The following day, the cathedral’s consecration was completed, albeit with a much more subdued, indoor ceremony. Luther assisted Father Zantus as best he could, and then pitched in to deliver the final rites to the (thankfully few) dead. Father Zantus was grateful for the help, but was still shocked and subdued by the previous day’s tragedy. After the most pressing duties were attended to, Luther decided to give the older priest some time alone and planned on paying a visit to Hannah Velerin to see if he might be of further use there.
By nature, Luther was a quiet and reserved young man, having spent the bulk of his life cloistered within Windsong Abbey. He was devout and pious to a fault, but because of that he tended to also be a bit naïve about more worldly matters. Thus, he had already walked several blocks before he began to notice the feeling that he was being watched. He looked around and saw that not just one person, but several were staring after him, pointing and whispering. Most of them gave him a broad grin and a friendly wave when he caught their eye, and at one point the local baker, Alma Avertin hustled out into the street as he passed her store and pressed a fresh-baked loaf into his arms.
“Look at you!” she chided. “You’re skin and bones! Eat, padre, eat!”
Before he could politely decline her gift, he felt a tug on his sleeve from behind. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with an attractive young woman who blinked prettily at him. Behind her, a group of girls giggled and whispered behind their hands.
“Hello, father,” the woman said smiling brightly. “I’m Shayliss Vinder.”
“Ven’s daughter?” Luther asked, recognizing the surname. “The proprietor of the general store?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Shayliss sighed, “though you’d hardly know I was his daughter by the way he ignores me, so distracted is he by my sister Katrine these days.”
Luther thought he’d heard some rumor or other about the merchant’s older daughter being involved in a scandal surrounding one of the young men who worked at the lumber mill. The young priest tried to avoid such gossip and paid it little heed.
“Yes, well…” he stammered, clearing his throat. “What is it that I can do for you?”
At that, the gaggle of girls began giggling even more loudly.
Shayliss batted her eyes again. “You see,” she said, a pretty pout on her face, “my father’s been so caught up that he hasn’t been able to stay on top of our store’s pest problem. We have rats. Big ones. Why just yesterday, I’m sure I saw one the size of a goblin hiding behind a barrel at the far end of the basement. But then, you’re used to dealing with goblins from what I heard. My father doesn’t believe me, so I thought maybe you could come back with me and help me with my…problem.”
More giggling from the girls. Luther’s face flushed and his collar suddenly felt too tight.
“I…I’m sure I’m not the right person for such a task,” he answered. “Surely you know others more adept at dealing with vermin.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Shayliss said coyly, twisting one dark ringlet around her finger. “You seemed quite…capable yesterday.”
“I’m afraid than any tales of my heroics have been greatly exaggerated,” Luther said quietly. “I regret that I can’t be of greater help to you, but I’m certain if you explain the situation to your father, he’ll understand.”
Shayliss rolled her eyes and threw up her hands.
“Honestly! How can men be so dense?” she snapped. “ Never mind, I’ll take care of my ‘problem’ some other way!”
She turned on her heel and walked off in a huff, casting a last baleful glance over her shoulder as she rejoined her friends.
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Luther wasn’t the only one who found himself the center of notoriety. Wesh found his shop filled with potential clients the day after the attack, and a line forming out the door. Some enterprising individuals had actually brought along several goblin carcasses as well as the corpse of one of the foul dog-like creatures, and practically begged the taxidermist/mage to create a diorama for them, one bearing his personal seal. The price offered was more than generous. Later, as he took his daily constitutional around town, it seemed everyone he came across fancied themselves his closest friend, rushing up to shake his hand, or offering him outlandish discounts to patronize their stores, and perhaps sign an endorsement for them. Word had spread fast of the exploits of four ‘heroes of Sandpoint,’ and Wesh was thoroughly enjoying his newfound fame, fleeting though he knew it might be.
The following evening, when the wizard walked into the common room of the Rusty Dragon, he saw Dex and Skud…well…mostly Dex, holding court in the center of the bar, telling the tale of their daring to a rapt audience. Several empty tankards stood on the bar near at hand, and each time another was drained, one of the crowd was quick to buy them a refill. Near the edge of the gathering stood Lord Foxglove, nodding enthusiastically at Dex’s words, and occasionally embellishing the story with a few details of his own.
“What’s going on?” Luther said, causing Wesh to momentarily start. He’d not heard the young priest come in.
“The price of fame, my friend,” Wesh smiled. “Best get used to it.”
By the time the story had been told a third time, the number of goblins slain had risen to the dozens, and there might have even been orcs or hobgoblins among them.
“Alright, gents,” Ameiko Kaijitsu chided as she cleared the tower of glasses that was accumulating on her bar. “That’s enough tall tales for now. These boys have business to tend to.” A chorus of moans and grumbles greeted her proclamation. “Now, now,” she said, raising her voice, “you’ll all have plenty of time to buy the heroes another round. After all, they’ll be staying here as my personal guests for as long as they like!”
Cheers erupted, and the crowed slowly dispersed, with many backslaps for Dex and Skud (along with the occasional barmaid’s name and address). Ameiko then led them and Lord Foxglove, along with Wesh and Luther, to a private table near the back of the hall, already set with trays of steaming food. Skud felt as if he’d died and moved on to the hereafter. He’d never even slept under a roof before, much less partaken of fair such as was laid in front of him.
“Eat,” Aldern encouraged them. “There’s more where that came from.”
They all set too with enthusiasm, although Luther was a bit more reserved than his companions, only taking small portions of the food, and not indulging in the ale at all. After they’d had their fill, Aldern lit up a small pipe and nodded appreciatively.
“Nothing like a good smoke after a fine meal,” he said, reclining. “I owe you four my life, and the meal is just a token of my gratitude. As promised, you shall also receive a more…tangible reward.”
He reached inside his tunic and drew out a heavy bag that jingled enticingly as he laid it on the table.
“I’ll be returning to Magnimar in a few more days,” he continued, “but I was hoping to get in some boar hunting in the Tickwood before I leave. I would be honored if you would accompany me as my guests.”
Wesh nodded enthusiastically. After all, he was a taxidermist, and he hadn’t had a good boar specimen in quite some time. Dex and Skud were just as eager. Only Luther looked…less than overjoyed.
“My lord,” the young priest said quietly, “though I appreciate your offer, I find the killing of innocent creatures for sport repugnant. I must also decline your monetary offer, though I would be happy to distribute my portion among the town’s needy.”
Aldern looked momentarily taken aback, and Wesh rolled his eyes, but the nobleman’s face quickly broke into a smile.
“A man of principle,” he grinned. “I admire that! Tell you what…if you accompany us tomorrow, I promise to take the bulk of our kills and have the meat prepared as a feast for your town’s poor. Will that suffice?”
Luther was caught off-guard by the generosity of Lord Foxglove, and nodded quickly. The priest was nothing if not driven, however, and he made another request while the noble was in such a giving frame of mind.
“The needs of the people here run deep, my Lord,” he began. “It is my dearest hope to one day be able to provide a proper hospital for them, one where they would not have to worry about having enough coin to pay for good health. Perhaps my Lord, or his peers in Magnimar might see fit to make a donation to such a cause?”
Aldern laughed out loud. “You are quite deceptive, father! You’re not as reserved as you would have us believe, are you? Very well then. I shall take your request back to Magnimar. I’m sure I can find a few kind-hearted philanthropists.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” Luther bowed.
Just then, there was a commotion near the front door. A woman had entered, clutching a baby to her chest with one hand and clinging to the back of a young boy’s shirt with another. Tears streaked her face. Wesh recognized her as Amele Barett, the wife of Alergast, a local farmer. He rose from the table and pushed his way through the crowd. When Amele saw him, a look of fearful hope came to her eyes.
“Master Baltar,” she said, “please, you must help me! You and your friends!”
“What is it, Amele?” Wesh asked, soothingly. “Tell me what’s happened?”
“It’s Aeren,” she said, nodding to the boy. “We were at the festival when the…the attack came. Poor Aeren saw one of those brutes light a cat on fire and then caper around its burning remains. He hasn’t been himself since. For the past two nights, his howls of terror have sent our dog, Petal, into a barking fit, and when Alergast and I came to see, he told us he’d seen a goblin in his closet! Well, Alergast checked, of course, and found nothing, yet Aeren has continued to insist. Finally, last night, Alergast threatened to make the boy sleep in the woodshed if he couldn’t learn to be a man and sleep through, yet tonight, it happened again, only this time we heard poor Petal cry out in pain, and then Aeren’s screams turned shrill.”
She turned the boy around and pushed up his shirt sleeve, revealing fresh bite marks, made by pointed teeth. The crowd gasped.
“When Alergast burst into the room,” Amele continued tearfully, “he found a goblin crouched on Aeren’s chest! Petal was dead, a knife deep in her ear, and the foul creature was trying to chew off my boy’s arm! Alergast went mad, attacking the goblin and chasing it back into the closet, where it disappeared down a hole in the floor boards. Aleregast began tearing apart the closet looking for it, and I panicked. I took the children and came here. I’d heard you might be here. Can you help us? Please?”
Wesh’s face darkened in anger. “Of course we will,” he said, and then turned towards his friends. “Are you with me?”
The others nodded quickly, and several of the bar patrons volunteered to come along as well, but Wesh shook his head.
“Go and fetch the sheriff. Tell him to bring as many of the guard as possible. There may be more than one goblin loose, and there may be others hiding in other buildings. Hurry now!”
_____________________________________________
The foursome followed Amele back to her home, several stragglers from the bar following along behind to rubberneck, despite Wesh’s admonishment. When they reached the house, all was dark and quiet.
“Stay out here,” Wesh instructed Amele. Then he and his companions went inside. The interior of the house was dimmer still, and they heard not a sound as they made their way towards the back bedroom. When they pushed open the door, they saw Alergast Barett lying on his stomach half-in and half-out of the closet. Wesh and Dex moved quickly to him and pulled him out. It was immediately obvious that he was dead, the flesh of his face and upper torso eaten away. Suddenly, a shriek came from inside the closet, and a feral, rabid-looking goblin leaped out, a kitchen knife clutched in one fist. Howling, it plunged the blade through Skud’s boot and into his foot. The half-orc bellowed in pain and then raised his sword above his head and impaled the goblin through the chest, pinning it to the floor like a bug. It squirmed for a moment, then went limp.
By the time they came back out of the house, Skud limping on his injured foot, Sheriff Hemlock had arrived with several men in tow.
“What happened here?” he asked roughly.
Wesh flicked his eyes towards Amele and her children, then jerked his head subtly to one side. Hemlock nodded slightly and walked several paces away with the mage. Wesh quickly explained the situation and Hemlock shook his head wearily.
“Very well,” he said when Wesh finished. “I thank you again for your service. My men will handle the details and conduct house-to-house searches. I’ll speak to the widow. I’ve know her family for years. I believe she has a sister in Magnimar. I’ll send word to her tomorrow.”
“I had heard you captured some of the goblins,” Wesh said. “Did you get any information out of them as to what provoked the attack?”
“Not much,” Hemlock replied. “Only that they were given orders to kill everyone in town and burn down the place. None of them could even remember the name of their leader, only that he was a ‘longshanks,’ which is even more disturbing. They said he was on a secret mission to the boneyard during the attack.”
“The boneyard?” Wesh asked. “Did you find anything there?”
“Honestly,” Hemlock shook his head, “my men have been spread thin. I haven’t had time to investigate yet, and now with this, our resources are going to be strained further still.”
Wesh thought for a moment. “We could go,” he suggested, nodding towards his companions. “Tonight, if you like.”
Hemlock considered the offer and then nodded. “Very well. It’s obvious you boys are capable of taking care of yourselves, but be careful. If you find anything suspicious, I want you to report it to me immediately.”
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The Sandpoint boneyard was set in the shadow of the cathedral and overlooked the Turandarok River. Stone vaults owned by affluent members of the town stood near the edges or at the center, while dozens of humble plots, each marked with a simple gravestone, sat amid trees and shrubberies. The caretaker was a hunchbacked fellow named Naffer Vosk, and when four visitors showed up at the door to his shack near midnight, he was understandably put out.
“What d’yer want?” he asked, squinting as he raised a lantern.
“Mr. Vosk,” Luther called out, “it’s me, Luther Asclepius. We’re here on official business. The sheriff informed us that the main goblin attack might have been a distraction for someone who came to the cemetery. Have you noticed anything unusual?”
The old man wrinkled his forehead.
“Can’t say’s I have,” he said. “Yer welcome t’look around if y’like.”
Naffer led them along the trails of the cemetery, shining his light across the plots. It was not until he reached the outer vaults, those nearest the river, that he paused.
“’Ere now!” he said. “What’s all this then?” He raised his lantern, its light falling on one of the vaults, the door of which was ajar.
“Wait here,” Wesh told the old man. “If we’re not out in a few minutes, go for the sheriff. Whose vault is this, by the way?”
Here, the caretaker’s face grew ashen. “It’s Father Tobyn’s. Him what took me in and gave an old thief a second chance so many years ago. Only true friend ever I had till the fire took’im.”
Wesh nodded, then motioned for Skud to lead the way. The big warrior cautiously pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside, the others following. Within, a stone sarcophagus stood in the center of the vault. Closer inspection revealed that its lid was also ajar, fresh scrape marks on the stone. Skud shoved the heavy lid back all the way and Wesh peered in. The body of Father Ezakien Tobyn was gone.
