Howl Of The Carrion King

Suspicion

Chapter 2

I take a step backwards in shock. Kill me? Would she really order someone to do that? As Garavel begins a steady gait in my direction, the answer quickly becomes apparent. I open my mouth to try and stop him, but nothing comes out. Years upon years of staying silent unless ordered hasn’t helped my social skills very much.

Panicking, I raise my hands out in front of me for defense. A split second later I realize I should have drawn my bow and arrow, but Garavel now is too close for that.

A clear, deep voice rings throughout the clearing, stopping the woman’s servant in his tracks. “Almah, I think we should hear this guy out. Who knows, if he didn’t do it, maybe he has the knowledge of who did.” It was the man in the navy and silver robes, his face looking at me expectantly to answer.

Understanding his tactic, I quickly nodded. “Yes, I could help find the culprit. Er... if you need my services. I mean, if you want...” Never a person having a way with words, I closed my mouth before I said something that might change Almah’s mind.

The woman took a moment. Ages seemed to pass. Then she slowly nodded. “Fine, Firon. But I’m not taking care of him. He’s your responsibility now. Don’t come crying to me when he’s gone and you have a dagger buried in between your shoulderblades.”

The robed man, Firon, laughed loudly. “Don’t worry Almah, I can take care of myself. Otherwise you wouldn’t have hired me, right?”

His words sent a chill down my spine. So apparently this Firon was dangerous. Not that it would matter, I wasn’t going to try and run away anytime soon. Even with my skills of living in the wilderness I wasn’t crazy enough to leave the promise of company in these wastes.

“Hmph. I suppose so.” Almah’s gaze was sharp, and I have the distinct impression that she dislikes me. Which is ridiculous, since I technically haven’t even done anything wrong. She’ll see that there isn’t anything to worry about eventually.

Then the woman speaks again. “Garavel. I’d like you to investigate as to whom exactly started this fire. And you too, Firon, you arrived just as the fire started, so you’re not the culprit.” He nods.

Almah’s eyes pass over me, lingering for a moment before flicking back to the cleric. “And take him with you. Don’t want him sowing seeds of suspicion in the other members of this caravan.”

Anger flares up inside of me. “B-but... I didn’t set the wagon on fire! ...I wasn’t even here when it started!”

Garavel coughs and says, “Well, young man, I never saw you until after the blaze was put out. You could have easily slipped into the camp, lit the wagon, then hid until now.”

I give an exasperated sigh, and rack my mind of who could have done the crime. My gaze drifts over Almah, then Garavel, Firon, the wagon where Zastoran was in… and…

There he is. That scraggly looking man behind the tree, looking at us with such scornful eyes. “Um, Almah, I think he might have done it...” I point my finger at the figure, my voice wavering with trepidation. The man quickly straightens up, clearly not aware that anyone could notice him, and his face swiftly transforms into one of fear.

Garavel smirks, and Almah only laughs. “Him? Dashki? He’s our gnoll expert, and despite his appearances… I doubt he’d try something like this.”

Firon however, looks thoughtful. It looks like he doesn’t quite believe Almah. I can’t help feeling happy that there’s someone present that doesn’t blindly follow the apparent leader of the caravan’s opinion.

I rack my mind, trying to remember information about gnolls. All I can come up with are images of hyena-headed creatures with sharp teeth and blood running down their muzzles. Wouldn’t someone who calls themselves an expert on those savage beasts be capable of such a wicked act?

As if on cue, Dashki runs up to the group of us, a look of frantic worry on his face. “I did not set the fire, I was not even near it when it began to burn!”

Then it’s Garavel’s turn to speak. “So then, where were you when the fire started?”

“I- uh- I was finishing up my dinner by the campsite, when I saw the wagon go up. I ran over to the water barrel and helped put it out. I swear it!” Dashki’s eyes are panicked, and I find myself feeling a little sorry for the man.

Almah shakes her head. “I see. This man here says you may have done it. What do you say to that?” Immediately I regret pointing my finger in his direction, in order to save myself from a most likely brutal fate.

Dashki shakes his head violently in refusal, his long black hair whipping around in the air. “No! I had nothing to do with the fire! How do we even know the fire was set on purpose? That idiot burned a hundred candles in his wagon. Perhaps he just got unlucky. We’re in gnoll country, so it was probably pugwampis.”

Firon took a step forward, livid anger lining his features. “He was no idiot, and you better have more respect for those who have departed from this world, Dashki. Or else.” I’m surprised by his sudden anger. Perhaps he had been a friend of this Eloais.

The gnoll expert glared at the navy-robed man, and his fury was almost palpable. “Or else what, stargazer? Will you send a swarm of butterflies after me?” Understanding dawns on me. The robed man must be a cleric of Desna, the goddess of luck, stars, and travel. Her sacred symbol is a silver butterfly, and to use it in offense is particularly insulting.

First shock, then pure rage transforms Firon’s striking features. “I’ll personally make sure that you-“

Before I know what’s happening, I find myself standing between the pair, arms outstretched. I don’t like the fighting. And it’s most definitely not what we need to be focusing on at the moment. “Stop it. Please. You said something about pugwampis Dashki... what are those?” Hopefully, with a change of subject, this particular fire will die out before it causes any damage.

Dashki’s expression is grateful, and he plunges into a detailed description. “Terrible critters who crawled up from below the earth long ago. ‘Jackal rats’ some folks call them, on account of their pointed little heads. They worship gnolls as gods and infest their communities like rats. Wherever pugwampis go, bad luck is sure to follow. The gnolls hate the pugwampis because of this, and try to kill them all the time. But they always come back. Perhaps their bad luck caused the fortune-man’s candles to start a fire? Yes. Pugwampis. I’m certain it was because of pugwampis.”

Almah looks intrigued. “A pugwampi? Never heard of it before.” Garavel shakes his head as well, appearing to be a bit interested. “Neither have I. But Dashki is our gnoll expert, and if he says they are real, then…”

Firon interjects his opinion into the conversation. “Or he could be making all of this up in order to lead us off his trail.” It seems that the sting of Dashki’s previous insult hasn’t worn off quite yet.

I quickly realize that time is running out. If it was indeed one of these pugwampis, then it must be running away this very moment. “I don’t think... it’s Dashki’s trail that we need to be worrying about. Do the pugwampi leave footprints behind?”

The gnoll expert nods in affirmation. Excellent, just what I needed to hear.

“I’m pretty good at tracking. I can go out and find the little monster for you... if it's alright, Almah.”

Firon looks at me, his face unreadable. “Or you might not find it and everything just gets a lot more confusing.” Gods, this man dislikes the thought of following Dashki’s plan. Perhaps he thinks that he could come up with a better one.

Almah throws her hands up into the air and shouts loudly, “Just go! Bring me back proof of this pugwampi beast and I’ll forget about this little incident. But if you come back empty handed…” The woman trails off, her eyes cold. I receive the message loud and clear. Find a pugwampi, otherwise Dashki and I are in trouble. Big trouble.

With an almost regal twist of her figure, Almah turns away and stalks off to an elaborately cowled wagon, draped in pink silks. Garavel follows, even as the woman enters the cart and into her private quarters. I raise an eyebrow at Firon, but he shakes his head. “No, it’s not what you think. Garavel is only her loyal servant. There is nothing romantic about their relationship. Believe me, I’ve been traveling with this group for quite some time, and there isn’t anything going on worth taking note of.”

I feel a bit ashamed at thinking the worst. But it was a rational assumption of course. Right? No matter, I need to concentrate on the task at hand now.

The gnoll expert begins to slink away, but I catch him before he gets too far. “Dashki... You know about these pugwampi creatures better than anyone. I’d... I'd like it if you came with me and Firon.” The man looks a bit surprised, perhaps at being spoken to in such a kind fashion. I’m starting to get the sense that not everyone is particularly pleasant to the scraggly man.

“I… I will show you what the tracks look like. And where they might be hiding. But I won’t get near those tiny demons. I’ve seen enough of those for a lifetime.” The knoll expert’s face is serious. I wonder if the story about these creatures’ unluckiness is truly real.

“Right. These ‘unlucky tiny demons.’ I’m shaking in my boots.” I have a second to see Firon's frustrated expression before he turns around and stomps off.

Dashki looks depressed, and I definitely feel bad for him. “Just... ignore what he’s saying. I believe you Dashki. So what he thinks doesn’t matter.”

The gnoll expert’s face brightens, and then lessens once again. “Yes. But he must not underestimate the pugwampis, they are more troublesome than you know.”

My head shakes in agreement; I tend not to like to underestimate problems anyways. With a nervous laugh I replicate what Firon had said previously about me. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on him.”

Dashki only gives me a blank stare, and retreats back to his wagon, disappearing from view. An exasperated sigh escapes my lungs; looks like things weren’t running as smoothly in the caravan as they had first appeared to be.