One Moo'r Plow

Trouble had decided I was not out of the proverbial woods just yet. Even though I had already left the physical woods behind me. Confrontation awaited as I turned the road toward my farm.

Ishila, bless her heart, stood in the middle of the house’s clearing, axe in hand and Gol at her side. I didn’t know what to be more amazed at, the fact that she was staring down three riders or that she had gotten Gol to volunteer his presence. Either way, things seemed to have settled into an impasse. I broke into a faster stride and approached the group.

Gol’s whines announced my presence, and they turned to look. I could see the glimmer of relief on Ishila’s face as her tense expression eased. The riders were lightly armed and didn’t bear the green colors of baron Ironmoor. Verdant Dawn, then, I wagered.

This was confirmed moments later when one of them stepped forward to introduce himself. Long, lanky, and clean-shaven, he looked to be a youth fresh into adulthood.

“Farmer Garek, I hope?” He asked, nervousness hidden in his tone.

I nodded in confirmation and curiously looked as he extended one hand. After a moment I took hold and shook it, The boy was nervous, that was obvious to anyone.

“Joram, ser.” The lad made the introduction with a hitch in his voice. “Ser Raffnyk sent us. We were told we could rest here for the night?”

“I’m no ser, lad.” I rumbled and nodded, “And a friend of Raffnyk’s is a friend of mine.”

“They were trying to just ride onto here an claim hospitality,” Ishila announced, expression cross. “I was doubtin they were who they said.”

Ah. I should have informed her to expect riders, but once again, I had overlooked it as a minor detail and forgotten about it. A bad habit I would have to work on.

“How long were you at an impasse?” I queried.

“...an hour?” Ishila shrugged. “They had no way to prove the worth of their word, and I would not take chances with anything. Especially after yesterday.”

Curiosity dawned on Joram’s face, but he asked nothing. There would be a question later, I assumed. For now, I just waved the others over as I walked past.

“They’re guests,” I told Ishila with a soft smile. “Though, you did the right thing, lass. Don’t think I’m paying you enough to stick up for my humble farm anyhow.”

“Ain’t about payment,” She mumbled and followed at my side, axe over her shoulder. “Gotta look out for other farmers with all these thugs and bandits muckin about.”

She didn’t so much as flinch as I clapped a hand on her shoulder, only glanced over at my smile.

“Thanks. I mean it. But if you see Ironmoor’s men, just vanish. I can rebuild, but I can’t replace some of the best help I ever had.”

She grunted non-commitaly, and soon we were gathered by the unlit fire. I watched as the riders hitched up their horses and trickled over, some slower than others. Most were nervous, betrayed by their scent. The young lad, Joram, sat in silence across from ishila as I began to gather the ingredients for a pot of stew. Doubtless they had their own rations, but tonight they were my guests and would suffer my cooking.

“So, what does Raffnyk have you lot up to?” I broke the silence after a while. It was getting awkward and the most noise from anyone was a few mutters as they glanced between me and Gol.

“We’re to scout, ser.”

“I’m no ser,” I insisted again. “Just call me Garek.”

A few nods were all I received in affirmation before the lad continued.

“We’re to ride up the redtip and try to get an accurate count of what will await the expedition tomorrow, then report back to ser Raffnyk.”

“I see.” Even though I did not. “And this Apex?”

Now I could see true apprehension dawn on their faces. Good men followed orders, was the saying. But these did not do so without fear.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about that. Just pray and hope we don’t come face to face with it.”

“A grand solution indeed.” Ishila remarked dryly.

Misery was their only answer. These men knew they were riding into danger and did so without protest. I’d say it was admirable, but most of me just thought it foolish.

‘Pardon me for askin,” Another human broke in. “But your helper mentioned Ironmoor, and I believe I may have heard a wee snippet about trouble yesterday. May I ask your relation with the good baron?”

Not a human, I saw as I peered closer. The scales on his face should have been obvious, but again, I lay the blame squarely on my poor eyesight.

Shtane, he introduced himself as. I nodded and reached over to shake his hand as well before I answered. The third man remained silent, content in his anonymity.

“The good baron sent a taxman to foist upon me a debt that I refused. When he persisted and sent thugs to claim it by force, they returned home lesser than had arrived.”

Silence fell around the camp as my words sunk in.

“Well, I guess that further deepens your standing with the Verdan Dawn, then.” Joram nodded. “We’ve no love for the Ironmoors, and they’ve even less for us.”

“I would normally be supportive of stickin it to the good baron,” Shtane hissed. Literally. He even had a snake’s tongue to go with it. “But Ironmoor’s brother is in bed with the queen. Metaphorically, of course. I would never slander the good queen that way. To refuse the tax is to declare Ironmoor the illegitimate ruler of these lands.”

“He is,” Ishila refuted, her arms crossed. “Bastard murdered a better man than he and stole his throne.”

“With the crown’s blessing.” Shtane threw back. I just sat and followed the conversation trying to soak up context and piece together images of who was what and when. There was a complicated web here, and I wanted to be aware of it all.

“Crown blesses any vengeful warlord these days, long as it suits her goals.” Ishila spat.

“Careful, girl.” The third man finally broke his silence. “We ride under the crown’s blessing ourselves.”

“Do not mind our companion.” Joram hurriedly broke the tension. “He is a dedicated man to queen and country.”

“I am loyal.” He spoke bluntly from within the recesses of his hood. “As was my father before me, and his father before him, back to the days of Jerak the Bold. And will remain until time itself fades.”

“You can’t deny that your queen favors bloody men, long as they accomplish her goals. And Ironmoor’s hands are bloodiest by far.” The half-orc growled. There was resentment in her words, a hidden anger that bubbled up beneath the surface.”

“No one’s gonna deny that Ironmoor is a right bastard, is all I’m sayin.” Joram replied. “But he is still rightful regent by order of the crown.”

“He hates your entire order.” Ishila rebuked. “Would seem that would make you wary of whoever props him up.”

“He can hate all he wants.” Stane hissed with a smile. “We ride under the crown’s grace as well, and he would be a fool to attack us. Him and his dear brother may be blood, but they are not friends.”

“Vicious as he is, no one can accuse the good baron of being a fool.” Joram solemnly nodded. “You being on his bad side will lead to much trouble, I predict.”

“I commit tax evasion.” I rumbled with a thin smile. “But any agents he sends to bother me will have their skills in axe evasion tested.”

The conversation shifted to small talk, and with less strained topics behind us, I got to know the men who dined at my fire this evening. Joram was the son of a knight who had left the family’s service, instead wishing to more actively serve his people. He had been with the Verdant Dawn since he was a young lad, and was a passable rider, though I suspected he said that with a thick layer of modesty. Shtane had wandered into this country and sought a trade where he could make coin and spend most of his time doing nothing, he proudly hissed.

The last man kept his secrets, and I didn’t pry.

“Keep away from my fields.” I offered lightly as Shtane stepped away to relieve himself. “You may not like what you find there.”

“It’s an uhh, interesting place you have here.”

I laughed a waved it off. He was being polite, at least.

“It’s half-built and still overgrown.” I sighed. “But it’s home.”

‘Speakin of,” Ishila grunted and heaved herself up. “That’s where I gotta go. I have chores and stuff. See ya tomorrow?”

I nodded, and the orc girl set off. Joram rose as well and offered to escort her, only to sit back down when she rejected his offer. The unnamed man excused himself to go check his horse, and all that remained was myself and Joram. The youth quickly looked around and leaned forward, only to stop as I held up my hand.

“If you’re going to whisper secrets, do it sitting upright so you don’t look suspicious.”

I could tell he had been itching for the chance to do so.

“Ser Raffnyk asked me to pass this to you in confidence.” He hurriedly whispered, spine stiffer than a rod. “There is far more happening beneath the surface here than what is being shown. Avoid Hullbretch, for the time being. I am not at liberty to say more, but I suspect it would be beneficial if you remained here for a time, a thorn in the baron’s side.”

He clammed up as Shtane emerged from the bushes, a content look on his face. The snake-man gazed around in curiosity and was about to ask something when a scream rang through the night. From the crops.

“That fool!” I bellowed and burst to my feet. I charged ahead of the others, off towards my fields. Shrill shrieks rang through the night as a man howled in pain. I was headed towards the biter pods, I realized. I had told the idiot to stay out of my crops.

He only still lived because the pods were slow and engorged, still stuffed from yesterday’s meal. With a snarl, I grabbed the man’s collar and yanked him from the swarm of vines. I could smell the blood here, taste its coppery twang. In the darkness, I pulled him towards the fire and waved off the others as they rushed towards me, weapons drawn.

His limbs remained attached, but not intact. Chunks were missing, and he gasped for air as the shock set in. I gazed upon him and saw a man who was about to die. Until Shtane ripped a flash of thick crimson liquid from his pouch.

‘Fleshknitter potion.” He snarled and ripped the top off. I watched as he sloshed liquid over the bites, and then slapped the man and forced it down his throat. We surveyed him unsteadily as he writhed, and my eyes widened as the flesh began to regrow.

“Fucking. Idiot.” Shtane hissed. “Just had to sneak off for a look. Couldn’t just fucking listen for once.”

Time passed unsteadily as we gathered to watch the man moan in agony and regrow missing parts. I marveled at the sight as torn muscles visibly rebuilt themselves before skin slithered back over gaping wounds.

“That potion was fucking expensive.” The snake-man hissed in anger. “What are you growing out there anyway?’

Well, this would be a fun explanation.

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