles before slipping away into the wildness...

After one last night camping on the edges of the Cotswolds, Fretherne is just a few hours' ride north, bringing the caravan of wagons down from the rough hilly track and across sweeping floodplains as they head towards the river. The open terrain is quiet and sparsely populated, especially in these early hours of the morning. Goewyn finds no strangers on the road until the buildings of the village rise in the distance ahead of her.

Gann silently rides by the back of the cart train as they roll down the winding path between the hills and come to sprawling green plains. When a silvery sparkle of the sun's reflection over calm waters catch the eyes of many and becomes the talk among the women in the nearby cart, he rides forward to reach Branok's wagon and Magan. "Would a short stop delay us?" He asks Magan. "Ei think people could wash the stench of cages off their skin, and we could refill our water supply now. If we are to leave in a hurry, that is."

Magan nods. "I would like to give Goewyn time to bring us news anyway. You should put the armour back on now we are closer too." He gestures for the front riders to stop, and assigns guards and scouts to checking the road at the bend ahead as the wagons unload and riders dismount. 

Gann nods back and brings the word to the carts on the back, warning against loud noise and distractions. Soon men and women hop from the carts and spread, and despite the warning, there's occasional laughter and short bouts of merriment. The freed slaves take off their clothes and boots but carry them for they are their only possessions, and their blackened feet soak into cold water and brush clean against the lush vegetation. Pen barks and rushes between them, getting its paws all wet and shaking it off his fur. In the icing cold water, there's competition among men and soon there are few loud exchanges across the pond of water from one camp to another, met with retorts no less sharp. They know this moment is a fleeting one, and each makes the most of it. Gann waits until most to leave and checks most of his belongings in the wagon, then follows bare-feet by the bank of the river about eighty feet before entering water naked and diving into its shallow waters. He works quickly with his back turned towards the carts at all times, soaking his clothes and rubbing the dirt off them off first before diving his head repeatedly to take the caked filth off his hair and beard. Then he finds a rock to scrape his skin red but clean. His unusual distancing from the camp earns him a mix of reactions from the slaves - some women would be caught staring at the glistening mosaic of thew and vertebrae across his back, and few men would make suggestions that would earn them guilty laughter but little else. He gets called by name once by the bald slave with the tattooed arm, but he doesn't respond.  

"While we wait" says Eadwyng "Do you think it's ok if I get some equipment for myself? don't get me wrong I am grateful for what I got earlier but I have the feeling that I am going to need better equipment if I am goingto stick around you" she smlies and winks and eye.

Magan nods. "Any who know how to use what we have are welcome to it. There is a fierce battle to come I am sure, and the more protection we have, the better we will be for it." He opens the wagon and begins laying out the limited selection of weapons and armour they have scavenged from their adventures so far.

Gann approaches the wagons soaked wet as he walks barefoot across the lush grass. The cold embrace of water offers short relief from the itching under his hair and beard he had become accustomed to, and he welcomes the ice-cold tongue of the soft wind and the gentle embrace of the sun. His tunic, now a lighter shade of matted brown, sticks like a second skin revealing his deformed chest but fortunately, little else. He notices the woman from the wagons earlier that day that came with them to the funeral pyre. He paid little attention before but he saw her with Magan last night and now she armed herself. "How is your aim with these?" He asks in a hoarse but friendly manner as he sees her weighting a pair of handaxes. There's little else to the question, no intent other than to spark conversation. He watches her grip and dexterous movement with the weapon rather than her eyes until she speaks back.

While at the resting point, it was a good moment to shed her clothing, and get clean. Which with the way she fought, many might be surprised by her grabbing soap and then heading to the water. While some of the group hid before they changed, or even waited until getting close to the water, Kara started with finding the wagon Branok was at, at starting there. After taking off every piece of armor she had, she really had little left that was functional, as the shift she did have and the undergarments where it. Those didn't last long however, quickly being put to the side of her armor. From the wagon Kara would go naked to the water, before cheerfully getting in. Many would count it to her clearly Nordic blood and upbringing, but she felt no cold but just joy from the fresh water. To be fair, it was a long time since any of them had a proper bath. "You need to bathe. Clean is important! Even Freya  takes time to clean after battles!" Kara calls out to the group, oblivious to how cold the water was

"Well I used to need to throw them to my brothers so they left something to eat for me so... " she replies to Gann question with a smirk " At least I will no hit you in the back "

Gann nods in response and a weak, short-lived smile registers across his soggy bearded face. He says nothing else and gives ample time to the woman to arm herself before he approaches the wagon and starts doing the same. "Ei am Gann." He speaks when she is already walking away.

Goewyn takes the next few hours to survey the land, finding the highest point she can locate to see if she can find a path that the group can use to move through the area without being spotted. Unfortunately the small peninsula is just too narrow and she can see from river to river and much that moves across the land. After determining that going through the nearby village will be the least noticeable thing she decides to make her way into the village to get a feel of the people and their interactions with the slaver hold just a few miles away...

As Goewyn approaches the village she sees that it is relatively small. Peasant work their fields surrounding the settlement, paying little heed to anything but their work.

She enters the village, taking note of the locals and looking for the drinking house. She learned on her journey south they were excellent places for loose tongues and gathering information.

Goewyn slips closer, ducking between the outer most homes as she heads deeper into the settlement. There seems to be a fairly typical mead hall near the centre and a barrow similar to that which they saw in Wansdyke on the northern edge of the village. None of the people that she sees are familiar to her.

Goewyn heads toward the mead hall to see if any day-drinkers are loosening their tongues and hazing their minds this early in the day. If she spots anyone within, she will enter and order a drink.

It's still early in the day and the interior of the hall is dark and quiet. Nevertheless, a fire burns in the hearth and one man sleeps by the mead kegs and shelves of clay mugs. Across the hall, another sits besides the fire...

The man keeping the hearth company is older, showing signs of gray streaks. His hair is dark and long, and his beard is kept short. He sings a somber tune to his blazing companion, but the words seem...off. They evoke a longing and reverence, but the actual dialect seems like a mangled bastardizing of several languages. Across the floor, new footfalls catch his attention and stop his singing short. Pausing for a moment, he turns to look over his shoulder for a long, assessing glare before returning to serenading the fire (albeit quieter now). After Goewyn is served, he clears his throat with a great rumble and pats the bench next to his. "You have an angry air about you, lass. Come, would you tell me your troubles? It helps to talk."

Goewyn eyeballs the old man singing to the fire for a calculating moment before nodding and bringing her jug of mead over. She takes a seat upon the bench, facing the old man. "Tell me, old man, what would you know about angry airs? What's your story? You need a drink yourself? Long tales parch the throat and choke the words."

Smile man gives a long, whimsical smile and looks around at some unseen wonder, "I've had more than my fill, though much less than most would. I had only meant that when strangers come around, they carry pieces of other places with them. The very air that follows you in is....angry...bitter...but sad." His gaze levels on Goweyn once more and a measure of certainty returns, "It's like the air of a graveyard, of one who has known blood too well. I will be sure to burn several offerings tonight in hopes of calming your airs."

Goewyn spends a moment looking over this man, gauging his words and his eyes. "You are a seer, then? I would ask you if you know anything about a destination west of here along the Severn. What do you know about a group that calls themselves the Red Briars?" She pushes her jug of mead towards this strange man as she calls for another for herself.

Caerak smiles and holds a hand up toward the jug. "It doesn't take a seer to know of the Red Briars, miss. They've been a pest in the area, always coming around demanding food and money, but staying to themselves when there's other trouble. What business do you have with them?"

Goewyn shrugs and takes the jug once more as she drinks, slaking her thirst from the dust of the road. "You could say that I owe them payment. Would you say the people here have a dislike for them? I am called Glöyn, seer. What do they call you?"

"You honor me too much to call me such a thing,"  The older man smiles, and shadows dance across his face,  "I am Caerak den Fhearann, but most people leave off the formal title. I am only a man who listens and asks of things that most would look beyond. As for the Red Briars,"  Caerak leans in a bit closer, as though the drunk in the corner had ears of a bat, "I've seen faces around when they come for payment. Some protest, others grumble after they leave. You'll find very few friends of them here, but fewer who would raise an arm against them. We're lucky they take less from us than others. The Elders struck the fear of Ancients in them when they first came about, and they're careful not to overreach where gods and powers are at work."

Glöyn's lip turns upward into a smile at one corner as she takes another drink. "That is good to know, Caerak." She fishes into a pouch and draws out a silver piece. "Do you take payment in silver? Or other means? I have oft heard seers like you ask for favors instead of coin." She places the silver piece upon the table top until answered. "And what of these elders? Should some pass through seeking to end the menace of the Red Briars, would they aide such a venture? Do the Red Briars keep spies here for such an event?"

Caerak stops the coin and pushes it back without much more notice , "A few here gain from the briars, yes. I would not expect the Elders to follow action against them, though, unless the threat came to them. This is a sacred place, and they are not so concerned with the dealings without." A change comes over him as he realizes some of the implications of their talk, "You aren't planning to attack them, are you?"

She shrugs unconvincingly. "As I said, I owe them payment for something. A payment long overdue. I would be very grateful if those who gain from the Briars were otherwise occupied when my friends and I pass by the town." She glances back to the silver piece still sitting on the table top. "Whatever it takes. You said this place is sacred? What is it known for?"

"Hmm..." Caerak pauses for a moment, musing on the idea of avoiding conflicts, "Sadly, I cannot always control the actions of others. They can be told, and advised to stay away, but they will decide in their own way how to greet more newcomers.  "There are more with you? I admit this put me at ease knowing you don't hold a grudge alone. I would invite you and your friends to pause here and give offerings to our goddess. She is quite influential, as she blesses mothers and adventurers alike. She has many names, but everyone knows there is deep, personal power with her gifts.

"Well, I cannot promise any who try to warn our quarry will not come to harm. I also think you do not understand our intentions. We wish to pass through unmolested and unmarked by our prey. We can only take their stronghold if we catch them with surprise. Making a show of coming through your town and giving offerings will only draw their attention. What if I were to leave an offering for them as we pass by? Is there anywhere we could pass through here without being spotted?"

The patron glares for several long moments at the roaring hearth. Occasionally, he offers grunts and hums, as though listening to counsel and weighing options. "It's decided, then. I'll lead you and yours wide around Fretherne. It will be a long way round, but it will avoid notice. The Land has no desire for the Red Briars anymore." Caerak stands immediately. Despite his age, slim build, and shorter stature, his movements belie a man half his age. With a deep breath, he seems to pull heat from the fire, then the sigh that follows is full of vigor and life. "I will gather my things and meet you on the road you came in from."

The woman so-named Glöyn watches the man for several moments before responding. "I know not why you would help us, but if you truly mean to aide our endeavor you would be welcome among my group. But..." she pulls a seax from her belt and places it onto the table between them as she leans in close to whisper. "If you seek to betray us, I will personally gut you and feed your entrails to you before you die."

Caerak smiles, looking down on the determined woman, "You have nothing to fear from me, except that which you bring upon yourself." An hour later, Caerak sits by the main road leading into Fretherne, humming s little song and enjoying the scenery.

Magan taps his feet. The compulsive beard pulling is beginning to rub a bald patch into his face. He had sent Goewyn out to scout a while ago and it was time she should be returning. The freed slaves were returning from their bath in the lake and Theli and Isolde were playing by the cart. The other source of his stress was considering the action to come. He sits next to Theli and muses out loud, partially to her, and partially to himself. "I am considering meeting with my father after we have defeated the slaver camp. Perhaps he could be persuaded to support our army, with men or with equipment or horses. You know, you never told me about where you are from."

"Neither did you," she points out, glancing up at him teasingly as she takes a bite of an apple.

Magan looks at her strangely. "I did, some time ago. But you were not in a position to listen. The ring I gave you though, my family crest us engraved upon it. I asked you first though." He takes his hand and grass hers playfully stopping her from looking at the ring. 

Theli laughs and tugs at her hand. "I grew up in  Pennsans ," she admits, tilting her head to the side as she watches Magan thoughtfully. "I've always lived by the sea."

"And your family? What do they do? What did you do for that matter, before you were investing in adventures to steal faerie gold?" He pokes her playfully. 

"My father was a fisherman and I was his daughter," Theli tells Magan with a sickly sweet smile, her eyes daring him to comment.

He nods, "And then?"

"...and then he died," she explains simply. The statement is matter of fact, but there's a faint edge of sadness, hardened by time and distance. "Just like everybody does."