“What do we do now?” Grace’s eyes were wide, her voice shaking. The poor girl wasn’t even trying to hide her panic.
“We go for the baron,” Stephan said calmly, suddenly feeling detached from the problem and disappointed with the villagers. “Violence will solve this problem easily. Then we recruit whoever’s willing to follow us and go after the next one and the next.”
Assuming Muriel was right and barons only had thirty to forty militiamen, Stephan could handle them alone, though probably not without killing a couple in the process. And if each village gave them a Sentry or a Knight eager to join them along with some Priests, they might be able to conquer the kingdom.
That’s a lot of ifs…
Stephan knew better than to rely on luck, but he debated with himself whether relying on certain divine favor was gambling.
“What if the rebellion fails?” Muriel asked, much calmer, thinking and planning ahead.
Stephan shrugged. “We leave with Grace and everyone who wants to follow her.”
Inwardly, he was reliving the speech he had given. How the villagers loathed him more than the enforcers who had barged into their village, about to take one of their own. They hated themselves. They hated their lives. An outsider coming and tearing at the scab covering their festering wound of lies and self-denial must have hurt more than any abuse they had suffered from the thugs.
Even if someone rose among them with the ability to lead or to make a change, the rest would drown them. Suddenly, something became clear. No wonder the gods didn’t give them anything other than the Commoner class.
The next question came just as naturally: Why should he help them? Who was he helping?
Grace. He instantly found the answer. Even if there was only one innocent to save, it was worth doing. And there will be more people like Grace. Youths like Alfred and Miles, ones who weren’t broken by fear and abuse. Ones who haven’t given up.
“I don’t care what their ancestors are guilty of,” Stephan continued, new strength entering his voice, “but if they haven’t done anything bad themselves, they are welcome to return. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”
He was certain of it. A hundred bandits broke against a dozen Knights, chopped like meat before the survivors fled. Once Stephan’s forces swelled and leveled, once they captured a fort, their power would only grow.
“Do you have hunting spears?” Stephan asked, as without good armor, a spear presented a much safer weapon. “And nightmare dungeons, do you have those?”
Grace’s father shook his head. “We are forbidden from owning spears and swords. And what’s a nightmare dungeon?”
“A place where nightmares, unnatural, horrifying creatures gather.” Stephan said slowly, but immediately knew the man had never heard of them. There wasn’t a hint of recognition on the middle-aged man’s face when he asked the question. “They prefer dark places away from people, but if left unchecked, they spill out into the surrounding lands.”
“The forest is full of dangerous beasts.” The man didn’t seem interested. Instead, his gaze darted towards his daughter. “Are you really doing this? Fighting the baron?”
“What else can we do?” Stephan asked. “Run? River dragons overturned our boat while we were coming here, so we would either have to make a new one or swim across, and I don’t think you have anything more dangerous in this forest than they are.”
Muriel shifted, seemingly disagreeing, but she had never experienced a giant lizard chewing on her leg. Without his inhuman toughness, Stephan would’ve lost everything from the knee down. Assuming he survived at all.
“What will you do?” he asked Grace’s father, who exhaled tiredly.
“Join you. What else? I only have one daughter, and they tried to take her away from me. I was powerless before, but I won’t be alone this time.” He smiled reassuringly at Grace, who beamed back a smile while her mother pressed her lips tight.
Stephan could see it. The woman stood with her head held high, proud of her daughter, but beyond the glint in her eyes hid the fear for Grace’s safety. It was the same look Stephan saw in his mother the last time, before heading for Cliffort. She felt honored her son had become the Paladin, but also knew his life would be filled with danger.
Still, it shouldn’t be too hard. At least not at first. Stephan had handled the six thugs as easily as a grown man would have dealt with children, but amongst the residents of Thornsedge none would survive a one-on-one clash with the militiamen. Serious training and confidence both gave men an edge, even after a handful of weeks. And because he lacked that training, Grace’s father would prove a liability rather than a boon.
“Do you know how to use a bow?” Stephan asked. It was a safe option to have the man “help” but remain as far away from danger as one could expect in an armed conflict.
Grace’s father had never wielded a bow or a spear. He knew how to chop wood and meat, but using an ax in combat was completely different from hacking at immobile, inanimate objects.
It was yet another headache. When Stephan finally found himself alone in the barn with Muriel, he couldn’t help but speak his frustration aloud.
“Back, ages ago, when I first got this class, I expected I’d be the hero. You know, someone hailed and cheered, slaying dragons and fiends. Instead, it seems like I’m destined for minor headaches and asking myself: What am I supposed to do now? Take Don, for example.” Grace’s father introduced himself as ‘Just Don’, telling Stephan not to be formal with him. “He doesn’t know how to fight, nor use a weapon, and he wants to join us. What am I to do with him?”
“He can be a scout,” Muriel said offhandedly, just as Stephan was about to say the man would get himself killed. And she said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but the idea broke Stephan’s train of thought.
“Aren’t you a scout? And I’m kind of learning how to be one.”
“Yes, but he’s from these parts, and there’s more than one approach to scouting.” Muriel’s voice came from the darkness like a ray of enlightenment. “He can enter a town or a village, talk to people, see what’s happening. When you don’t get the Tracker class, it doesn’t mean you can’t scout. An Artisan or even a Commoner can be good with people, talk with them, buy someone an ale here, listen to another’s problems there, all the while keeping an ear out for what’s going on with a settlement. Not to mention that with enough effort they could rival a high-level Tracker’s ability to read prints.”
Straw rustled as Muriel shifted on her patch of it. “And in settlements, you can learn more things from loose tongues and gossip than from reading tracks in the forest, given the right situation and set of skills.”
Stephan rubbed his face. It wasn’t a bad plan, not by a long shot. Don was completely unassuming, nothing that would make Stephan spare him a second glance. In fact, he wondered how he had sired a woman as beautiful as Grace, but that wasn’t Stephan’s problem.
“You know,” he stretched the words, still looking for issues, but finding none, “I think you’re right. He can go into a town, sell a sack of grain, have an ale or two, and leave. Even if he doesn’t learn anything, he’d be out of harm’s way.”
Stephan loved the idea.
“Yes, yes, I am wise.” Muriel joked even though Stephan was serious. “Now, don’t assume we’re safe and fall asleep. We’re in enemy lands and you still have the first watch.”
Then, as if someone had closed the door or pulled a curtain over the waking world, she was snoring softly.
It really was an eventful day. Stephan had no trouble staying awake. He kept peering into the darkness as various thoughts swarmed his mind. The foremost being: How to help the new Knights increase their levels.
They say the forest is full of monsters. We could use that.
Then he had another idea. Or I could just ask the nightmare? He said I can’t reach out without paying the price, but if the price is me sending a dream message to him?
He discarded the notion. It would burn two of his three remaining favors, and the other was under no obligation to offer good or even truthful responses.
Instead, he considered asking Marshal Harrington, but again, it would cost him a pair of messages. So, he started planning an assault on the baron’s fortress, if a ten-foot-tall palisade could be called that without insulting Cliffort.
The most obvious approach was to barge in. If the town had similarities with Brighthollow, then the walls wouldn’t be a problem. Based on their information, they would have four or five guards, around a dozen of the enforcers who would be out and about, another six he had defeated, and some had died to the wyvern.
Stephan was tempted to walk in, club swinging for Mercy’s sake. But he wouldn’t be alone, and while he wouldn’t get any warmth out of the battle, that wasn’t true for the Knights and the Saintess. There were benefits to letting them grow in low-threat skirmishes. Besides, he and Muriel would be there to help, the latter providing long-range support.
He was getting drowsy, imagining various fights in the alleys of Brighthollow, with Muriel standing atop thatched roofs, raining arrows, when she called him.
“Steve, I’m awake. You can go to sleep now.”
“Thanks,” he said, then closed his eyes, explicitly thinking how he didn’t want to contact anyone. He needed to grab some rest before the next day’s expected violence.