The Path of Poison: Chapter 16
Previously…
The party left the Voerlund town of Saumark in the company of a Dunmarrow caravan, and while on the road Sepp got a taste of his hexes’ real power while fending off a colossal drake. Now, after spending a night under the stars with their new companions, the party strikes out into the wilderness…
Check out the Chapter Index for previous installments
The caravan started that day a little earlier than most would have liked—save for, it seemed, Skivor and the Dunmarrow captain, Karel, who had, along with the two night watchmen, taken it upon themselves to rouse their charges and companions. Day had just broken and the Voerlund country was still grey and murky. They would eat on the go once everyone was up, packed, and ready. Best make as much progress as they could, Karel had explained as everyone grumbled and piled into the wagons. There was no telling how much of this winter sunlight they’d get.
A range of much larger hills than the rolling country they wound through loomed before them. Though the sun had passed into the sky, it was distant, and there was a certain iciness to the dark, far off hills, half-shrouded in a light mist. In fact, it seemed as if night hadn’t really fully lifted off the landscape in the hour or two they’d been on the road. These foothills had dips and depressions that were laden with shadows, and the patches of low forest still clung to their deep darkness. It wasn’t an especially uncommon sight—Sepp had no reason to believe Voerlund, or Dunmarrow, or anywhere else in the known world, got less winter sun than Silverden, but all the same, it looked odd. Always had, always would.
There was little excitement on that cold morning. In truth, most of them were dozing in the wagons after a breakfast of preserved foods and juices. Barosh agreed with Sepp’s musing that he wouldn’t mind a small-beer or something. Sepp was finding he had a taste for it after all. But it wouldn’t be proper to break that out until luncheon, if they even had any. Should have bought some in the village, a dejected Seva said.
Then, all of a sudden, a shout from outside. Sepp pulled back a cover on the wagon and peered out. A Dunmarrow on horseback was shooing away a very curious firehawk. There were a couple flitting around in the sky, spitting short spurts of flame. He’d never seen them so close before. It was maybe a head shorter than Sepp himself, and had no legs, but a long, whipping tail and two great wings, not finned or with fingers like a bat—in flight the creatures resembled a kite. Sepp recalled children sometimes had actual kites painted to resemble firehawks. Its head was a thin snout with staring eyes, it puffed little flashes of fire as it hopped after the Dunmarrow, and was tawny all over. Sepp called for the others to look, not least because it was amusing to find the great black-clad warrior being menaced by a playful sky beast.
About an hour after the firehawks had left, unable to procure a meal and appropriately wary of the long spears and swords being brandished, the caravan came to the base of the range of hills. Two paths now were before them: a long, circuitous set of roads through the shadowy valleys, or a road which climbed over and beyond the mist-shrouded hills before them. Karel came to Sepp and the others’ wagon after some minutes. He had consulted with the merchants on what path they wanted to take—they were paying, after all. The party didn’t feel like they had much say in the matter, they were along out of the northerners’ gratitude, but Karel asked Skivor his opinion.
“Well, over the hill would be quicker, but we’d be in the open should anything happen, on difficult terrain. But then again,” he said stroking his long, drooping moustache, “the valleys and plains wouldn't offer much in the way of cover or escape.” It was evident he was thinking of the drake, but didn’t say so.
“Aye, exactly what our Voerlunder friend said, but he also mentioned he was anxious to visit a landwight shrine, and as far as he knows, the hills hold one. It’s a Voerlunder thing, I believe. I have little experience with it.”
Thus it was settled, and the wagons began their slow ascent into the hills. The sun had come clearly now, and much of the murkiness on the high landscape had dissipated, but the fog remained, lending a chill haziness and persistent damp coldness to the air. The place had a desolate quality in the pale winter light, the bowing grasses and shrubbery, tinged with frost and dew, were interspersed with spans of sparse earth, and lone trees stood starkly with few or no leaves upon them. Like all things in Voerlund, there was a hardness to it all that Sepp was beginning to find foreboding.
They had passed several squat little cottages on the ascent up this broad, gently curving slope, and they had all been quiet, their people—if people they had—shut up inside with what warmth they had. Even in the brightest summers, it seemed to the travellers this would be a somewhat bitter land. Suddenly, a figure ran from a bare little field which bounded a cottage, waving her arms and crying out. Sepp pulled aside a flap, and he, Barosh, and Seva looked out. Skivor turned his head to it, but didn’t move. She stopped short of the caravan when she saw the Dunmarrow. Couldn’t blame her, seeing those spectral men on this bleak day. But all the same, she edged forth as their scouts on horses slowed down and hailed her in a broad Voerlund tone.
“Please, can you spare someone? We’ve been attacked, we need help!” She had a curious, extremely rural accent even the Dunmarrow, world-wise as they were, had trouble deciphering. She repeated “Help! Please help!” gesturing towards her home. The warriors looked to their captain who dismounted and went to her. Poor thing wasn’t even fifteen summers, she cowered slightly before the hulking black armoured northman, whose hand was on the hilt of his broadsword.
“What do you think, Sepp?” asked Seva.
“Hard to understand her, but…” he trailed off, his words troubled. “No, she’s genuine. You can hear the hurt in her voice, you know what I mean?” Seva and Barosh shared a look with Skivor that said no, they didn’t.
“Should we go look?” asked Barosh. Before anyone could answer, there came a call from Karel—he was calling Sepp out. He glanced quickly to his companions before he jumped out, pack at his side. He noticed, too, the Voerlund merchant Baruch coming out of his wagon, seemingly of his own accord. They exchanged nods and approached Karel, who turned to them.
“The girl is saying something about beastmen, but I know not this accent. Her words are difficult. You speak her tongue, either of you?”
Baruch immediately stepped forward and began to converse with the girl, repeating back carefully for the benefit of the other two, and then consulted Sepp, who could barely understand a thing, about medicines. There were three injured people in the house, and the girl was named Solya. The merchant said then to Karel that the attack was this morning but the girl was afraid they might come back. He asked the girl something then, with a word that Sepp heard clearly, strange though it was: landwight.
Sepp strode back to the wagon, and peeked his head inside.
“So, ah, that healing stuff I was showing you all? I may need your help.”
He explained the situation on the way to the house. Baruch had relayed to Sepp any pertinent information before he left. Foremost among this was that the wounded were her parents and sister, and then that the region they were now in was called Burova, they had come from the borderlands of the Duchy of Morsai. Lastly, Sepp mentioned the attackers had been beastmen. Everyone shared a look then. Even with the Dunmarrow, they could do without that again.
The cottage was low, only a single storey, but spread out, incorporating pens for livestock, and it had a tall peaked roof that probably held a decent amount of attic space. A lot of the land around it was trampled and thrown up bare mud—bizarre footprints were everywhere, some like bare human prints with the marks of talons, some splayed feet almost like a bird’s. Some fencing was knocked over, and some of the faded white walls of the house were gouged and dented. They’d probably been working the fields when the beastmen appeared. It was a common enough occurrence, unfortunately, especially in more isolated places.
Inside was a curious but, the group admitted, a somewhat homely arrangement. It was mostly one great open room with dividers for various segregated beds at one end, a central kitchen with a generous fire pit and various pots with a hanging wooden chimney leading up to that peaked roof, and then a large hearth to the side where another chimney led outside. Above were ladders leading to a small loft where boxes sat. Where a small place to do simple inside work would be, there lay the three other family members. They were on furs and linen blankets, and all seemed aware, alive, and not in too bad shape. But that was really only because they had help.
The Dunmarrow were outside, keeping watch on both the caravan and remain merchants, and for any potential beastmen. Baruch had volunteered to act as translator if needed. An introduction was made through Solya and Baruch, and Sepp introduced himself and his companions again as he knelt down beside his patients, using Voerlund sounds where necessary.
“Sabbak,” he pointed to himself with a smile, “I am a healer. Baruch, Seva, and Skivor. They will help.”
The woman of the house did the same then.
“Nadya,” she said with a shaky smile, “ah, Marbur,” she laid a hand on her husband’s arm. He seemed the worst off, Sepp thought. He wasn’t talking, and looked pretty woozy, but awake and managed a weak nod. “And, Solura.” She had a large, deep cut in her leg, the bleeding wasn’t being seen to that well, and blood had pooled under her. That needed seeing to immediately.
“Solura,” he said, and she looked up. She wasn’t much older than him or Barosh, and looked much like her parents, with distinctly light gold eyes they all shared, and hair done up on a kind of plait like her mother and younger sister. “May I please see to your leg?” he gestured gently. Her eyes darted around at everyone. She looked the most scared, and he didn’t blame her. Beastmen up close, not rampaging, are terrifying enough. But the shouting, braying, roaring, Serpent’s Breath he’d heard things in the past. She shifted aside the tattered side of her blue and white dress, the blood drying on it. Sepp winced as he saw it. Some goat-headed thing must have ran into her full force. He was thinking what he could do. It needed to be closed, but he didn’t have bandages.
“That looks like it’ll need a splint, hmm?” mused Skivor. Not a bad idea. “I will search for wood,” said the woodsman with a tap on Sepp’s shoulder before he could even reply. Good man, he thought.
Sepp asked Seva to see to Marbur with Nadya and Solya. Try and keep him awake and focused. Idly, Sepp wondered how bad of a knock to the head he’d gotten. He dug around in his pack then and handed Seva a hex bottle with the neutralizing bloom turned inward, hidden. She gave him a confused look.
“Uncork that and have him smell it. Vile stuff ought to shake him out that stupor.”
He returned then to Solura. Now, to clean the wound. He had a good wash for wounds like this, water with a bunch of potent herbs pulped and mixed into it. Drew out all kinds of dirt and such that could get in and fester. It was, however, quite painful.
“Solura,” he said holding up the long, thin vial, “I will pour this onto your hurt leg. It will hurt, but it will help.” Baruch chimed in and clarified it in less words. She tensed up.
“Barosh, take her hand, please,” he said as he carefully undid the cap on the vial.
“What?”
“Let her squeeze it as hard as she needs to, this’ll hurt bad.” He did so with an awkward smile to the girl. She pre-emptively squeezed it. With an exhale, he held up her leg a little and let a thin stream fall into the wound. Her eyes clamped shut, she grimaced and hissed before biting down on her lips. Barosh held her hand then with both of his as she strained to not kick out. Sepp had had to use that stuff on himself exactly once before and he remembered it clearly. She let out a shaky sigh as the pain left in waves, and a small trickle of blackness left the wound. Good call, he thought to himself.
A moment later, Skivor returned with a small length of flat wood and, to Sepp’s immense relief, a good amount of clean fabric. One of the Baletorian merchants had offered it up, free of charge. It would all help keep the wound closed to heal. But before he could see to that, Sepp explained that he’d have to apply a poultice to the wound first, and again, Baruch the merchant clarified. Sepp would have to learn some of these rural Voerlund sounds, he thought. He mulched up some dried leaves and stems in his fingers with water from a nearby jug, spread it on some cloth, and lay it over the wound. She only winced a little. In fact, it would be quite soothing after a while, he assured her. He then affixed the thin splint with Barosh’s help and she sat up, looking far better than she had minutes before.
Marbur was looking better, turns out he had taken a bad knock to the head. They’d need to keep an eye on him. Nadya, however, had only sustained some bruising, it looked bad, but was easily fixed with a cool salve. Solya had herself come out unscathed as she was inside, but Sepp gave her some root to chew on to calm down. He advised them in his own words to take it easy for a while, and asked the others to stay with them as he went and find Karel.
Outside, the captain was roaring orders to his men, who were spread out around the house. He approached the northman, who seemed to hear his coming.
“How goes it inside?”
“All patched up, but, well, I’d like to keep an eye on them. One got a pretty nasty knock to the head and needs attention, and the other-”
“Say no more, healer, we’re staying put anyway.” Relief flooded over the tremble that had been building up in Sepp’s chest. He didn’t want to push any goodwill the Dunmarrow had for him and his party. “If there are beastmen around here, best we stay put where we can defend ourselves, and these people. I’m sending scouts out to one of the houses down from here, too.”
“What about the merchants?”
“They understood well enough when I spoke of the beastmen.”
With that, Sepp turned away with a sincere thanks, and went back to the house. He saw the other merchants leaving the wagons, the Baletorians were performing some sort of prayer, he guessed, all three turned towards a particular direction. The help would be appreciated, if the god could reach this far. Back inside the cottage, he could see everyone was getting on pretty well. Skivor was stoking a fire in the fire pit while Seva was chatting with Nadya. They hadn’t a clue what they were saying to each other, but the spirit was there. Barosh was making some attempt to comfort Solura, and when he saw Sepp approaching, he excused himself and strode over.
“We really need to learn this Voerlund tongue, Sepp,” he said with an awkward chuckle.
“Oh, we’ll work on that. If you can learn medicine you can learn anything I guess.”
“Sure we can, but look at you, Mr. Apothecary!” Barosh said as he clapped Sepp on the arm. He didn’t bother suppressing the smile.
“Feels good to finally be that again,” he said, grinning.