Be prepared to read this one kids.... I've been writing, but not updating my blog.
Wordcount: 8,844
The Enchanted Forest
Yet another chipmunk came flying towards Roy, it’s teeth gnashing and fur bristled. He ducked in time, but didn’t manage to dodge the rodent and it sank its razor sharp teeth deep into his hand. As he swore mightily, he thanked the gods that the little beastie had not hit its intended target. Sure, a few scars might be attractive to the ladies, but he was loathe to have his chiseled featured marred by such a nasty, ill-tempered rodent as the one currently latched on to his hand.
“And if you think that you can just go off, romancing every so-called ‘damsel in distress’ that you come across,” she interrupted her shrill tirade just long enough to point her birch wand at an acorn, this time producing a large, gray, furiously snarling squirrel, seeming hell bent on ripping in to Roy’s jugular. He shook the chipmunk loose from his hand, hoping to dodge the new menace coming for him.
“Cas!” He wasn’t quite sure what had started this tirade, but he knew it was only going to get worse. Casimir had been getting more and more unstable, the longer their affair went on. He started to fade into a nostalgic reverie about the day he’d first met his delightfully lithe wood nymph when the beady black eyes of a wrathful raccoon caught his attention. Chipmunk and squirrels were one thing, but a raccoon could really do some damage. He had to put a stop to this! Not wanting to hurt her, but desperate for a respite from the rabid woodland creatures, he drew his dirk and hurled himself at her, pinning her against the wall, the tip of his blade against her throat.
“Cas. Call them off.” The sudden quiet between them was deadly and an emotional was waged in the moment they held eye contact. He felt her heart racing beneath his forearm, and as he watched the fury drain from her eyes, he felt it slow to a normal pace. The raccoon growled near his head, and he pressed the dagger meaningfully against her flesh. A flash of light and the raccoon was transformed back into the wooden spoon it had originally been. The chipmunk gnawing on his leg returned to its original form of a soup ladle, and the acorn that had recently been a squirrel, fell to the floor and rolled under a table.
“Get out.” Her voice was icy, and he knew it was over.
“Cas, come on now, what’s brought this on.” It may be over he thought, but he had to try.
“Leave now. And never return. This forest is no longer a friend to you Roy. Return, and your life is forfeit.” He could see she was serious, and a chill went through him, knowing how deadly that threat really was. He nodded, and released his hold on her. She vanished is a shower of angry red sparks, leaving him to pack his belongings. Looking around, he nodded. It had been fun, but it really was time to move on. He was getting soft, shacked up with a female for the past 6 months! A roof always over his head, a hot meal three times a day. He hadn’t even picked up his sword in the last 3 months, and the last time he did, it was to move it from the bedpost where it had been hanging, to the closet. He began to pack, and when he was finished, he realized he’d very nearly become fully civilized. The heap of clothing and supplies he amassed on Casimir’s bed was embarrassing! He unpacked two thirds of it and repacked the last third. Removing a few more unnecessary items, he was finally happy with his bundle, and moved it outside. His horse Fernand was waiting for him, nudging the gate of his pen and dancing with excitement.
“Hey old man. Ready to go? It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” Roy stroked Fernand’s nose affectionately and went in to the shed for his saddle and gear. Luckily, it was still in good shape, though a trace on his bridle could stand to be replaced when he found a town. He shook out the saddle blanket and tossed it over the fence, running the stiff bristled brush quickly over Fernand’s body. Roy was an adventurer, distracted recently, yes, but he knew that he was only as good as the tools he had, and so he did his best to take care of his horse, his sword, his shield and armor. Taking care of those things meant he was taking care of himself. Anything else could be found, purchased, bartered for, or in the worst case scenario, stolen; though he held himself too high to be reduced to theft. He mulled over his course of action while he finished brushing Fernand. Saddling him was second nature, and in no time, he was ready to go. He had no fear of Casimir and her forest. She may have become emotionally unstable recently, but she was a spirit of her word and no harm would come to him as he made his was out of her territory. He was as sure of that as he was of the fact that he would surely die if he did pass into her lands again. Tying his bedroll and supplies on to the saddle, he looked around once more. He spotted a faint glimmer at the corner of Casimir’s house. He mounted Fernand, and turned, facing the subtle glint.
“Goodbye Casimir! I did love you, you know.” He inclined his head towards her before turning Fernand towards the path. Once on it, he resisted looking back, knowing that even Casimir’s will wasn’t strong enough to bend the enchantment on the path. Keep your eyes on it, and it will lead you straight through the forest, the fastest, safest route you’ll ever find, in or out of an enchanted wood. Glance away from the path ahead of you once, and you’ll be lost. Many have died in these forests. And many, like himself, have found a home within them. He locked his eyes on the path and slapped Fernand with the reins, urging him faster and faster still, until they were in a full gallop. He never noticed the small house at the edge of the tree line, nor the petite, fair haired maiden in the yard beside it that watched him go, a small sound of dismay escaping her rose petal lips. She turned from her work, dropping her freshly washed bed linen to the ground as she watched him go, fading further into the horizon with every passing second. When she could no longer see him, she glanced at the sheet on the ground, tears welling in her crystal blue eyes. She crouched, scooping up the muddy cloth, so caught up in her private sadness that she didn’t notice the cloud of sparks near her.
“Yes, my little harlot. He’s gone. You ruined everything, and now, I’ll ruin you!” Casimir smiled wickedly as the girl spun to face her.
“Who-?”
“You have no need of knowing who I am. I know who you are, Monica. I’ve seen you pining after my Roy. And now he’s gone, and you will be too! I’m sick of the both of you!” She pointed her wand at the girl, taking delight in making the transformation as painfully slow as possible. Eventually, Casimir was smiling down at a pile of clothes that hid a quivering lump. Slowly, Monica made her way out from the rumpled fabric. No longer recognizable as Monica, daughter of the washerwoman employed by Casimir the wood nymph; a small, pale blond rabbit looked up at the world. Catching site of Casimir, she flinched, and ran towards the low brush, watching as the crazed sprite vanished. Trapped in the body of a rabbit, she retained the mind of a young girl, and as night fell, and the full gravity of her new situation sank in, she could do nothing more than curl up in a ball and cry. Eventually she fell asleep, hoping against hope that she would wake up in her own bed once morning came.The Lonely Stretch of Highway
Ebru Klemm crouched beneath the cover of brush. He had heard that a rich prize would be heading this way before midnight, but there was a reason this particular stretch of the trade routes was called Bandit’s Highway. Perhaps the coach he was expecting was already ambushed, looted, and stripped of all value. He stood, brushing leaves and dead grass from his coat. Looking down the darkened road, he saw a glimmer of light. It could be the lamps hanging from the carriage itself, but as he stood watching it, he noticed that they didn’t sway of get any closer. He shrugged and began to walk towards it. If it had been looted, he was in no danger. He knew all the boys out and about these days. In fact, he might be lucky enough to talk his way in to a meal. His reputation as a generous thief usually proceeded him, and there really was such a thing as honor amongst thieves. He had fed, clothed, housed, and sometimes trained most, if not all of the bandits that frequented this stretch of land.
If the coach hadn’t been raided, he’d be in luck. He was armed, and most considered him dangerous. That is, if they had something he wanted. He never saw a reason for violence if there was no need. There was always a pretty girl to be bought for a few coins, a brawl to be had in a tavern if he liked, and he could steal or con his way in to anything else he might like. He’d only ever killed a man if his life was in danger, and that had only happened twice.
Approaching the overturned coach, he stopped short. It had indeed been raided, but he didn’t know who would have done it in such a horrible way. The fine, well-bred horses had been slaughtered in their harnesses. This was something that was never done to his knowledge. Horses were far too valuable to kill, and these would have fetched a small fortune, had the thief not wanted to keep them for his own. The body of the carriage had not been stripped, as was usually done. He watched as bits of silver and gold trim and fixtures tarnished in the flames. There might be something to salvage there, he would have to tend the fire and retrieve what had been carelessly left. Walking slowly around the burning woodpile, he was not shocked to find bodies. He was; however, surprised to find them heaped without care in to a pile and set ablaze. Quietly studying the awful sight, he counted two coachmen, a driver, a guard, and what looked to be two women. He took a knee and shook his head. While he’d never seen people murdered so carelessly and viscously on this road, whomever it was that sent these ladies along this dangerous route was just as guilty for their deaths as the madmen that committed the crime. He stood once more, mentally checking off the tasks that he would have to complete before he could bring himself to leave this scene.
A sudden scream cut through his thoughts and he jumped to his feet, running before he realized he was even standing. Darting around the brush and sparse trees along the side of the road, he stumbled in to a clearing, startling a group of trollish men gathered around a slight, struggling young lad. Taking stock of the situation quickly, he drew his sword and tossed his dagger to the boy. He was pleased to note that the lad was quick enough to realize this was a rescue attempt, and as he began hacking his way through the handful that had turned on him, he heard more than one pain filled grunt as the boy began to use the knife to defend himself. He had no idea how much time had passed during the battle, but eventually, he found himself gazing down at the dead bodies of the foul brutes. Turning, he studied the boy, who had managed to cut the rope between his hands, but hadn’t removed the knotted loops from his wrists. Instead, he was shakily brandishing the small weapon at his rescuer.
“No worries lad, I’ve no taste for boys. Free yourself, take a cloak from one of these beasts, and keep the dagger.” He cleaned his sword with the corner of one of the dead men’s shirts before sheathing it. Without a backward glance at the youth he’d saved, he made his way back to the road. Glancing about, he noted it was still empty, and dawn was another four hours away. He gathered some wood and used the burning coach to light his small fire.
“My father sent us away. My mother didn’t want to go, but they weren’t married, and my father’s wife had found out about my sister and me.” Ebru nodded slightly, noting the pitch of the lad’s voice. He hadn’t looked that young in the clearing, but Ebru had no experience with children, and wouldn’t know when a lad’s voice changed if his very life depended on it.
“That is your mother and sister then.” It wasn’t a question, but part of him did desire confirmation.
“Yes. When they stopped us, my mother told me to run. I didn’t want to…” the boy trailed off, obviously choking back a sob.
“We’ll stay here through the night. What’s been done to your people is terrible, but ‘tis too late to stop it now.” He paused, pulling a hard crusted loaf of bread he had brought with him from the tavern this morning. He broke it in half and tossed some across the fire to the softly crying boy before continuing. “We must keep the fires stoked, and then we’ll bury the bones of your family in the morning. There’s nothing to be done for the horses, he haven’t that much time. Once the coach has finished burning, we’ll sift the ashes for anything valuable. You may want to do the same if you want to claim anything from your mother or sister.”
“You’re a highwayman.” He had stopped crying, but his voice was huskier as a result of his tears.
“Ebru Klemm. I had planned to rob your coach, but I’ve never known anyone ‘twould do such as that. I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning, and pay for a room at the tavern. From there, your life is your own. I’d change my name, were I you. S’likely your father’s wife paid these men. I’ve heard of worse.”
“What do I do then?” Ebru studied the boy, fear and yes, a touch of excitement lighting eyes that had held tears earlier.
“Find a trade lad. You’re young; you’ve many options before you. For now, mourn your family. Tend their fire. Find a place to bury them. After that, we’ll see.” The night passed slowly for Ebru and the boy he’d rescued. Once the carriage had been reduced to charred timber and ash, he began to sift through it, picking out bits of still hot gold and silver. When he was satisfied he had gotten the last gilded stud and silver fastener; he tied his pouch securely and threw it over his shoulder.
As the sun rose in the east, he helped the boy move a large stone over the hole they’d laid his family to rest in. He had managed to convince the lad to fish his mother and sister’s jewelry from their ashes with a stick, scooping them into a small pouch, he’d tied it to the boy’s belt. Ebru took him by the shoulders firmly and steered him away from the blackened earth and rubble in the dirt road.
“To town. A hot meal and perhaps a bath are what you chiefly need, and then sleep. After that, we’ll talk.” The youth nodded and together they began walking down the wide highway, ducking on to a nearly hidden trail that led through the woods, and directly to the stable behind The Tavern.
“Whatever happens, you’re safe here lad. Keep it that way.” The only response was a quizzical look to which he gave no response. He’d figure it out eventually, of that Ebru was certain. Entering the tavern, he nodded at the barkeep and took his usual place, a booth in the back, just out of reach of the light. Within moments, two bowls of coddle were placed on the table and the steam carried with it the rich scents of bacon, spiced sausages, potatoes, and onions floating in the rich broth. For the span of twenty minutes, the only sounds in the back of the tavern were that of eating. The boy didn’t notice his bowl being refilled, but Ebru noticed the buxom tavern wench serving them. A raised eyebrow from him, a subtle nod from her, and when she glanced at the boy and back to Ebru, he shook his head. With that, she smiled and bounced away. When the last drops of coddle had been soaked up with the last chunk of hearty bread, they both sat back, contented.
“Well lad, what do I call you?” The boy paused, thinking, and Ebru was pleased to see him heading his advice to abandon his given name.
“Kofi. ‘Twas a nickname only my mother knew. No one else knows it, so it won’t be recognized, but I’ll answer to it.” Ebru nodded and slid a golden grommit across the table.
“Well Kofi, I need to sell these bits of salvage. Amuse yourself how you see fit, or buy a bath, whatever you like. When you’re ready to sleep, Vince there will point you to the room. Come morning, we’ll talk about your future. I’ll be back before too long, and I’ve only rented one room, so leave room for me on the bed.” Kofi nodded and stood up, slipping over to the bar quietly. Ebru watched, and nodded, his mind made up about the boy. A glance around and he caught sight of the wench. He jerked his head towards the back door and headed out. A moment or two later, she nearly fell over herself in her rush to follow him out. He took her hand and led her in to the barn for a superiorly satisfying, extremely exhausting, criminally cliché “roll in the hay”. Three hours later, he exited the barn and strolled to the blacksmith. Entering the back door, he was relieved to see the clueless lad that had been assisting his favorite metal worker was gone.
“Well. If it isn’t Ebru. What have you for me today my friend?” Ebru dropped the fur-lined pouch on Farooq’s worktable. “Ahh…. beautiful. Beautiful.” He inspected each piece, and Ebru stood patiently. “This from that burnt out carriage they found out on Bandit’s Highway? They say it was terrible business done there last night.”
“It was. A band of savages burnt it all. Killed the horses. Burned two women and the coachmen. One survivor. I’ve a new apprentice. I’ll bring him by tomorrow. Keen talent. Make a good night man.” Farooq the Blacksmith, former employer of Launce the Jobless, nodded, continuing his inspection of the metal.
“How does 50 sound?”
“Silver?”
“I wouldn’t insult you with gold my friend.” Ebru held his hand out and Farooq took it firmly, both men committing to the deal.
“I’ll be back for it tomorrow, when I bring Kofi.” Farooq nodded, sweeping the gold into one bucket and the silver into another.
“That the boy’s name?” Ebru nodded and left without another word.
Back at the tavern, Kofi had bathed, bought a modest pair of trousers and tunic. He was able to rescue his belt, and he would keep the cloak, though he had washed it and hung it out the window to dry. He couldn’t bear the smell of the men that had killed his mother and sister on it. He put out of his mind what they might have been planning to do to him. When all had been cleaned, he sat on the edge of the bed and opened the small pouch that held the jewelry that had belonged to his family. He knew he couldn’t keep it. Someone may recognize it, but perhaps his hero would know someone that he could sell most of it to. Perhaps he could even have his mother’s favorite ring reworked into something he could keep. Spinning the ring on his finger, he didn’t even jump when the door opened and closed.
“You were right milord.” Ebru stopped, startled by the form of address.
“I’m no lord Kofi. I’m merely Ebru.”
“Ebru then. You were right.” Ebru was quiet, waiting for the boy to continue, watching him spin the ring on his finger. “If they had been bandits, such as yourself, the lives of my mother and sister would have been of no consequence. They would not have set them ablaze and left their jewelry on their bodies.”
“I know boy. That was the reason I thought it best you forget your past and move on. Until you are grown, your life will be in danger if your father’s wife finds out you survived.” Kofi nodded, dropping the ring in to the pouch. Without another word, he curled up beneath the bedclothes. Ebru shed his weapons and boots before climbing in beside the boy. He fell into a light sleep quickly, as was his habit. Should anything disturb the room, he’d be on his feet in less time than it took to put a candle out. Kofi, meanwhile, didn’t sleep for many hours, suppressing sobs by pressing his shirt to his face. When he did finally doze off, it would have taken an act of the gods to wake him. The night passed uneventfully for Ebru and his new apprentice, while downstairs Vince pulled the tavern wench on to his lap and tickled her under her chin. As long as he heard his wife’s snores, he knew his fun would be uninterrupted.The Incredibly Flat Plains of Nothing
Bronislaw Darby, famous navigator, mapmaker, and contortionist was lost. He knew it. His compass knew it. And what’s more, even his three legged, one-eyed dog Sam knew it. They had been wandering through the Incredibly Flat Plains of Nothing for weeks now, and the only thing keeping them alive was the plentiful, though hidden, springs and the abundant, though invisible, wildlife that frequented them. It had taken a while, but Bronislaw had figured out the trick to catching the invisible creatures of the Incredibly Flat Plains. Sam meanwhile was getting difficult. This was because Sam, being a dog, and a very clever one at that, was not affected by the enchantment bewitching his master, and Sam knew that they were not traveling through a vast and bountiful flatland, but making laps after lap after lap around a single pond. Thankfully, the invisible frogs bred quickly, and he flopped down to watch the tadpoles flit about while his clueless human yet again stumbled around the tiny spring.
“Sam! There you are! Thank the gods I found you! You must quit wandering off like that boy. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” Bronislaw sat down beside his mutt and scratched his head. Then he reached over and scratched Sam’s. “I just don’t know boy, I don’t know how I’m going to get us out of this one. I guess they were right, the Incredibly Flat Plains of Nothing are too dangerous for anyone to explore.” Sam sighed. He was sure that the Incredibly Flat Plains were indeed a death trap, but they hadn’t even managed to reach them before his master had stopped at this pond and fallen under it’s spell. They sat together, Bronislaw wondering how he would weave this in to an exciting tale when really all he’d been doing was wandering around, not really in danger, just incredibly lost, and Sam wondering how much longer he’d have to put up with this fool before he just left him to his own devices and wandered over to the town that was just over the hill. Soon, Bronislaw got up and began making preparations to catch an invisible frog or two for dinner. Sam eyed him, unable to abandon the helpless idiot, but refusing to eat another rubbery meal of enchanted amphibian. His single eye followed his master’s actions with a scrutiny rarely seen in animals, but Sam was a very clever dog.
“S’alright Sammy boy! I’ll catch us dinner tonight, we won’t go hungry!” Sam sighed a deep, mournful, canine sigh. Suddenly, seized with ambition, he jumped up and ran towards Bronislaw. Barking and jumping in a frantic manner, he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he knew he had to do something.
“What is it? What is it boy? What are you doing?!” Bronislaw was startled. His dog had been a faithful companion, guide, watchdog, alarm clock, jester, pack mule, and friend for the past five years. Five years ago, he had found the reddish-gold mutt; half dead along a lonely highway, and in all this time, Sam had never acted so crazy. Jumping and dancing on his hind legs, barking madly, he not only startled his master, he startled himself It was as if he had been seized by a sudden enchantment and could do nothing to stop himself from this ridiculous act. He stopped just as suddenly as he had begun, and stood in front of Bronislaw, his lone eye wide and slightly frightened. Bronislaw, meanwhile, began to relax. Perhaps his poor dog had begun to lose his mind. He’d heard of this happening, though more often to humans. He had not, in fact, ever heard of a single case of Incredibly Flat Plains of Nothing Madness, or IFPNM Disorder for short, effecting an animal. Maybe because his dog Sam was so incredibly clever, it had managed to creep in to his mind. He would have to attempt a diagnosis later, it seemed to have passed for the moment, and night would fall in an hour or so. He had to catch dinner and build a campfire before he lost the day’s light. He looked at his dog for a moment longer, as if to make sure the madness had truly passed, and then he turned back to the pond and his preparations for catching dinner. His mind wandered for a moment and he wondered what exactly it was that he managed to catch and eat on a near daily basis at these ponds. He wished he had some salt, or even some seasonings that he recognized around to make his unknown meat tastier. Still, he couldn’t help but think that it tasted a bit like chicken.
Sam watched his master carefully. He briefly wondered if he was going insane. As Bronislaw slowly stood up, Sam charged, throwing his sturdy body against his master’s relatively unstable legs. A surprised shout from Bronislaw Darby, accompanied by wildly wind milling arms as he lost his balance, and then silence. His body hit the semi-soft, sandy ground, but his head hit the edge of a buried rock. Darkness, not of night, but of painful, throbbing unconsciousness, fell upon the lost explorer. He groaned softly, and the closest thing to guilt that a dog could ever feel crept over Sam. Now what was he to do? A sudden loss of control, and he may have killed his human. He stood, stepping close the prone human. A tentative lick to his face elicited no response and Sam whined before curling up into a depressed little ball near Bronislaw’s head. He looked hopefully at the deathly still man, but to no avail. Eventually, he put his head on his paws and tried to sleep.
Within the mapmaker’s head, darkness shifted and ebbed, eventually lifting a bit, showing the man foggy images from his past. He saw his childhood days in the traveling circus. Hours spent stretching his young muscles and joints. He watched, as if floating far above, as his young self bent and twisted into painful looking contortions, to the applause and shocked gasps of the watching audience. He laughed to himself, his floating self, at the horrified ladies and excited children. Had they but known it was training that allowed him to fit his slender body into bizarre configurations, they would have demanded their grommits back. As it stood, he made quite a bit of jingle for his master at every town they stopped in.
A foggy pounding behind his eyes and he rushed forward a few years. He’d grown tired of the rigors of circus life, and decided to run away. He spent his first few months sleeping in alleys and stealing food from houses. Occasionally, he found work, and saved every penny he earned. Eventually, he had enough to buy a book of maps. His travels had given him a travel bug, and he began earning money more regularly by copying the maps from the book and selling them to travelers. His skill improved, and he began to notice key things missing from his copied maps, so he set out to correct them. Time passed in another painful throb, and he was older. A man, confident in his skill and fearless in his wanderings. He was walking down the stretch of road called Bandit’s Highway when he heard a pitiful whimper. Stopping short, he looking around, trying to audio locate the cry. It was easy enough, and he was heartbroken at the creature he found. A young dog, barely a year old, if that, bleeding profusely, and horribly battered. He stopped for the night, and stayed another day and a half until he thought he could move the animal. He was never sure what happened to the beast, but he named him Sam, and stayed in a nearby town until the dog had healed sufficiently to travel. He lost his eye, and his front, right leg, but that had never slowed him down. Sam became a beloved companion, following him through placid valleys and war torn ranges.
Slowly, slowly, his head began to throb more painfully and the fog began to lift. When his eyes first fluttered open, he was confused. It was dark, and his head hurt worse than any cheap wine hangover. He felt a pressure on his chest, moving slowly towards his head. Too disoriented to move or struggle, he blinked at the site of a small turtle suddenly, well, as suddenly as a turtle can appear, sitting on his chest. The moonlight cast a milky blue glow on its shell, and its eyes were both swirling, glowing orbs that slowly faded from green to gold to red to blue, and back to green. Bronislaw blinked, and time seemed to slow down dramatically. The strange little turtle stretched its neck forward, and bit him sharply on the nose. His eyes watered and time wobbled before him. A splitting headache and nosebleed later, he found himself lying next to an algae covered pond. Around it’s murky water, the bones of hundreds of frogs lay bleaching in the sun, and evidence of three weeks worth of nightly fires were scattered. The cruel farce was suddenly clear to him, and he shook his head, trying to rid the last of its cobwebs. Glancing around, he saw his dog curled tightly into a ball near where his head had been. A soft plunk caught his attention, and he glanced over at the pond again. It was probably the remnants of the knock to his head, but he thought he saw a small turtle dip beneath the surface. He watched the water for what seemed an hour, possibly more, but nary a bubble breached its still surface.
“Sam?” He reached over, stroking his dog. Sam jerked his head up, surprised at the touch on his back. Bronislaw half expected the dog to jump to his feet and lick his face, but no such luck. With typical aloofness, Sam stood slowly and stretched. He sensed their endless looping of the swampy water was finally at an end and he trotted off towards the town he knew was over the hill. Bronislaw smiled, and gathered his belongings quickly, jogging to catch up with his dog. He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. One day, he’d explore those plains, and he had a feeling there was more to them than the “nothing” that their name promised.The Chance Meeting
Snorri jogged to keep up with Launce’s long strides. These tall walking men never took in to account Snorri’s height disadvantage when it came to something practical, like slowing down a pace or two when walking through town. They always seemed to think he was helpless as a newborn lamb when it came to something he was usually more skilled at than any man, such as fighting, or finding a new trail, or avoiding traps.
“Hold boy, wait for me. Just because I can kick yer arse at damn near anything you please, it don’t mean that I can keep up with yer freakishly long legs.” Snorri had just about had enough of Launce. After all, the dwarf had used his own coin to pay the clueless, thoughtless lad’s bar tab, and they were currently on their way to pay his long overdue rent. Launce slowed down to a ridiculous pace, frustrating Snorri even more.
“Where exactly is it we’re going boy?” Launce, the suddenly lost and slightly confused, stopped dead and spun around in place. Finally, he seemed to have found what he was looking for and pointed at a two story, wooden structure the color of burnt coffee. He started walking at a snail pace once more and Snorri quickly passed him. He heard the boy call out, but paid him no mind. There was more to do this day than follow the whims of a stupid, clueless boy; barely able to grow a beard, much less lead an expedition the likes of which Snorri was planning. He swung the door to the boarding house wide, and strutted in, the miniature peacock in a world populated by seagulls. Launce came stumbling in behind him, feeling his two beers just a bit more after having run to catch up with his new friend.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite boarder. Here to pay up, are we?” Mistress Peggie smiled wickedly and slapped her hand with a short riding quirt she held in the other. Launce flinched, having been on the receiving end of that toy more than once.
“Indeed we are Madame.” Snorri stepped forward, ignoring his ridiculously jingling costume. Peggie glanced down at the dwarf and laughed derisively.
“My goodness. Well Launce, is this your pet? Or perhaps this is your father? ‘Twould go a long way towards explaining a few…” She trailed off and gestured towards Launce’s pride and joy with her little, leather riding whip. “…things.” Launce blushed hotly, mortified that she would say something so personally insulting in front of Snorri.
“Oh no my dear lady,” Snorri was in his element here, and could trade innuendo, both sexual and otherwise, with the best of them. “If this overgrown twit was one of mine, you’d be paying him for the privilege.” At this bold and slightly crass statement, both Launce and Mistress Peggie Bergh gasped. Snorri sauntered forth, adjusting himself rudely and tossed a grommit over his shoulder. They landed with a tinkle at Launce’s feet and went unnoticed until Mistress Peggie was able to regain a slight hold on her composure.
“That isn’t nearly enough to pay what he owes me.”
“Oh, that’s not your rent lady. That’s to keep the boy busy buying me suitable traveling clothes while you and I remain here and discuss the terms of the payment.” Snorri leered up at the raven-haired, honey skinned beauty and thought he could make out a slight blush. He turned around, smiling at Launce.
“That’s your cue to leave boy, and don’t come back until you have clothes and a mule for me.” Launce gulped and nodded, bending down to pick up the coins, and with only a slight backward glance at the door slamming shut behind him, he ran off to find what he was ordered to.
Back inside the house, Snorrivin Snorrison, nephew of Brwonvin the Elder, advanced on Mistress Peggie Bergh. Had Launce remained, or even listened at the door, he surely would have been mentally scarred for life by witnessing the things that then went on. As it stood, he had a moment or two of cleverness, usually related to self-preservation, and had run off on his errand quickly, leaving naught but the household animals to overhear the sounds echoing clearly in to the kitchen garden.
Shortly after nightfall, a short four hours later, Launce returned to find Snorri bathing in the washtub outside. A tentative peek inside the back door revealed a deathly still Mistress Peggie collapsed over the table and covered with an old tablecloth. Approaching Snorri with a slow building sense of dread, he set his bundles down gently.
“Is…is…” Launce the frightened stuttered over his words.
“Out with it boy!” Snorri continued to splash and scrub in the wash water.
“Did you kill her?” A hushed and terrified awe filled his voice, and he couldn’t take his eyes from the body on the table.
“Did I? What? Where would you get that notion boy?” Snorri glanced over his shoulder and then chuckled. “Oh, that. Well, she isn’t dead, but she won’t wake for awhile yet. And when she does, she’ll be sore in places she only thought she knew about.” He studied Launce and continued. “And I’ll be surprised if she’s up and about in the next few days. It’s best to leave her lie son. She’ll get up when she’s able.” Launce nodded slowly and sat down, shocked at the circumstances he found his usually intimidating landlady. He paid no mind to the dwarf’s clumsy exit from the half-barrel that served as Mistress Peggie’s usual laundry tub. Time ceased to exist as he wondered what had actually gone on, whether Snorri was telling the truth, and what was going to happen after his slight statured companion had dressed and retrieved his mule. His answer to the last question was partially answered after Snorri had opened the last of the parcels to discover a pair of boots that fit him perfectly.
“Ye gods lad, how did you manage to find the right size in everything I required?” Snorrivin Snorrison was rarely surprised, and he’d found himself in just such a situation twice in the same day. First, when he caught sight of the boy’s land lady, and now, upon lacing up the best fitting boots he had ever worn.
“It’s a talent. I inherited it from my mother. She was a seamstress they say.” A note of sadness crept into his voice and Snorri studied him carefully. A not uncomfortable silence fell over them, and after the moment had passed, the dwarf took charge again.
“Well, I guess we should be off. Anything you need in there boy?” Launce the apparently homeless looked down at his companion.
“No. No, I don’t think I do.” He squared his shoulders and shook his head. Snorri nodded, and led them from the back garden. He steered them straight back to the tavern. When they had left earlier, it was quiet, near empty even. Now that the sun had set, it seemed a veritable crowd had formed at the bar. That is, if three men, a boy, a dog, and the local blacksmith were in fact considered a crowd. Snorri looked pleased.
“Well, it looks as if fate has smiled upon us all gentlemen!” His booming voice echoed off the dark walls in a way that made everyone jump in their seats. Everyone, that is, except Vince, who was polishing glasses at the end of the bar.
I've got 4-5k more to post..... I'm just finishing up today's wordcount, and then I'll post.
