“Saint Jorl’s Night?”
“Saint Jorl was a bishop of Erst who saved the town from destruction at the hands of a dragon hundreds of years ago. Jorl used his holy powers to fight the beast off and put out the fires before they consumed the entire town. He died while accomplishing this, and the Church of Light made him a saint. Since then, Saint Jorl’s Night has been celebrated every year in Erst. Everyone stays up past midnight and lights bonfires to commemorate Jorl’s heroic deed.”
“And I’m guessing that this celebration involves a bunch of drinking, eh? Erst is famous for its wine, after all.”
“The celebrations do involve a fair bit of, um, debauchery… and it’s likely that it’ll go on until the early hours.”
“Shit,” I grunted. “So, now, there are likely to be even more guards and soldiers around.”
“Not just them,” said Elyse grimly, “but also clerics from neighboring bishoprics. Probably local noblemen and their own sets of bodyguards too. People come from miles around to celebrate Saint Jorl’s Night in Erst.”
“All the more souls to win for Isu,” Rami said as she tossed the coin I’d given her into the air. She seemed to really be getting into the spirit of things, and I couldn’t help but smile.
Elyse frowned. “Maybe we should pull off the road and set up camp in the woods for the night, wait out the day tomorrow, and then, try to get into Erst tomorrow night, when everyone’s dealing with their hangover.”
What Elyse was saying made sense in terms of being cautious. On the other hand, we might be able to use this Saint Jorl’s Night to our advantage.
“You said pretty much everyone is going to be drinking tonight, right?” I asked.
Elyse nodded. “Everyone except the Resplendent Crusaders. They do not partake of alcohol, or any other delights of the flesh.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “That doesn’t surprise me. They sound like they’ve got quarterstaffs stuck so far up their asses that they’ve got permanent sore throats.” I paused for Grast to finish chuckling. “I think we have a good chance of getting in without setting any alarm bells off. They’ll probably be welcoming Grast in rather than suspecting him of anything; he’ll be the man of the hour, the wine provider.”
Elyse bit her lower lip as she considered what I was saying. “If anyone does discover what’s in the wagon, though, well—saying we’d be outnumbered would be the understatement of the century.”
“But tomorrow night, everyone’s going to be cranky and ill-tempered from their hangovers, even if there will be far fewer guards and soldiers around. What do you think, Rami?”
“I think it’s always best to strike when the enemy is least alert, even if there are more of them at that moment. I would rather fight three stumbling drunks than one sober soldier.”
“I agree,” I said. “Our best chance is to ride this wagon all the way to the cathedral.”
“I’d also say it’s worth trying tonight.” Grast decided to chime in while he wagged his finger in the air. “When I’m on the piss, I don’t give a shit about anything but filling my belly with more grog… and finding a comely wench to warm my bed. Now, where the hell’s my Yorish brandy?”
“All right,” Elyse sighed. She didn’t have a choice, really, and if she was going to get her bishopric back, she needed our help. This was still better for her than carrying out her idea of a perfect plan alone.
“Don’t worry, Elyse,” I said. “The guards want what Grast provides in their bellies as fast as possible. Though they don’t know that what they’ll be getting in their bellies will be cold, sharp steel instead.”
We rumbled on toward Erst, ready to enter the firelit town, surrounded on all sides by thousands of enemies. It was going to be a hell of a night.
Chapter Eleven
As we drew nearer to the outskirts of Erst, groups of drunken revelers stumbled along the sides of the road. Elyse was looking at them with no small amount of surprise as we rolled past them.
“Something wrong?” I asked. “You said there’d be a bunch of drunkards around, but now, you’re looking surprised to see them.”
“It’s not the fact that they’re drunk. It’s who they are. They’re outsiders.”
“How can you tell?”
“Their clothes, for one thing. That kind of material isn’t made from Erst, and few could afford to import it. I suspect Nabu has something to do with their presence here.”
“I think I might have an idea why they came all the way over to Erst,” said Rami, pointing ahead. “Look at those three.”
She was pointing at three figures ahead of us. Two were stumbling, and one, walking slightly behind them, seemed perfectly sober. However, as they got closer, I noticed that the sober one was being led by the two drunks via a collar around his neck—and he, a young peasant, was in chains.
“Slaves,” hissed Elyse. “They’re bringing slaves into Erst.”
“They seem to be taking them out of Erst rather than in,” I remarked.
“You know what I mean!”
“I know, I know… something fucked up’s going on around here.”
“Perhaps they bought this slave in Erst tonight,” said Rami.
“That blasphemous, cruel, disgusting pile of shit,” Elyse snarled. “I’ll tear his guts out with my bare hands. Selling slaves is bad enough, but to do such a thing on Saint Jorl’s Night is beyond reprehensible.”
“How you described it, Saint Jorl’s Night didn’t sound like much of a sacred occasion to me,” I said.
“Many spend the night drinking around a bonfire, true, but many others do celebrate it as a religious holy day too. They put up effigies of the Lord of Light and gather for prayers of thanks at the stroke of midnight. The faithful’s prayers usually go on for hours. And yes, they do keep drinking throughout the service, but their hearts are in the right place.”
“And these are the people wagging their fingers at us, sinners.” I chuckled and softly shook my head. “Anyway, look;
