Dinner with a Rogue

The leaves whorled restlessly in the autumn winds, tornadoes of seasonal decay that evinced an image of ghastly black birds scritching their way across cobbles in a morbid procession. The stoic trunks climbed to astonishing heights in all directions save for the dingy brown scar of a road that wound its way through the brush and trees. Their barren branched fingers knitted together with neighbors ceaselessly, as if the crackling motions pondered a grisly fate.

Behind a thick wall of brush, upon a fallen dead hollow sat two figures. Armed and clad in hidden armor under garish costume, they waited in silence, arms and legs crossed in contemplation.

Roland glared intently at his gold pocket watch before stuffing it back into his coat. "Any time now," he said to his companion.

"What you ain't sell that pretty piece of git for?" Bugg asked him.

"Time," Roland started, "is a very valuable tool in our trade, Bugg. I would have thought even you would have absorbed that bit of knowledge by now," he chided.

"S'a clock tower inna village tells time straight enough, isn' there?" Bugg asked. "Even tolls the hours fer ya, pretty as a pint," he smiled.

"True, but, we're hardly in a way to look at, or hear that tower right now are we?" he asked, "and what's more, were we to try and make our way out here by a certain bell, to perhaps intercept a certain carriage that a certain fat lord will be hauling a certain dowry in, well, we'd be fortunate enough at all to find some of his horse's dung without the time in our pocket."

"So the lardly Lord is trying to marry off Pelafina again is he?" Bugg asked.

Roland nodded, staring straight ahead. "He's bound for the western coast. I hear he's even set his sights as low as the fisher Lords," the man chuckled inwardly, picturing a frumpy Lady Lostorot scaling a giant fish with a cloudy eye. He shook his head as the image faded.

"How is it you know the man and his offspring will be down this way?" Bugg asked.

"Investments my dear man! In information, in ale for loose lipped guards, in time well spent with a few giggling maidens," he sighed, "lots of investments." Roland said, "so that perhaps a missive might come my way when an interesting carriage may be scheduled to leave the grounds. That chest of gold must be getting awfully big by now..." he deduced, an avaricious glint in his eyes.

"Aye," said Bugg, "Why you suppose he can't marry this one off? The tales are that she's only got one eye, and it's uglier 'nna pigs."

"What does that matter? All that's important is that we're going to relieve him of that burden and be on our merry way in," another furtive glance at his watch, "well, a quarter bell or so. Then it's all the ale houses and brothels we can hit on our way back to the northern guild house for a timely holiday," he concluded by clapping the huge ogre of a man on the shoulder.

"I like my job. I don't like no holiday," Bugg said, feeling rather down at the idea of time off.

"Bugg, your job is to break bones at my behest, I would hope that you love it dearly, for it is very often that I require your services in a pinch, but as it stands, if I don't get out of the southlands soon, my eyes may melt from boredom!" Roland exclaimed, his gloved fingers working slow circles at his temples. As his words were stifled dead in the bushes before him, he cocked his head to the side at a very faint, but unmistakable, sound that issued from far along the road.

The marauder stood and hunkered down, pulling a small crossbow up from between his legs and cocking a quarrel in the catch. That done, he drew his duelists sabre and waited patiently for the sounds of the carriage to draw close enough. Bugg knelt beside him, needing only to tighten the leather gauntlets that adorned his ham hock fists.

"Same as always," Roland whispered, "you spook the horses, I'll pin the guard, throw the driver down. Not too rough now, we don't need a murderer's bounty on us as well!"

The horses clopped steadily along the road, urged on by a dim looking gray bearded man, who looked wholly out of place in a driver's vestments. At his side was a wary guard, formidable in physique, but green in the eyes and face, and the way he sat himself; tense and coiled like a scared kitten. There was a cumbersome crossbow between his legs, probably set so long as to remove any amount of damage it might inflict. The carriage itself was a fashionable color of maroon that befit the sorts that cared about the fashionable colors of carriages at the time. Smart bronze gleamed along the edges and rails. Loud shouts issued from inside the padded walls, that could only be the Lord Lostorot going on about his daughter's failings.

Roland edged closer to the road, then patted Bugg on the back two times, which was the signal to go. Bugg rumbled onto the road, screaming a horrid low pitched battle cry that could moisten even a hardened soldier's underclothes. The horses reared, completely terrified, eyes four sides white. As the driver struggled with the reins, Roland darted to the side of the carriage, "Ey!" he shouted at the guard, who instinctively turned to face him. With practiced precision, Roland loosed the quarrel into the man's shoulder from twenty paces and closed fast with his sabre. The guard pitched sideways but surprisingly didn't tumble, instead drawing a two-handed broadsword and, leaping down from the carriage, attempting to engage the thief with one good arm.

"Don't make this mistake, laddy!" Roland taunted, closing lightning fast, whirling his sabre in a dizzying dance. As he reached striking distance, he began a lunge that he expertly halted as the man dropped his sword and raised his good arm in surrender. "Wise decision!" Roland exclaimed, drawing close the man then ostentatiously kissing him on the cheek before throwing a hard hay maker punch that knocked the man out cold. A sudden sharp pain splintered through his fist and he dropped his sword and crossbow as he spun slowly in a circle clutching his wounded mitt. He quickly regained his sabre and composure as a heavy latch on the door was worked loose.

The carriage door was thrown open and a jowly voice demanded to know what was happening from inside.

"My Lord, tis the renowned thief, Roland D'Arsle and his companion, the fierce Bugg," Bugg beamed at his name as he sat on the driver's rear, keeping him pinned to the dirt, "here to relieve you of a certain cache of gold coinage that we know travels somewhere upon your vast person!"

The watery voice boomed from within the carriage, the man obviously too saddled with weight to so much as lean out the door. "The bumbling ponce and his dim sidekick? I've truly been bested by them?" he jeered from inside, "I have it on good authority that the blue silk clad duo of you and he were seen to suck each other's cocks while bathing in a river!" he taunted, breaking into a flabby roll of a cackle that ended in a coughing fit.

"That ain't true seein' as I don't bathe!" Bugg called back.

Roland burned with rage and embarrassment at the insult. "Sir, if you think I don't threaten your life today-" he began. "You don't," the lord loudly interrupted, "you would not strike me down, you haven't the nerve! You're a simpleton thief who has trifled with powers far beyond him this day. If you think your neck won't be stretched in a week's time, you're sadly misguided!" he finished his tirade by spitting out the door toward the thief.

Feeling his first wave of doubt, he went about the rest of his plan, cutting three horses loose and putting the driver and wounded guard on the last, telling them to ride or die. With that bit of business finished, he approached the carriage door, sabre first and laid it upon the fatty neck of Lord Lostorot, slightly dazed as he again requested the gold.

"As you can see, I have won the day, sir, I believe you find yourself with no choice but to give up the coins-" Lostorot smugly interrupted again, "The coins are here, boy, under the bench upon which I sit, and I shall not be moving for you or your sticker, so either kill me and take them, or leave me be on my way. Soon a hundred men will be arriving on swift mounts to hunt you down!" he finished, smiling wide with greasy lips.

Bewildered for a second, Roland weighed the options in his mind, knowing that it would be next to impossible to move this mountainous man fast enough without at least gravely injuring him in the process. He licked his lips and pondered a hasty disassembling of the carriage, which proved a fruitless idea. Suddenly, a new approach occurred to him.

"Your daughter then!" he demanded in a confident voice, "She rides with this infamous duo to a secret safe house where we shall keep her under arrest until you make a gold payment befitting her status!"

Lostorot was cackling from within before Roland even finished his decree, "You would take my daughter? Leave me my dowry and take this worthless wench from me?! Oh Gods above," he bellowed in mock prayer, "what have I done to earn thy favor this day?!" he broke into a laughing fit again. "Oh you'll be receiving payment for this one, for sure, to keep her!"

There was a rustling in the cab, and a protesting woman's voice, growing louder with each passing second until she was shrieking in fury. Roland had to disengage his sword from Lostort's neck as the lithe form of a woman dressed in yellow silks was ejected from the carriage into the dirt road.

Roland bent to help her up, but she quickly yanked her arm back from his grip, and turned back toward the carriage to kick at the laughing man inside. "Bastard!" she yelled as Roland secured her by both elbows and began to pull her to where he and Bugg had hobbled their horses for the escape. As he spun her around to survey her she spit on his blue overcoat in a decidedly ignoble gesture of contempt.

"You're a Lord's daughter?" he asked incredulously, as he drank deep her beauty with his eyes; naturally curled locks the color of a summer sunset that dangled here and there, popping off the pale canvas of her creamy skin. Her eyes were blazing jade as she contorted her face in disgust at her situation, though nonetheless heart stopping. Her pouty pink lips were curled in a sneer as she looked the two of them up and down.

"You're thieves!? Pardon, renowned thieves at that," she jeered, "my father will have you both dead before the sunset. And hopefully I can have him follow you through the gates later this evening. The slimy prick," she spat again, this time at nobody in particular.

"We have no plans of being dead tonight, so you can either ride peacefully with me, or knocked senseless over Bugg's shoulder, it's your choice m'lady," he said as he offered his hand to her.

She stared over at Bugg for a long lingering moment, weighing the choice he had given her for an insultingly long time before agreeing to ride peacefully with him, displaying a supernatural grace with a mocking curtsy as she accepted his hand and then slung herself with practiced ease into the saddle. Roland mounted in front of her and kicked the horse into a gallop quickly, which had the surprised woman reaching around to hold tight despite herself. He grinned to himself as they began a long looping path with many false backtracks on the way to their hide out.

"Where in the world are we going?!" she yelled from behind.

"The infamous thieves den itself! Excited?" he asked.

"Nauseated," she called back, "You kidnap me from my father's coach and expect me to be up for an adventure?!"

"Kidnap? You were flung from his person like rubbish, my dear," he joked. Regretting the words at her silence, detecting a slight recoil, if only in some unfathomable way. He felt her turn her head to rest the side of her face flat against his shoulder, perhaps trying to at least enjoy the scenery if not the company.

Several miles stretched on in silence. Bugg rode stoically, eyes squinted in concentration, mouth agape as always. Dutifully swallowing whatever may crash land in his gob. Roland chuckled to himself as he remembered that was how the man had come to earn his nickname. At long last in a far tucked away patch of nowhere in particular, a slightly concealed dirt path jutted from the main road, zigzagging into a copse of trees. The thieves angled their horses along it and rode hard for hidden den in the distance.

They crashed over some young brush and clopped heavily into moist turf strewn with mosses and scree. In the center of the thicket was a large house neatly sunk halfway into the ravenous earth. As the three dismounted, Pelafina began to laugh.

"Pike's Bog? That's the amazingly secret location of the most glorious thieves den!? The Bog Bastard's sunken house!?" she roared in laughter again, "My father's hunting grounds are three leagues from here! Oh would he just wobble with rage if he knew..." she said, reveling in the image of her patriarch's impotent anger at her smirking revelation.

Roland was doing his best Bugg-at-the-horse impression, closing his mouth as she smiled inwardly, trying to get his bearings back.

"Well since you're so familiar with the place, I suppose we can dispense with the formalities," he drew his sabre and pointed it directly at her, "Pelafina Lostorot, you are hereby prisoner of Roland D'Arsle until such a time that your father, the Lord Lostorot, pays a sum of gold numbering an amount that I am in, err, approval of," he concluded, sweat beading on his brow as she defiantly placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. Her eyes were bright and piercing despite the gloom of the drying bog and its thick growth.

"Am I to quiver and plead now for my freedom?" she asked sarcastically.

Roland's sword wavered, and then sunk to the earth in defeat. He sheathed it once more and steeled himself again, "No, that won't be necessary of course. We're going to become very chummy the next few days as the ransom instructions are delivered to your father, so if you play nice, then you won't be bound and tossed into a dark wine cellar-"

She cut him off, "Cellar? I think that's where the parlor is..."

"Regardless! The poor masonry and foundation work of the Pike estate is not of concern at the moment! Never mind the extremely bad choice in location. What is of concern however is your solemn pledge as a noble maiden to recognize your status as a prisoner and not attempt any type of conduct that would have me harm your fair person," he said, breathing heavily after such a meandering rant.

She was smiling again, the look in her eyes one of naked contempt for her captors, "And if I should break that pledge?" she said, starting to walk backward toward the path, "and take a nice, brisk walk down the road, to the guard outpost I know is in the east," she continued turning around and walking away, calling over her shoulder, "what would you do?" she finished. No sooner than the words left her lips than a crossbow quarrel sang out in the still air and hooked her long flowing skirt, sticking it fast into the earth until she tangled up and fell, crying out in shock.

"Nice shootin', m'lord," Bugg said quietly.

"I was aiming for her leg..." Roland reflected sadly.

As he helped her up from the ground she tried to batter at his chest until he locked her wrists behind her back, "I won't be anyone's pawn anymore!" she yelled. Roland was holding her against himself until her struggles finally ceased. In more familiar territory now, he smiled broadly at her, "My Lady, we have prepared for this event," he lied, "so, consider this time to come a holiday from your loathsome father with a handsome blade of a thief. Tonight we feast. Bugg is an excellent cook, you'll see," he lied again, recalling instances of sickness too numerous to count.

At her wit's end, she relented, relaxing her tense pose and letting Roland guide her by the waist toward the second story window of the Pike estate, which served as an entrance, oddly enough. Makeshift steps brought them level with the floor, which was slightly below the earth. They made their way down a long hall towards a spacious study which had been converted into a dining area, with a long table that spanned nearly the length of the room flanked on either side by shelves of books.

Roland pulled a chair out for her and waited behind it. Taking the cue, she sat down and let the man seat her eloquently. That accomplished, he then pulled the chair across from her out and plopped heavily down onto it, putting his feet up on the table and sighing deeply as he took his gloves off and tossed them over the back of the chair, knitting his fingers together on his stomach as he stared at her. There seemed no end to the silence as they stared. Finally she turned her gaze aside, "you seem to have done some interesting things with this abandoned wreck," she commented.

"Necessity and all that," he replied, with a dismissing wave of his hand, "the upper floor is more than adequate for living space. The first floor is rather dreary and damp in its current state. Good place to keep prisoners, lots of manacles and chains and whatnot. Hopefully you won't have to see it... unless you want to?" he grinned, winking at her. She felt a flush come on, but not one of complete anger. He was a bit of a blade at that. Dressed in stylish blue on boiled leather black armor. He had a close shave and neatly cropped coif of midnight black hair. It was his eyes that did it though; two glassy oceans of blue, almost too pure to be believed.

"So tell me," he began, "how is it that a noble born maiden of one of the richest Lords in the land, in possession of staggering beauty and wit, is not married to some blue blooded powdered ponce by now?"

She grunted at his flattery, rolling her eyes to the ceiling and sighing, "The process can be a bit complicated at times," she said.

"Are you the complicated part my lady?" he fired back.

She smiled wryly, "Perhaps. Perhaps I am at that. I just reject the idea that I'm too be taken to the home and bed of whatever watered down noble's son accepts me," she said, stiffening her posture up a bit, "I'm able to choose who I bed with, I think. I have enough times before anyway..." she finished, not getting the shock she expected from the thief across the table. Behind his fixed mask of interested delight, however, his heart raced at her candid confession.

As a bumbling flirt of a line began to trickle past Roland's well-tied tongue, Bugg arrived with a carafe of wine and two glasses. He filled both and left the rest. The two stared at each other for a bit, and then together they reached for their drinks, taking healthy gulps in unison to diffuse some of the tension.

Roland swallowed another mouthful greedily then sighed appreciation, "If nothing else, the Bog's Bastard knew how to stock good vintage," he raised his glass in salute, which she returned, feeling a bit light headed as she took another long sip.

They chatted peaceably together for several more minutes, about the land, about the life of a thief, about the life of a noble woman. At one point Roland pulled a coin from his pocket as she spoke. He flitted the coin across his fingers as he listened intently. So organic was the gesture that she thought he may not have realized he was even doing it at the moment. She became entranced with the coin, and his deft, skilled fingers. Slim, long, graceful, flipping the coin back and forth with ghostly precision. 'Of course, the hands of a thief,' she thought, 'and an expert duelist... what else are they good at?'

Bugg returned with a silver platter and lay it between them. On it were two large bowls of broth and a loaf of bread.

"Sorry lord, s'all there is til' the 'morrow," Bugg apologized, his face slack with the shame of failing his beloved boss.

Pelafina took another long sip of wine and jeered Roland, "Prepared for this event have you?" she smiled wide at his flustered look.