The Road to Halsbeth

Chapter 5: The Road to Halsbeth

The midmorning sun bathed the rolling hills and scrubland as Gren and Knickon trudged along the winding road to Halsbeth, the large cart in tow. The severed troll’s head jostled atop the loot they’d piled high, its grotesque visage bouncing with every uneven patch in the road. Kitty sat perched in the driver’s seat, one foot propped up on the edge, her nose buried in one of her potion books, occasionally glancing down at the two barbarian brothers hauling the cart.

“Y’know,” she called down with a grin, “at least you two don’t smell quite as bad as real horses. Or do that… middle-of-the-road business they tend to do.” She wrinkled her nose in playful disgust.

Knickon glanced back with a grunt. “Least we don’t have to listen to 'em neighin’ all day.”

“True, true,” Kitty agreed, her eyes twinkling. “And you both make quite the dashing pair of draft horses. Strongest I’ve ever seen, actually. I’d wager you’re the envy of every stable hand from here to Halsbeth.”

Gren snorted, stretching his arms as they continued to pull the cart. “We better be. Don’t know any horse that can haul troll heads for leagues and still have energy left for a fight.”

“You two are truly legends among horses,” Kitty teased, flipping through the pages of her book. “And speaking of legend, I think I have something interesting here.”

Knickon raised a brow, sparing her a curious glance. “Something to do with that jar of troll liver?”

“Among other things,” Kitty replied, tapping the leather-bound book. “With the right ritual and ingredients, I could try to brew a potion with the troll’s regenerative properties. It might either give the drinker troll-like healing for an hour, or…” She hesitated, raising a finger dramatically. “Or turn them into a troll for an hour.”

Gren barked a laugh. “So it’s a surprise potion, eh?”

“Only the finest for you two,” she said, winking as the sun climbed higher in the sky. “But for that, I need some bigger cooking pots. If Halsbeth has what I need, I could make a large batch. Though, if we’re not there in three days, that blood won’t be any good.”

The brothers exchanged a glance and nodded. “Three days,” Knickon said. “We’ll be in and out of that town faster than a hawk diving for its prey.”

As they trotted along, a glint of sunlight caught their eyes. Down the road, a wagon approached, flanked by four armed horsemen. The wagon itself was armored, a sturdy vehicle drawn by two powerful draft horses. Riding at the helm was an older man with pale skin and an air of refined menace, clad in a black suit and top hat, with a rifle propped within reach and twin pistols strapped across his chest.

The driver leaned back, murmuring to someone inside the wagon. The escorting horsemen, swords and crossbows at the ready, moved ahead to form a cautious formation. As they closed in, the brothers and Kitty readied themselves, with Gren rolling his shoulders and loosening his greatsword, and Knickon testing the heft of his axe.

The wagon slowed to a halt about two hundred feet away, the driver holding the reins tightly as he shouted, “Whoa!” The riders paused fifty feet from the barbarians, one of them raising a hand in greeting.

“Ho there, friends!” he called out in a firm, steady voice. “We mean no harm, only to pass.”

Before they could respond, a figure emerged atop the wagon. He had the look of a wealthy merchant or minor noble, draped in expensive furs, silks, and enough jewelry to catch the light at every turn. Rings adorned each of his chubby fingers, and his eyes narrowed as he studied the group.

Gren and Knickon remained tense, but Kitty leaned forward, an amused smile quirking her lips. “Well, looks like we’ve attracted the attention of a very fancy passerby.”

The man raised his voice, projecting an air of practiced authority. “Travelers of the road! My men and I have had a rather trying journey and seek only safe passage. If you’ll allow us by, we might even share a tale or two. Who are you, that travel in such… interesting company?”

Gren exchanged a glance with Knickon, who nodded slightly. “We’re hunters,” Knickon replied, keeping his words curt. “Just came back from killing a troll in these hills.”

The merchant’s eyes widened, momentarily betraying his curiosity before he composed himself. “A troll, you say? Nasty business, that. I assume the… specimen on your cart is the head of this creature?”

Kitty chuckled, “You assume correctly, fine sir. And perhaps you can tell by the state of my companions here that they’re quite effective at keeping the road clear.”

The merchant forced a smile, his eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and respect as they lingered on the barbarian brothers. “Indeed. Perhaps we owe you a debt of gratitude, then.”

Knickon’s grip tightened around his axe as he studied the merchant and his men. “If you’re grateful, then maybe you can make it worth our while. Troll slaying isn’t cheap work.”

The merchant let out a nervous laugh, patting the air with his hands in a placating gesture. “Yes, yes, of course. Allow us to pass peacefully, and I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

Kitty rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh, gentlemen, let’s not get too worked up over a little road company.”

Gren gave her a sidelong look, chuckling. “You’re enjoying this too much, Kitty.”

She shrugged, hopping down from the cart. “Why not? It’s rare that we get to entertain high society, after all.”

The merchant, watching her approach, seemed momentarily entranced. “A lady of wit and charm,” he murmured, before straightening and nodding to his men. “Clear the way. We’ll pass through peacefully.”

As the guards relaxed their stances, Kitty gave the brothers a quick wink, her mischievous grin widening. The merchant's eyes followed her, still mildly spellbound, as his entourage began to move past.

Gren leaned over to Knickon, muttering, “Reckon he’s underestimating her.”

Knickon chuckled. “Let him. Makes it more fun.”

The merchant’s wagon rolled by, his gaze lingering on Kitty even as he made polite farewells. His guards cast wary glances back at the barbarians as they passed, no doubt relieved to have avoided a clash. Once they were a fair distance down the road, the brothers resumed their pull on the cart, and Kitty climbed back up, laughing softly.

“Well,” she said, settling into her seat again, “that was a nice bit of excitement. Almost makes up for the smell back here.”

Gren snorted. “You keep bringing up the smell, and you’re the one riding next to it.”

“It’s motivation, gentlemen. I’m merely trying to hurry us along to Halsbeth. And speaking of, I’ve got some ideas for what I might need to finish this potion.”

The hours passed as they traded stories and laughter, the warm camaraderie making the journey lighter despite the heavy cart. Finally, the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the road as they spotted the outskirts of Halsbeth in the distance.

The town lay nestled between hills, its walls weathered by years of storms and travelers, the distant clang of hammers and lively chatter signaling the bustle within. The main gates loomed ahead, manned by guards who eyed the strange procession with a mixture of suspicion and awe.

Kitty leaned forward, whispering, “Let me do the talking, boys. No need to frighten them off right at the gates.”

Gren and Knickon grinned, relinquishing the spotlight as she addressed the guards. Her charm worked wonders, and soon enough, the gates opened to admit them, the guards muttering in hushed tones as they watched the cart with its grisly cargo roll into town.

The streets of Halsbeth bustled with life, merchants hawking their wares, townsfolk milling about, and children pointing wide-eyed at the severed troll head in the cart. As they made their way toward the heart of the town, Kitty kept up her playful banter, directing them to the market district where she could stock up on supplies.

“Well, boys,” she said, looking around, “we’ve made it. Now, let’s see if we can’t turn a bit of troll hunting into a tidy profit.”

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As the late afternoon sun dipped toward evening, Gren and Knickon trudged through the bustling city streets, hauling the cart with the severed head of the Troll of Osguard. Kitty strolled beside them, looking as casual as ever, though her eyes darted about, sharp and calculating. The city of Halsbeth was alive, an overwhelming cacophony of sights and sounds and scents that assaulted their senses in every direction.

For Gren and Knickon, the city was disorienting—a far cry from the vast grasslands and wilderness they knew. The mixture of rich foods, human sweat, and filth clashed with each inhale, making them wary and alert. They could sense animals nearby, small creatures darting around, birds fluttering through the air, and the occasional rat scampering by. But there was something else—a scent both they and Kitty picked up, an odd, elusive smell that lingered, almost hidden beneath the chaos.

“Strange… like a dog, but not,” Kitty muttered, frowning as she tried to place the unfamiliar scent. But it slipped from her grasp like smoke, and she let it go, turning her attention back to their task.

They soon arrived at a modest market square, bustling with merchants hawking their wares. Kitty took control, guiding the barbarians as they reached the center of the square. With a flourish, she stood up like the ring leader at a circus gesturing at the troll’s head atop their makeshift cart. The two men dropped the cart’s yoke with a grunt and an earth shaking thud, stretching their arms and casting sharp glances at anyone who dared to look too close. Their expressions alone were enough to deter even the boldest thieves.

Kitty hopped down and moved forward, commanding the crowd with the practiced magically enhanced ease of a witch who knew her worth. People murmured, eyes widening as they recognized the massive, monstrous head. Merchants and townsfolk alike began to gather, forming a wide circle around the trio, their eyes filled with awe and apprehension.

“Step right up!” Kitty called, voice smooth and warm, tinged with the power of persuasion that came so naturally to her kind. “Yes, take a good look! Here stands the head of the Troll of Osguard, a terror of the wilds, felled by these very hands beside me!” She gestured grandly to Gren and Knickon, who grinned and crossed their arms, looking every bit the fierce heroes they were.

A chorus of gasps rose from the crowd, and in moments, merchants pushed forward, bags of coins clinking, hands outstretched as they haggled for any piece of the loot the trio had gathered from the troll’s lair.

The hours drifted by in a blur of bargaining and bartering, each sale adding to the heavy bag of gold coins in Kitty’s hands. It was a spectacle, and one that left no doubt in the townsfolk’s minds that Heroes had come to Halsbeth. The head of the Troll of Osguard, the creature whispered of in taverns and spoken of in fearful tales, was here for all to see.

An envoy approached during the spectacle—a well-dressed man bearing a letter and a heavy bag of gold. The king’s reward, he explained, awaited them at The Stone Boar Tavern, where they were invited to deliver the troll’s skull. Kitty thanked him graciously, pocketing the bag as the crowd murmured in awe at the king’s acknowledgment of the deed.

When the sun began its descent, the trio had earned 1,831 gold coins from selling the troll’s loot and the contents of the cart. With a triumphant flourish, Kitty clapped her hands together, signaling the end of their market dealings. They sold the cart itself to a portly merchant, and then, with a shared glance, Gren and Knickon lifted the troll’s head onto their shoulders, carrying it like a grim trophy across the town toward The Stone Boar Tavern.

“Downgraded from draft horses to pack mules, have you?” Kitty teased as she walked alongside, tossing a playful wink.

“Maybe you’d prefer we carry you, too?” Knickon shot back with a grin.

They laughed, easy and free, as they made their way through the winding streets. The Stone Boar Tavern came into view, an impressive building of stone with skilled carvings adorning its archways and columns. To one side stood the Stone Boar Brewery, its many chimneys sending clouds of smoke into the sky. On the other, a bustling butchery and cattleyard added a heady aroma of freshly smoked meats and livestock to the air.

Above the tavern’s wide, covered porch, a massive bison skull with sprawling antlers rested against the peak of the building over a wooden sign that read, “The Stone Boar Tavern.” Far below on the ground floor, tables filled with patrons spilled from the tavern onto the porch, where a group of bards played lively tunes.

As they approached, Kitty caught that strange, elusive scent again. Her brows knitted, but Gren and Knickon seemed unaware, their senses dulled by the overwhelming variety of new smells. They ignored her frown, too caught up in the bustling energy of the city around them.

The moment they stepped onto the porch, heads turned, eyes widening at the sight of the two massive barbarians carrying the severed troll head. Whispers rippled through the crowd, and even the bards paused their playing, staring in awe.

Inside, the tavern was no less impressive. The first floor spread wide, filled with long tables, roaring hearths, and patrons enjoying hearty meals and foaming mugs of ale. The place smelled of roasted meat, fresh bread, and rich spices—a welcome change from the grime of the city streets. The second floor, lined with balconies overlooking the main hall, appeared to be where the guest rooms lay.

The innkeeper, a stout man with a thick beard and a weathered face, approached, wiping his hands on a cloth as he surveyed the group. His gaze lingered on the troll’s head before shifting to Kitty, who stepped forward with a charming smile.

“We were told to bring this… gift here,” she said smoothly, gesturing to the grotesque trophy. “A reward and title, if I’m not mistaken?”

The innkeeper’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he ushered them inside, guiding them to a cleared space by the hearth where they could set the troll’s head. A hush fell over the room as the patrons gathered around, admiring the monstrous trophy.

The innkeeper clapped his hands, calling for a round of drinks. “A toast!” he roared. “To the heroes who’ve rid us of the Troll of Osguard!”

The patrons raised their mugs, cheering as the trio settled at a table, finally allowed to relax. Knickon and Gren accepted mugs of ale, each as large as their fists, and downed them in a single gulp, earning roars of approval from the crowd.

As they toasted and reveled in the warmth of the tavern, Kitty’s gaze drifted around the room, that strange scent lingering at the edge of her awareness. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss, an unease stirring deep within her. But for now, she let it go, choosing to savor the warmth, the ale, and the thrill of victory shared with her companions.

The Stone Boar’s patrons, captivated by the barbarians’ tales, hung on every word as Knickon recounted the battle with the troll in vivid, embellished detail, and Gren added with hearty laughter how they’d hauled the monstrous head all the way to Halsbeth.

As the night deepened, tales of their exploits drifted across the tavern, mingling with the music of the bards and the crackling of the fire. The trio had earned their rest, basking in the glow of their victory and the admiration of a grateful city, with the promise of more adventures to come.

The Stone Boar Tavern, Halsbeth