Sir Osis
This was ranked among the dumbest ideas he had ever had, and considering what his youth had been like, that was saying a lot. There was no way he was going through with it. He remained compliant and followed all directions. Then the one of the bandits ordered everyone to stand in a group. Sir Osis tried to ignore the spear in his face and the angry mutterings one of the merchants behind him, for his attention was drawn to the bandit who had seemed to be giving most of the orders. He was speaking with another bandit armed with a sword, and they seemed to be having a debate over something. Sir Osis strained to hear what they were saying.
“What’s the damned point, you yellow-bellied…” and there that merchant went cursing the tagalong knight again. While Sir Osis thought he understood his sentiments against the bandit leaders completely, he was trying to eavesdrop, dammit!
He never did get to hear what they were saying, but the one who gave the orders soon turned away from the other and addressed the group. “Everyone line up. Quickly and quietly now.”
The caravan stood still for a moment before John stepped forward. Then the others followed suit in lining up. The bandits tied their hands and feet before unharnessing the last of the livestock and disappearing into the forest. It took a while, but with some advanced circus flexibility techniques, Sir Osis was able to free himself before helping the others. About an hour after they had been left with nothing, the caravan was free to decide what would happen next.
John spoke up first, “The best course of action, I figure, would be to go back to the last castle. If we be quick enough, we can get there before the dark.”
“It took months to get that cargo to here!” one of the merchants protested. “I cannot simply give up after all I have gone through to get it.”
Several of the other merchants expressed verbal agreement; John ran his hands through his hair and avoided eye contact with the others.
Going after the bandits was just plain stupid, and Sir Osis knew it. There were only a handful of people arguing for that, and they would see reason once they calmed down. “If we make our way back the the castle, then it may be that we find someone with skills in the art of tracking who can find the base men who stole your work from you,” he said, standing in a commanding pose.
“That’s all well and good, sir, but from what I understand, Lord save us, you would be the best candidate to help, unless there’s some master hunter you could be telling us about.”
Right. Yes. That was an excellent point he made. This plan was still stupid, but that was an excellent point.
“I understand you concern, but as for that,” Sir Osis shifted to regain his authoritarian pose. “While it is certainly true that, apart from our lord, hunting and tracking are not commonly known arts in our village, I cannot do a thing without…the Silver Arrow of Fortune.” The Silver Arrow of Fortune was an artifact Sir Osis had conjured up while remembering the brooch his lord’s wife commonly wore, but they didn’t need to know that.
The merchant cocked his head. “And this Arrow of Fortune you need, why?”
“It brings fortune, naturally.”
“I’m not going back just for some superstition.”
“It was blessed by the Pope.”
“I have some medals blessed by the Pope which they didn’t take.”
“It was used to stab the side of Christ.”
“Wasn’t that a spear though?”
“Well, you see, with translation—”
Someone cleared his throat, and Sir Osis turned to see that John had been watching this exchange. “Thank you for ye help, sir, but I’ll be taking it from here.” He spoke up to address the group at large. “Now I understand that you are angry at the loss of what you spent so much of your life in the attaining of, yes, but all that will be worthless if you’re dead.”
Most of the members of the caravan nodded in agreement, knowing that this was the only reasonable decision.
“There won’t be any questioning of this now. We’re going back.”
The trip back is very uneventful. Nobody witnessed the incident of Sir Osis thinking a rustling noise was another bandit and chasing after a squirrel for ten minutes. It did not happen and was therefore not an event. By the time they got to the castle, it was dark, and Sir Osis went to his room as soon as possible.
“You received a message while you were out, sir,” a servant told him as he removed his boots.
“Remove it from me. Good night,” Sir Osis responded as he threw his boots across the room and pulled his legs into bed. That was a concern for the morning—no, not the morning. That was a concern for a time of day when his brains were in place.
“What’s the damned point, you yellow-bellied…” and there that merchant went cursing the tagalong knight again. While Sir Osis thought he understood his sentiments against the bandit leaders completely, he was trying to eavesdrop, dammit!
He never did get to hear what they were saying, but the one who gave the orders soon turned away from the other and addressed the group. “Everyone line up. Quickly and quietly now.”
The caravan stood still for a moment before John stepped forward. Then the others followed suit in lining up. The bandits tied their hands and feet before unharnessing the last of the livestock and disappearing into the forest. It took a while, but with some advanced circus flexibility techniques, Sir Osis was able to free himself before helping the others. About an hour after they had been left with nothing, the caravan was free to decide what would happen next.
John spoke up first, “The best course of action, I figure, would be to go back to the last castle. If we be quick enough, we can get there before the dark.”
“It took months to get that cargo to here!” one of the merchants protested. “I cannot simply give up after all I have gone through to get it.”
Several of the other merchants expressed verbal agreement; John ran his hands through his hair and avoided eye contact with the others.
Going after the bandits was just plain stupid, and Sir Osis knew it. There were only a handful of people arguing for that, and they would see reason once they calmed down. “If we make our way back the the castle, then it may be that we find someone with skills in the art of tracking who can find the base men who stole your work from you,” he said, standing in a commanding pose.
“That’s all well and good, sir, but from what I understand, Lord save us, you would be the best candidate to help, unless there’s some master hunter you could be telling us about.”
Right. Yes. That was an excellent point he made. This plan was still stupid, but that was an excellent point.
“I understand you concern, but as for that,” Sir Osis shifted to regain his authoritarian pose. “While it is certainly true that, apart from our lord, hunting and tracking are not commonly known arts in our village, I cannot do a thing without…the Silver Arrow of Fortune.” The Silver Arrow of Fortune was an artifact Sir Osis had conjured up while remembering the brooch his lord’s wife commonly wore, but they didn’t need to know that.
The merchant cocked his head. “And this Arrow of Fortune you need, why?”
“It brings fortune, naturally.”
“I’m not going back just for some superstition.”
“It was blessed by the Pope.”
“I have some medals blessed by the Pope which they didn’t take.”
“It was used to stab the side of Christ.”
“Wasn’t that a spear though?”
“Well, you see, with translation—”
Someone cleared his throat, and Sir Osis turned to see that John had been watching this exchange. “Thank you for ye help, sir, but I’ll be taking it from here.” He spoke up to address the group at large. “Now I understand that you are angry at the loss of what you spent so much of your life in the attaining of, yes, but all that will be worthless if you’re dead.”
Most of the members of the caravan nodded in agreement, knowing that this was the only reasonable decision.
“There won’t be any questioning of this now. We’re going back.”
The trip back is very uneventful. Nobody witnessed the incident of Sir Osis thinking a rustling noise was another bandit and chasing after a squirrel for ten minutes. It did not happen and was therefore not an event. By the time they got to the castle, it was dark, and Sir Osis went to his room as soon as possible.
“You received a message while you were out, sir,” a servant told him as he removed his boots.
“Remove it from me. Good night,” Sir Osis responded as he threw his boots across the room and pulled his legs into bed. That was a concern for the morning—no, not the morning. That was a concern for a time of day when his brains were in place.
