(Continued from The Case of the Three Torches- Finding Elsa: Part 4)
While they spoke of her back in Bree, Elsa was hobbling her way around the camp at the Hillshire Ruins. At first glance, it appeared to be no different than the typical bandit camp; several smaller tents were scattered about and a crudely constructed ‘stable’ was off to her left which looked to house several horses and a wagon. She could see that a few sentries had been posted at the stable and around the perimeter of the ruins, and in a secluded corner, surrounded by the most guards, was what looked to be a large animal pen. Curious as to why something like a pen would be so heavily guarded, Elsa slowly made her way toward it for closer inspection.
As she neared the watchmen, she straightened her shoulders as much as she could- considering her situation with the crutches- and tired to exude an arrogant confidence that she thought Gerda would display. To her surprise, the guards didn’t pay her any mind nor did they stop her from approaching the pen; in fact, they appeared to be purposefully avoiding eye-contact with her altogether. She didn’t get the chance to ponder their odd behavior for long, for when her eyes took in the sight of what was actually being kept there she froze in horror. People with sacks covering their heads, about a dozen or so, were tied to hitching posts by the collars they wore around their necks- it was a slave pen, not an animal pen.
Elsa knew that she wouldn’t be able to free any of the slaves without arousing suspicion, but she could try to get a better look at their condition. She propped herself up on her left crutch and quietly lifted the latch to the gate. After taking one final look around to make sure that the guards were still ignoring her, she slipped inside.
The guards appeared to be watching the slaves that were tied to the hitching posts very closely, but there was an area on the other side of the pen where a man had been left to suffer alone in one of the wooden stocks. From the look of his attire, he was one of the Watchers of Bree, or used to be. The man had an air of familiarity about him, as though she had seen him around town before, but it was hard to be certain since his face was swollen and bruised. She could tell that he had suffered a serious beating- his leather armor was heavily damaged, his cloak was soaked in blood, and many of his fingers seemed to be at strange angles. By the way that he was slumped over, he didn’t appear to be conscious, but at least he was breathing.
Elsa reached to her side for her chakram, fully intending on using it to free the man somehow, but her weapons were still in Garon’s tent. She took in a deep breath to calm herself and then her gaze turned toward the guards on the opposite side. She hobbled a little closer and called out to the nearest one, "You there...What is going on with this prisoner in the stocks?"
“With all due respect, Ma’am,” the guard replied, “We’re not supposed to be talkin’ to the boss’s lover.”
Elsa leaned on one crutch and then used her other hand to grab him by the chin. “I could tell him that you tried to do more than just talk to me.”
His eyes widened and he quickly started to blurt out a response. “He’s a Dove sneak that was nosin’ around. Luckily one of our men in the Breewatch noticed his slimy little games and let us know.”
Elsa looked at the prisoner for a moment and then back to the guard. "What is he suspected of doing?" she questioned.
“Dove things…” he answered. “Interferin’ with commerce, nosin’ into other people's business, crossin’ people that shouldn’t be crossed; it’s just a matter of time before he tells us more about what he has been up to.” He looked around, and then lowered his voice. "Word is… a fancy Dove has even shown up in Bree, an officer, but she won’t last long. The boss is gonna hire a specialist; maybe clip her wings for good… Or who knows? Won’t the Dourhand pay good money for a tidbit like that?”
Before Elsa could ask anything more, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from behind. The guard she had been speaking to swiftly straightened up and stood at attention, as did the other guards around him. A heavy hand was placed on her shoulder and she turned her head to see that it belonged to Garon. "Sawbones said that you should stay off that leg,” he said to her. “Otherwise you might ruin your dancing career.” He wore a charming smile on his lips, but she could see in his eyes that he harbored some suspicion over her being at this particular part of the camp.
"The only dancing I do is on the battlefield," Elsa replied with a smirk.
Garon laughed. "The field isn’t always so comfortable as you very well know.” He motioned for the two guards that had accompanied him to the slave pen to come forward. “Arik and Daral here will help you back to my tent so that you can rest. We wouldn’t want you to faint from fatigue out here in the middle of the common folk, now would we?”
Elsa studied the two guards for a moment; they were both dressed in bits and pieces of a Bree watcher’s uniform, and by the way they held themselves they looked to be some of Garon’s ‘muscle’. "Very well...” she stated coldly, not wanting to push her luck any more than she already had, and she reached out with her crutches to swing herself toward them. As they led her off toward the tent, Garon walked over to the guard that had given Elsa the information and spoke with him in hushed whispers.
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After they had made sure that she was settled on the cot, Arik and Daral took up a position outside the tent on either side of the entrance. When she saw that they had no intention of leaving her unguarded, Elsa raised her brows in concern and leaned over to reach down beside the bed where she had seen her weapons earlier; but they were no longer there. A bad feeling was startling to form in the pit of her stomach; perhaps she had been a bit too bold in her snooping.
She glanced around to see if anything else had changed or been removed while she was out; the Dove dagger that she had seen on Garon’s desk before was gone and had been replaced with a different one. After a moment of hesitation, Elsa decided to reach for the knife so that she could take a closer look at it. Being from the Mark, she immediately recognized the design of the dagger; its wooden hilt had been carved into the shape of a horsehead at the pommel, a clear indication of where it was from.
She admired the craftsmanship for a moment and then drew it from its sheath to see if the blade had markings of any kind. The tempered steel was of good quality, single-edged and sturdy, and there was a symbol etched into the very base of the blade, but it didn’t offer her any information. As she inspected the dagger, she could hear Garon’s heavy footsteps approaching the tent. Elsa instinctively took the dagger and concealed it in the band of her pants, overlapping it with her top.
Garon entered the tent and flashed Elsa his charming smile; then, he pulled up a chair to sit next to the cot. “You know Gerda,” he calmly said, “no business can survive without trust between employees... I have seen so many solid ventures break down over infighting in the ranks.”
Elsa’s brows furrowed for a moment as she considered how to respond. “Business? What business?” she asked, trying to feel him out.
Garon shook his head. “Would it have been so hard for you to be honest with me from the start?”
Remembering that she had to pretend to be Gerda, Elsa shrugged and kept a cold tone to her words. “Depends on what you think I should be honest with you about.”
“Tell me, what is it that the old crone wants to know. If Drasia's interested in the Doves on the Greenway, she, or you, could have just asked. We are on the same side, aren’t we?” His gaze was piercing as he spoke and seemed to be studying her very closely.
“It’s best to keep your cards close to the vest.” She replied. “Bree has many leaks these days.”
Garon nodded. “Well, that is true enough, but you really could have just asked rather than nosing around.”
“And would I have gotten an honest answer,” Elsa shot back, “or would you have simply said whatever you think the old crone wishes to hear?”
Garon held up his hands. “I have nothing to hide in this regard. We have been handling things correctly and according to orders. As we identify the moles, we have been taking care of them, either in house or hiring a local.”
Elsa maintained a neutral expression as she tried to pry for more information. “What moles do you speak of?” she inquired.
Garon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The spies that the Doves have been using to hinder the operation… We identified seven that were sneaking and snooping around like insects always do.”
Elsa paused for a moment and then asked, “What is this rivalry you have with the Doves?”
Garon raised an eyebrow. "Rivalry?”
Elsa nodded. “What does it matter if the Doves see what you are up to? What can they really do to stop you?”
Garon just looked at her for a moment and a long silence hung thick in the air. Finally he stood and pulled a small silver flask from his pocket. “Well...this has been a very interesting little talk,” he said as he placed the flask on the table next to the cot.
Feeling that her cover had been blown and seeing that he was in a vulnerable position at the moment, Elsa picked up the platter that remained on her bedside table and attempt to hit him in the head with it. The blow was solid and took the leader by surprise; however, it didn’t knock him out as she had hoped. While he was stunned, Elsa quickly pulled the knife that she had concealed and cut an opening in the rear of tent to make her escape.
She hopped as fast as she could on one leg, but as she moved further away from the tent, she could feel that she was starting to grow weak, and unnatural dizziness was starting to wash over her. Elsa tried to keep herself alert and awake, knowing that she needed to escape, but only found herself fading faster and faster. Her hands began to shake, her hearing faded and her vision began to grow dark as she stumbled and fell to the ground, unconscious.
Elsa didn’t know how long she had been out for, but she awoke to someone looking down at her; though the figure was very blurry in her vision and sounded as though he was far away, she could tell that it was Garon. He gave her a moment to regain her focus before he started speaking again. “Whoever you are,” he said, “I assumed that you were the real Gerda and so, I knew you would be dangerous. I thought you were here to get me out of the way for Drasia to take over my operation and because of that… I took a precaution. My Sawbones poisoned you...a real nasty concoction. You have about an hour of convulsions ahead of you, then, about thirty more minutes of vomiting our your organs until you finally die.”
He shook the flask that he had offered to her earlier and grinned. "This is a day’s worth of antidote... when the next day comes, you will need more or you die in agony while making a terrible mess.” He then forced the contents of the bottle into her mouth and made her swallow. "Put her in the stocks,” he demanded of the guards. “I have a letter to write.”
(Continued in FInding Elsa Part 6)
