Vengeance: Chapter 3

"Aha! What a gripping tale thus far!" Enthused the king. "I am quite filled with anticipation. What happens next?" He asked the raconteur, who had paused for a sip of his wine.

"If your majesty would wait just a moment longer, he shall find out when the telling begins anew." Replied the raconteur with a wry, humourless smile.

*****

Bone weary and trembling with fear and exertion, the three travellers made their way into the forest hideaway of the resistance movement. Upon entering, they were confronted by a dank and fetid odour, reminiscent of decay and unpleasantness, but were too weary to pay it any heed. As they made their way further in, the smell grew stronger, until they rounded a corner and found the source of the smell, making Jim violently sick.

"My God!" Said Tom in utter horror. "Who is capable of something like this?" Before them was a pyramid of corpses made up of the members of the resistance's forest base, reaching high into the air. Suspended from the vaulted ceiling were several disfigured heads, each one bearing a pained grimace. The inhumanity of the situation shook the three friends to the core, and they vowed they would repay the blood debt owed to all those who had laid down their lives for their cause. Tom then kindled a fire to raze the base to the ground as they departed, leaving only unhappy memories of death and dismay. After an hour's march through the forest, they came upon a clearing and Jim called a halt. "Quint," he groaned, "don't you have some rope so we can take shelter in those trees? I don't like the look of this clearing."
"I'm afraid I don't, master James. But I'll take the first watch, if it makes you feel better."
"Much, thanks." Said Jim as he and Tom began setting up a rough campsite. The moon was low in the sky by the time Jim fell asleep, troubled after the day's tragic events.
"Sleep well, Master James," murmured Quint. "Soon your courage will be tested again, and hopefully you will be able to stand firm against the evil in your path."

*****

The duke had not been idle during the time the companions had spent resting and recovering. Instead, he had stolen a march on them, and even as the companions set fire to the forest base, the duke and his personal bodyguard of thirty elite soldiers arrived at the entrance to a nondescript house on the west side of his town's prosperous lake district. This house was plain, in contrast to its more opulent neighbours, yet it always seemed to have upper class nobility visiting, which set the duke's suspicious mind at work. At a signal from the duke, two soldiers struck the door with their halberds, smashing it to kindling. Peering into the dim light within, the soldiers could see nothing except a tastefully decorated reception hall. 

"Damn!" Swore the duke. "Either the birds have flown the coop, or my spies need to be roasted. Which is it?"

"My lord, I'll stay in the vicinity and report back back to you if anything strange happens." Volunteered the captain of the detachment.

"My thanks, captain. Have this, in case anybody wants to claim for reparations." Said the duke, handing him a purse which clinked with the heavy, rich sound of gold.

"My lord." Replied the captain, taking it from him and heading to his station near the suspicious house.