Let Kid Go #9

“What’s your name?” you ask.
He hesitates.
You smile to ease his fear. That, and you elbow Dorbane to stops snarling at the poor kid.
Finally he peeps up. “Filip,” he says timidly, “Filip Wellman, from Whitewater.”
“Well, Filip Wellman from Whitewater,” you sigh, “I think…you’re telling the truth.”
“You do?” he instantly looks relieved and grateful—especially when Dorbane begrudgingly lowers his axe.
“I do.”
You look between your companions, “And I also think you were close to joining those hostages. My gut tells me this Gunther and Keelan weren’t going to let this secret walk away with you—even if you did what they asked.”
The look of shock on Filip’s face is near comical. He shudders, wide-eyed and gapes up at each of you in disbelief. Not the brightest candle, you think, but innocent enough.
You wink at Valda, who cuts his binds and helps Filip up.
“Throw that tabard into the fire, Filip…and run,” she tells him. “You can’t be a part of this anymore. I don’t know how far your farm is from here, but don’t stop until you get home.”
He looks at each of you, then over at the hostages. “What about them? About Keelan? They’ll come after me, and…”
“No, they won’t,” grumbles Dorbane, “We intend to take care of the rats. Now get on home.”
Without pausing, Filip smiles and sprints into the night. “Yes sir!” he calls back, “T-thank you!”
The crunch of the leaves fades into the night.
Valda stares at the bodies. “Now what?” Kneeling by the young woman, the Gypsy examines her face. Then she opens the girls mouth. Leaning close, she sniffs and recoils. “Ack,” blinking her eyes, “Ascroff Root. That smells worse than Grimberries!”
“Explain for those of use who don’t know herbs, you tree hugger,” Dorbane smirks.
“It’s used to control pain. I little can cure a headache, even help with setting a bone, but too much can knock you out. Made into tea or put in boiling water to inhale the vapors—it’s potent stuff. I don’t know when or how it was administered or even how much. It’s impossible to tell. They could be out for hours…even days.”
You scratch your head, “We don’t have a wagon and we can’t carry them all.”
“Leave them?” asks Dorbane.
“That wouldn’t be wise,” you answer, “Keelan might come back, or worse, predators of the four-legged kind.”

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