In Search of Nibelungen part IV

To his fellow druids, Caerwyddich Bard of Carrig sends greetings. A further report on the misbegotten one follows:

"Thank Theus" thought Pistol as he examined the sign swinging in the gathering storm. "The Greenwood Inn. Fire, food and booze. Safe at last"

It had not been a good day for Peter O'Toole.

First there had been the confusion of healing at the small village in which he had at last awoken from a poison induced stupor. The kindly visage of Pastor Robert&Mac226;s smiling face was unceremoniously displaced by the rough medicine of Don Carlos. "At least they know the right way to go about fixing someone up in Castille" muttered Pistol but there was no denying that all the kicking hurt one's bottom.

"Where is Borstenn, where is Dandelion?" Pistol staggered outside and banged his head on the door jamb in an effort to clear the cobwebs.

When he awoke again Franz was tending to his wounds with warm water and gentle words. Eduarde beside him helped daub the bruises. Looks of tender concern on their faces. How could this be? Franz was no healer, Eduarde merely an amateur gynaecologist. Their faces swam in and out of focus as their gentle ministrations soothed the pain. It was like a nightmare or a poison induced delirium, a figment of an overheated imagination deprived of strong drink for too long. The pink elephants would be next. He closed his eyes in disbelief.

Yet there was not denying that he felt fitter. Fit enough to take up the challenge of a wrestling match to the first fall with Pyorgi, a solid looking chap from Ussura who had joined the party whilst Pistol was unconscious. Solid enough in fact to make an even match unattractive. Pistol's welcoming handshake turned quickly to a hand throw and Pyorgi was left with a dissatisfied frown on the ground. "You play trick on Pyorgi!" he accused. "On my honour, no!" gasped Pistol, clutching his hand to his heart at the frowning disbelief of his friends. "It is sad but true, Pyorgi" said Franz "Pistol plays tricks".

"I never" expostulated Pistol as the companions rode out of town. "He slipped on a tree root, an easy mistake, hardly my fault..."

Franz's familiar resigned frown settled back on his face as he led Pistol's horse at the rear of the group. There were certainties in life, Franz mused. Death for example and Pistol's tricks.

"Riders" said Franz and Pistol together as they turned in their saddles at the sounds behind them.

They had been some hours upon the road without sighting any other travelers. The vision of seven black cloaked pistol wielding men on horseback riding hard down upon them did not seem like the kind of company they wished to meet. The party assembled itself to receive the charge as the pistoleers loosed their shots. Some missed, some struck home in soft flesh. The riders retreated to draw swords and returned to the fray. Eduarde cut the reins from one, Pistol climbed to an overhanging branch and grappled another. The cut and thrust saw the riders taking and receiving wounds. Eventually they withdrew leaving their pistols for the party to pick up and their comrade in the tender embrace of Pistol.

A short investigation established that the leader of the group, Albrecht, had been hired by an unknown man in Freiburg to assassinate Lord Drachenheim and retrieve the keys found on his person. Pistol quickly established the price of such a task (a mere 6 guilders up front!) and confiscated the blood money. The rapscallion was sent on his way after a promise to Pistol that he would be available for hire for similar tasks in the future.

The snow began to fall as they made their way from the site of the attack. As it grew heavier they lost sight of Don Carlos who was keeping his mules in order. Eventually he rejoined them as the Greenwood Inn hove into view. "Ahh" thought Pistol "a safe refuge in the gathering blizzard".

The gate of the fortified Inn led into a courtyard where there was access to the stables. As the party dismounted and the Inn's grooms saw to their horses and mules they noticed a carriage in the stable with a gilt crest on the doors.

"You can put the knife away Pistol" said Franz "the gilt is worth nothing". The Thean crest meant nothing to the party or the old ostler. "It belongs to the Vendel, Lord Galen" was all the information that he could impart.

The companions made their way into the Inn where they arranged their accomodation with the landlord. Two rooms were available. Franz, Eduarde and Pyorgi took one with Pistol, Giancarlo and Don Carlos in the other. After stowing their bags the party, except for Don Carlos who was immediately chained in view of the fullness of the moon, made their way to the common room where they could hear the sound of a harp and a melodious tenor voice.

The voice came from an albino harpist playing for a richly dressed man and lady. A hard faced mercenary at the door gave each of the party a searching look. The harpist was Evingolas [note to fellow druids, see the treatise on this man held in our archives], Lord Galen and his bride of three weeks, the lovely Lady Irkita were the others.

Inquiries as to the latest news established that the Eisenfürst, who believes he is Carloman, is raising an army to go back into Fischler.

The mercenary turned out to be Erik Starkravingmad (of the Elsinore Starkravingmads) who impressed the recent arrivals by party tricks cracking walnuts with his little finger. His investigation methods to establish the parties credentials ("Are you a brigand ?" "Are you a thief") struck Pyorgi as comprehensive and subtle.

Evingolas sang a tune from each of their home countries ("When Innish Eyes are Shining", "The Schattenman Song", "It's Amore", "The Gypsy Rover" and "Mademoiselle from Poitiers" (the last after the ladies had left)). Lord Galen contented himself with belching and farting before making off with Lady Irkita to bed. The lady amused herself with making cow eyes at Giancarlo, much to Eduarde's disgust.

The night passed uneventfully except for:

* Don Carlos assuming werewolf form and howling incessantly at the moon confined by chains. His cries attracted Erik, notwithstanding the howling blizzard, who demanded to know what was happening from outside the door. Pistol and Giancarlo affected barnyard noises and claimed it was a game which strangely seemed to satisfy him;

* Lady Irkita visiting Giancarlo after the moon had set and seducing him in his own bed. She nipped his neck which awoke Don Carlos who thoughtfully spanked her buttocks. Pistol left (threes company, fours a crowd);

* the discovery in the morning of the body of the aged ostler, seemingly ripped to pieces by a wild beast.

In the morning the party made to set off but the blizzard resumed. The landlord thought that once it had set in like this it generally lasted two or more days.

Evingolas contented himself playing doom laden songs about people trapped in ominous surroundings. Giancarlo and Don Carlos arranged the chains in the stables for Don Carlos to spend the night there. Pistol painted Don Carlos left hand white on the basis that if there were two werewolves then he would be able to tell which one was Don Carlos.

Pyorgi took down a stuffed owl from the corridor outside the bedrooms and advised that he intended to spend the night in owl form in the place where the owl had stood. He discussed the signals that he would use until he resumed his normal form in the morning. "One hoot for yes, Two for no". "And a half strangled cry suddenly cut off means there&Mac226;s a werewolf right in front of you" added Pistol who decided to spend the evening in the common room.

to be continued...