Chapter 51: Much Ale Was Spilled

  The cheeks of the halflings flushed red as they downed pint after pint of Deep River Ale, basking in the warmth of a roaring tavern fire. Honeytongue regaled his captive audience with a humorous tale of bartering with river nymphs and they hung on every word.

  “So then they said to me, you’ve nothing left to trade but your socks!” the merchant said with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

  Peals of laughter filled Roundhedge Tavern. A halfling seated near the front slapped his knee and nearly spurted ale from his nose.

  Just then–the door burst open.

  The Paladin strode forward and flung a javelin straight at the merchant. It pierced the fabric of his long brown coat under one arm, sticking into the wooden wall behind him.

  The glee and laughter at once turned to gasps of astonishment.

  Honeytongue stared, mouth agape, at the javelin. He didn’t even have time to look up before another javelin pierced his coat on the opposite side, pinning him to the tavern wall.

  The gasps turned to cries of shock.

  Chastity quickly crossed the distance, raising the sharp tip of her third javelin and pointing it menacingly at the merchant’s throat. He jerked his head back, the bowler hat falling from his head.

  Now the cries turned to wails of terror. Much ale was spilled as halflings overturned chairs and tables, diving for cover.

  “What is the meaning of this!?” sputtered Mayor Roundhedge.

  Honeytongue, with fear in his eyes, raised his ring-adorned hands in surrender.

  “Listen up, all of you!” Chastity boomed, attempting to still the uproar. “This man has been lying to you! And far worse than that! He is not a friend to Goldenberry!”

  The tavern was still in pandemonium. Charlie and Kobelt entered at the door, having been several paces behind Chastity when she made her dramatic entrance.

  Chastity glared at Honeytongue.

  “No tricks. I know what you are!”

  Honeytongue gulped, trying to keep the skin of his neck as far away from the sharp point as possible.

  The mayor hurried to Chastity’s side, tugging on her cloak.

  “Please, your Worship! What is going on!?” he begged.

  “I told you before, Mayor, don’t call me that,” Chastity said. “There is only One worthy of worship in this world, and that is the Great Divine. Or possibly two… I’m not sure. I’m getting kind of a binitarian sense with the whole Celestial Prince motif…”

  They don’t happen to have a third divine person in their cosmology, do they? she wondered.

  “Anyway, that’s besides the point!”

  Chastity turned again to the crowd, seeing the terror-stricken villagers. Several were crying. Others were hugging each other for dear life.

  “Aura of Bravery,” she intoned.

  At once there was a radial whoosh. Chastity wasn’t sure in the flickering fire and candlelight if what she was seeing was actually present or just her perception, but a faint white glow seemed to extend from her in a short burst. The effect was immediate, in that the halflings closest to her grew visibly calm. Even the mayor stood up straighter.

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  Maybe not exactly how that Ability is supposed to be used, but I’ll take it.

  (After previously identifying the soporific tonic in the merchant’s wagon, Chastity had also received a notification that her Identify II ability was ready to be advanced. Yet she hardly had time to give that a second thought given the circumstances.)

  Taking their cues from the newly composed townsfolk at the other end of the establishment, the rest of the crowd began to settle down as well. Charlie and Kobelt picked their way through to stand closer to the action, Charlie holding a coil of rope.

  “This merchant, who you know as Honeytongue,” Chastity began, “has been deceiving and betraying your trust for years. Worse! He has been selling your very loved ones into slavery!”

  There were loud murmurs all around. Several scoffed in disbelief. This was a serious accusation, and the halflings barely had a frame of reference to process this.

  “Lies!” Honeytongue shouted.

  Chastity’s eyes shot daggers at the merchant, moving her javelin a fraction closer. Nevertheless, he persisted.

  “My dear and true friends!” he called out, summoning every ounce of stage presence. “You know me. You’ve known me for years! I’ve been nothing but a friend and patron to this fair village. More than just a friend–family! These allegations are baseless and absurd. You would trust this… this stranger over your bosom friend Honeytongue? This armed stranger from who-knows-where, barging into your home and bossing you around? You know me. You trusssst me. I’ve looked out for each one of you–on my honor as a merchant!”

  Pricklebush and some of the other halflings found themselves nodding in agreement with the merchant’s persuasive words. Charlie looked nervously from face to face.

  “But SHE… she doesn’t know your values,” Honeytongue continued. “She doesn’t have the good of the Riverfolk at heart. She who brings strange ideas, who forces you to intermingle with those who do not belong among you.” With that, the merchant nodded his head at Kobelt. “Who put her in charge? Who gave her the authority to run your lives? And now she spreads lies! Lisssten to my voice…”

  “SILENCE!” Chastity commanded. “Charlie, help me bind him. And put the gag in his mouth! We must not hear any more of his falsehoods!”

  Charlie hurried forward, and together they wrenched the merchant free of his pinned coat, tying his hands in front of him and forcing him to bite down on a thick swatch of fabric procured for this very purpose and tied around his head.

  Chastity forced him to kneel in the corner, even as he murmured angrily in protest against the gag. It was Chastity’s turn to convince.

  “What I am telling you is the truth. Please listen and examine the facts for yourself. For years this man has been offering transport to your loved ones to find work, and sending back vague letters and pittances in return. However, I have found evidence that he has been selling them to a horde of goblins as slave labor. The very same goblins that enslaved Kobelt here. He has been lining his pockets with gold on the misery of your friends and family.”

  “When I went to the cave a day’s journey from where Kobelt escaped, I found the name Fiddlebrook carved into the wall behind the empty slave cages. The very surname of a villager here who ‘received a letter’ this very day from his brother, allegedly sent from the port city of Víkmuth. All of you who have received such letters have been deceived by this treacherous snake!”

  Charity beckoned for Kobelt to join her at the front.

  “And I conferred with Kobelt, who confirmed that he did see halflings enslaved in the mining operation.”

  Cries of ‘no!’ and pleas of mercy to divinity were heard in the crowd. The mayor removed his hat, trying to steady himself from his earlier overindulgence of ale, and spoke to Kobelt.

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?!”

  “Nobody asked Kobelt,” the gnome said with a shrug.

  Chastity continued,

  “Kobelt told me he saw halflings mixed in with dwarfs, but that they were moved off to another location. Kobelt had no way of knowing where they were from, and the captives were never allowed to speak to one another on penalty of torture. The cages that carried away your brothers, sons, and fathers sit in the back of that wagon across the river right now!’

  Shock. Grief. Heartbreak. These words scarcely convey the depth of feeling that fell upon the guileless residents of Goldenberry that night. The knowledge that their loved ones were being held captive, forced into grueling and dangerous labor under cruel goblin slavers was beyond the reckoning of their simple way of life.

  “Mark my words,” Chastity said. “We will find out the truth from this criminal. He will confess his sins. And then we will find a way to bring your loved ones home!”

  But in the meantime, what place in all of Goldenberry can I possibly use as a jail!?!

  ?

  Elsewhere, from the yawning mouth of a massive gash that defaced both mountain and earth, grim figures emerged like so many cockroaches under the cover of darkness. Silhouetted by the flames and acrid smoke of the great mining operation at their back, nearly two dozen goblins, armed to the teeth, skulked out into the night.

  A slender figure in a shadowy black cloak, taller than the rest, led the procession. There was a faint red gleam in his eyes as he held between his dirty forefinger and thumb a small image.

  “Deathmark.”

  They began to march south.