For a moment, all I can do is stare. Stunned by Mrs. Bennett's outburst. The blacksmith's pale, freckled face now reddened by anger and frustration. Her wife gripped onto her waist as if to hold her back from storming up front. The rest of the village folk stare at her with sympathetic expressions before they shift their attention back to Thorpe.
Everyone in the room is dead quiet, watching the old man as he seems to be mulling over how best to respond. His brows knitted fiercely. But eventually, he lowers his head in defeat. "I have no reason to believe they were lying..."
Mrs. Bennett's expression breaks at his answer. The woman's shoulders slump. And the pew in front of her creaks with her strong grip as she drops back down onto her seat. Margo immediately pulls her in and squeezes her tightly as the burly woman inhales a shuddering breath.
The quiet amongst the villagers deepens with the solemn atmosphere now permeating the room.
Mama takes a deep breath next to me and speaks up to break the silence. "Philippa…both of your parents are smiths, aren't they?"
Mrs. Bennett raises her head, eyes now red and puffy. "Y…yes. I know. You don't have to say it." She stammers out while fighting back a sob. "The Urka wouldn't kill a [Blacksmith]. They're too valuable." She shakes her head. "But I can't imagine what horrors they're going through now. They already escaped from servitude once. The idea they may have had to go back...breaks my heart."
Margo leans in to kiss Mrs. Bennett's cheek and kneads the woman's hair with her fingers. The blacksmith sniffles a bit as she looks back up to Thorpe. "What do we do now? If they've broken through the Red Line, then the entire central Grand is threatened. The other clans are gonna be swarming through."
One of the younger farmers from the crowd clears his throat, scratching the short stubble on his chin. "I hate to sound ignorant. But what is the Red Line exactly?" He asks a bit awkwardly. A few others amongst the villagers nod their heads as well.
Thorpe lets out a low hum from the lectern. "Right. I should have figured some of you might not know southern history." He admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "To keep it brief, it's the reason why we don't have a lot of real [Bandit]'s up here. It used to be just the Urka a few hundred years ago, and they owned most of the south. But after King Atreyu died, the Urka kingdom spiraled into chaos and schismed into separate clans. Those clans then went on to wreak havoc across the south and central Grand. The Grand Kingdom responded by funding an army of mercenaries down south to support the villages and towns that used to be in service to the Urka."
Mrs. Bennett clears her throat into a handkerchief Margo handed to her before she sits up straight. Looking a bit more put together, but her eyes are still red and irritated. "The Mercenaries freed thousands of craftsmen from the old clans over the course of 4 years. [Blacksmiths], [Carpenters], [Stone Masons], and many more who banded together with the Mercenaries and constructed forts, defenses, walls, and traps all across the South from shore to shore. The Mercenaries tore apart and scattered the old clans while the rest escaped to the Salted Coast. The war took a little over seven years. By the end, the survivors of the Mercenary army decided to stay, and the three largest of the fortresses became the three capital cities of the new southern regions. Lerwick in the Kanacia Region, Whital in the Jarren Region, and Merton in the Doncaster Region. And their shared border with the Salted coast was turned into a heavily fortified zone dubbed 'The Red Line'. And the Red Line has kept the larger clans from moving north ever since then. Watching movements on both land and sea."
Old Guard nods at Mrs. Bennett's input before looking back to the crowd. "So. If Whital has actually been taken, then that creates a massive pathway straight into the central grand." He states plainly, obviously not wanting to sugarcoat it. "I know that we are a bit out of the way even for Central, but that obviously hasn't stopped them from targeting us because of our connection to Llanercost."
One of the elderly [Farmers] scoffs. "Why even go through the trouble of bothering us out here? Llanercost isn't even the capital of the region. And it's hardly a fortress. If these Bandits can take a city like Whital, then Llanercost doesn't stand a chance."
Several of the villagers nod along to the elder's remarks. But it's Mama who responds to it from the chair next to me. Her eyes are fixed on the elder sternly, but are neutral. "Llanercost might not be a fortress, but it has a larger Mercenary Guild than even Berxley does. Which I am guessing they don't take lightly, given their history. And, it would give them a strong enough foothold to take aim at Berxley and our neighbors in the Alder region."
The elder seems satisfied with the answer. As do the others. A quiet discussion ensues between the villagers before another of the younger [Farmers] speaks up. "So what the hell are we supposed to do here then?"
Old Guard takes a deep breath as the attention of the room returns to him. "Our main issues right now are the fields, security, and our communications. From what we learned, this is all part of a long con that they tested out down south and obviously succeeded enough to plan for us next. They intercept communications, rewrite messages, replace couriers with indentured servants, just to start. Then they slowly poison food supplies to the major city. Get people sick and starving. Create refugees escaping the famine. Weaken defenses. And they do this over the course of several years."
The expressions on the villagers' faces have become quite grim as Thorpe explains. A mixture of fear and anger is scattered amongst them. The less-than-quiet chattering is becoming more pronounced.
"Is that why we haven't gotten an inspector up here in years?"
"I've been sending extra money to my parents. Has any of that gotten to them?"
"Grandad's medications…we thought they stopped sending them cause of the plague…"
One of the [Farmers] has a particularly pale look on her face as she stands up. Looking like she's afraid to ask whatever she's about to. "Wait…we cleanse the soil in each field here at the [Hall] before every crop rotation. But the soil quality has only gotten worse with that salt every year. So they'd have to be sabotaging the fields REGULARLY." The woman grimaces. "Does that mean…"
Thorpe's brows furrow, a slow breath exiting his nose as the villager's question trails off. "Yes…it means they have to have someone close by."
The silence after that is quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
But before they have a chance to outburst, Thorpe holds up a hand. "Do not panic. I don't believe they are in the village or even right outside of it. If anything, they are likely camping somewhere out in the forest. And at most a day's worth away. Any closer and we would have found them by now." He clarifies firmly. And that seems to calm down the fear a bit.
Another voice from the crowd calls out. "What about this inspector we've got here now? If the Urka are replacing the kingdom's couriers, then what if this inspector is one of them?!"
Mama rises to her feet the instant that's said. Her expression has become hardened and stern. "I want none of that kind of talk! The last thing we need is those sorta assumptions to make us all paranoid." She lectures, not just at the one who said it, but the rest of the village as well. "Leadership will handle the inspector and properly vet them. The lot of you will go about your business as usual."
The villagers don't look too happy about having to just go about their business like nothing's wrong. But what else can they really do? It's not like any of them can fight. And trying to leave would both be too dangerous and would be way too expensive for anyone here. I'm sure they all realize that. But it doesn't make it any easier.
Thorpe lets Mama's order sink in before raising his hand to get the crowd's attention. "I have a few scrolls of [Identify] left over from my mercenary days. I will confirm if they're legit before bed tonight. If they are…then…well hell, we really lucked out here." He chuckles honestly. "With an inspector's help, we might actually knock out several birds with one stone. He can send a warning to the Capital much quicker than we can. As well, might be able to get help from his mercenaries with finding our saboteur."
Mrs. Bennett grimaces and groans. "That's IF he believes us."
Thorpe smirks, placing a hand against his chest and raising his chin in a smarmy way. "So little faith in your guard. I happen to be VERY convincing." Which elicits several groans from the crowd.
I smile a little at that. Feeling the tension in the room drawing back a bit. I was kind of worried that this meeting would be a lot of panicking. But Mama and Thorpe really do know how to manage things pretty well. Even if Thorpe kind of stumbles a little.
The rest of the village is certainly worried, but they have a lot of trust in both of them. More than I have ever recognized until actually observing it.
Even back when they were complaining about me not doing farm work anymore, and Thorpe had to explain that my class had suddenly changed; they trusted his word, even though it was a bit of a half-truth.
I never really noticed. But we have good people here.
Thorpe clears his throat. "But that is all we've got for you right now. I know it's not much of a plan just yet, but that's about all the energy I have at current. After a full night's rest, I'll be making up something more comprehensive with the boss lady, and we'll keep you all informed."
A loud thump rumbles from the main doors as they are swung open. The cold air rushes in and makes the flames in the fire pit dance briefly towards us. Everyone's attention is drawn to the entrance.
Standing in the doorway are three figures. Two of which are holding open the doors for the man between them.
The two on the sides are rugged-looking individuals. The one on the left is a man with tan skin and short black hair that's clipped close on the sides and back, while the top is a bit longer. A bit of dark stubble on his somewhat young face, but he has quite the intense stare. Wearing partial plate armor. A light cuirass protects his chest while his right arm sports a pauldron with an accompanying gauntlet. But his left arm is only covered by the sleeve of his gambeson and a leather bracer. His legs, though, are more well-armored with full thigh plates and grieves. A shield is fixed to his back by a leather strap around his neck. And a longsword hangs sheathed on his left hip.
On the opposite side is what looks like another man at first, but on longer inspection seems to be a very handsome woman with quite strong facial features. Pale white skin that has a slight greyish tone. Very curly platinum blonde hair that she has loosely tied into a short tail behind her head. Enough of the curls still draping over her forehead and down the sides of her face. Her face is mapped with a few hard-set wrinkles and aged scars. Her body is completely suited in a well-worn set of plate armor. Making her look quite burly like Mrs. Bennet, but this woman is much taller. A full fluted helm hangs from a strap on her left hip. And the quite lengthy hilt of a bastard sword peaks over her right shoulder.
Both of their equipment is decorated with charms, monster hide kilts, and several pouches. The plates are dotted with dents and mends. Some look like they were once quite fierce wounds as well.
They are practically covered in countless stories of adventure and heroics. Making my heart yearn to hear them.
But it isn't the two Mercs that draw the village's attention. It's the man between them.
A short, stocky, and somewhat portly man dressed in a fine red coat. A white linen shirt beneath with frilled cuffs that peak from the ends of the coat's sleeves. A white silk ascot nicely puffed from the collar of both. Dark blue trousers and long black leather riding boots. His long brown hair is slicked back and styled into a tight bun behind his head. A nicely trimmed and curled mustache decorates his upper lip. While his round face is lightly powdered, and his lashes are lined with dark makeup to make his, admittedly pretty, green eyes very hard to miss.
I swallow hard as an awkward silence overtakes the room.
This must be the [Inspector].