Hammer headed cane, sturdy, handy assistance device, it can 'hook' bags off the floor, and dislodge high items from shelves. It also strongly resembles a Medieval War Hammer. -- KnitNan
[TIL: If you search for 'cane' you get a whole bunch of doggos. Cute, but not what I was looking for]
Reeve Hallad Stoneblood had a limp from an old injury. In cold weather, especially, he had need of a walking stick. This made bandits assume that he may be easy pickings on his travels between homesteads.
We should all know what happens to people who assume.
This group of baby bandits did not. Not one of them had reached their second decade, yet. Some of them may be lucky to do so. There were six of them, wearing old sacks in lieu of proper masks. Carrying what they thought were impressive weapons.
Reeve Stoneblood was not impressed. "I see you, Corine Mossbeam. You go use that flail on your mam's farm instead of these shenanigans. I see you Mara Unavon, get back to your da's mill. I see you Ulfbjorn. You could get yourself a prenticeship in a finger-snap. Why're the lot of you children playing at bandits?"
Ramsay Clearfall, the one with his uncle's bow, tried and failed to make his voice deep and menacing. "Stand and deliver, old man. The money or your life."
"You'd make much more out of farming, lad." Stoneblood turned and held off Newdel and his breadknife at the end of his cane. "And you need to wake up pretty damn early to sneak up on me, young Newdel. Get around with the others. Quick, now."
"Or what?" challenged Mara. "You're an old cripple and we outnumber you. Ramsay can shoot you dead before you can twitch."
"Aye, but will he?" Newdel wasn't moving fast enough for him, so Stoneblood dragged the kid around with the hammer of his stick. "You've bagged many a hare or a wild goose with that bow, lad, but are you willing to kill a person? One you've known your whole life?"
The tip of the arrow wavered, now. Ramsay swallowed. "We're sick of being bled dry so the lord can wear gold shoes."
"The lord is buying cobblestones for your roads," sighed Stoneblood. "That healer who visited your old Nan? Saw her through one more winter and cost your house nothing? The lord of the land paid for that. The water-weaver who clarified the town well and only asked for a bed and a meal? They're kept in food and clothes by the lord. The cattle and chattels I take in lieu of coin go to them who need it most. Like those without families. Newdel. Ulfbjorn."
"I'm sick of this," snapped Newdel. "We should keep what's ours," and tried a slash with the knife.
Stoneblood blocked it with his cane, twisting it so that Newdel lost their grip on the blade.
Ramsey shot, but the wavering aim went wide. And that was the signal for the other kids to try and lay into Stoneblood with everything they had. Which, considering they were teenagers with farm implements, was not a lot.
They knew how to apply those instruments well, this was true, but they had never applied them against anyone before and it showed. Especially since Stoneblood got to be old and experienced by outlasting anyone who was trying to kill him.
Corine certainly knew how to use the flail. She had kept her feet and wits about her when most of the others were already trounced and moaning on the ground. "Give it up, old man. I have metal. You have wood."
"Not entirely wood." Stoneblood changed his grip on the hammer-headed stick and drew a shining blade. The former sheath became something of a shield in his other hand. "The lord of the land also gives his tax collectors a means to defend themselves. Drop that, please, and yield. I've no desire to draw blood today."
Corine's confidence dropped like the flail. "I expect you're going to hang us all, now. Attempted robbery."
"I'd rather not. You know you've been beaten." Stoneblood sheathed his blade and realigned his things. "You lot go back to your homes and no more fantasies about becoming robbing hoods, eh?"
The Reeve walked onwards, seeing to that which needed to be done. No matter how unpopular it was.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / vvoennyy]
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