THE GNOME CACHE
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Summary
Unable to resist the wanderlust any longer, Dunstan has robbed
his father’s strongbox and set forth on his quest of adventure
and glory.

CHAPTER TWO
 

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Dragon magazine	-	The Dragon #3	-	Dungeons & Dragons

Balls! . . . The balls of his feet ached, his legs were numb,
and Dunstan was generally fatigued all over. During the wee
hours he covered the three leagues to the fork where Wild Road
ran into the King’s Way. The pale light revealed the shrine of
Saint Cuthburt of the Cudgel just ahead. No one else was abroad
as yet, so Dunstan trudged up to the shrine and threw himself
down upon the sward, back resting against the rough stones of
the altar, to await some passing cart and hitch a ride. Thinking
how he must obtain a mount quickly, for such tramping about
was unbecoming a gentleman adventurer and soon, esquire, Dunstan’s
head nodded, and despite himself he dozed. Voices floated
into his stupor, and upon opening his eyes the young man was so
disoriented that the plaster figure looming overhead seemed to be
a brigand about to brain him with a great bludgeon.

Pulling himself erect with startled haste, Dunstan realized he
had been gazing at Saint Cuthburt from a supine position
wherein he had slipped as exhausted sleep gripped him. What
had awakened him? Voices! They were raised again,
quarrelsomely, and coming from somewhere in the thicket behind
the shrine. This was something to investigate immediately, so
gripping the pommel of his dagger, Dunstan poked his way
somewhat cautiously into the brush. His quiet approach allowed
him to view the scene unnoticed. Four or five sturdy fellows were
ringed about a cloak, and the cloth was covered with an assortment
of jewelry and coins.

“That chain is worth more than a few nobs!” hissed a tall,
lank rogue, and he disdainfully scattered the stack of the silver
coins to emphasize his point.
 

“Yer arse,” said the brawny man with red hair. “I am captain
of this band, and I says that them nobs is its worth. Take ‘em
or stick ‘em . . .”

Here Dunstan’s foot came down upon a rotten stick, and its
loud cracking turned all heads towards him. Bravely the intruder
tugged forth his blade, nearly lopping off his own leg as the hastily
drawn weapon rebounded from a bough in the flourish. The circle
scattered before the brandished dagger: “Hold, Villains!”
Dunstan blushed as the roar turned into somewhat of a squeek.
“Stand and face a valiant Champion of Justice!”

At that the red-haired leader stepped forth smiling: “Oh,
most welcome words, brave sir. We feared that we had been set
upon by the robbers who frequent this part of the road. But put
away your blade, for we are honest men of gentle birth albeit in
somewhat distressed staits at the present.” At this he gave a
sweeping gesture to include the returning men: “See. We are all
disarmed and most shabbily attired.”

“Do I read your words aright?” the puzzled Dunstan asked.
“Your dress and your actions bespoke you as a pack of footpads,
yet your words are most fair . . .” and he hesitantly sheathed his
blade.

“Know, sir, that we are a company of righteous fellows, most
evilly disposed in one way or another by the false-knight, Baron
Teric whose castlewick at Edgewood on Wild Road is the bane of
freemen and a nest of caitiffs. I am Theobald, once a great
franklin of this district, and this man — indicating a burley blond
of about Dunstan’s age — is my good cousin Aloward who would
have won his spurs by now but for the intrigues of vile Teric. Wat,
once my verderer, now must also call himself masterless, and Hob
and Bertram here were sergeants in the service of the same Baron
until they could stand no more of his deviltry!”

With these introductions the whole crew laughed merrily
while Dunstan stood amazed. To find such oppression on the first
day of his errantry was indeed a sign that he had done aright, and
Dunstan vowed to help these good men rigorously to right the
wrongs done to them. Wat, Hob, and Bertram — the lank fellow
with a slight cast to his eyes who had been disputing with Master
Theobald when first he saw them — were beneath Dunstan’s
station and unworthy of consideration. The franklin was another
matter, as was the Squire Aloward. He sympathised with them for
their plight which forced them into company with servitors and
men-at-arms. Still, loyalty was as admirable in gentlemen as in
common servitors, and their situation evidently brought this
chivalrous quality to the fore. But what of the booty upon the
cloak . . .

“Certes, Master Theobald, right gladly met, and you Esquire
Aloward, as well as Hob, Wat, and Bertram; yet, what of the
division of spoils I witnessed?” Dunstan looked into the jolly blue
eyes of the leader and saw nothing therein to dismay him.

“What honest champion would not be gulled by such a
sight!” said the big man clapping him on the back: “Attend me
while I relate the tale. Ho! Wat, my man, have we anything with
which to cool our tonsils — all this talking demands an oiled
throat.” So saying, he took Dunstan by the arm a wineskin in the
other hand and sought a grassy place to rest. “Hark to my story,
for it ends not with my freehold being stolen from me. Along with
my lands and manse, Baron Teric confiscated a small fortune in
money and jewels, the fruits of much labor by myself and my
forefathers. Although I escaped with my life, nothing else save the
clothes on my back escaped the robbers!” Here Theobald gulped
a hearty draught of wine and proffered the skin to Dunstan:
“Have you a bite to eat there in that wallet, lad?” indicating the
pouch at Dunstan’s waist.

Dunstan hurriedly drew forth cheese and biscuits, passing
them around to all, rueing how small his own portion turned out
to be. Master Theobald continued: “We wandered about the
countryside, but the simple peasants were afraid to help us, and
we were near to starvation when Hob and Bertram joined. They
told how the Baron often transported his ill-gotten wealth to bribe
the Justiciars of the Overking. Thereafter, our company has never
wanted for provisions — what you saw us dividing was spoil of a
sort, but just reward. We have harried the retainers of the mostwicked
Baron and relieved them of much of what they have stolen
from others. Why this very chain — lifting the fine links so that
they glistened brightly in the early sunlight — belonged to my
own sweet mother, and there can be little doubt that most of these
coins were once the grace of my strongbox.” The youth nodded
assent, finishing the last small bite of hard cheese while searching
the wallet for any overlooked morsels.

“Why haven’t you, sought the justice of the Overking?”
inquired Dunstan, having found nothing else to eat.

“Are you daft! — no offense. Haven’t I just told you of how
the officials round about are all in the pay of Teric? If they so
much as laid eyes (heh, heh!) on me, irons and the dungeon at
Rauxes would be certain. But you must grow weary of my tale of
misfortune; come, tell how came you to the Shrine at dawn.

Forgetting his ire at being called daft, Dunstan concocted an
account of how he too was setting out in the world to seek justice,
relating that his father — a knight and doughty warrior — was
held captive in the strange land westwards beyond Far Pass. As
certain noble friends of his father had refused the ransom demanded,
he, Dunstan, had taken what little remained of the family
fortune in order to free the poor man himself. “Surely,” he
concluded, “my sorrowing mother will die of grief unless my
brave father soon returns.”

“Why sprang you forth, blade in hand?” demanded
Aloward.

Before Dunstan could open his mouth to give the obvious
reply, Theobald interjected, “Hold your tongue, Al. Vex not this
good warrior with suchlike questions. Ah — did you say that you
set out with your remaining wealth to ransom your. . .“

“No, no, Master Theobald. Would I had enough to do
such,” Dunstan lied. “Naught but a few coins of any worth
remained after so long a time as he has been prisoner. I have but
a few scruples now, but ere I pass beyond the Rauxes I shall have
made the fortune necessary.” Displaying a handful of metal he
gestured to indicate how the pittance would multiply then.
 

The expectant face of Master Theobald fell a trifle, but when
he saw the questioning glance from his newfound associate, he
said: “So. That being the case we shan’t ask if you have any copper
commons to spare. I’ll trow there are many poor hereabouts
that are in sore need, but our band shall continue to do what we
can to help. What we take is carefully divided between us, for
each must look to his own keep, but more than a mite goes from
our purses to the deserving . . .”

“Innkeeper Krell and Meggin,” Hob laughed.

“Of course,” snapped the captain, “Now shut up and gather
up our plu— poor gleanings, for your untutored tongue will
surely give the young master the wrong ideas.” Turning once
again to Dunstan he explained: “We have found a friend of the
oppressed, but the risks the good innkeeper takes in providing
our comforts (Hob said something about Meggin taking worse
risks still, but Theobald merely talked a bit louder) demands a
considerable stipend in return. Perforce we are always short of
alms to distribute to other good folks.” Theobald considered for a
moment and went on, “Yet without the good offices of Innkeeper
Krell they’d receive nothing, for we’d not be here to serve.”

“Well spoken, sir!” said Dunstan, envisioning the throngs of
poor saved by the generosity of this good company of stalwarts.
“But pray tell me how it is that your handful, without horses or
stout arms, manage to wrest such wealth from the clutches of
Baron Teric’s trustees?”

Again the company dissolved in mirth, much to Dunstan’s
consternation. Theobald interjected, “Trouble yourself naught on
that score, young master, for our misicordes and stout staves
found aplenty here in the woods manage well enough. But come
let us off to more comfortable — and safer — surroundings. Too
many warders — those in the pay of the Baron, of course — are
likely to be riding at this time of the morning. If you are as tired
as I, and you appear most spent, then we shall all profit by some
well-deserved rest.” So steering him onto a narrow path as he
talked, Theobald, Dunstan, and the others left the little clearing.

Conversation stopped almost as soon as they entered the
wood, for although it was small, the growth was thick, and
passage was only possible single-file. No wonder that their dress is
so shabby, reflected Dunstan. This kind of travel was hard on apparel
to be sure, and had he not worn a leathern jerkin the twigs
and thorns would soon have made his shirt a tatters. The silence
of the place was broken by occasional bird calls, the sound of
their progress, and muttered oaths from behind as some member
of the party stubbed a toe or caught the backlash from a lowhanging
branch. He quickly tired of studying the back of the
franklin’s neck and became lost in speculation as to what he
would do next.

No question that he could help this lot in some way, but upon
reflection, it seemed far wiser to waste no time on the pursuits
which Master Theobald followed. Why when he became a squire
— here he digressed in thought to worry if the number of golden
orbs in his girdle would be sufficient to buy the position. Indeed!
Why is it that a true gentleman and brave champion such as he
had already proven himself to be (hadn’t he?) should need to
resort to payment? Upon arrival at the Great City he’d present
himself to one of the more important lords, and upon recounting
his deeds he would be taken as an esquire without further ado! Of
course, a few coins would be required in order to gain an audience
---

Thawk! The bough struck him squarely across the forehead,
knocking him back into Aloward who had been following close
behind. “You stupid bastard!” gasped the surprised fellow as
Dunstan’s backward fall brought him down also. “Remove your
churlish ass from my midsection, or I’ll kick it up around your
ears.”

“Oh shall you, knave,” snarled Dunstan in embarrassed
anger: “Let us see if you can make good your bobance in the-face
of my steel!” But he had scarce room to draw the weapon, and
Aloward stuck a meaty fist squarely into the pit of his stomach,
setting him once again most rudely upon the ground. Before
things could go further, and the Esquire was readying his dagger,
Theobald stepped in and ended the matter. Apologizing curtly for
his own carelessness and for his nephew’s discourteous — nay,
boorish! — behavior, he jerked the dazed blade to his feet and
hurried him along.
 

“Know you not that such a ruction could bring unwanted attention?”

When Dunstan only rubbed his head and stared stupidly at
him the franklin nodded once. “Now mind where you’re going
and quarrel no more with the members of this good company
you— valiant champion. Save such for more worthy opponents.”

Thereafter Dunstan did just that, and within a few more
minutes they stepped free of the foliage. A thorp of miserable
cotts greeted their eyes, but Dunstan noted a more substantial
building beyond. Progressing up the rutted track they came to the
sign that announced arrival at their destination, the Inn of the
Riven Oak.

To Be Continued