Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter Seventeen: The Fisherman's Gain

Poor planning inevitably leads to disaster. The words exchanged by Kwide and his followers were overheard at the doorway by a woman who was about to bring in a pot of meat broth. Steadying herself, she quietly slipped away and made her way to the cave hidden in the mountain hollow. It turned out that within the Blood Wolf Bandit Gang, there were two factions. One was led by Kwide and his loyal bandit leaders and followers—men mostly made up of deserters and highwaymen, fierce of temperament, with a taste for killing and plunder.

The other faction was led by Larr, composed of farmers and artisans, grouped by their families. They longed for a peaceful life, but war and disaster had forced them into banditry. Relations between the two factions were never harmonious, but because Kwide's faction was larger and both groups were wanted by the local lords, they managed to cooperate—albeit each kept to themselves. Larr's people lived in the cave, Kwide’s in the houses outside. Besides fighting, Larr’s faction also handled day-to-day chores and the repair of weapons and armor for the entire gang.

Now, learning that Kwide planned to turn against them, the woman realized calamity was imminent. She hurried to the cave, where she relayed the news to the others. Upon hearing it, many among the men, women, and children inside broke down in tears. Their husbands and sons were already missing, their fates uncertain, and now they faced slaughter by their fellow outlaws—could their misfortune be any worse?

As the women and children wept, a deep, powerful voice rang out, “What good does crying do here? Will it save us?” The speaker was a burly man with a fierce gaze—clearly a formidable soul.

“Hama, what do you suggest we do, then? There’s nothing left but to wait for death now… oh…” another woman sobbed.

Hama took a deep breath and said, “We have six able-bodied men, ten half-grown boys strong enough to hold a weapon, and when push comes to shove, even our women can fight. That’s over twenty of us who can bear arms. Kwide’s group, meanwhile, is down to fifteen, all wounded. Why should we fear them?”

With that, Hama turned to his companions, and they began distributing whatever weapons they had stashed in the cave. When they ran out, they handed out pitchforks and other implements. Soon, everyone had something to defend themselves with. Hama looked at their still-panicked faces and said, “Stay here and you die. Try to run—how far can women and children get? If we’re caught, we’ll be killed all the same! Since death awaits us either way, why not fight? We might even win.”

His words clarified the situation for everyone: if death was certain, why not struggle for life? Perhaps they might even carve out a path to survival. The fear in their eyes faded, replaced by anger and resolve.

At that moment, the sound of clapping came from the cave entrance. Kwide had arrived with his men. He looked at Hama with a sneer and said, “A blacksmith dreaming of playing the hero—what a joke. Brothers, kill them all! Leave no one alive!”

With that, Kwide drew his sword and charged inside with his men. Hama and his group, seeing the onslaught, knew there was no retreat and fought back desperately. Though their fighting ability was weaker, their will was strong and their numbers greater. Moreover, Kwide’s men were injured. Against all odds, Hama’s faction managed to drive them out of the cave, though not without sustaining casualties themselves. Now, both sides stood armed, facing each other on the open ground before the cave.

This scene was witnessed by Berion and his company, who found it puzzling that the bandits appeared to be fighting amongst themselves. Still, Berion made a swift and accurate judgment: the side including women and children in their ranks must be those he could win over. At his command, his party seized their longbows and let fly a volley at Larr and his followers standing before the cave. Over forty arrows rained down, felling nearly half the group where they stood. Immediately after, Eomer led his men to flank from the left, Tull from the right, and Berion, with Baryn and Barrett, charged from the front, shouting as they ran, “Surrender and you’ll be spared!”

In barely a dozen heartbeats, they closed the hundred paces’ distance. Larr’s men, taken by surprise, were cut down before they could react; only Larr and a severely wounded lieutenant were spared. Seeing Berion and his men, clad as knights and as fierce as wolves, the survivors in the cave—including Hama—ordered everyone to lay down their arms and knelt to surrender.

Berion, with no time for interrogations, had the prisoners bound in groups of ten and placed under the guard of Bell and fifteen soldiers, who would escort them back to Norland Castle. Upon arrival, all the castle’s wagons were to be brought to the bandit lair to haul away every bit of loot. Berion himself would remain behind to question Larr and search for the bandits’ hoard.

Together with Eomer, Berion scoured both the bandit camp and the cave. The total coinage found amounted to just over five thousand denars. Berion frowned; Grey and Ward’s gang, with only thirty to fifty men and less than two years of activity, had amassed seventy or eighty thousand denars. How could the Blood Wolves, with over a hundred men entrenched for four or five years, have only five thousand?

He had Larr dragged over—literally dragged, for Larr, in his attempt to escape during the assault, had been shot in the back with an arrow, and in the process had injured both Baryn and Barrett in the legs. Now, Larr could not walk. Rage burned in his eyes as he faced Berion, who regarded him with interest. Here was a middle-aged man with brown hair, neither tall nor burly, even somewhat stooped; stripped of his finely crafted iron-plated armor, he’d look no different from any peasant in the duchy.

Berion watched him for a moment before asking, “Where is the rest of your treasure? Hand it over, and you’ll suffer less.”

Larr sneered, “Boy, if I hand over the treasure, will you spare my life?”

“You’re a wanted criminal of the duchy, guilty of countless crimes. There’s no chance of clemency. However, I could choose not to turn you over to the count. You know what awaits you in his hands—a cage lined with iron spikes, left to be pecked at by crows until you die in agony.” Berion made his terms clear.

At the mention of the spiked cage, Larr’s brow furrowed. He had seen one before: a cage lined inside with half-inch iron spikes. Whether you stood, lay, or curled up, you’d be pierced. The spikes were deliberately short, missing the vital organs, so the prisoner bled slowly, suffering for three days before dying of blood loss. And that wasn’t the end—such cages were hung from great beams near the gallows, so that, as death approached, crows would come to peck at the helpless body, bringing about a most wretched end.

Larr considered, gritted his teeth, and said, “Then hand me over to the count!”

Berion laughed. He saw through Larr’s ploy—surely the man had a sizeable hoard. If he revealed it, he might buy his life from Viscount Melly, the count’s steward.

Since Larr wouldn’t cooperate, Berion ordered Eomer to administer the water torture—a method that had worked wonders on Kwide the day before. Sure enough, it broke Larr quickly. Berion himself led the way to Kwide’s hidden treasure. The stash was beneath Kwide’s own wooden hut—a simple hole dug under the floorboards, inside which sat a chest stuffed with coins. The method was crude, but effective enough that Berion, familiar with countless ingenious hiding places, never expected it to be so plain.

Opening the chest, Berion and Lawrence burst into delighted laughter. It was packed almost to the brim with silver coins—by rough count, about eighty thousand denars. Berion couldn’t help but marvel at the speed with which robbery could amass wealth.

Still, impressive as it was, Berion felt sure there was more. A clever man like Larr would never put all his eggs in one basket. After interrogating the severely wounded lieutenant, he discovered several more hiding spots. When Larr still refused to confess, Berion continued the water torture and had salt water poured into Larr’s wounds. At last, driven past endurance, Larr revealed all his hiding places.

Following Larr’s directions, Berion and his men found five more chests in two small caves in the hollow and beneath the granary. Four held silver coins totaling roughly sixty thousand denars; the smallest chest contained over two hundred gold coins—Larr’s emergency escape fund.

To be sure there was nothing else, Berion and Eomer had their men dig up nearly every inch of the mountain hollow. Apart from a few hidden purses belonging to lesser bandits, nothing else was found. Berion estimated the total haul at around a hundred and sixty thousand denars—a sum equivalent to a year’s tax from a moderately sized viscounty. Indeed, nothing rivals the profit of plunder. Looking at the mountain of coins, Berion said to Eomer, “I almost don’t want to kill Larr. He went to all this trouble, and in the end, gave us everything. For such a good man, shouldn’t we at least buy him a fine drink?”

Eomer chuckled, “My good inspector, do you know what price the count’s bounty sets on Larr’s head? Two thousand denars! And whoever destroys his gang can collect a further three thousand from the Yangwick Chamber of Commerce.”

Berion laughed, “Let him live for now. Once today is over, we’ll ask who put him up to attacking us. Since he’s in our hands, we can claim the reward whenever we please.”

Once he was certain nothing remained hidden, Berion and Eomer tallied up the rest of the loot from the Blood Wolves’ lair. Though not as thrilling as the coin, the sheer volume of practical goods and livestock delighted them. There was a stable with eight riding horses, twelve mules, and six sturdy, well-built four-wheeled wagons—clearly spoils from ambushed caravans. They also counted thirty-five pigs, seventeen cattle, twenty-eight goats, and over sixty chickens, ducks, and geese. Not everything had been stolen; some livestock and poultry were raised for their own consumption. Now, all of it belonged to Berion.

In the bandits’ warehouse, they found about twenty thousand pounds of grain, a good supply of dried meat and sausages, and dozens of barrels of ale. For a hundred-man gang, a hundred pounds of feed a day was not unusual, so such stores were expected. There was also a substantial collection of cotton and linen, and pelts—notably, over thirty tanned oxhides suitable for armor, and more than twenty fine wolf pelts, proof that hunting was part of their routine.

As for weapons and armor, only Larr and his lieutenants had anything of decent quality. The rest was ordinary; most of the armor was single-layer leather, inferior to the spoils taken from Grey and Ward. After all, the Grey brothers had come from the Valombrey city garrison, and could get quality gear near the capital. The Blood Wolves, hiding in the remote northern forests, dared not rob the armies of any lord, and so had little chance for good arms.

Yet, in the cave, Berion found several forges and over a hundred five-pound ingots of raw iron, along with a dozen swords and knives in various stages of completion. Clearly, the bandits had only recently acquired a blacksmith and the means to make their own weapons and armor. Had they had another year or two, Berion’s campaign would have been far more difficult. He couldn’t help but feel grateful for the timely intervention of fate.

Once the tally was complete, it was well past noon. After a simple meal, they moved everything from the caves and stores to the clearing, ready for transport. Just then, Tull arrived with the wagons. With the six found in the lair, they now had ten in all. Once everything was loaded, they set out for Norland Castle.

The people of Norland had been anxiously awaiting their return. When they saw Berion on horseback, leading a convoy of ten loaded wagons, they rushed out in spontaneous celebration. The mercenaries of the Free Company, who had been guarding the castle and prisoners, cheered from the walls on seeing Berion’s triumphant return.

Looking at the people who had come to greet him, Berion was filled with emotion. Only a month ago, these folk had been hungry, cold, and hopeless. Since following him, their lives had become secure, and hope for a better future had rekindled. In this brief time, they had fought wolves together and battled forest bandits; in this strange, new land, they had forged bonds of genuine trust and affection.