The Source Chronicles - Seeker
© 2006 M.J. Blehart
Chapter 2
The Kingdom of Sharron had an infrastructure second to none.
The main highways were well traveled, and thus well maintained. Taxation of the people, which was always a source of contention no matter how great or small, did not go directly into the pockets of the nobility, but were spent on the maintenance of roads and aqueducts and sewers and other aspects of infrastructure.
With winter approaching, the inclement weather that the season brought to these lands would often expand any pits or potholes along the roads. This time of year, the sight of kingdom maintenance crews along the well traveled paths were a reassurance to the taxpayers.
The merchant found their line of work distasteful and completely unappealing, no matter how important it was to the continued well-being of the nation.
He had already been delayed fifteen minutes by the first such group of roadsmiths and gravellers, the second had held him up another half hour. The longer he heard the noise, the more annoyed it made him.
His cart had a very squeaky left rear wheel he was regretting not lubing before setting out for the village of Korma. He shook his head at that thought. The last thing he’d needed was another expense.
The constable beside him was looking out at the trees to either side of the causeway, as if the mounted rider before them might miss something. The merchant glanced back at the last constable, riding behind them, the look on his face showing his annoyance at the squeaky cart he’d been hired to follow.
The Lord Mayor of Tuvann, in an effort both to protect cargo and earn money for the town’s coffers, had recently begun to hire out trios of constables to individual merchants traveling from Tuvann to either Korma or Natarn or even Vaneyer in the Vann Region. With the rumors of outlaws called The Falcon Raiders all about, he concluded that the protection of his citizens’ wares was paramount to the revitalization of the formerly prosperous community.
The merchant grimaced to himself at that. The gates at the roads into Tuvann were littered with broken carts and wagons and various other refuse, a constant fire hazard. Over the past two decades, those elected to civil leadership of the town had been increasingly more and more corrupt, and pocketed tax revenues, letting the town fall to disrepair. When the last such leader had gone too far, and took from the pockets of the local Baron, a Magistrate had appeared with Baronial Guardsmen, and arrested and imprisoned the man. Soon his entire staff was taken as well, and the town had a chance to elect a leader completely unconnected to the years of unscrupulous government.
The new Lord Mayor, recently elected, had promised to clean that all up. Of course, funding to do so had to come from somewhere, so hiring out the largely superfluous constabulary was one of his means to that end.
Of course the merchant was a skeptic, and knew that corruption went beyond the offices of the town’s officials, and that it would only be a matter of time until things went back to how they used to be.
For the first time in years, the merchant did not travel alone. While he’d been perfectly willing to shill out for the services of his escort, he’d been slightly less pleased at the extra he’d been forced to pay, not long after departing his home village.
As they’d rounded the first bend and reached the treeline, the mounted pair halted his cart, while the constable at his side checked its contents. It only took a moment for him to discover the false bottom of the cart, and the truffles hidden within.
They’d left the merchant with two options. Pay them to forget they found the goods he was concealing, or return to Tuvann a captive, and face imprisonment for smuggling. Sixty gold pieces later, twenty per constable, they continued along the road as if no pause had occurred.
Ahead he saw the crossroad that ran southwest towards the ocean, and northeast towards Tarmollo, ending at Vantu.
He shivered at the thought of Tarmollo, remembering the horror from a half a decade ago. He’d lost a few friends, fellow merchants, to that terrible incident.
Passing the crossroad, he noted a trio of Kingdom Roadsmiths ahead, wearing yellow tabards with the device of the nation on the back, which denoted their line of employment. This was the third such group they’d encountered this day. Each had shovels, and there was a wheelbarrow and other assorted tools used in the maintenance of the pathway just off the side of the road.
“Hm,” the constable beside him grunted. “Three days ago, when I passed this way last, the road was perfectly fine at this point. Seems odd.”
The merchant said nothing as they passed the Roadsmiths, who paused to watch them go by.
“I suppose they must be paid to do something,” remarked the merchant with disgust. To his mind, a man would have to be in the direst situation to have to resort to such base labor.
Suddenly, the constable on horseback at the rear cried out. The merchant turned, and saw the Roadsmiths around him, having clearly pulled him from his horse, swords drawn.
Before the constable riding ahead of them could do anything, a trio of armed men emerged from the trees, one pointing a crossbow directly at his chest.
The merchant took a gasping breath, as the constable beside him attempted to rise up and draw his sword. But someone grabbed him by the front of his tunic before he could finish standing, and pulled him roughly from the cart.
The merchant was terrified as their assailants had the road completely blocked, leaving no escape. He glanced about, saw the mounted constable surrounded, hands up in surrender, the other two peace officers on the ground with swords keeping them there. He was afraid to move further, uncertain what to expect.
Scared as he was, the merchant had managed to count eight attackers. One of them, a young man with a clean-shaved face, holding a rapier, was obviously approaching him.
“Step down from your cart, please,” he said calmly.
Without hesitation, the merchant complied. The young man gestured with his sword, and the merchant moved towards the unhorsed constable at the rear.
“Woolens?” the young man questioned conversationally.
“Wha…what?” the merchant asked in response.
His young captor smiled. “You have these various bolts of wool from Tuvann, en route to Korma, no? Wool, right? Not cotton or silk?”
“Yes. Wool,” replied the merchant nervously. They had reached the constable, who was on his feet again. Both were now marched to the side of the road.
“It is going to be getting colder, soon,” the young man continued. “Your contribution to our cause will be greatly appreciated.”
The merchant noted the other two constables had been brought together, and were being marched to the other side of the road. When he and the rear constable reached the treeline, their captives made them sit back to back.
“We shall not kill you, as you may have feared,” the young man said. “We do not kill indiscriminately. Once we are gone, you may go as soon as you free yourselves.”
Ropes were tied about the Merchant’s wrists and ankles, and a moment later they tied him and the constable together back to back. Unable to fight, he could do nothing when they removed his coin pouch.
All four of their assailants were on the road again, two of them tossing the wheelbarrow and tools into his cart. The other attackers must have finished with the last pair of constables, and clearly went to the young man.
“What now, Nadav?” questioned one of the men.
The young man responded. “We take these back to base. That is what she ordered me to do. We certainly can make good use of the wool, and I shall bet you a gold piece he was smuggling something, too.”
“She’ll be pleased with this one,” another said.
Soon the eight attackers had mounted the horses and the cart, and simply continued along the path in the direction the merchant had been traveling. In a matter of minutes, the sounds of his squeaky wheel faded, and soon were gone.
All he saw now was the road and the trees. He heard the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, the breathing of the constable at his back, and birds and a gentle breeze occasionally catching the colorful leaves of the trees.
“Help me, merchant, we need to get free before night,” the constable broke into the sounds of nature.
His fear was suddenly replaced by an almost irrational anger. “I paid good coin for your protection, and what just happened, constable? What was that?”
“That was The Falcon Raiders, taking us by surprise,” was the response he received. “They have only been known to attack unarmed merchants before, which is why the Lord Mayor believed the protection we offered had been working. Come on, man, push your back against mine, and let’s try to stand up.”
Grumbling, contemplating his losses, the merchant pressed his back to that of the constable, wondering who would cover his expenses, and what the King might do about these Falcon Raiders.
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