Roquesdoodle
First Post
The Stormfront
“Do you see it?” Tibbit asked.
Connor squinted in the morning sun, taking in the barley fields and the small copses of trees that lined the road. “No. Is it coming this way?”
“Safe bet to say so.”
The Materite shielded his eyes and stood in his stirrups. “How long until it reaches us?”
“Four, maybe five minutes. Thinkin’ perhaps we should get off the road.”
“Why? We have nothing to fear,” Geranzimuth said. The Hand’s squire sat atop his grand war horse, gesturing up the road with a skinny finger. “This is Talumh road. Bandits wouldn’t dare accost travelers this close to the city, much less a band on business for the King.”
“Yeah, about that.” Connor dismounted and patted the side of his horse’s neck. “We’re not supposed to be attracting attention. And announcin’ we’re runnin’ errands for the Hand might make that a bit difficult. Besides, I don’t think they’re bandits comin’ up the road.”
Geranzimuth turned his horse back to Connor. It was strange how easily the young man moved the animal, never pulling the reigns or giving loud, obnoxious commands. However annoying the young man might be, there was no doubt that he knew how to handle his horse.
The squire leaned over slightly and spoke with genuine sympathy. “I understand if you’re afraid, bartender. One doesn’t find much danger in a tavern. And to be suddenly plucked from the safety of your bar to face the Sisters must be most frightening. But you need not be afraid. I have been the Hand’s squire for half my life and have stared into the dark visage of death many times. I will keep us safe.”
Connor stared at the young man, noting his narrow shoulders, the thin shadow of his mustache, the dull shine of naiveté behind his eyes, his fragile spinal column waiting to be shattered over his knee like a dry and wasted sapling. “And exactly what kind of ‘dark visage’ do you see comin’ down the road there, good squire?”
Geranzimuth turned, squinted and said, “I can only see a dust trail. Could be a merchant coming to the city.”
Connor nodded and then walked over to Tibbit. The rabbit spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Li’ bugger thinks rather highly of ‘imself, doesn’t he?” The bartender nodded. “And what’s with this ‘dark visage’ bollocks? I think the lad spends more time readin’ love poems than practicing with that mace o’ his.” Tibbit scratched his ear.
Connor motioned toward the growing dust cloud. “You ever see a merchant move that quickly?”
“Once, when he was runnin’ from someth—” Tibbit crinkled his nose as his whiskers twitched in the wind. Then in a rush he swung one leg over his horse and dropped to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Geranzimuth asked. “We need to keep riding if we want to make it to Riverrun by midday tomorrow. Now back on your horses. I told you it’s only a merchant.”
Tibbit started moving his horse to the rushes on the side of the road. Connor ran over to him and caught him by the arm. “Tibbit, what is it?”
The harefellow gestured with his furry chin up the road toward the growing dust cloud in the distance. “I smell death.” The rabbit turned and in a few moments had hidden his horse and himself inside the tall grass.
Connor watched the dust cloud, its trail lifting in the morning breeze. He ran over and grabbed his horse’s reigns. He looked at Sean, quietly sitting on his mule. “Trouble’s coming, my friend. Best we hide.” The old priest nodded and gave his mule a gentle kick.
As Sean helped guide Pet and her horse to a safe distance off of the road, Geranzimuth scowled down at Connor. “This is disgraceful. Show courage, dear Connor. Adventure is upon us!”
“Um, yeah.” Connor looked up to Glasdon who was watching the thing approach. “Can you tell what it is?”
The Materite sat very still for a moment, then turned. “Single rider. Knight, I think. Moving fast. And he’s carrying something.”
“What?”
“Still too far away to tell.”
Geranzimuth craned his neck. “A knight, are you sure?”
Connor’s horse gave a nervous stomp and a slight nudge. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, standing in the middle of the road like this.”
The materite grunted in agreement. Geranzimuth folded his arms and said, “We have no need to fear a knight of the realm.”
Glasdon glared at the squire, his thick brow like crags, and then rolled his eyes. “It’s all right, Connor. I’ll stay with the boy, out here in the open just off the road. ‘Knight of the realm’ or not, it would be unwise to get in his way.”
“I am not a boy.”
Glasdon pulled his shield from his shoulder and held it at the ready. “Best stay in sight, Connor. If he stops, we don’t want him thinking he’s being ambushed.”
“Aye.” Connor started to lead his horse off the road, but then stopped and turned. “Hey there, Ranzy.”
“Geranzimuth.”
“Yeah, Ranzy, you may want to clean yourself up a bit before you go talking with ‘knights of the realm.’”
The squire’s face seemed to pucker inward as he glanced over himself. “What are you talking about? Surely a bit of traveling dust on one’s boots would—“
“No, no. Your face. You have a little something…” Connor motioned with his finger to the area just below his nose.
Geranzimuth rubbed his face several times. “There, did I get it?”
“No, it’s still there. Rub harder.”
He rubbed his face again, then the squire pulled a small dagger from his belt and peered into the reflective metal. “What is he talking about? I don’t see anything.”
“Geranzimuth,” Glasdon said. “Pay attention. He’s coming.”
When Connor reached Pet and Sean, they were both already dismounted and waiting. “Are we going to be doing this EVERY time we pass someone along the road?” Pet asked.
Sean set his wagon wheel on the ground and began to brush his mule. “It’s just a precaution,” he said. “Whoever it is coming down the road, he seems to be in a hurry and we don’t want get in his way. I fear we have enough trouble ahead of us without wantonly looking for more.”
“Well,” Pet said, “isn’t that what the boy’s for?”
Connor gave a short, derisive snort. “I doubt the lad could do much on his own to protect us from trouble, lass.”
“Protect us? No, I meant as a distraction. You know, toss him in front of whatever trouble comes our way while we ride for safety.”
Connor smiled, then reached up to his chin and the back of his head and cracked his neck. “Not a bad plan… <crack> … but the kid’s not all bad. Annoying, yes. But he’s got a good heart.” He could tell by the way Pet pursed her lips that she seemed genuinely disappointed that they wouldn’t be using the squire as a human shield any time soon. “But don’t worry, Pet. If we ever do need to use him for fodder, you can be the one to toss him in.”
The girl smiled, flicked back her hair, and then turned to the growing sound of hooves barreling toward them.
The rider was in full view now, his black horse pounding the road at an angry pace. It was a knight, clad in light battle armor that even from this distance Connor could tell was dulled and scarred from frequent use. Rising from the knight’s lap was a large and cumbersome burden shaped like a gnarled tree trunk.
“What is that?” Sean asked, raising his voice over the rising sound.
The bartender could feel the earth vibrate beneath him. He squinted again, trying to make out what it was the knight carried but it was still too difficult to tell. At first glance it appeared to be a torn and damaged banner sagging on an iron pole. But as the rider closed the distance, Connor was finally able to see clearly the odd thing the knight carried.
“Do I get to toss the boy now?”
“Huh? No… no.” Connor turned back to the knight who was now nearly on top of Geranzimuth and Glasdon, and who showed no signs of slowing down. His horse was lathered and frothing, the road behind it transformed into a tempest of billowing dust and thunder. He was helmetless, his eyes dark and determined as he rode toward them.
In one hand he held the reigns to his speeding horse. In the other, he held a lance, skewering the dead bodies of four kobolds.
“Do you see it?” Tibbit asked.
Connor squinted in the morning sun, taking in the barley fields and the small copses of trees that lined the road. “No. Is it coming this way?”
“Safe bet to say so.”
The Materite shielded his eyes and stood in his stirrups. “How long until it reaches us?”
“Four, maybe five minutes. Thinkin’ perhaps we should get off the road.”
“Why? We have nothing to fear,” Geranzimuth said. The Hand’s squire sat atop his grand war horse, gesturing up the road with a skinny finger. “This is Talumh road. Bandits wouldn’t dare accost travelers this close to the city, much less a band on business for the King.”
“Yeah, about that.” Connor dismounted and patted the side of his horse’s neck. “We’re not supposed to be attracting attention. And announcin’ we’re runnin’ errands for the Hand might make that a bit difficult. Besides, I don’t think they’re bandits comin’ up the road.”
Geranzimuth turned his horse back to Connor. It was strange how easily the young man moved the animal, never pulling the reigns or giving loud, obnoxious commands. However annoying the young man might be, there was no doubt that he knew how to handle his horse.
The squire leaned over slightly and spoke with genuine sympathy. “I understand if you’re afraid, bartender. One doesn’t find much danger in a tavern. And to be suddenly plucked from the safety of your bar to face the Sisters must be most frightening. But you need not be afraid. I have been the Hand’s squire for half my life and have stared into the dark visage of death many times. I will keep us safe.”
Connor stared at the young man, noting his narrow shoulders, the thin shadow of his mustache, the dull shine of naiveté behind his eyes, his fragile spinal column waiting to be shattered over his knee like a dry and wasted sapling. “And exactly what kind of ‘dark visage’ do you see comin’ down the road there, good squire?”
Geranzimuth turned, squinted and said, “I can only see a dust trail. Could be a merchant coming to the city.”
Connor nodded and then walked over to Tibbit. The rabbit spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Li’ bugger thinks rather highly of ‘imself, doesn’t he?” The bartender nodded. “And what’s with this ‘dark visage’ bollocks? I think the lad spends more time readin’ love poems than practicing with that mace o’ his.” Tibbit scratched his ear.
Connor motioned toward the growing dust cloud. “You ever see a merchant move that quickly?”
“Once, when he was runnin’ from someth—” Tibbit crinkled his nose as his whiskers twitched in the wind. Then in a rush he swung one leg over his horse and dropped to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Geranzimuth asked. “We need to keep riding if we want to make it to Riverrun by midday tomorrow. Now back on your horses. I told you it’s only a merchant.”
Tibbit started moving his horse to the rushes on the side of the road. Connor ran over to him and caught him by the arm. “Tibbit, what is it?”
The harefellow gestured with his furry chin up the road toward the growing dust cloud in the distance. “I smell death.” The rabbit turned and in a few moments had hidden his horse and himself inside the tall grass.
Connor watched the dust cloud, its trail lifting in the morning breeze. He ran over and grabbed his horse’s reigns. He looked at Sean, quietly sitting on his mule. “Trouble’s coming, my friend. Best we hide.” The old priest nodded and gave his mule a gentle kick.
As Sean helped guide Pet and her horse to a safe distance off of the road, Geranzimuth scowled down at Connor. “This is disgraceful. Show courage, dear Connor. Adventure is upon us!”
“Um, yeah.” Connor looked up to Glasdon who was watching the thing approach. “Can you tell what it is?”
The Materite sat very still for a moment, then turned. “Single rider. Knight, I think. Moving fast. And he’s carrying something.”
“What?”
“Still too far away to tell.”
Geranzimuth craned his neck. “A knight, are you sure?”
Connor’s horse gave a nervous stomp and a slight nudge. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, standing in the middle of the road like this.”
The materite grunted in agreement. Geranzimuth folded his arms and said, “We have no need to fear a knight of the realm.”
Glasdon glared at the squire, his thick brow like crags, and then rolled his eyes. “It’s all right, Connor. I’ll stay with the boy, out here in the open just off the road. ‘Knight of the realm’ or not, it would be unwise to get in his way.”
“I am not a boy.”
Glasdon pulled his shield from his shoulder and held it at the ready. “Best stay in sight, Connor. If he stops, we don’t want him thinking he’s being ambushed.”
“Aye.” Connor started to lead his horse off the road, but then stopped and turned. “Hey there, Ranzy.”
“Geranzimuth.”
“Yeah, Ranzy, you may want to clean yourself up a bit before you go talking with ‘knights of the realm.’”
The squire’s face seemed to pucker inward as he glanced over himself. “What are you talking about? Surely a bit of traveling dust on one’s boots would—“
“No, no. Your face. You have a little something…” Connor motioned with his finger to the area just below his nose.
Geranzimuth rubbed his face several times. “There, did I get it?”
“No, it’s still there. Rub harder.”
He rubbed his face again, then the squire pulled a small dagger from his belt and peered into the reflective metal. “What is he talking about? I don’t see anything.”
“Geranzimuth,” Glasdon said. “Pay attention. He’s coming.”
When Connor reached Pet and Sean, they were both already dismounted and waiting. “Are we going to be doing this EVERY time we pass someone along the road?” Pet asked.
Sean set his wagon wheel on the ground and began to brush his mule. “It’s just a precaution,” he said. “Whoever it is coming down the road, he seems to be in a hurry and we don’t want get in his way. I fear we have enough trouble ahead of us without wantonly looking for more.”
“Well,” Pet said, “isn’t that what the boy’s for?”
Connor gave a short, derisive snort. “I doubt the lad could do much on his own to protect us from trouble, lass.”
“Protect us? No, I meant as a distraction. You know, toss him in front of whatever trouble comes our way while we ride for safety.”
Connor smiled, then reached up to his chin and the back of his head and cracked his neck. “Not a bad plan… <crack> … but the kid’s not all bad. Annoying, yes. But he’s got a good heart.” He could tell by the way Pet pursed her lips that she seemed genuinely disappointed that they wouldn’t be using the squire as a human shield any time soon. “But don’t worry, Pet. If we ever do need to use him for fodder, you can be the one to toss him in.”
The girl smiled, flicked back her hair, and then turned to the growing sound of hooves barreling toward them.
The rider was in full view now, his black horse pounding the road at an angry pace. It was a knight, clad in light battle armor that even from this distance Connor could tell was dulled and scarred from frequent use. Rising from the knight’s lap was a large and cumbersome burden shaped like a gnarled tree trunk.
“What is that?” Sean asked, raising his voice over the rising sound.
The bartender could feel the earth vibrate beneath him. He squinted again, trying to make out what it was the knight carried but it was still too difficult to tell. At first glance it appeared to be a torn and damaged banner sagging on an iron pole. But as the rider closed the distance, Connor was finally able to see clearly the odd thing the knight carried.
“Do I get to toss the boy now?”
“Huh? No… no.” Connor turned back to the knight who was now nearly on top of Geranzimuth and Glasdon, and who showed no signs of slowing down. His horse was lathered and frothing, the road behind it transformed into a tempest of billowing dust and thunder. He was helmetless, his eyes dark and determined as he rode toward them.
In one hand he held the reigns to his speeding horse. In the other, he held a lance, skewering the dead bodies of four kobolds.
