The Western Road (closed for plightofsabine)

It was a sparse night for the inn. The size spoke to a bustling trade, but tonight, many benches sat unfilled or unused, and the communal stew, still bubbling on the hearth, mostly filled its cauldron, even at that late hour.

And good stew it was, filled with staples from the innkeepers larder, and the finds and snares travelers would barter or their price, in lieu of coin. No king's table, but certainly not some rat hole fallen on hard times. Yet hard times seem to have fallen on it regardless.

As she finished her meal, she noticed the man striding purposefully across the common room towards her. He was a broad man, not above average height, but with shoulders fit for a much bigger man, and proportioned on par with the sword on his back.

Not a young man, not with skin burned so dark by the sun, to make it hard to tell where he ended and his leather jerkin began. But not an old man either, hair and beard still dark and full, and few could walk that quickly in hobnails without sounding as a sack of kettles rolling downhill, much less with the gentle click of his steps.

He reached her bench before she knew it, squatting to bring his eyes level with hers. “The innkeep tells me you're walking the Western Road alone. That's just not safe for a woman. If you can wait, I'm going that way in two days.”

It was a long day of travel from Armin Tower, home of learned clerics and scholars. Sorcha Rhys had been on the road from dawn to nearly dusk. It was a habit of hers to never push on after the sun had set, lest she be detained by brigands or worse, become saddle sore.

Today was no different from any other day, with the exception she had traveled this road only once before; to be escorted from the house of her father into the hands of those at the tower. Half-way through her training, she had received a message from her father. He described a sickness that was spreading through the village and surrounding countryside and none of the efforts of skilled healers were working. Sorcha knew there was no time to waste. She had to ride directly and wouldn’t wait. She could get a day down the road and pick up additional provisions. The Hobbs Inn was a godsend; a beacon in the distance and Sorcha had her first stop of her trek. She could secure a clean room, a good meal, and arrange for provisions for the next few days.

Sorcha, who was always aware of her surroundings, first noticed the man when he entered the room. He wasn’t hard to miss with the sword on his back. But as she pushed her plate away, her eyes followed him until he was directly in front of her.

Sorcha sat back on the bench as he spoke to her. She wasn’t an overly tall person herself. Her piercing green eyes met his as she brushed and errant strand of her long red hair from her face. Sorcha was fairly young, just 20 summers. She was dressed in a simple green tunic, leather breeches and soft leather boots. The tunic was a little large for her but the black sword belt that normally secured her main means of defense kept its volume at bay. Out of caution, Sorcha rested her hand on the protruding hilt of the sword she had resting next to her.

Oh how the lovely road of communication worked these days. Sorcha’s gaze shifted between the innkeep and the man in front of her. Her expression gave nothing away.

“I might be interested. No place is safe for any woman except the four walls of the home she resides in and even then, it is questionable. Do you have a name?” she inquired politely.

“Call me Ulrich, the merchant. The Western Road is on my usual circuit. The sheriff can vouch for me, if you need assurances.”

His brow beetled. “I swear, I've never seen the road like this before. You know how to use that?” twitching his nose towards the pommel of her sword.

"Well, Ulrich, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Sorcha."

"As for that," she paused, brushing her fingertips down the hilt to the cross guard and back to rest her palm on the pommel, "Yes, I have used it."

Not many women carried large weapons around this area. They might have a dagger of sorts, but a sword was almost unheard of. The notion seemed strange in his mind.

Still, she seemed confident enough.

"Would you consider riding out a little earlier? I have a pressing matter that needs my attention and time counts."

He leaned back, slightly nonplussed at the implied rebuke. “Well, better to have it and not need it, than not when you do.”

“Leaving early will be a challenge,” stroking his bread as he thought. “I'm still trying to unload by goods for this leg, and I haven't found anything for the next. I'd rather not run ballast, if I can help it,” he finished, shaking his head.

Trade had been bad. Goods that should have moved days ago still sat in their bags, waiting for buyers, and the sellers were low on the staples, much less the goods that were a merchant's lifeblood. Another bad run wouldn't be the end of him, but it was closer than he ever wanted to be.

“You want to say what's go you in such a hurry?” he asked, eyes searching her expression. Many people say their needs are urgent, but only some were.

“People in the village I am from are coming up with an illness. I have to find out what’s going on and I just can’t wait two days,” she explained.

“I will understand if you can’t,” she added.

Sorcha didn’t expect anyone’s help. People were generally afraid of any kind of sickness, from sniffly noses to coughs. One had to be careful to stay healthy. Even separated from the main population of the village, Sorcha had her run in with minor illnesses. She hoped never to experience it again.

“What do you trade?” she asked curiously. “You’ll have to forgive me, you don’t look like any merchant I’ve ever seen.”

“Made goods, curios. Sometimes packages or letters for delivery. Anything small but worth carrying.” He chuckled, “Last outleg I even had two pounds of pins.”

“Most of my trade is in reagents and tinctures, however. It takes an experienced eye to tell what is fit for the apothecary, and tree clippings someone is trying to pass off.”

“That's the rub. I have a batch that won't make the next leg. I've got to either sell it here, or get it into a more travel worthy form, or I'll need to get it burnt properly. It's not the sort of stuff you leave lying around. Even burning it will take until midday to do it properly. It's the soonest I can manage.”

Now and again the merriment of the surrounding patrons bled over into our conversation. Too, as the drinking continued, those who celebrated were soon led to raucous banter or salacious solicitation off the innkeep’s help. I was thinking more on turning in earlier before my tolerance was spent.

“It sounds like your trips are never dull,” I remarked. It sounded like he spent an extraordinary amount of time on the road. Travel was hardly family friendly. “What does your family think of your choice of work? Being on the road is far different from setting up a shoppe in town, or managing a farm.”

It had been easy to lose himself in conversation with an educated and attractive lady, slipping into old habits like a coat that still fit after many years. Her question was ice water poured on dead dreams.

“There is no family for the likes of me.” As he rose, he said, “I have a long day ahead of me. You can give me your answer in the morning. Good evening.”

He tipped his head, and drifted back into the remaining crowd.

“Good Evening,” She responded, her voice trailed off.

Apparently, she must have hit a nerve with him. Sorscha hadn’t meant any harm and she accepted it for what it was. They were two strangers who had shared a few words. Her eyes flicked up and followed him as he disappeared back into the crowd. It was clearly time for her to retire.

Sorcha rose from the bench and grabbed her sword. Upon arrival she had already made arrangements for her over night stay and she looked forward to getting out of the noise. The lanterns were starting to burn brightly and the noise level continued to increase. Sorcha weaved her way through the crowd of people until she made her way to the stairs.

She ran her hand up the railing and her boots tapped as she ascended the creaky, worn stairs. The first door on the left was hers. It was close to the stairs and the room itself was slightly larger due to its proximity to the stairs. She pushed the door open, stepped through and firmly shut the door behind her, shutting out the noise for the night.

A good night’s rest is what she needed.

It had been years since the dreams visited him. Faces, some named, some not. Sometimes they came handfuls, sometimes in regiments, arrayed for review in glittering armour and geared for war, men wasted to near husks within.

Tonight it was only two. They pirouetted in the intricate moves of court dance, her elegance itself in her flowing brocade dress, him resplendent in parade armour, horribly inappropriate for such a dance. It had been a foolish bet, but he had carried himself well, and won far more than the round of drinks wagered.

Would that it had been any but them, he thought. Would that it has been all but them.

He rose before the first cock's crow, and began to set about his business. What ever the day held, it promised to be a long one.

Sorcha stretched lazily as the dawn approached. Her lithe body was still heavy with sleep and she was still shaking off the fog that had washed over her from the night before. Her night was dreamless, as were many of her nights. It was only a rare occasion she would see something. Lying in a sea of red hair, she finally worked herself up to get out of bed. She sat there a moment, on the edge of the bed, waiting for her balance to return. When she was finally awake, her two feet hit the floor and it was time to get started. She had some distance to do. Before she disappeared, she would leave word for her new acquaintance, Ulrich.

Dressed and ready, she headed down the stairs. The innkeep should have had her provisions for the day all ready for her and all she would have to do was pack it in saddlebags. Sorcha wrote out a quick note on parchment explaining she had to leave as soon as possible and that she truly appreciated his concern for her. And, with any hope, they would see each other again, maybe, down the road. She left it in the hands of the innkeep with the instructions to give it to Ulrich if he saw him next. She pressed a coin into his hand for his trouble.

When Sorcha stepped from the inn, the heat of the sun warmed her face. There was still a chill in the morning air, but that would quickly burn of as the sun rose in the sky. She gathered her horse and with a nudge they were off down the road.

Predawn was fruitless. Breyer would have loved a fresh stock of grey leaf, but was out of the finings he needed to process it. His usual supplier from the dell was overdue.

He received her note when he returned to the inn for the morning meal. He broke his fast alone, attentive to the flow of conversation in the common room. The rumors were troubling. There was talk of unrest in the dell. Others were convinced it was a new plague. Gibens spoke of strange creatures prowling the woods, but he was already on his third bottle. Some thought the Duke must have invaded again. Surely the king would have called the levee? Mad Harry was expounding, loudly, on his theory that a coven of vampire witches had taken over Lakeshire and were devouring travelers. Mad Harry was also convince that a coven of witches had cursed his cookstove, and that fish was still fresh on the third day. Still others spoke of an uprising, but by whom, or even against which noble, none could say.

Ulrich decided to look in on the sheriff as he made his rounds. Perhaps he could send a patrolman to check on Miss Rhys.

Smiling Tom was not a regular contact. The man had a reputation for sharp dealing, and poor product, and did not disappoint on either count. Tom too was out of finings, but was now using an older process to do without. He was willing to pay half what the leaf was worth, and his price for a cloudy ichor was twice what a good clear Earth's Blood would normally go for. He moved on.

The Sheriff's was on the way to his next contact. He arrived in time for the noonday meal, and a place was set for him. They talked business over cabbage and potato soup. Ulrich told his old friend news of the eastern road, of the remarkable woman he had encountered last night, and his concern for her journey. What his friend told him in return did nothing to allay those concerns.

“The last patrol we sent on the road never returned,” he said. “As near as I can tell, the last trader came over two weeks ago. The only person we've seen since was a rider a few days back, who was in such a hurry he stopped only long enough to trade horses.”

“We have no idea what is happening in Lakeshire.”

Ulrich returned to Smiling Tom's.

The sun was setting by the time he set out. Three times had Tom tried to short change him, palming weights, offering shaved coins, and one time simply putting down the wrong number, before finally trying to pay in stock in stead of coin. It would have been faster to burn it, but what was done was done.

He padded down the road, her trail surprisingly clear even in the moonlight. In normal times a single trail would have been obliterated by the comings and goings of a busy road. This is very wrong, he thought. A fit man can pace a horse in a long leg such as this, and track twice as well. Even so, he lost her trail and had to double back to find it several times, and the sun was well risen before he found where she had camped for the night.

The signs of struggle were clear, foot prints trampling half the site, imprints of bodies thrashing on the grass, fire kicked over, and supplies scattered among the ashes, but, he breathed a sign of relief, no bodies, no blood. There were those bandits who felt a waking mark a risk best avoided, and there were other things with less civilized interests than coin.

The twisted foliage pointed the way to her captors; they had made no attempt to be subtle. He followed, padding after their trail.

The majority of the day had been quiet. She really hated to leave that note, but she felt it was necessary to push through. Sorcha wasn’t going to stress her mount because she still had a good way to go. It was going to take a few days as long as she maintained a steady pace.

Her mind was obsessed with the lack of details in the note she had received. A sickness it said. It was spreading and there was nothing the healers could do. Sorcha was putting herself at risk simply returning to the area and could very well fall to illness while attempting to help. It was a risk she was willing to take, for the sake of those people. Every time she thought about it, the urgency gripped her and the sick rush of her combat blood would leave her stomach queasy.

When the sun was near the horizon, it was time to find a place to settle in for the night. Sorcha had found a small enclosure just behind the tree line that was protected and out of sight of the road. She could build a fire, take in some dinner and get rest for tomorrow’s travel.

Once she had her dinner and a good fire going, she laid down to rest for the night. The road had been quiet, so she didn’t expect anyone to come up on her. Still, she kept her sword near in the event the wildlife had run up on her. The sounds of the crickets became the lullaby that encouraged her to sleep.
The small band of thieves had seen the light from her fire. They had been traveling the road by night to avoid detection. When they approached silently and peered into the enclosure, they could see the sleeping Sorcha resting by the fire. The three of them moved in silently and started going through her things. There was little to be had, really. Some provisions, equipment…As if that wasn’t enough, Sorcha was startled awake to find two pairs of hands on her arms, jerking her awake and to her feet. She screamed out.

Her screams would do little good out here on the road, so the two that held her didn’t bother to try to silence her; rather, they cackled their amusement. Sorcha was bound and questioned, demanding the valuables – they were looking for money and anything they could sell. She tried reasoning with them, but they became unreasonable.

Pretty soon, they had destroyed the camp site, and tore through her things. All they had left was her, and she could be sold off for coin. Suddenly, she was terrified.

The difficulty was not in following the trail. No, their trail spoke of haste and desperation hacked through the forest with almost reckless abandon. The difficult part was in following the trail quickly, without going so quickly that he accidentally stumbled into a band of heavily armed, desperate men. That would be ill advised, a small part of his mind noted.

The remainder occupied itself with the trail at hand, listening intently for voices, or other sounds that might indicate those he was seeking. He would follow the trail to the ends of the earth, if need be.
He padded on into the rising day.

Sorcha continued to struggle against her bonds. All she had to do was get free long enough to grab a weapon and she could get somewhere.

“You’re never going to get anywhere!” she spat at the group.

“OH Shat up!” A hand found her cheek and the slap laid her out on the ground.

“You PIG!” she retorted, gingerly holding her cheek. The sudden slap had immediately raised a large red welt and left her skin throbbing painfully.

“Nah Frank, if she’s all beat up she won’t fetch a decent price”

The group of three fell into an argument on how they were going to get her to the market, unconcerned about the racket they were making.

While the three were arguing, Sorcha was looking for an opportunity to get free. She started looking around for a rock with a sharp edge. Just maybe she could work her way through the rope. It was worth a try, if she could just find a rock.

The thieves’ camp wasn’t much of anything, just about the same as hers. Small and temporary. What she didn’t understand is how people like this had grown so bold. It was now clear to her she was going to have to travel with someone, assuming she could gain her freedom. If not, she would be quickly passed along into God knows what.

They were arrayed about her in a loose semi-circle, taunting, jeering, arguing, and doing every except attending to their surrounding. He crept up behind the rearmost one, a good two-three strides behind his comrades. Ambushes were knife work, but with two others to handle after, he held is long sword bare and low to the ground.

He was unsure if Sorcha had seen him yet. She'd given no sign, but she seemed too smart a girl to, even if she had.

It was almost perfect. By Murphy's own luck the man on his right turned to look back at Ulrich's mark. His alarm brought the bandit half way around, before his stroke took him on the back of the knees, collapsing him into a flailing heap on the ground.

One down, he thought, but it had given his spotter time enough to clear his sword. Fast bugger. He cleared for space as the bandit advanced, his remaining partner goggling at the unfolding tableau.

She had, at the last moment, seen Ulrich just beyond the chaotic scene in front of her and she stilled. It didn’t take much to send Sorcha in to some sort of action. Clearly, with three, she couldn’t have handled them herself. She might have gotten one, but she would have been killed anyhow. This however, evened out the odds a little.

When Ulrich made his swing, Sorcha was already coming to her feet, and with a swing of her bound wrists, she connected with the onlooker’s abdomen, forcing him forward and tumbling to the ground. It was a very satisfying effect. When the man fell to the ground she kicked him hard in the side before he could get any other ideas on rising up again.

“PIG!” she spat, watching as the man rolled on the ground, not paying much attention to Ulrich and the remaining thief. Sorcha backed away a little to steer clear of the two and waited. She didn’t have to wait too long. The thief was sorely matched to the likes of Ulrich and watched as the thief desperately tried to get away.

Had she not been so angry, she would have felt sorry for the thief.

The bandit came in fast, sword point first, using it like an oversized knife. The first feint was obvious, but the second nearly convincing. He had instinct to be a good swordsman, if only he had the training he would never receive.

The third thrust was genuine, and the mistake. Ulrich accepted the lunge, and locked blades, using the strength of two-hander to ride down the bandit's attack into his guard. It should have been the end for him, yet somehow the bandit manged to twist out of the way of the full force of the blow. He would never hold a sword again, but he would live.

They broke apart and each took stock, the first bandit still down, not yet comprehending what had happened to him, the second being kicked into a pile by Sorcha, and the third, now injured and weaponless, and utterly without support. The bandit ran.

That left two to deal with. The first one wasn't going anywhere under his own power, but the second was still mostly uninjured. Ulrich turned to him and said, “You want to stay among the living, take your buddy and get out of here.” The bandit didn't need encouragement, though the vigor with which he carried out his orders made Ulrich wince at the thought of what it must be doing to the other man's wounds.

And then it was over.

“Are you all right? It will be a bit before they come back,” he said, and he sawed apart the ropes binding her wrists, “but we should move on soon.”

He picked up a swatch of fabric from the remains of their camp, and began wiping down his blade.
You will never be so tired as you are after a battle, and that is when you must care for your sword the most, his old mentor's words still echoing in the back of his memory.

“Thank you, I am very glad to see you,” she responded somewhat sheepishly, rubbing her wrists until the soreness ebbed.

“I really should have waited and took you up on your offer in the first place. The time I wasted by being waylaid by those three ate up any jump start I had. Had I just waited, I wouldn’t have been in this mess.”

There was a silver lining after all.

“At least they had some sense and grabbed the horse and saddlebags. I won’t have to backtrack for that.”

There wasn’t much left of the thieves’ overnight camp and Sorcha had to gather up what she could find of her things that had been drug out of the saddlebags. Most things were of no value to anyone but her. There were small bunches of herbs, some root, crocks of salve and strips of cloth she collected up. When she was finished, she closed up the bags and brushed her hands off.
Sorcha stroked her horse’s neck a moment then gathered the reins. She turned back to face Ulrich who had since finished wiping down his blade.

“You’re quite handy with a sword. Not what I would expect of a merchant. I always imagined a merchant having piles of money and hiring swords to protect caravans full of merchandise,” she said, grinning, trying to keep the mood light.

The young woman led her horse to the edge of camp. “I take it you left your mount somewhere away from here?”

Ulrich settled in on a fallen log, and began stropping the whetstone along the blade.

“That's the popular image, yeah. Thing is coin's just another lump of weight that's not normally worth anything more once you've carted it half-way 'cross the world. Might as well ship lead.” The tip had done most of the work, but the edge had taken some abuse when they had locked. “Nobody's going to mug a lead hauler.”

“Horses are the same. They're valuable, and every pound of you they're carrying is one less pound of tradable goods you could be carrying.” He held up the finished blade, but his eyes were elsewhere than the steel shimmering like water in the sun. “Mounted knights may be the wrath of god in a charge, but good foot soldiers will pace any horse that ever lived.”

His sword was back in its scabbard with a thump. As he rose from his seat, he gave her a wicked grin, and said, “Don't worry, I'll keep up.”

“I think we've done enough here. We should get moving."

As Ulrich started walking, he turned and asked, "You a healer by trade?” nose pointing towards the saddlebag Sorcha had packed her poultices and salves in. “Just seems like a lot for one trip.”

“For the most part, yes,” she answered. “I’m from a little place called Lakeshire. When I received word there was a strange illness spreading across the population, I thought they could use my help there rather than held up elsewhere. Too, the elders thought this would be a good opportunity to test my resolve as to whether I wished to continue my studies, though I hardly fathom why they would question my resolve in the first place,” she explained.

“Women were not created for the singular task of breeding, though in this day and time many seem to think that is the case,” Sorcha muttered somewhat irritated.

Her mind was struggling. The last days with her family were trying. Her mother had been crying, her brothers and father had been admonishing her. It hadn’t been an ideal parting, but in the end she got what she wanted. Away from what would have been her future to create one of her own. Her family invaded her thoughts.

---

“My girl, don’t you want a family of your own?” Her father’s deep voice interrupted her.

“Father, I’m only 20. There’s plenty of time for that down the road. Why can’t you understand that? I want to do something with my life. See something besides the four borders of Lakeshire,” she argued, coming up from her chair to face him.

Charles, her oldest brother, chimed in at the doorway, “There’s no way William would want anything to do with her. She’s too much of a tomboy for him to find any interest in her. She doesn’t even act like a lady.”

Sorcha shot him a look of hatred, “I do too!”

Edward, her second brother, shook his head and his index finger at her, “Nah, ye don’t.”

“Why is it that you three seem to think you know me so well as to decide what I can and cannot do? That’s NOT FAIR!” she yelled out.

“Lass, we are your family. We love you and want you to be happy,” Her father interjected.

“Then if you want me happy then let me lead my own life!” Sorcha insisted. “Send me to Armin Tower. I’ll study. If at any time I decide it isn’t for me, I promise I will come back and I will marry whomever you decide is appropriate. But if I find it agreeable, I want your full support. Da, there is more out there for me, I just know it. There is no one here for me, not really. William is not the master of my heart and hearth, for heavens sake, the closest we’ve ever been was when we were climbing trees as children. All he does now is chase the girls around. And if it hasn’t escaped your notice, his reputation is in question from his supposed dalliance with Jane. They whisper she even spread her legs for him. Please Da!” she pleaded. Sorcha only used the affectionate title when she really wanted something.
___

Her thoughts were disturbed by the rocks the horse’s hooves had kicked around, bringing her fully back into the present.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be irritable,” she apologized. Sorcha chose to lead her horse a while and walk with Ulrich. It was a change of pace and she had to adjust her step to keep up with his long legs.

“You said you were headed this way… where are you planning to end up?” she asked him.