Journey of the Messenger Cycle 1 Part 7e
…Ijah blinked. Who had she been talking to? She raised her hand and looked at her bloody fingers, she really should get her arm bandaged. Ijah glanced towards the door as she heard a horse gallop away. Who was that? She noticed that BogWalker stood to one side of the door, her crossbow loaded and ready to shoot, a confused expression on her face. There were a lot of dead people, the smell of blood, shit and vomit was strong. The half-orc was crouched over a dead woman, looting by the look of it. Ijah knew they had just been in a nasty fight, it was obvious by the presence of so many bodies and a lot of gore. The problem was that she could not properly remember what had transpired. It was all a confusing jumble. How had this started? Looking around at those who were still alive she could see that everyone else seemed a little dazed and confused as well.
A local woman raised a shaking hand, she pointed at Ijah, “You did this.”
Ijah shook her head, “No, I don’t think so.”
“You and your murdering friends.” The woman shrieked.
Ijah did not think that was the way of it, but she could not clearly remember what had happened. She had killed some of these people, surely, there was blood on her sword. Yet, she also noted that many of the locals had blood on their weapons.
Wiping at his face, a man Ijah took to be the proprietor, coughed and spat then said, “Kallem. See if you can get someone from the militia here.”
Unsteadily, an overweight, prosperously dressed man stood. He looked around, clearly confused, he decided not to move past Ijah. Instead, he headed towards the kitchen.
“I think we should be going.” BogWalker suggested.
Ijah did not want to walk away from the present situation, something was wrong here. However, she had a messenger’s satchel that needed to be delivered to West Port and that had to take priority. Surely she and her companions had not killed all of these people. “Alright. Wrap my arm up and let’s get going.”
BogWalker came over, set her crossbow down on a cluttered table and looked at Ijah’s arm. The half-blood continued to loot, muttering to herself, “So many things needful, so many things useful.” Ijah kept an eye on the locals, hoping they did not decide to attack.
“What makes you think we’ll just let you walk out of here?” One of the men asked. He held a bloody hatchet and looked around for support from the others. There were some tentative nods, others were still obviously as confused as Ijah with at least a couple of them appearing too fearful to be interested in a fight.
She glanced at him coolly, “Are you going to stop us?”
Osran stood, one hand held her axe, the other clutched a fistful of loot. “More fight?” she asked hopefully.
Ijah remained vigilant as her arm was cared for. None dared approach them, a few more people slipped out the back through the kitchen. It would not be long before the authorities showed up. When the girl finished bandaging Ijah’s arm she inspected the job, it seemed to have stopped the bleeding. “Alright, let’s go.”
She collected her scabbard, still watching the locals.
BogWalker grabbed her crossbow, Ijah headed for the door, “Osran! Now!”
The half-blood gave a grunt and followed. Outside the three of them had a collective moment of confusion. There were a half dozen horses out here that were not theirs, near the hitching post a man lay dead with one of BogWalker’s bolts protruding from his back. “Looks like I did him in. What were we fighting about?”
“I don’t know, let’s take the horses and get out of here.”
“I no ride well.” Osran reminded them.
Ijah knew it had been a mistake to let the half-blood travel with them, she wondered what she had been thinking to have done so. Angrily, she said, “Put her on a horse, BogWalker and let’s get going.”
Of course it was not as easy as that. She and her companions were on edge, the half-orc was loud, excited by the combat that had just taken place and by the discovery of a war hammer on the back of one of the animals that wore barding. The half-blood grabbed the hammer. A couple of the horses stomped at the ground, another protested loudly while the one in barding that the half-orc was closest to turned and tried to bite her. Ijah took a breath and started to calm herself, backing off, giving the horses some space.
Osran punched the animal, loudly scolding it, “No!”
BogWalker waved Osran away, “What are you doing? By Promads Golden Plow! That’s no way to treat a horse.”
Ijah said, “Osran, stand over there by the corner of the building, keep an eye out for the militia. Take a few breaths while you’re over there and calm down.”
The half-blood scowled and muttered to herself but she did as asked, taking the hammer with her.
BogWalker gave herself a shake, “Sheesh, what happened in there?”
“I’ve no idea. Now is not the time to have a discussion though. Can you calm them down?”
“Sure, is there one you like?”
“The one with the speckled coat, she’s a fine looking animal.”
“She sure is.” BogWalker started doing what she did best. The horses did not mind her presence, most cocked their ears when she spoke to them quietly. She unhitched the speckled one, separating her from the others. She walked the horse in a large circle a couple times, talking to the creature like they had been friends for years. After a while she waved Ijah over, “Come say hello.”
Ijah approached and let the animal sniff her hand, it snorted and nodded its head. She talked to the animal and pet its neck gently. BogWalker passed her the reigns, “Take her further that way. I’m going to separate the warhorse, he’ll keep the others on edge. At least it’s gelded.”
Ijah lead the horse away and then walked it around the yard a few times.
She was always surprised by how common horses were in the freeholds. It was not like on the islands of her homeland. Only the oldest and most respected families had horses and there had been concern that the bloodlines were too close, that they may in fact die off in a generation or two.
The horse she had chosen was indeed a fine looking animal, similar to the ones she and her family had learned to ride when they had reached West Port. She noticed BogWalker take the warhorse away from the others, she hitched it not far from where Horse was. Ijah also saw a couple of the locals keeping an eye on them from within the roadhouse.
BogWalker started to string the other four animals on a long lead she took from Horse.
Ijah wondered if all the horses would soon be called Horse, or if the girl would come up with something more original for them. She drew her attention back to the task at hand. She stopped walking the animal in circles and moved to its side, avoiding its hind legs, talking to it the entire time. Slowly she wound the lead and looped it over the saddle horn, took up the reigns and attempted to swing up into the saddle. The horse shied away, but Ijah had been expecting that and still managed to gain her seat. She took the reigns in a firm grip and waited to see if the horse would try to throw her. It gave a couple of snorts, settling after only a few moments.
She saw that BogWalker looked more or less ready to go. The girl called Osran over to her and gave the half-blood a hand up onto Horse. She had Horse on a separate lead than the other four, but gathered both, talking encouragingly to the animals as she approached the warhorse. “Okay there fella, I’m just going the get on and then we’ll all take a nice walk.” When she swung up to mount, the warhorse gave a snort and started to run. BogWalker was nearly dragged off the animal, but managed to keep hold of the leads as she sprawled across the saddle. Osran also nearly fell off when Horse followed at a quick pace. They all raced westward, the others seemed content to follow the gelding.
Ijah sighed and set off to the southwest, so far there had been no sign of the authorities. Certainly they did not have time for further delays. The summer was getting on, if she and BogWalker were going to return to Swampdon before the winter settled, there was no time for delays. Across the horizon she could see dark clouds moving in. There were periodic distant flashes of lightning as a storm blew in from the northwest.
She still could not properly remember what had happened in the roadhouse, she could not shake the feeling that she was forgetting about something.
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