Hardy JusticeIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | MarshendGameLogs | Hardy Justice As Corryn and Godwyn's party approached the village, a shout went up - and it was clear that people were running in panic for their homes at the sight of an armed company. Indeed, as they rode into the town, the street was deserted, and the shutters fastened over every window. But then something happened. A muffled shout. "A Hardy!" The slam as a shutter was thrust wide and banged against the wall. "A Hardy!" Now other shutters were being cautiously opened and people were peering out. "A Hardy! Holdfast brings justice!" shouted a voice - and then another took it up. "Justice! Justice from Holdfast!" It was becoming a general cry, and people were beginning to appear, a little hesitantly, at open doorways. Godwyn pulled his horse to a halt in the village and raised a hand. "I am Godwyn Hardy," he called out. "What Justice do you cry out for?" Corryn called a halt to his men and allowed Godwyn to do the talking for the moment. After all, he was obviously a Manderly and had little, if any influence here. Even so, he searched the crowd for familiar faces. He'd traded with Marshend throughout his career. Someone might know him still. But the man he knew best was nowhere to be seen. What could be seen was that the inn that had always taken his custom was now no more than a burned out ruin - and smoke was still rising from another dwelling that had been set on fire. Godwyn's question was answered by a babble of voices, such as it was hard to make any sense of. "Sellswords!" was mentioned several times. One man shouted, "The Bloody Mummers!" and was quickly hushed by his friends, who looked around uneasily. "The inn! The inn!" and "Fat Tomin's - they burned his house too!" "The Bloody Mummers?" Corryn blinked. "Bollocks and damnation, this just gets better and better." He rubbed his hand over his stubble-covered brow, suddenly wishing he'd packed a very large bottle of wine. Suddenly a voice spoke ourt, deep and sonorous, cutting through the babble. "My Lords - perhaps I might be of assistance?" The speaker was standing, oddly enough, on top of a tall wall that divided one house from its neighbour, and looking down on them all - even Corryn, Godwyn and their company. What made this even more unusual was that the speaker was a dwarf. Godwyn stared up at the strange figure and blinked. "And who might you be?" he asked finally. "Do you speak for the village?" "And did any of you happen to see a group of men carrying a young woman with them?" Corryn added. "They would have ridden through here quite recently." "Indeed," agreed the dwarf. "I saw her rescued - I believe she's now gone off with the trader and a Dothraki warrior to rescue her father. But there's much other evil afoot here." Godwyn blinked in confusion, and looked at Corryn, then back at the dwarf. The townspeople nodded vigorous agreement with this. They were quietening down now - they seemed content to let the dwarf be their spokesman. He swept a flourishing bow - one which would have swept a lesser man from the wall, but he made a gallant recovery with a quick shuffle and a cunning rebalancing of his feet. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "I am Ser Davin of Davenant, knighted as a courtesy over the roast beef for amusing Lord Blackthorn. But I am better known in towns and villages throughout four of the Seven Kingdoms as the leader of the Giants of Pentos!" Another flourish. "I'd invite you to sup ale with me," he added, "only the best inn's been burned to the ground, and the townspeople have strung up the landolord of t'other for serving the sellwsords who slew Fat Tobin and Lanky Meg besides." It was clear that he was staying on the wall not only to be better heard. It also provided him with a good opportunity for escape if the Laughing Knives were to prove as murderous as the other sellswords that had afflicted Marshend. Godwyn looked over at the burnt out building as though expecting that it would confirm or deny the dwarf's words. "Umm," he said then. He looked back at the dwarf, then at Corryn. "Well, all the slaying and burning sounds like the b@stard's work," he said. "But I don't understand about your daughter going off with Dothraki..." Corryn shook his head as all this information poured over him like a rogue wave. He held up his hand, trying to slow the dwarf's words. "Wait, wait! What did you just say about the girl?" Corryn snapped, leaning forward in his saddle. "The girl. Was she about fourteen years of age, raven dark-haired, beautiful beyond words, and with the temperament of a Sand Cat? And more importantly: mute? She would have been with a group of Boltons. /I'm/ her father. And not exactly in the need of rescuing." Davin shook his head. "Then she was not your girl," said the dwarf. "This one was older and a Crannog to boot." Corryn breathed a sigh of relief, but then glanced out toward the road. Limosa could be anywhere by now. Time was working against them. But first, he would have to make good with the natives. They might know more than they were saying. Corryn bowed his head, "I am Ser Corryn Manderly of White Harbour. I'm better known around these parts as the River Wolf, I suspect. He Who Dances on the White Knife. "And these are the Laughing Knives. We are currently traveling in the company of my young Lord here..." He gestured over to Godwyn, allowing him to introduce himself. "Yes," said Davin thoughtfully. "Your name might be well known, but I'd say that the good people here have had their fill of companies of armed men." There was ragged agreement from the crowd, who had left a noticeable distance between themselves and the Knives. Godwyn nodded shortly. He was pretty certain he'd already announced himself, and he thought he'd look foolish if he did it again. "We are currently pursuing a band of Boltons that kidnapped my daughter, amongst other foul deeds. It would appear men of dark character are in abundance this summer." "Indeed," agreed Davin. "And the townspeople look to Hardy for justice - and a chance to air their wrongs." There was more definite agreement with this. "And you will have it," Godwyn said, looking around and addressing the assembled village folk. "But we are in pursuit now of the men who stole Ser Corryn's daughter, and must rescue her afore they do her lasting harm. I give my word as a Hardy that I shall return here so soon as she is rescued, and will listen well to your grievances. Are there those about who know the surrounding lands well, and can guide us? And have any seen horsemen pass by recently wearing the Bolton livery?" "I did!" said a burly fellow, whose calloused hands and dusty, strawy appearance marked him out as a thatcher. "I saw four of them riding over the hills as though the devil was on their tails not an hour ago." He frowned. "Didn't see no girl, though." Godwyn frowned as well, and looked over at Corryn. "They split up, maybe?" he said, a question in his voice. "Or maybe he sent someone for help?" "Or it could be our old friend, Evan, on the heels of his dear brother," Corryn suggested. "Damn it all. That means we're even farther behind than I thought." He gazed down at the burly fellow, "Good thatcher. These four. In which direction were they headed?" "Clearwater way," said the thatcher. "Lestways - the road round the eastern shore of the lake lies there, and that runs to Clearwater. Of Marshend ... there's nothing that side but a few cottges. "But you'll not go - and leave us all defenceless when the swellswords come again!" "Clearwater," Godwyn muttered to Corryn. "And Bolton's fosterling." He frowned at the thatcher then. "Why would these men come back? For that matter, what did you have that they wanted? Are they mere bandits, causing havoc for that they can?" He shook his head then, "We are on the trail for abusers of guest right, and to rescue the daughter of a knight. We cannot turn from that." His tone turned stern. "I gave my word I would return as soon as I may. Hardy remembers the loyalty we have had from these lands in the past, and will protect them. Do not doubt me, man." "So a knight's daughter is worth more than all the daughters here, is it?" a voice in the crowd shouted. The crowd were quietening now. The eager appeals to Hardy to redress their wrongs were fading into a sullen silence as the townspeople turned away, moving back towards their homes. Only the thatcher and the dwarf on the wall remained. "We don't know what they want," said the thatcher. "We only know that when they don't find it, they vent their spleen on us. Three groups of sellswords within the last five day, and people here dead. But that's the way of it. May the Old Ones protect your lordships." He turned to make his way back to his own home. "Stop," Corryn said, his voice pained. He turned to Godwyn. "They're right. They'll be defenseless if the Mummers return. And I would not wish the Bloody Mummers on my most hated enemy. I'll not let people suffer for what is my quest. And I am the Lord of Leaning Stone now. I'll not turn my back on my neighbours. So~E" He breathed deeply, "Stay here with my men. Defend Marchend against those who might come." The Knives immediately began to balk, but Corryn cut them off. "Damnit all, enough!. I've led you lot from one end of Westeros to the other. You've bled for me and Holdfast. And for what?! Limosa is my responsibility. But I am not yours. Stay here and watch over this town. At least. At least some good can come out of this folly. And who knows? You'll probably be safer here than where I'm going. "Godwyn. Don't waste my men's lives like your brother did. If you do, I'm swear I'll haunt all your days." "You're sure of this, Corryn?" Godwyn asked. Corryn chuckled darkly. "No. Not in the least." He offered the young man a tired grin. "This is what it means to be a knight, Godwyn. These are your people. They've called out to you and your destiny lies with them. What sort of lesson would I be teaching you if I had you abandon them? No. This is for the best. My destiny lies with Limosa. If I die defending her honor, then it is a good death." Corryn laughed, "Besides. I'm the Riverwolf; cunning and crafty as a fox, quick and nimble as a cat." A shadow darkened his features. He guided his mount closer to the young man, speaking in a hushed tone so only Godwyn would hear. "Just do me but one favor, Godwyn. If I do not return. Tell Syndra..." "Tell Syndra I died doing what I believed was right. I haven't done that much in the past. But perhaps it is time I started acting with a little honor. Tell her that. Tell her she gave me my strength and that I will always love her. And her father too. They have been and always will be my true family. They'll know what to do if things turn bad." Godwyn blinked in surprise and stared at him a moment. Then he nodded and reached out, grasping Corryn's arm. "Aye," he said. "I'll do that." He released Corryn and sat back in his saddle. "Good hunting, Riverwolf," he said. "Bring her back safe. Yourself, too." (Corryn's thread continued in A Wolf's Tale: Corryn and Godwyn's thread continued in Godwyn Explores Marshend) |
