It took only a day for the populace of Bogtown to find another family missing from their neighborhoods: this one was missing from next door to the Tenedars. It seemed that a group—their identities and numbers unknown—had dragged their hostages next door from the Tenedars’ fateful evening party. By the evening of the 3rd, a mighty mob had rounded up about the boarded windows and barricaded doors. Farek’s guards kept careful watch.
Five days later, little had changed. Farek awoke each morning, ate a meal prepared by Ranisar’s servants, and walked through the morning sunshine to oversee a shift change of his guards, and try calling to the house. To his surprise, this day they answered.
“How long are you going to stay caged up in there?” Farek asked, as he walked along the line of townspeople. He was always surprised that the crowd had not reduced in size. He saw different faces each day, but never a decreased mob. “What do you want?”
A faint call echoed out of the house, for the first time in over a week. “You want to write this down?”
Farek chuckled. “I’ll remember it just fine,” he shouted back, in reply. He still had no clue as to Lannon’s whereabouts, aside from this strangeness.
“An unmanned ship that we can board in the harbour. One month’s provisions on board. Protected passage to reach it. We’ll let the family folks go, and the guard, and then we all go our own way.” The muted tirade came to a halt as suddenly as it had begun.
“Do you have a man named Lannon with you?” Farek asked.
“Don’t know who that is!” came the reply.
Farek smiled. “That’s too bad—because if you did have a man named Lannon, not only could I promise you a ship and safe passage, but I could also grant you enough money to buy a second ship full of fine spirits and finer women.”
Now the voice was angry. “If we had a Lannon, we would give you a Lannon!”
“Damn,” Farek cursed beneath his breath. “Oh well.” He would have to help resolve this, even if his target was not involved. He beckoned for two people watching amidst the rank of guards: Mazaar Ranisar and Matek.
They knew of seven hostages—Alaia’s parents, the Tenedars, the guardsman Oniar, and the Tenedars neighbours, the Yomases. No one had a clue the total number of hostiles were boarded up inside the house though, which created quite a problem. The Mazaar and Farek’s trusted guard agreed that storming the house was a bad idea. Though they easily outnumbered the inhabitants, the hostages would surely be killed. Ranisar explained to Farek that the only ship he could afford to part with was no larger than a fishing vessel. Anything else would impact his town greater than the loss of seven men and women.
Farek asked his advisors if they thought, on Farek’s oath of safe passage, the criminals would give up the hostages before they reached the harbour. Neither advisor thought this would work, or Farek’s suggestion of setting the house ablaze. Smoking out the mercenaries may have worked, but it would likely also result in the death of the hostages.
After much discussion, they finally agreed that the only way to ensure the survival of the hostages was to get the criminals what they wanted. As Ranisar explained it, “killing the hostages after boarding the ship would be a sound way to make certain they are hunted across all the lands of men.”
Matek agreed, but added his own strategy. “Depending on the manner in which they release the hostages, we might be able to make a move against them before they go far.”
“What if we sabotaged the boat in some way? A leak perhaps?” Farek asked.
“I would like the ship back, should the brigands be recaptured,” drawled the Mazaar. He was a thick-bodied man with a shaved head and a grey goatee.
Matek lit up. “Then we hide a few brave soldiers in the provisions themselves,” he suggested. “Our very best. When the hostages are gone and the vessel is out at sea, they will strike.”
Farek nodded. “I like it. Without knowing how many enemies we face, we should position a good number in hiding.”
Matek shrugged. “Hide them in empty kegs then. Tell the bandits there’s ale because the town is low on mead.”
Mazaar Ranisar scratched his chin. “If you can guarantee the ship’s safe return with your men on board,” he said, “you can commission my ketch. A ship large enough for this sort of fight—and a horde of vittles like you suggest.”
Farek smiled and offered the lord his hand for a clasp. Together they turned back to the house. Farek ordered Matek to dispatch some archers along the rooftops, just in case. “And don’t assign yourself to hide on that ship,” he told his friend. “I need you here, searching the house after the scoundrels are gone.” His guard went off to make the arrangements.
To the unseen crooks themselves, Farek shouted, “We’ll give you your ship and some ale to wash down some crates of food. Can’t promise how it’ll taste, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“You try anything cunning and the hostages die,” replied the criminal spokesperson.
They fell silent for a long time. Mazaar Ranisar had left with guards and servants to arrange his ship for the venture; he did not return when the matter was complete. Instead, Matek and a few of the Mazaar’s guards returned and told Farek all was ready.
“Matek,” Farek called, before he addressed the kidnappers. When his guard was close enough, Farek said, “I’ll be going along with these mercenaries down to the harbour to see the hostages safe. Just send a guard if you find anything in the residence.”
“Agreed,” Matek replied.
“Hullo in the house!” Farek shouted, striding forward. He made sure to keep his hands visible as he unbuckled his father’s sword and looped the scabbard over his shoulder. Then he spread his hands in case anyone indoors was watching. “Your vessel is ready. The guards will keep the mob away from you and you won’t be touched. Unless you harm the hostages.”
“We won’t!”
Farek shrugged and waited. After a few minutes, the door cracked loudly and everyone looking on fell silent.
“We’re coming out now!” called the criminal spokesperson. The guard, Oniar, was the first to emerge, identified by his chainmail and blue-striped Bogtown badge. He had a bloody bandage tied around one bicep, but was otherwise unharmed. The knife at his neck was held by the first of the culprits, a nondescript man with black hair and a hood. He was not Lannon. The next cutthroat was not either, nor the one after him. Each man had a hostage—here a man with black-bruised eyes, there a weeping woman. The last of them had no hostages, but instead a big sack of loot, from the looks of it. That made for eight bandits in all.
Farek gave a nod to Matek and then followed the wrongdoers along with the crowd. The parade went down the narrow street of Bogtown and into the next. Their progression was slow. At every shout from the crowd or curse from the guards, the hostage-takers slowed down, brandished weapons, and retorted with threats. Farek twice shouted at the onlookers to keep their peace.
Soon enough, they reached the docks. As they boarded the Mazaar’s ketch, they let the Tenedars go. The two stumbled down the gangplank and did as the crooks had instructed them. They threw off the mooring lines and the ship started to shift away from the dock. Another couple, and the guard, were sent down the gangplank just before it fell off the wharf and into the saltwater. The criminals lowered the sails and the ship started to tilt forward across the harbour and away from Var Nordos—with two hostages left aboard.
Thankfully, Farek saw them plop overboard once the ship was at a safe distance. A few fishing ships, a hundred or two hundred feet from the shore, started to turn towards the flailing swimmers to offer rescue.
Farek sighed in relief and he started counting, waiting for the hidden soldiers to make their move. He got to ten before he heard a clash of blades. No sooner had the metal sound echoed across the sea than he heard shouts coming from within Bogtown. The house! he thought.
It took Farek only a few minutes to dash back through the streets to the site of the hostage holding. A man had been slammed against the wall outside the street; he was held there by guards. His nose ran with blood. There were four guards, just to hold the one man in place.
Farek’s confusion turned to satisfaction. Despite a bloodied nose and swelling bruises on his temple, this was Lannon. One of the Ranisar’s grinned at Farek and said, “Caught him inside a gods-be-damned tunnel! Can you believe it?”
Another said, “Lord Farek, it was one of yours that figured it out, but Lannon got the jump on him.”
“Who?” Farek blurted, but he was striding through the front door of the house before the guards could reply.
Matek lay on the kitchen table inside, tended to by a pair of the Mazaar’s men. His face was covered completely in blood and a narrow knife sat on the table beside him. The healers stared at Farek as he entered. For a moment they all looked at each other, over the motionless man.
“Well?” Farek demanded.
“He was stabbed in the eye,” one of the healers said, indicating Matek’s left socket. It was a grizzly sight and Farek had to look away. They had removed the eye, while other gashes had been made around the cheek and forehead by the points of the dagger’s handle. “He is in shock still. Time will tell if he will survive.”
The breath went out of Farek wearily and he leaned on the table for a moment. Then his fists clenched hard enough to hurt, and he marched outside. Lannon got a driving set of knuckles across his jaw before the guards realized what was going on. He twisted nearly free of their holding and spat a tooth onto the muddy cobblestones.
He straightened again, put his back against the wall, and regarded Farek blankly.
Farek waved two of the guards aside and drove his next punch into Lannon’s gut. Lannon, winded, gasped and buckled over forward. He was stronger than he looked and ended up on the cobblestones. Farek’s wooden boot heel made quick work of Lannon’s right hand. The treacherous scoundrel grunted, but after a moment he turned and pushed his back against the wall. “You surprised me,” Lannon drawled. He shrugged and leaned his head back to squint up at Farek.
Farek nodded to Lannon’s broken fingers. “You won’t need those to hurt anyone again.” Then he shook his head and strode back inside. He implored the healers to do their best and then went to look at the tunnel about which he had heard tell. Dug behind a shelf in the cellar, the shaft was nearly twenty feet long, likely reaching beneath the house next door, though it did not connect. It was an impressive amount of work, and, Farek suspected, it was either the result of madness or desperation.
“Fitting a rat would dig a hole,” he murmured. With Matek’s wound and Lannon’s stoic demeanor, Farek decided he would stay in Bogtown even longer. If he returned, he would need to consider Jannia’s opinions before his own—or worse, the Two Matriarchs might have sent their own investigator. Here in Bogtown, Farek could handle things independently for a while longer. He stared at the tunnel, scowled, and went back upstairs to his friend’s side.