The Willowsbrook Chronicles - Chapter 2: A bad night gets worse
Greetings and salutations, one and all. It’s time for another chapter of The Willowsbrook Chronicles.
When we last left Gunther, Naomi, and Quigsley they were being taken to whatever fate Rier has in store for them. Though why Rier is doing this is yet unclear.
And what of that Blonde-haired Bloodmaster who said he’d meet up with them? Was it a lie or is there something else going on? You’ll just have to read on and find out.
Get ready, as The Willowsbrook Chronicles continues now.
The jail wagon came to a halt and the door opened. Several burly guards carrying wicked looking Halberds greeted the three prisoners. The guards wore the chain mail and tabards that marked them as part of the City Watch.
One of them grinned at Gunther and his friends, bearing his yellowed teeth. “All right ya lawbreakers,” he snarled. “Out with ya!”
One of the Constables reached in. seized Gunther, and yanked him out. The momentum sent the big man sprawling to the ground.
Naomi and Quigsley received the same harsh treatment. to the roaring approval of their captors. Gunther tried to stand, only to receive a hard blow to his head. The ground rushed back to meet him, his vision blurred with stars.
“Did I say you could get up, lawbreaker?!” the giant guard demanded.
Gunther grimaced. As he did his best to fight the wave of dizziness and remain conscious. Then, from above and behind him another guard speak.
“Come on, Chief, why don’t we kill em’ now?”
“Because you idiot!” the first one snapped, “We have our orders from Mr. Kethwelt and the Earl. Mind you, there’s a time and place for everything.”
Gunther once again tried to stand. Halfway to his feet, the Chief gave him a swift punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him and driving him to his knees.
“Gunther!” Naomi screamed. In response the Chief dealt her a hard slap that sent her sprawling.
“Did you think Willowsbrook,” the big man hissed. "That Mr. Kethwelt forgot about how you embarrassed him in last year's cooking contest?"
Gunther looked up in bewilderment. “Is that what this is all about? The contest where I beat Rier? Can I help it if I have a knack for knowing what makes a good meal?”
The Chief guffawed, “Whatever mate. You’ve been trash to this city since day one—and the day after tomorrow we’ll be rid of you at last. You’ll all be goin’ to the gallows!"
Quigsley gasped in horror. “The gallows?! But where’s the trial? And what about the King’s Judicier?”
The Chief snorted in contempt, “Screw the King, and screw Duke Brekken! The Earl is the law here, and he decides what goes. Start praying to whatever Gods you worship. Poxxy bastards, ‘cause soon enough, you’ll be dangling from a rope.”
With that, they got dragged out of the courtyard and kicked into the jail itself.
There, they got shoved into a grimy cell and locked in. Then the Chief and his men left them, with nothing but their confusion and their fear to keep them company.
Naomi began to weep, “I… I” she stammered. “That… That bastard! He’s going to make us take the fall for the fire to get revenge? Why include us? We weren’t in the contest.”
“Guilt by association,” Gunther guessed. “You’ve two have been my closest friends since I started working at the tavern. And it’s no secret that he bears both of you grudges that have nothing at all to do with the contest.
"After all, Naomi, you’ve refused his advances for years. Quigsley, you’ve refused to pickpocket the customers for him, haven’t you.”
Quigsley nodded , conceding the point. “Aye, aye. I may have failed to graduate from the Mages Academy, but I still do have ethics.”
“And I wouldn’t sleep with that disgusting pig in a million years!” Naomi interjected .
No one said anything after that, and Gunther’s attention wandered to the window of their cell. Barred of course, and the sky beyond was as leaden and as depressing as he himself felt.
This is a lousy situation, He thought about how he hated his life. Or at least what still remained of it until the time came to climb the gallows’ steps.
Naomi brightened and sat up. “Quigsley, don’t you have some kind of spell that can get us out of here? Some kind of illusion magic?”
The Mage shook his head . “No, the cells 'ave anti-magic wards, and Gunther isn’t much for fighting, so I guess an ambush is out.”
The Mage was correct, and Naomi’s hopeful expression changed to a frown and she shrugged. “That leaves the Gods to turn to. If you don’t mind, I’d like to offer up a prayer to Mallastra for some help and guidance.”
Gunther himself had never cared for the Gods. In his view, the Gods had forsaken him the day he'd arrived at the orphanage’s front gate and weren’t worth his devotion.
But he didn’t object; he knew it would help Naomi pass the time even if, in the end, the Gods wouldn’t care about a barmaid’s plea. Instead, they would let them all swing for crimes they hadn’t committed. No divine intervention was coming and they’d all hang for crimes they hadn’t committed. This was how Gods worked.
The rest of the day went by with naught to break the monotony. A guard stopped by, from time to time, to deride them, or spit through the bars at them before moving on.
Each of them did what they could to combat their boredom and hopelessness. Quigsley meditated, and Naomi continued to pray to Mallastra.
But Gunther brooded about the night’s events. He was now certain that Rier Kethwelt had arranged the accident at the tavern. Worse, he was sure that the City Watch, and likely the Earl, were aiding him.
Not that any of this surprised him overmuch. Rier and the Earl had been becoming quite friendly as of late, and the signs of their collusion had been obvious. Gunther had overlooked this, he admitted, and now he and his friends would pay the price.
As evening came, and Mallastra or one of the other Gods deigned to listen to Naomi’s prayers at last. The first sign of their intercession came as the trio heard the guards approaching. They were speaking with someone and their tone was harsh.
“Listen,” one of them was saying, “I don’t know what this is about, but you’d best bugger off. This ere’ is the Earl’s personal business!”
The door opened at this. A pair of guards entered, accompanied by a handsome man sporting a trimmed beard and a full mustache.
From his mail, tabard markings, and pennant on his halberd, Gunther knew the larger of the guards to be a Sergeant. His small companion, was a Corporal. The cook recognized the rank of the man that had accompanied them. He wore the red and black attire of a King’s Officer.
“Look boys,” The Officer was saying. “I have my orders from Duke Brekken himself, and this man and his companions are to be set free immediately!”
“The Duke can go screw himself for all we care!” the Sergeant growled. “This ‘ere is the Earl Helfgin’s business!”
Then to Gunther’s utter astonishment, he seized the officer by his arm. Like anyone in Ansolar, the cook had always known that the Constabulary was corrupt. But it was plain that they had become so cocksure that they were willing to lay hands on the King’s man.
“Let go of me now!” The Officer warned. His tone sent shivers down Gunther’s spine.
There was something different about him, the cook realized. Something about the Officer hinted there was more than met the casual eye. A hidden deadliness that reminded Gunther of a big cat.
Neither of the senior Constables perceived this, and instead, guffawed in laughter.
“Ooh look at the little runt soldier!” the Corporal sneered. “Thinks himself a tough guy.”
At this, the Officer pulled himself free from the Sergeant’s grasp and met their eyes. “Gents,” He cautioned, “release these prisoners now or else there’ll be trouble!”
The Sergeant lowered his halberd. “Oh, there’s already trouble all right-for you. Since you won’t bugger off, we’ll have to teach you a lesson, won’t we?”
“That’s one of the King’s officers!” Naomi protested. “You can’t do that!”
“Quit your mouth wench!” the Corporal barked.
His superior thrust forward with his weapon-and that’s when chaos erupted.
The Officer leapt into the air, avoiding the halberd’s spear-point, and kicked the man in the chest. His boots made the Sergeant’s breastplate clang. Polearm flying from his hand, the jailer got flung backwards and hit the floor. A look of astonishment and pain clear on the man's face.
“Why you little-!” the Corporal began to growl.
But the Officer had regained his footing and had assumed a fighting stance. The look on his face was one Gunther had seen on many veteran soldiers. It was that of a man who knew how to fight, and when necessary, kill.
Who is this fellow? Gunther wondered.
The Sergeant had rose, and retrieved his halberd. He raised it high and then brought its heavy axe-head down at the Officer.
Had it struck, it would have split his skull from the top of his head to the bottom of his chin. But it didn’t; at the last possible instant, the Officer stepped aside. Meeting empty air, the weapon struck the stone floor, sending sparks flying.
With the uncanny agility of an acrobat, The officer leaped on to the wooden shaft of the weapon. He then kicked his opponent’s steel helmet off his head. As it flew off, he followed through with a boot to the man’s face. Stunned the Sergeant fell back to the floor, but this time it was plain that he was unconscious.
“Bloody hell!” Quigsley squawked in awe.
The Corporal let out a bellow and lunged with his own weapon. The Officer side-stepped his clumsy attack. He'd also managed to get well within the Constable’s guard and rewarded him with an elbow to the face.
The jailer staggered. The Officer stepped in behind him and snaked his right arm around the man’s exposed throat. He forced his head forwards and downwards, into the chokehold.
The Corporal’s eyes bulged, the blood to his brain interrupted. He struggled to free himself, but the Officer kept up the pressure. After a moment, the guard went limp and the Officer guided him to the floor.
After searching for and finding the guard’s key ring, he turned to the trio. “No worries,” he assured them, “He’s going to sleep for a while. By the way, nice to see you again.”
As he said this, he touched something on his belt. His beard, mustache, and dark blonde hair faded away. What stood before them was the blonde haired Bloodmaster they had talked to at the tavern.
“You!” Gunther exclaimed.
The man they knew as Brogan nodded, “Yeah, it’s me. Like I said; no one is quite what they seem to be. Now, let’s get you out of there, we can talk when we’re away from this nest of vipers!”
In a trice he had unlocked their cell and they were free.
“Who the blazes are you?” Gunther asked.
“A concerned patriot in service to Duke Brekken and the King.” Brogan replied, “That’s all you need know right now.”
Flashing them a wide grin, he led them out of the jail and into the courtyard where the wagon had delivered them. A gate stood at the far end, controlling who entered and who exited, but it yielded to another key on the stolen ring.
Once outside, their way blocked. A big, hulking figure of a man, dressed in the uniform of a Lieutenant Constable stood at the ready.
“Well-well-well,” The Lieutenant rumbled. “I thought Brekken and Velstand might send one of their lap dogs to muck things up. Good thing I decided to come ‘ere for a quick look for me self.”
Grinning , he withdrew his blade from its sheath. “It’s too bad I had to kill ye’ for breakin’ out of jail and attacking my guards.”
Realizing the danger, Gunther’s eyes cast about and then he spied a large piece of lumber lying on the ground.
At the same time, Naomi reached down, grabbed a rock at her feet, and hurled it at the brute. Though the steel helmet, he was still knocked backwards by the missile’s impact.
That was when Quigsley acted, uttering a spell. It was in some strange language Gunther’s ears had never heard, and it had an immediate effect. The Lieutenant dropped his sword and looked at his hands in horror.
“Me hands!” he shrieked. “What’s happening to them?”
Gunther didn’t know what kind of illusion Quigsley had created to make this happen, and then he didn’t care. Instead, he seized up the piece of wood, and stepped behind the enemy.
What luck, it’s high grade Velstand Oak, he thought.
The Illusionist’s spell wore off, and the Lieutenant blinked, disoriented.
He didn’t get the chance to do any more than that. Gunther swung his cudgel and a loud ‘crack’ filled the air as he hit the man on the back of the head. With a loud grunt, the Lieutenant dropped to the ground.
“Nice work,” Brogan remarked. “Although from your form, It’s safe to say you lack in any formal training as a fighter.”
The cook nodded, “You’re correct. I’ve no training and I’m no fighter. These hammy hands are for cooking and serving food and drink.”
Brogan smiled. “I understand completely. Not everyone is for the life of the sword. But still, all things considered, not a bad improvisation.”
Then he changed the subject. “So, where will we go before these blokes come round?”
Gunther pondered this for a moment. “Not back to the tavern. They’ll be sure to look for us there. Faith Lane would be best.”
Quigsley’s face paled. “Are you barmy, Gunther? That place has been a gang-infested dump ever since the orphanage closed!”
“Like we have a choice?” Gunther retorted.
“Gunther’s right,” Naomi interposed. “Faith Lane is the last place anyone would look for us.”
“I have to agree,” Brogan put in. “Faith Lane it is.”
“Besides which,” Gunther added. “I still have friends there, and I know some places we’ll be safe.”
“All right,” Quigsley conceded. “Faith Lane then.”
The foursome fled into the night, putting jail and unconscious guards behind them.
The Illusionist answered Gunther's question from when Brogan had fought the Constables.
“Our protector is no ordinary brawler,"” Quigsley informed him via whisper.
“I read about things like this during my days at the Mage’s Academy but never thought I’d actually see it in the flesh. Brogan was using Kemper back there, the Foot Fist Way. it’s one of the fighting styles the Elves use.”
Hearing this, Gunther had the strong feeling that their adventure was only beginning. Worse things were about to get even stranger.
And there you go, folks, there’s Chapter 2 of The Willowsbrook Chronicles.
Well Gunther and his friends are free. But it seems they’re anything but safe. Their former boss and Earl Helfgin seem to want them to take the fall as part of some plan for revenge, or is it?
Also, who is this Brogan, who pretends to be a Bloodmaster and a King’s Officer? You’ll just have to come back next time for the answer.
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Previous: The Willowsbrook Chronicles – Chapter 1: Bad night in Ansolar
Next: The Willowsbrook Chronicles - Chapter 3: Faith Lane: Call of the Green Gremlins