"Tis' a sure thing", Oates had assured me. "Mayor Graeme is crazy about cheese!"
We met in Geltry at nightfall. All the usual suspects were there. Tom one-eye had brought his infamous brothers out of far chetwood and Hempman Bartleby had returned from the Forsaken inn with a few sellswords to bolster our numbers. We were ready to brute force our way in and out if needed, but that would be ill considered. Things were tense with Goatleaf and his people, but Oates figured he needn't know - we could bribe his man on the south gate, we had done so in the past.
A pale moon washed our company in a soft light as we neared the town. Bree lay quiet, but we could see some lit windows up on the hill, and faint music coming from the pony. The thought struck me that I'd have rather been up there, being part of the merriment. Having traveled with the motley crew only sometimes known as 'The Wanderers', I had grown weary of this type of "work", and preferred rather an honest bit of labour capped off with a night of singing and drinking. ...But work was work, and I was short on coin.
It was as Oates had said; Goatleaf's man - the halt cobbler's son, whatever his name was - let himself be swayed quite easily. He looked a tad nervous when he saw us coming, but he flashed an awkward smile and let us in once Peggie Willowsweet had weighed his palm down with a few ounces of silver.
"Better be worth it, Oates," i informed my companion as our party walked beneath the portcullis.
***
The lead was good, and the scheme simple - by the looks of it. Oates' man in the mayor's office had noted that the venerable mr Tenderlarch was expecting to host a yule-time gathering for the town guildmasters in the coming month and had spared no expense. "Falathorn wines, biscuits from Michel Delving, un' cheese worth it's weight in gold!," Oates had informed me. i was doubtful at first, but apparently the cheese of choice was an extremely rare, and expensive, barrow-brie, made by the dwarves somewhere out west. The mayor, plainly not considering the risk, had apparently let it sit in storage without guard in the town hall. My fence in Geltry had found a buyer surprisingly fast, so we moved that very same week.
***
The town was empty, but we put on scarves and hoods, just to be safe. I put on the antique bucket-like bascinet I had looted from a grave in Norbury some time ago. The protection was secondary - the primary function was status and fear. I held sway over these people, for now.
Unexpectedly, we found a tired-looking man leaning on a spear outside the fenced yard. "Unguarded, eh?," I remarked sarcastically to Oates. "No matter, we proceed," I decided.
The man tensed up immediately as we approached. By the wary look on his face, I didn't doubt he knew exactly what we wanted. "S-stop, knaves!" he mumbled, voice trembling with adrenaline. For a brief moment I considered another bribe, but that would have been of little use - whatever story he might use to excuse himself to his superiors would not be enough, and certainly not worth whatever price we could afford to pay. I gestured to Hempman, for some of the mercenaries had brought bows and arrows; which they now nocked and pointed at the lone sentinel. I turned back to the man and pointed towards the door. "Open," I commanded. "And don't try anything." The guard gave a weak, resignated nod. "Just don't hurt me." He turned to unlock the hall. In two jumping leaps I was on him. Holding the back of his head firmly in my hands as his body trashed to get free, I drew back one moment, and thrust his face hard into the door the next. He went out cold, and i lay him on the ground. "I'm not made of stone." I announced to my company. "A man knocked out will arouse less suspicion than a man spared, nay? The mayor will be lenient.. hopefully."
Tom's kin had stored a cart in the Beggar's alley for this occassion, and we ladened it with all the cheese it could hold. It was stinky stuff, and I was more than a little worried that a nightly breeze should carry the pungent odour to the constaples in the town jail and alert them of our heist. My fears were unfounded, and we left the town just as easily as we had came. Something did catch my attention though, and many times since have I cursed myself for not paying more mind in that instance - the cobbler's son was gone, and the gate unguarded. Soon, I would learn why.
***
Bree lay quiet behind us, even the patrons up at Barliman's had retired for the night it seemed. Dawn was still a ways away, but I could hear the faint chirping of an early bird somewhere from over Staddle-way. The next thing I heard were swords sliding from their scabbards. We were surrounded. We had passed beneath the boughs of far chetwood at this point, and from behind the treetrunks appeared what seemed at first like an army of ghosts. As the shadowy figures drew close, some of their faces came into the torchlight, and my heart sank. Harry Goatleaf's ugly mug grinned at me, and at his side Bill Ferny - a crook that made me appear a saint in comparison! Their men were locals, like most of mine, but behind Ferny stood a familiar figure: the Southron I had seen in Bill's company before; And he'd brought friends. They were heavy-set, with ugly orc-like faces and thin hair. They carried cruel steel and were clad in black mailles. At their rear, I could see the halt Cobbler's son. The ring of men closed around us and halted a few steps out of sword reach. We all had arms at the ready. A tense silence reigned for a moment, then I spoke.
"What brings you out this early, Goatleaf? Chetwood ain't safe in nighttime, and you might trip on a root and break your neck. Wouldn't that be sad?"
"Ah, humor." the other replied dryly, still smilling tensely. "It's over for you and your rabble, Blackbrow. Bree's ours."
"Town's big enough for many."
"Not anymore. Soon there'll be friends coming up north." when saying that he gestured towards the southrons, his smile widening slightly. "We have you outmanned, surrender."
I cursed quietly, the man was right. I counted about thirty in their company, to little more than a score of ours. I looked at the faces of my companions, then back to Goatleaf.
"You can have the cheese. No need for bloodshed."
"The cheese be damned!" This time it was Ferny who spoke. He then raised his voice, as if it wasn't allready quiet enough for everyone to hear him. "Your company is no more - The White Hand rules Bree-land now. Join us or die!"
Nothing else needed saying. The mercenaries let fly, and a few of our foes fell dead on the ground. "Combe!" I shouted, and charged. The clearing was filled with shouts and the clanging of metal as our two bands clashed. The fight was short. Goatleaf was no fighter, and was gone in an instant. Ferny took a wound in the arm and limped off. Many fell on both sides, but the southrons were hardened fighters - and slew many of mine. Quickly the tide turned against us, and we were pressed back. Oates had fallen, and Tom's archers too. Peggie was lying somewhere ahead, dying on the ground. I cut down a southron and drew back a few steps with what remained of my company. I panted heavily, and noticed a shallow wound in my chest.
"Hold.. hold" I demanded of my companions through gritted teeth, but it was too late.
The southrons attacked again, and at that moment one of ours turned and ran. Another did the same, and in the next instant we all did. I saw a few unlucky fall, but fate was on my side that day. I knew the woods well, and lost my pursuers in a cleft, not far from Geltry.
***
My flesh bled, but what was worse was my wounded pride. I had lost. Bree was out of my reach, perhaps forever. I had to flee. Flee for my life.
At dawn I locked up my stead in Geltry, saddled Brambles, and rode east, towards the distant mountains.
