Volume I: The Forest Knight Chapter 49: I Will Kill You Within Three Days!

Though Gamgee was loath to accept his circumstances, the current situation left him with no choice. He and Grima had to instruct their men to gather the goods and tend to the wounded and fallen from their caravan, obediently following the Nolanburg militiamen.

Meanwhile, Berrion and Baring, having marched more than twenty captured bandits back to the hunting camp, collected the day’s game and returned to Nolanburg. The five-day autumn hunt thus concluded ahead of schedule. The incident with the caravan had convinced Berrion it was too dangerous to continue; the threat of bandits lurking in the forest was too great. Besides, he now needed someone familiar with these outlaws to assist him in interrogating the prisoners.

That person was none other than Lar, former second-in-command of the now-destroyed Blood Wolf Gang, currently serving as Nolanburg’s civil officer. Lar knew these bandits haunting the southern banks of the Karl River all too well—those who hid in the woods, preying on caravans. It was even possible that among the captured bandits were men who had previously collaborated with the Blood Wolf Gang.

Upon their return to Nolanburg, Gamgee and his party were housed within the castle. Now that Greenhill and Oakwood villages had been established, most of the original castle residents had moved out, leaving plenty of wooden cottages to accommodate these guests.

Berrion instructed Mark to see that they were properly cared for, letting them rest for a night. After all, they had just survived a brush with death—no matter how strong one’s nerves, such an ordeal required time to recover.

The common bandits, their hands and feet bound, were locked in a sturdy longhouse, while the chief was held separately in a small cabin. Berrion waited for Lar to return from Oakwood; then the two of them went together to question the head bandit.

As they opened the door, the bound leader’s eyes lit up at the sight of Lar and he cried out excitedly, “Brother Lar, it’s me, Billy! You have to save me!”

Lar recognized him immediately. Wearing a stern expression, he replied, “Billy, I am now the civil officer of Nolanburg. At my side is Lord Berrion, Nolanburg’s liege, a knight of the court, deputy sheriff of the direct district, and chief inspector. I advise you to cooperate fully—answer our questions honestly, and his lordship may be lenient. If you resist, you’ll find only a dead end.”

Billy’s face twisted with rage at these words. He spat back, “So you’re the reason why Boss Quade and the Blood Wolf Gang were wiped out—a traitor in our midst! Go on playing the lapdog! The Hound Gang will avenge me. One day, Old Ash will take your head and use your skull as a bowl!”

With a thud, Lar kicked Billy to the ground. Seeing his old acquaintance, once a companion, so unrepentant and cursing him, Lar dispensed with any lingering sentiment. He planted his boot squarely on Billy’s chest, nearly tearing the man’s shirt at the seams. Not satisfied, Lar landed two more vicious kicks to Billy’s stomach, leaving the bandit chief curled on the floor, groaning in agony.

When it seemed Lar might continue, Berrion quickly restrained him. Any more kicks and Billy might not survive—there was still information to be extracted.

Berrion pulled Lar aside and summoned two guards to watch over the prostrate Billy. Then he led Lar out to question him privately, for Billy, freshly beaten, would be in no state to answer for some time.

Once outside, Lar collected himself and recounted what he knew.

The Stagwood on the south bank of the Karl River, lying along the Knights’ Road—the main northern trade route—was rife with bandits, which was precisely why the district governor had stationed patrols and watchposts there.

After years of conflict and alliances, three major outlaw factions dominated the forest: the Blood Wolf Gang, whose territory stretched east of Lake Lintarn—including Nolanburg—now destroyed; the Hound Gang, Billy’s group, the most powerful, controlling the expanse from Lake Lintarn west to Raven Ridge; and finally, the Grizzly Gang, the most brutal, holding Bellflower Fields from Raven Ridge to the forest’s edge at the border with Yanvik Province.

The Grizzly Gang were notorious for their bloodlust. In raids, they not only looted caravans but slaughtered everyone, sometimes sacking entire villages—burning, killing, pillaging, raping, committing every atrocity. Even the other two gangs shunned association with them.

By contrast, the Blood Wolf and Hound Gangs seldom killed unnecessarily. They mostly robbed goods and took merchants hostage for ransom, releasing captives unharmed once payment arrived. During their detention, prisoners were not mistreated.

As for those unable to pay—a merchant with no means, or a caravan guard—they faced a cruel choice: join the outlaws or be sold as slaves to live out miserable lives. In this respect, the poor fared little better.

At least, however, neither the Blood Wolf nor the Hound Gangs preyed on destitute farmers. Many among their ranks were themselves ruined peasants or runaway serfs, well aware that there was little value in robbing those who possessed nothing.

Lar explained that both gangs normally avoided the Grizzlies, sometimes even joining forces to counter the latter’s encroachment. Having also banded together against the lords’ and district troops’ crackdowns, their leaders were familiar with one another—if not close friends, at least allies of convenience.

Berrion nodded thoughtfully. Lar’s insights had given him a clear picture of the outlaws operating under his very nose. All that remained was to deal with them in turn—first to eradicate the Hound Gang at Raven Ridge, then to destroy the savage Grizzlies. Peace would finally come to the trade routes south of the Karl River.

“How many men does the Hound Gang have? And their leader—what sort of man is this ‘Old Ash’? His name is rather striking,” Berrion asked.

“My lord, the Hound Gang is much like the Blood Wolves, only with a greater number of foot soldiers,” Lar replied. “Their leader, Old Ash, is a ruthless man with a remarkable history.”

“Come, tell me this legend of Old Ash—I’m quite intrigued,” Berrion said with a smile.

Lar smiled in turn. “Old Ash was once the son of a farmer near the city of Amondine. Because of his strength, the local lord—a venerable knight—took him on as a man-at-arms in the castle. After fighting bravely in several battles, Old Ash won the knight’s favor, became captain of the infantry, and even learned to read and write under his patron’s tutelage.

Had fate not intervened, he’d have led a stable life, married, had children, and perhaps seen his own son become a squire—maybe even a knight.

But the gods are capricious. In one battle, the old knight was felled by a stray arrow. His eldest son inherited the estate—a young lord with a taste for vice. One drunken night, he tried to force himself on Old Ash’s fifteen-year-old sister, a serving girl in the castle. She resisted, and in the struggle he strangled her to death, her body still violated after life had left it.

Old Ash, away escorting the dowager to her family’s manor, returned to find his parents murdered on the new lord’s orders, for he feared Old Ash’s retribution. The young lord also commanded his men to seize Old Ash on his return.

Beaten and thrown into the dungeons, Old Ash learned the whole story from a sympathetic village guard. Consumed by fury, he escaped during a guard change, leaving behind a strip of cloth on the castle gate: within three days, he vowed, he would kill the lord and scatter his ashes.

The lord scoffed at the threat but still tightened security. On the third night, a fire broke out in the granary. As the guards rushed to extinguish it, Old Ash slipped into the lord’s chamber and slew him with a sickle, decapitating him. He burned the head to ashes and scattered them before the gate, fulfilling his bloody oath.

This act made Old Ash a legend, earning him the nickname ‘Red-Handed Sickle.’ People would often quote, ‘Your life in three days, and your ashes scattered—no idle boast.’

He then gathered fugitive serfs in the Stagwood and formed the Hound Gang, which has thrived for six or seven years now.”

Hearing this tale, Berrion couldn’t help but feel a certain admiration for Old Ash. In another life, he’d have been a hero driven to rebellion—if only there were a Mount Liang here, instead of the Stagwood.

A sudden thought struck Berrion. “Tell me, Lar—do you think I could win Old Ash over?”

Lar was startled, then laughed in spite of himself. “My lord, ever since his family was slain by a noble, Old Ash has hated the aristocracy. Now he rules his own little kingdom at Raven Ridge—subduing him seems impossible.”

Berrion smiled thoughtfully. “We’ll see. For now, let’s go back and speak with Billy.”

Billy remained defiant at first, but after Berrion pressed a few damp cloths over his nose and mouth, he quickly gave in.

He revealed that the Hound Gang customarily posted lookouts on either side of the Knights’ Road. When a promising target was spotted, a messenger would be sent to Raven Ridge, and Old Ash would dispatch a squad to carry out the ambush. The stolen goods were fenced through black markets in Yanvik and Amondine, using a well-established network.

Currently, the Hound Gang boasted over 150 fighting men. After the recent battle, their numbers were reduced to about a hundred. Their wooden stronghold at Raven Ridge housed the leaders, their lieutenants, and their families.

As for further details, Lar and his subordinates would investigate thoroughly. Berrion was now considering a plan that would eliminate both major gangs, minimize his own casualties, and—if possible—bring Old Ash to his side.

After the interrogation, night had fallen. Berrion retired early; after days of hunting and sleeping in the open, enjoyable as it was, there was nothing like the comfort of a soft, spacious bed. He downed a few mugs of ale and soon drifted off.

The next morning, as he finished washing, Bran came to inform him that Gamgee, the merchant they had rescued, requested an audience, bringing with him an ornate little chest.

Berrion immediately guessed Gamgee’s intent—he was eager to buy his way out of trouble. He ordered Bran to show the merchant into the great hall and to serve him breakfast as well. No doubt the man was too anxious to have eaten that morning; he could dine here.

When Berrion entered, Gamgee stood up quickly and bowed. “Good morning, Sir Berrion.”

“Good morning, my friend. How did you sleep last night? Are you comfortable?” Berrion replied warmly.

“Very well, my lord. Thank you for your thoughtful arrangements,” Gamgee answered, all smiles.

Once Berrion sat, the servants brought breakfast. Seeing Gamgee still standing awkwardly, Berrion beckoned him over. “Sit down, Gamgee, my friend. You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you? Join me.”

He pointed to the pork chops. “This is wild boar, freshly hunted yesterday. These boars live on acorns and pine nuts, and they run often, so the meat is particularly fine. You’d be hard-pressed to find such fare even in Amondine—do try it.”

Gamgee quickly cut a small piece, tasted it, and exclaimed, “My lord, this is the most delicious pork I have ever tasted!”

Berrion nearly choked on his milk, struggling not to laugh. The usual cookmaid was busy moving house, so today’s meal had been prepared by Bran and Tur. It wasn’t bad, but hardly delicious. Internally, Berrion couldn’t help but marvel at Gamgee’s acting skills—some people truly were born performers.