Chickens of the web

Previously: Mira and her companions have stumbled on a shipwreck in the middle of a forest and discovered that it once belonged to the infamous pirate Harfigorn the Merciless and his pet ship witch Athelane. They are intent on finding the final resting place of the old marauder but first, they want a little breakfast...

Broo Fang Tane wore a pleased expression that I certainly did not share.

"We won't have to tra...vel on empty...stomachs," he said, embracing a wriggling hairy mass--or masses.

"Perhaps you won't," I responded. My gut clenched at the site of the fuzzy things straining in his embrace. Spiders. Big ones, too, with long, jointed limbs that pressed against Tane's chest in an attempt to dislodge them from his grasp. Curved teeth snapped together as they strained toward his flesh.

"There are plenty more where these...came from," he said.* He tossed them on the ground near Seymuhr's feet. One of them was dazed and didn't move right away. The other quickly righted itself and reared back on four of its legs. Two front digits curled and the thing tensed, ready to pounce. It was the size of a large cat or small dog, the limbs nearly as thick as Tane's slender arms. Seymuhr grasped one of them, pulled it toward him, and clouted it between its many eyes. Meanwhile, Tane had kicked the other and set about spearing it lengthwise with a sharp stick. Gray fluid oozed around the branch as the spider squealed in its death agony.

"I'll stoke up the fire," Seymurh said, licking his lips and rubbing his palms together rapidly.

"I think two will be sufficient," I said. I leaned against a tree, trying to keep my stomach from betraying me. "I'm not overly hungry."

"I don't believe you," Seymuhr said. "You look like you've never missed a meal in your life."

"There is always a first time then, eh?" I shot back.

Soon, the fire was crackling with the juices that seeped from the shrinking spider carcasses that Tane rotated above it. Seymuhr was enjoying my discomfort. He leaned in and broke off a spider leg--evoking a fresh hiss of steam and another foul odor--and bit into the end. The skin crackled hideously and the gray juice leaked down the corner of his mouth.

"Not quite ready," he said with a grin. "Too bad we don't have any salt..."

"Or anything different to eat," I mumbled. Then, I turned to Tane: "Are you sure you couldn't find a rabbit or a squirrel or anything?"

He merely shook his head and shrugged with his palms facing up.

"Well, we might as well have a look at this while we wait," Merrick said. He sat on a stump and opened the tome we had found in Harfigorn's chambers. "We shouldn't tarry here over long. The smell of roasting meat is liable to bring some curious predators this way."

"I wouldn't worry about that," I said, then sat down beside him...

Next: Into the hills

*Indeed, there was no need to worry about that. Spiders were so prevalent in Teg that those with the stomach for them never had reason to fear going hungry. They were, in the many places in our land where poverty was the norm, referred to as 'chickens of the web.'

The wet god's bastard

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions (the brutish Seymuhr, the quiet and slow speaking Broo Fang Tane and the intellectual Merrick) have stumbled upon a decaying shipwreck in the heart of a forest far from any major source of water. After investigating the shattered hull, they believe they have discovered the identity of its captain: Harfigorn the Merciless, a pirate who terrorized the seas in a near-forgotten age….

 

“The name means something to you?” Merrick asked.

“Aye, it does.” I was surprised it did not strike any chords with him. Harfigorn was no simple fisherman or petty plunderer. He was a savage who, at the height of his reign over the low seas, commanded a bounty that would have bought a kingdom. “You are unfamiliar with his tale?”

Merrick’s silence answered that question for me. Seymuhr was still poking around in the debris so I spoke loud enough for both to hear. My heart was tingling with excitement. Harfigorn’s misfortune might well lead to my own good fortune: Queen Phedera would pay any falcuhn his or her weight in gold to learn the final chapter in that vicious bastard’s tale. There was the possibility of other treasure involved, too, for the pirate had been a successful and wealthy one.

“It is not surprising,” I said to ease his discomfort. “He lived at a time before even your own grandfather was born and his exploits—though vast and legendary—were hardly the type that would come to the attention of your…agency.” Merrick was a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation, charged with stamping out threats and evils brought about by the otherworldly forces that continually sought to reclaim control of the world.

“His real name was Harvey and little is known of his origins. Some said he was a northman who tired of the plow and soil and sought adventure and riches. Others said he hailed from a land beyond even the Middle Seas. A few thought he was a demon, loosed—or birthed—by the Wet God Sluth to wreak vengeance on the little men who dared tickle his waters.

“He and his crew terrorized the Low Seas for decades, killing all who crossed their path and stealing everything they could. Navies sought him and kings and duke alike hired mercenary after mercenary to track him down and bring them his head. None were successful; I always thought those who were recruited to find him found more in common with Harfigorn than their benefactors and merely stayed on with his ship. There was also rumors, of course, that he was protected by black magic. There might have been truth to that. Accounts from those who encountered him are few, but those that exist agree that he held among his companions a witch of sorts, a vile thing named Athelane whose beauty and knowledge of the dark arts were enough to make even the most powerful of the Maedrum tremble.”

“Harvey?” Seymuhr interrupted. He was sucking on the old coins he had discovered, apparently trying to determine what they were made of.

“Indeed.”

“Is there no guess as to what became of him?” Merrick wanted to know.

“Not until now,” I said. “It was always thought that he had grown tired of the waves and simply gone off somewhere to enjoy his wealth—or he returned to the lands on the far side of the Middle Sea. It was not uncommon then, nor is it now, for a pirate to simply turn over his vessel, or sink it on his own.”

Merrick looked at the gathered parchment in my hands and nodded, a hand stroking his beard. “Athelane,” he mused. “A witch? Not a member of the Maedrum?”

I shrugged. “A ship witch, at the least.”

“Do you think this log was written by this Harfigorn, himself?”

I shook my head. “It is possible, I guess, but unlikely. I would think he employed a mate, or a bard of some type to record his thoughts. Perhaps even this Athelane performed that task. She must have been educated.”

“This deserves more study,” Merrick said. “Come, let us leave this dank chamber and look through this document in the full light of day. I would feel the sun on my shoulders if I have to read about these dark deeds. But, if this contains even a hint of his final destination…”

I nodded in agreement. “…we should take up the trail and follow it to its end, or as near to it as we can.”

Next: In the footsteps of the marauder

The last port of the forgotten pirate

Previously: Freelance Historian Esmeralda and her companions have stumbled upon a shipwreck in the middle of a forest--far from any large body of water. While investigating it, Seymurh--called Skullsquasher by some--acted as a human battering ram to access the captain's long-sealed chambers...

"Like I said: crude but effective," said Merrick when he joined me in the chamber.

"Indeed." My voice was muffled by my sleeve. The chamber was rank with the smell of decay and our entrance had stirred up the dust of untold years. It felt like I had sand in my nose and throat. It was black as pitch--no light penetrated anywhere--and my eyes could not adjust to the inky darkness. Merrick's soft voice was to my right and immediately behind me and I heard Seymurh's rasp somewhere across what I assumed to be a relatively small chamber. "I think it would be safe to light a torch. Do you have one?"

"I can see well enough," Seymurh answered.

"Not exactly," Merrick said. "Although I can be of some assistance." He mumbled a few words that sent a queer shiver across my back, like someone had tickled it with a feather. I heard a soft pop and a low hiss and gradually, the room came into focus, lit by a dim, steady globe that rolled around on the top of his staff.

I nearly gaped at him. Was he a member of the Maedrum? He hadn't mentioned it yet--not that we had had a whole lot of time to share our stories. Evidently, he thought sharing the fact that he served on the Ministry of Human Preservation to be a safer secret to share than his knowledge of the Wild Arts. Interesting.

"Well, that helps." I let the other questions go unasked, for now. I was familiar with the existence of the Maedrum but had never met any that counted themselves among that group (although several claimed falsely to be). Magic was not as prevalent now as it had once been, but there were still some who practiced it and uncounted powerful trinkets left behind by their sect. I was in possession of one, a Traveling Stone, but was loathe to use it because I did not know how long its energy would last. I didn't want to find an inert piece of red rock around my neck when I needed it most. Merrick's staff could have been something of the like; the energy could have been contained in it and not his mind. Still, it was worth investigating later.

Now, I turned my attention to the chamber, such as it was. The violence that had wrested the ship from its native environment and deposited it in this forest left its mark inside it, as well. Nothing stood recognizable as any type of furniture--wood was scatter about splintered and formless. There were a full dull metal cups and rotting debris left indistinguishable by age. Tubes of thick wax lay against one wall where remnants of some type of work station still existed. A desk, perhaps. It was near that that Seymurh stood, probing the bones of man. Nearby was a fractured wooden heap that might have once been a chest of some sort. The dead captain's personal effects? Certainly possible.

"Pretty," Seymurh said, pulling a jewel-encrusted saber from the human wreckage. The blade looked sharp still, although flecked with the passage of time. Seymurh held the jeweled hilt close to his eyes and poked at the red and green stones with a thick finger. "But not very heavy. An artisan's blade, but practical enough if he knew how to fight with it."

Merrick was going through the scrolls that had somehow survived, holding his wavering light up to the mildewed parchment and mouthing what word he recognized. I turned my attention to the trunk, for that's what that heap of wood turned out to be. It's solid construction allowed it to survive the bizarre journey better than anything else we had seen so far, although the brass hinges were torn and bent. I pulled away the soft wood and disturbed a colony of wriggling insects longer than my finger, nearly as thick as a branch and with more legs than I cared to count. A small hill of brownish coins caught the flickering light and I bent to pick up a medallion that was square in shape with an empty round indentation at its center. Touching it made the tips of my fingers pulse with a not entirely unpleasant sensation.

"Here's a name," Merrick said. "I think." He bent in closer, rubbing his eyes. "Hangore? Hanford? No, that's not quite it. Harfigorn. It looks like Harfigorn. Does that mean anything to you?"

The medallion was immediately forgotten. I ignored Seymurh, who was busy sifting through the coins. "Harfigorn? Are you sure?" I crossed the chamber and peered at the parchment. The ink was faded in spots and distorted by moisture in others but I had to agree with Merrick's translation.

"Bones of Barnok," I breathed. Suddenly, the chamber did not seem so stifling. It seemed cold and damp, indeed, and I felt a sense of dread grow in my belly. "Have we found the final resting place of Harfigorn, the Merciless?"

Up next: Yes. Yes they have.

Beyond the deeper shadow

Previously: Mira and her companions have found an ancient shipwreck in the middle of a forest and are looking for clues about its crew, destination and cargo...


Once again, I stepped into the gloom. This time, my heart buzzed not in fear and fatigue, but in anticipation of untold wonders, a mystery to be unraveled and, I hoped, a pouch full of coins. I was already crafting the history of this vessel in my head, trying to call up images of the bizarre events that brought it to this forsaken place.

Now that we knew it was a ship, it was a wonder that we had mistaken it for anything else. What we had taken for a roof was actually the deck, splintered in places but with a single rectangle near its center. What I had assumed was a hanging piece of broken beam was, in fact, the door. A deepening shadow above it was mostly likely the hold, or perhaps a narrow passageway that led to the crew's quarters.

Merrick had made the same observation and probed the ceiling/deck cautiously with the tip of his sword. I cringed at first, for if the wood was indeed rotten and anything remained in the hold, it would not take much pressure to cause it to come crashing down on us. What a sad, sorry end that would be--to escape a pair of rampaging giants only to fall victim to some lost pirate's effects. But the wood sounded solid and, indeed, it held up.

If that was the deck and hold, it stood to reason that the back wall was not a wall at all, but the exterior of the captain's quarters. There should be some other kind of door, there, and perhaps a short ladder that led to an observation platform that had somehow been jammed so savagely against the earth it must have shattered or split the ground. The wall was buckled and a few quick taps proved that it was hollow. How quickly my assumptions melted away!

Merrick was beside me now, sweat gleaming on his skin and a wild look in his eyes. He ran his hands over the uneven surface, cursing and sucking on a finger when it pulled up a splinter. I pushed against the wood and although it was bent and buckled it was solid enough. There was no opening large enough to squeeze through and only a few cracks to press an eye to. It was too dark to see anything inside, so I guess that chamber had not been exposed to sunlight in the long years since it was tossed to this final resting place.

"Move aside." Seymuhr's rough voice was in my ear, his rank breath in my nostrils. I waved both away.

"Mind your manners, you smelly brute," I snapped.

He ignored me. Seymurh wiggled his fingers into one of the crevices, then squeezed in his other hand so that one was on top of the other in that narrow opening. He lowered himself slightly, set his knees and pulled with a single grunt. The wood snapped and came free, revealing a whole the size of a large melon. He put a hand on either side and broke more wood off, as easily as if he were stripping dry bark from a dead tree, got a shoulder through and then pushed his way into the darkness.

"Like a battering ram," Merrick said, an admiring smile on his face.

"But not as smart," I added, then called: "Be careful, you oaf! We don't know how stable that is."

We waited, but heard no alarming sound of rending wood or straining beam. The ship, smashed as it was, seemed stable enough. I looked at Merrick and he at me. We nodded simultaneously and, one after the other, stepped inside the chamber.

NEXT: The last port of Harfigore the Merciless

An errant course

Previously: Esmiralda, a freelance historian, has recently been recruited to the Ministry of Human Preservation. She and her new companions have stumbled upon a new mystery...

A ship decaying in the middle of the forest with no bodies nearby and no recognizable insignia to point toward its port of origin. I considered this.

"If they had met some misfortune, there would still be signs nearby," I said. "Bones, weapons, something of the like. I think we can assume that whoever helmed this craft survived this bizarre landing and wandered off—or perhaps they had some destination in mind and fell short."

"They could have been abducted by the giants," Merrick guessed, referencing our recent encounter.

"I don't think so. This ship has been here for some years. We can assume that that evil plot did not have that much history."

"Course," Seymuhr grunted. "Because you would have known of it."

I glared at him, but nodded. I feared he would pounce on every occasion to attack my knowledge of the land and its history—knowledge forged by walking throughout the countries for decades and reading about their histories for just as long.

"Is there a task that you might find more productive than goading me into a shouting match?" I asked him. "If so, you don't need my permission to start it."

He chuckled, probing the space between his teeth with his tongue. "I'm going to find something to eat."

"Perfect."

Merrick had approached me. He hiked his trousers up around his thick middle and watched Seymuhr's broad form disappear into the forest. "Don't worry. He can take care of himself."

"Oh. I'm not worried."

"If this craft indeed belongs to the Free Sailors, might you know any tales of ships they lost?"

Free Sailors. An interesting word choice. It meant Merrick was mostly like from Gole, a southern land that had coined the phrase because their duke, Surval Gruddun, had flat out denied that there was a problem with pirates raiding the shores of his land. He was an idiot, of course, like many rulers, and preferred to keep his treasuries filled with trinkets rather than empty it on a navy.

"The word is 'pirates'," I reminded him, "and yes we agree on that. There are many tales of pirates lost at sea—tis the nature of the life they choose—but few of them are recorded. Pirates aren't known for their written histories. Those that I have seen are difficult to read."

"Why is...that?" Broo Fang Tane had been listening to the conversation.

"Too many 'Arrrrs'," I answered, smiling at my own joke.

Merrick didn't even smile. "Perhaps. It would be unlikely to find one that referenced this vessel in particular, anyway. It is doubtful that any of its crew—or prisoners, I would add—would return to a Temple of Knowledge to record the voyage. Still, would the captain not keep a log for his own reference? Or, perhaps some other document, like a..."

"...a map," I finished with him. It was entirely possible. We all, in some form or another, wanted to be remembered. Pirate captains were as prideful as they were merciless and historians—or bards, or whatever label you put on someone who liked to tell stories—were always in need of coin. A map would not only provide detail to some of the voyages, but could also lead the way to a lair, where the spoils of their victories could be hidden. I was suddenly certain of it. "Indeed, it is likely. Let's take a closer look."
 

A boneless graveyard

Previously: After defeating a scheme to sell humans into slavery, Mira and her companions take shelter from a violent storm and discover that their refuge is a most unusual structure: a ship, turned upside-down and stuck in the middle of the forest, miles from any large water source...

Merrick and I walked around the ship again. I scratched my head, while he had his fingers buried in his beard. There was indeed no indication of how the ship had arrived at this peculiar destination--nor any signs of its crew. I could discern no markings that would identify its port of origin, either.

"Perhaps someone....built...it here," Tane suggested in his usual uneven speech.

I glared at him. "You're suggesting someone constructed a broken ship leagues away from any sailable waters."

He shrugged. "Even the most...skilled crafts...man must practice his...art somewhere. Here, none would be nearby to...mock him."

"Mocking such an endeavor, imagine that," I said under my breath.

"Do you suspect sorcery?" Merrick asked me.

"I don't know. That would require a power that hasn't been seen since the lost age, I would say. I know of no Maederum capable of such a feat and the tales of those who would have been are a bit suspect. You?"

"I agree. Although...pah, never mind." He took a step back and further appraised the ship. "It is a sleek vessel, designed to be swift on the open sea and nimble in the narrow confines of a river, I'd say."

"The low prow would help it stay hidden," I added. "While the tall sides would offer some protection, from the sea, the elements--or enemies."

Seymuhr wandered back into view, hiking up his trousers with a crooked smile on his face. "The hull still repels water," he added.

"With no insignia or crest, this is not part of any recognized fleet," Merrick surmised. "Or at least it was not when it met this fate."

I nodded, seeing what he was getting to. His conclusion made sense.

"Pirates."

"Aye," he said, lowering his voice and putting a bit of sand into the word. "A resourceful band, too, if the location of their vessel is any indication."

"Or an...un...fortu nate one."

"Everyone's fortune runs thin at the end," Seymuhr said. "At least they didn't drown."

"That we know of," I said. "It could be that the crew was not with their ship when it landed or was brought or however it appeared here. If they were, what became of them? Where are their remains?"

The question brought a chill to my spine. For if the members of the pirate crew were indeed in their ship when it made it to its final resting spot, then it was possible that they befell some additional malice, perhaps even an evil so foul it not only took their lives, but erased all trace of their existence, leaving nothing behind. Not a single bone.

A wrong turn at the seashore

Previously: After taking shelter from a storm, Mira and her companions wake to a new day and find that the structure they spent the night in is not an abandoned home or military outpost, at all. It was a ship: wrecked in the forest, miles from any large water source and empty...


At first I could only stare and wonder if my eyes deceived me. Could it indeed be some form of home whose exterior had sagged to give it the appearance of an upside-down vessel? I thought not, for the ends of it were indeed curved, not broken. The windows were indeed rounded, like portholes. And the shattered limbs nearby were indeed straight and had once been hewn by man into masts.

"Bones of Barnok."

"Indeed." Merrick stood beside me, his arms crossed. "Have you ever seen such a thing?"

"In the middle of a forest...? No. I have not." I whirled, scratching my head. Was there indeed a lake or a river nearby? It would have to be a wide one, deep of water and strong of current to handle such a vessel. This was no plainsman's skiff, this was a sea worthy craft, capable of handling large waves, strong winds and the temperamental creatures that made widows out of so many sailors' wives. "How can this be?"

"Perhaps the cap...tain...got lost," Broo-Fang Tane suggested in his usual, lilting speech.

"Lost? You could run a horse for three days in any direction and not find an ocean or a sea," I said.

Seyhmurh shrugged his massive shoulders. "I dunno. It could happen."

"It could HAPPEN?" I knew he was not the sharpest arrow in the quiver, but the man couldn't be that dense, could he? "How, pray tell, could that happen?"

Another shrug. "If it is possible for a man on a horse to lose his way and find the sea, why is it not possible for the opposite to be true? Why can't a sailor lose his way and find the forest?"

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Usually, that's because there are a few obstacles along the way. Like a reef, perhaps. Shallow water, most likely. Barring that, a beach. In this case, several towns and two kingdoms?"

"It's still possible."

"Look, you stubborn...."

"Take ease," Tane said. His hand was calm and light on my shoulder. "Why argue the im...possibil...ity of something that is...right...before our........................eyes?"

I had to agree to that logic. Merrick and I walked around the structure, looking for clues. "Perhaps it was dragged to this place," he wondered. "On some kind of huge cart? Or rollers? Could a number of horses do such a thing?"

"Not without leaving a trail," I said. For if such an enormous thing had been hauled over land, it would have surely left some kind of destruction in its wake. but the trees all around it were of the same height. It looked for all purposes to have been dropped from the sky, like the feces of a giant bird. "And an enterprise such as that would require planning and attract attention. Surely, it would be known of and recorded somewhere. I've never heard of anything like this."

"Oh, well, then. It must not have happened," Seyhmurh said. "Odd for such a thing to appear in front of us and not let you know how it got there."

I probably deserved that, but I glared at him, anyway. As Tane had pointed out, the evidence was directly in front of our eyes, solid under our hands, unquestionably there. It only hadn't been recorded...yet. This tale would bring enough coin to have me living comfortably for a long time--perhaps it would even give me the security to turn in my historian's quills and earn a piece of land somewhere where ships would not fall out of the sky.

If, I told myself, I could determine the nature of the vessel and what had happened to its crew.

Epi-prologue

Previously: Esmiralda, a freelance historian and member of the Fulcuhn--a group commissioned by Queen Phedera to record the achievements and culture of the different people of the land--has discovered that one of her traveling companions is an agent of the crown in his own right. Merrick has confided in her, and her alone, that he is a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation, tasked with finding and weeding out evil wherever it appears...

"Esmiralda, come have a look at this!" Merrick shook me with enough force to rattle my teeth. I pushed him away, groggy, and looked up into a face nearly glowing with anticipation. My head pounded and my back ached from the rough ground. We were alone in the structure.

"What?" I asked, momentarily forgetting where we were. We had talked long into the night after his revelation and it was a bit surprising to see him not only awake, but energized.

"You must come outside." He shuffled away and disappeared through the opening.

I groaned and willed my stiff joints to follow him. They eventually agreed, but protested all the way. I found a bright new day beyond the ramshackle walls of the old cottage: a sky that was crisp and blue and unmarred by the clouds of the previous night's storm framed the majestic trees all around us. In the distance, I saw the faint purple peaks of some mountain range--I could not put my finger on which one it was. The sun was high in the sky and I had no sense of which direction I was looking in.

Merrick, Seymurh and Broo Fang Tane were standing some distance away.

"Behold!" Merrick shouted with some flourish.

"Yes, it's very nice today," I muttered, shielding my eyes from a ray of sunlight that reached unfiltered through the canopy.

"Indeed it is," he answered. "But that's not why I called you here. You know of the land near the village of Alt?"

"I do," I said, pointing at Seymuhr. "I had just mapped out the area when your brute there abducted me. As you know."

"And what of it?" He persisted. I wondered what he was getting at, but found no clue in Tane's bemused expression.

"Yes. What of it? I think perhaps you need some more rest. I suggest a later start to...to wherever we're going today..."

"You know of the forest, then, and the hills--the distant mountains, the grasslands...?"

"Indeed. It was all on my map, and depicted very accurately, and with an artists' flourish, I might add. Why?"

"What of the lake? Or the sea?"

I scowled. "There is no lake nearby. And the sea? A journey of 18 days would not bring the scent of it."

"Exactly." He gave me a single smug nod, then uncrossed his arms and pointed behind me. "Then how do you explain that?"

I turned, not knowing what to expect, and then a cold tingling sensation formed at the base of my neck and wiggled down my spine. For the structure we had sheltered in was not a square one and, indeed, had never been. We had been unable to see its shape in the dark. The full light of day showed that each end was curved with the points jammed into the ground. The sides were punctured, not with rectangular openings but round ones. What I had first taken for a fallen tree was much too straight and smooth. It was not an abandoned home, at all, nor a woodsman's retreat, hunter's cabin, fort or outpost of any kind.

It was a ship.

Next: The Lost Treasure of Thormun Zool

MOHP up, or The Wounded Man's Gold, pt 19(ish)

Previously: after a brief, brutal battle with giants, Mira and her companions flee into the forest and find an abandoned structure that provides some protection from the storm that is raging around them. As Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane drift off to sleep—exhausted by their efforts in the fight—Esmiralda finally has a chance to take stock of her situation and get a few answers...


Merrick paused, and I suspected it was more for theatrics than any nervousness or concern over the conversation. He knew what he wanted to say, he knew he wanted me to hear it and he knew he wanted me to wait for it.

I was intrigued. There was enough substance to his previous words to make me wonder what the next would be. And, of course, if it revealed him to be a raving lunatic, I'd be better served knowing that before I shut my eyes and attempted to rest.

"First, about my companions. We are all given tasks in this world, whether you believe it was by your own choice, the guidance of your parents or scholars or in response to a need or whether you believe this thing, this purpose was granted to you by a higher power--one of the gods," he said. "I believe that you are also given the tools to accomplish this task. Your life is defined by when you discover your task—your destiny, to use a poet's word—and when you identify the tools you will need.

"Tools is a horrendous word, I know. But a hunter may find the perfect bow, a warrior a strong swords. Most often, it is not such an obvious thing. My task is greater than that, so my tools must be. I could not accomplish what I have set out to do without stout companions at my side to defend me from and to help me purge the evil in this land and, I know believe, I could not accomplish it without someone to tell the tale."

"I see." I looked at the opening to the shelter. The rain had stopped and the forest looked inviting. "And what do you think is your task?"

"I don't think it; I know it. I am a member of a special group and, if I've performed my duties as well as I think I have and in the manner to which I was sworn, you are about to be the second person who knows it."

A tingle formed at the base of my spine. Merrick's posture had changed. His back straightened, his voice took on a quiet authority, abandoning the nervous whisper he used to approach me. He paused again, and this time I believed it was to ensure that Tane and Seymuhr were indeed sleeping.

"I am a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation."

"No!" I shouted before I could stop myself, then clamped a hand over my mouth. The MOHPs were barely more than a legend; none had ever proved their existence.

"Indeed," he said, with another look over his shoulder. My exclamation had not woken our comrades. "You are surprised?"

"On a number of fronts," I answered when I could trust my tongue. So many questions raced in my mind I could not decide which to ask first.

"That is good, in a way." He settled back, completely relaxed now. He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face to the end of his beard. "The secrecy in which we operate serves two purposes: it eases the minds of the good people in the land and allows those who seek to do evil—human or otherwise—to become overconfident and lazy. Easy to find and easy—or easier, at least—to stop. But make no mistake, Esmiralda, that the need for the Ministry is great, and times are dire indeed. Most people just don't know it. They go about their daily lives as best they can, not even thinking about the minor misfortunes or tribulations that come their way. They don't understand that each of those things, every tiny slight, is a rift in the benevolent power of the world. We become accustomed to the little evils so the large ones do not seem as frightening—and the goodness in the land evaporates not like a fire doused with water but like a sea shore eaten away by the tide.

"We look at the land like a garden. There are always weeds to pull. Sometimes you can snap off the stem—as we just did with the Hustyn—and make things better for a time. Our goal is to seek the roots of these pockets of evil so that we can rid the land of them once and for all."

I propped myself on my elbow. "But there is always the sea and always the shore. Always thistles among the flowers."

He grunted. "Indeed. So we must be as vigilant as we are secretive, and one who is as observant as you would make a worthy addition to our number."

"A useful tool?"

"More than that, I think. I sense more in you. Do you sense it in yourself?" His gazed pierced me through the gloom.

I didn't answer, because I once again worried that I could not trust my tongue. My heart was leaping in my chest, my mouth dry, my mind whirling with possibilities. I sensed, more than saw, the satisfied smile that spread across his broad, shaggy face.

"Then I ask you again this night: will you join me?"

There could be only one answer and we both knew what it was.

 

Refuge and answers

Previously: after a brief, brutal battle with the giant Hustyn, Mira and her companions flee into the forest and find an abandoned structure that provides some protection from the storm that is raging around them. As Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane drift off to sleep--exhausted by their efforts in the fight--Esmiralda finally has a chance to take stock of her situation and get a few answers...

Gradually, the storm subsided. The shrieking winds gave to the gentle patter of steady rain as the sound of slow, heavy breathing filled our shelter. Gradually, too, my heart slowed, my ears stopped straining and my body stopped jumping at every cracked branch that fell, waterlogged, from the canopy outside. We were safe.

Seymuhr's rumbling snores would probably keep any small pests away--and give larger, more dangerous animals pause, as well. Broo Fang Tane was as silent in his slumber as he was in movement. Propped up against the far wall, ankles tucked up on his knees and head upright, he might even have been awake but resting with his eyes closed. Only Merrick stirred.

"So what tale will you tell of this night?" He asked as he crouched beside me.

I lifted my arm from my eyes. I was exhausted, but my head too full of such thoughts to find any true rest. I propped myself on an elbow and squinted at him in the gloom.

"I am not certain. Did you know such a thing was going on?" I shuddered again, thinking of the rolling cage and the horror those who were placed into it must have felt.

"I had a hunch. Rumors, if I be most truthful. I had heard a smattering of tales but had no direct knowledge."

"I don't know if it was brave to attempt such a task or foolhardy to look into the matter with only a pair of fighting companions..."

"I have a sword too, you can see," Merrick sounded indignant as he tapped his sheathed blade to prove it. He saw my hands, raised to forestall his protests, and leaned in close with a glance over his shoulder. "No offense taken. You will quickly see--if, indeed, you continue to journey with us--that those two can handle threats that are beyond most men. Rarely have I seen such fighting ability: strength and ferocity or quiet, deadly grace. I had no such fears.

"You asked me earlier why I chose to travel with such an odd group and that is but a part of it." Here Merrick paused and dug a finger into his beard. He sat down and crossed his legs, pulling his sword off his belt and placing it in his lap. He drummed his fingers on the covered blade for a few seconds, then grunted.

"Esmiralda. I sense some goodness in you, a trustworthiness that was absent from your colleague--indeed, that is absent from most women."

My indignation must have shown on my face. "I meant no offense by that--I meant it as a compliment," he added hastily, raising his hands to shield himself from the slap that would have rattled his teeth.

"You failed with that," I snapped. "You travel with kidnappers and brutes and you question my goodness and trust?"

"Forgive my awkward tongue. My words are not always this clumsy. I meant only that you seem like someone I can confide in, someone I can share my burden with. Someone," he took my fingertips in his hands. They were strong and warm, the skin dry but not cracked. "Someone who will understand."

"Understand what?" I did not pull my hands away.

"Our purpose. My purpose, if you want to be truthful. These two are not fully aware of who I am and what I seek to do." He leaned in close and I could smell the faint sweetness of wine on his breath. When had he had time for that? Men, it seemed, would always find time for such pursuits, even as their lives were being threatened. "I want you to know it. I think it was more than just circumstance that brought us together."

"Oh, it was, at that. It was a lout with a smelly shoulder."

His smile held little humor. "Our friend Seymuhr might have been the mechanism, but he was hardly the cause. He has a calling, too, of course. He is the hammer and the anvil in one, I guess you'd say. But I, too, have been chosen--not like the good Queen Phedrea, as you have, and not to record history like you and your friend Malak, but for a purpose just as important--perhaps even more so."

He paused to gather his breath and checked over his shoulder to ensure that Tane and Seymuhr were indeed asleep. I turned back to me, his eyes aglow with some mischief. As strange as this day and night had already been, I had a sudden feeling that the oddities were not yet behind me.

A shelter from the storm

Previously: Down to her last few coins and running out of options, Esmiralda reluctantly joins a group of men on a vague mission near the City of Alt. Following a suspicious man (along with a colleague of Mira's) into the forest, they discovered an evil plot to sell humans to giants for some grim purpose. After a brief, brutal battle, Mira and her companions flee the site of the violence as a growing storm bears down on them...

The wind shrieked around us and the forest offered scant shelter from the rain that drove into our flesh with stinging force. The trees bent and pitched wildly, shaken by winds that pushed them down like blades of grass. I was nearly blind, with my elbow cocked in front of my eyes squinting to see through the gloom. I barely heard Merrick shouting behind me, although his hand on my shoulder was strong as he guided me along. He pointed, and I saw the slight figure of Broo-Fang Tane darting through the churning forest. I lowered my head and ran that way, hoping he would keep his path relatively straight.

I don't know how long we ran or in which direction, I only knew that my breath burned in my lungs and my head swam with fatigue. Finally, I had to slow and halted, bent over and wheezing with my palms on my knees. Merrick was right along side me, his face flushed with effort. He could not speak, either, but pointed a quivering finger ahead and to our left. I squinted again into the night. The rain had settled into a straight, driving downpour that felt like a river flowing down my back. The wind had eased and the forest was silent save for the patter of fat raindrops. Through the dim, waterlogged night I saw the remnants of a forgotten dwelling of some kind. It was merely a vague shape split open by the trees around it, but it looked like it would offer some form of shelter from the elements. Tane was already inside, peering out with a hand cupped over his eyes. I heard Seymuhr lumbering up behind us--it was either that or a drunken bear, from the sound of it.

I willed myself to move toward the decaying structure. Tane bowed as I ducked my head and entered. I sprawled out on my back, panting, and trying to recover my breath. I was drenched, as wet as a fish, and chilly. I pulled my hair away from my face and squeezed enough water from it to fill a small pond. No one spoke. Rain trickled inside somewhere, but the floor beneath me was relatively dry. After a moment I checked myself to see if my belongings were still intact. I felt my pouch with its few coins inside still attached to my belt. My knife was still in its sheath and, more importantly, my Traveling Stone still secured around my neck. Of all, that was my most prized possession, the one thing that could not be replaced. Relief flooded through me and I marveled at all I had been through that night.

Had it really only been a few hours since I had turned in my last assignment—a more accurate depiction of the geography surrounding the Village of Alt? And how accurate had that map been, if we had since blundered into a pair of giants? A pair of giants hinted at the presence of more because it didn't look like they were a couple out on a camping trip. I wondered, not for the first time, if there was such a thing as truth in the world.

Merrick settled beside me, his chest still heaving from our flight through the night. Broo-Fang Tane sat quietly nearby, his ankles tucked up onto their opposing knee. Eyes closed, he leaned against the back of the wooden structure and if his position caused him as much discomfort as looking at it caused me, he didn't show it. I heard steady footfalls outside and saw Seymuhr's squat shape pacing there, a mace in one hand. Still, the wind howled and the rain pelted the side of our makeshift shelter, sounding like stones being thrown against a barn. Reluctantly, I pushed myself off the damp ground and moved toward the opening. I couldn't forgive the way he had tossed me over his shoulder and carried me away from the only scrap of civilization I had seen in the past fortnight, but he had saved us after all, and there was no reason for him to stand out in the driving rain.

"Are you injured?"

He seemed startled by the question. After a quick check of his body, he shook his head. "They barely touched me."

"Maybe so. But they are fearsome creatures that can hurt or maim with little effort."

He smiled then, a mischievous, lop-sided grin that showed gaps in his teeth. "As am I."

"I know now that you are not referring to your poetry." I backed away from the rain, which showed a nearly hound-like ability to track and follow me. "Why don't you come inside? There's room enough for all under this leaky old place."

He looked out into the forest for a moment and then, apparently satisfied by what he did—or did not—see there, followed me through the hole in the wall and settled down on the far side of the structure. He leaned back and his chin drooped toward his chest.

Two words formed at the tip of my mouth, alien things considering that he had stolen me away and put my life in this danger. Still, I felt a bizarre connection to Merrick and his troupe and, for now anyway, I was safe. I said the words anyway:

"Thank you."

If he heard, he didn't reply. Then I realized he was already asleep.

 

The battle, joined

Previously: Following a band of odd adventurers into the wilderness, Esmiralda, a freelance historian down to her last few coins, stumbles upon a gut-churning discovery: humans are being sold to a pair of giants and sent to a horrible fate. Just as shocking, Mira discovers that an acquaintance—fellow Falcuhn Connell Malak—has knowledge of this evil and has willingly led her and her companions into the trap...

Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning split the sky. Above the cacophony of the coming storm, I heard Seymuhr's voice raised in his bizarre battle song. A mace in each hand, he approached the laughing giants.

The wounded man was already dead, his skull crushed by a gigantic hand. Gray slime leaked between the giant’s fingers from which his torso twitched like a dangling puppet. The monster tossed the ruined body aside and swiped a bloody fist at Seymuhr, who stopped short, dodged, then lunged at the towering form. Voice raised in song, he brought the two maces together on either side of the Hustyn's knee. I saw flesh rupture and heard a sickening crunch followed by an inhuman howl of pain. Wild eyed and enraged, the giant toppled as Seymurh leapt aside. The thing struggled momentarily, clutching at its ruined leg, before Seymuhr knocked it completely flat with two more terrible blows. He lifted his head and roared at the heavens, which began to spit rain. His maces dripped with gore.

The other giant swung wildly at the ground and growled with frustration. It took me a moment to realize Broo-Fang Tane had engaged it and had worked it into a state of frenzied fury. Where Seymuhr had been all brute strength and thunder, Tane was as lithe and graceful as a feather on the wind. He slipped out of the giant's grasp and dodged blows that would have knocked him senseless. Like a cat, he stayed beyond the Hustyn's reach—but only just beyond it.

The thing screeched again in rage and slammed its knotted club into the soft earth hard enough to lodge it there. Tane had leapt back in a somersault and landed deftly on his feet. The wind was churning the trees around us and throwing rain that smacked my skin like little stones. Seymuhr lowered his shoulder and jumped at the back of the giant's legs, buckling his knees and sending him tottering backward. It struggled to rise but he was on it in a heartbeat. He swung both maces as one and I heard the sound of bones shattering above the furious wind and rumbling sky.

"Go!" Merrick had appeared and with a wary glance over his shoulder, pointed in my direction. "Our work is done here! We must flee!"

Behind him I saw a mass of clouds darker even than the night around us. It flickered with energy and crashed with violence—some kind of freakish storm that had formed and shook the trees as if they were blades of grass. He ran toward me, and past. Seymurh was right behind him, jogging and breathing heavily. I saw Tane's sleek form ahead of us. Of Malak there was no sign.

I turned away from the dead giants and fled from the coming storm.

Whine, villains and song

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have followed The Wounded Man--with help from Mira's nemesis, a fellow Falcuhn named Connell Malak--into the forest surrounding the village of Alt to get to the roots of a mystery involving missing farmers and villagers. Aghast at the size of the legendary giants known as Hustyn, Mira sees something even more grim and disturbing: a rolling, man-sized cage...
 

My gaze lingered on the prison cart and my stomach churned like a trampled snake. The warped poles were stained nearly black and scraps of cloth and other material were stuck to them, grisly flags torn free from their long-forgotten owners. I shuddered as I imagined the people thrashing against those poles until they broke their own bodies open, desperate to free themselves of the grim fate that awaited them. I no longer wanted to bring the lost majesty of the legendary Hustyn to life; I wanted to warn everyone that vast evil existed and walked the land, and to be careful where they tread--and who they followed into the forest.

For the wounded man knew these brutes. He had a purpose here, a purpose yet to be fulfilled.

Malak had gone silent, his body rigid next to mine. I would have inched away, crept back into the forest like a fox slinking away from a guard hound, if I had been capable of movement—or if he had fled the clearing, as well. Instead I watched in growing horror as the first giant scratched its filthy head, glanced around the clearing, bent toward the man in front of him and spoke.

"You Are AloNge," it said, clearly struggling with human speech. Each word started with a harsh bark. Its voice was thick with mucus and rumbled like thunder.

"For the moment, oh Great One," the man said. "They are close."

The giant leaned in, its face inches away from the wounded man's. I could see the effort it took for him not to recoil from its fetid breath. I looked again at the rolling cage. Is that what this was, then? Was that horrible thing meant to whisk its prisoners off to some horrendous kitchen or human-stained pot? Were these things...shopping? A new wave of sickness washed over me and I nearly gagged aloud.

"Not Closh EnouGH," it rumbled. "WhaTT Trickery is thiSH?"

The man raised his trembling hands. "No trickery, your greatness, I assure you." His voice wavered with fear. "Only. These are special ones, oh strong one. They will  more than suit your needs—for now and henceforth. But the danger to me has increased and my costs have gone up. I grant you this latest group, if you have sufficient additional gold, and wash my hands of it. You'll have no need of me or..."

The words came out in a rush and then were cut short as the giant covered the man's head with a single gnarled hand. Its lip curled upward in rage and the wounded man squealed, the horrified sound muffled by the fingers digging into his flesh. Then Malak stood and stepped into the clearing.

"Stop!" He yelled. "Here! They are here! I have them!"

For a moment, the giant relaxed its grip and the wounded man slouched, limp but breathing heavily. He might have been sobbing. Then the full impact of Malak's words hit me and I was filled with fresh terror and disgust.

"Here? You..." I could not complete the sentence. Malak had a hand in this villainy? And we had followed him willingly...! He turned from my shocked expression and took a few steps forward, pulling off his hat and holding it in front of him. I didn't know what to do. My legs were frozen, my heart beating hard and fast, like a horse at full gallop.

Then another shape broke free of the trees. Short and squat, moving quickly, head lowered and a mace in either hand: Seymuhr, rushing headlong toward the giant. A strange, off-key noise split the night as well and after a bemused instant, I realized what it was.

He was singing.

 

The Rolling Cage

Previously: Mira and her new companions follow The Wounded Man into the night to discover his secret. Hunched hidden in the darkness, they watch as the forest near them shakes as something vast and powerful approaches...

I stared, transfixed at the scene developing in the clearing. The ground shook and rumbled beneath us like an unsettled stomach and the trees groaned and cracked as they swayed beyond their natural bounds. The air had gone silent, still with the oppressive weight of doom, and filled with the earthy stench of grimy bodies--a smell so pervasive I was relatively sure that Seymuhr could not be the sole source of it.

Then came the sound of hoarse breathing, like a wounded bear winded at the end of a long hunt ready to circle round and make a final stand against the hounds that pursued it. Wet with determined menace, it grew louder and louder as the trees across the clearing snapped and wiggled like wheat torn free from a field.

I bit down on Malak's hand, which was still over my mouth. "Did you just call me stupid?" I hissed. "At least I take the time to get all of my facts straight--no matter how little their apparent worth." He and I were Falcuhn, storytellers and historians dispatched by order of Queen Phedera to record the ways of the land and its people in order to preserve them in advance of the growing darkness in the world. We were both Falcuhn--named for the majestic birds that soared high over the land and, swift of wing and sharp of mind, were sometimes used as messengers among the kingdoms--but of varying skill. I took the charge seriously. Malak used the quill mainly to score coins, gain free meals and warm the sheets of easily impressed tavern wenches.

"Not a word, now," he whispered into my ear. Somehow, his breath smelled of mint. Mine tasted like a rusted sword. I trembled with fear and indignation at his rebuke, while he was as steady as a Samorgian fishing board on a glassy sea. "Be still, or we will all perish before the sun rises."

I wrenched free of his grasp and crept closer to the tree line. The wounded man fidgeted, his fingers tickling the hilt of his sword. His gaze was leveled not at the place where the approaching behemoths were likely to appear, but all around him--as if he expected danger from any and all direction. I could see nothing of my other companions, although a short wide shape about 30 yards to my right could have been Seymuhr. Or a rock.

Then the trees on the other side of the clearing bent away from each other, levered by fingers as wide as branches and the first of the Hustyn stepped forth. I inhaled sharply, at once fascinated and repelled by the sight of the thing, and pushed aside my shock and fear and forced myself to focus on it, to memorize every detail so that my depiction of it would be accurate. I could not trust my fingers to even hold a quill right then, let alone write anything that could be read afterward.

Unless it was a small specimen, their size had been greatly exaggerated. In some tales, Hustyn were as tall as mountains, wading through old growth forests and trampling trees under their heels like grass on a prairie. Others had them taller than trees. This one was might have been twice the size of a man, but only just. Leather sandals wrapped its feet and climbed up its shaggy calves, but left its taloned toes open to the air. A garment woven from stinking pelts hung from its shoulder, cinched by a wide strip of some kind of black material that strained against its round belly. Patches of hair stood out in random spots on its bare arms and shoulders. Its face, pinched and squinting in the gloom, was nearly concealed in bristling hair the color of mud. What looked like a twisted, knotted branch hung from its belt.

There was more movement behind it. Another appeared, about the same size as the first, with darker hair and a porcine nose and a flat, yellow tooth jutting up from a lip that was cracked with oozing sores. It pulled some form of wagon behind it, a plain cart that limped along on wobbling wheels, topped with thin wooden spires bound together and capped with a flat roof.

A rolling cage.

Something stirs

Previously: Mira, her concerns and distrust of their 'guide' voiced, reluctantly follows her companions into what she believes will be certain danger...

My legs, watery as they were, propelled me forward. Hustyn. Great, shaggy, man-beasts as ill-tempered as a wounded bear--and about as intelligent. Their reeking kind were not as common as they once were (probably because male and female Hustyn had no stomach for each other) and rarely seen in most civilized lands. In some, they were thought to be mere myths or villains in stories meant to scare children into doing their chores. I knew they yet lived, for I had encountered plenty of strange, dangerous creatures in the course of my travels, but I was be surprised to learn of a settlement so close to an established human town. Surprised and frightened: I had no qualms with admitting that. Hustyn were fearsome creatures, prodigious in strength and driven to acts of unprovoked, unspeakable violence.

And, from the looks of Seymuhr's posture—he moved stealthily, with a mace in each hand—we meant to provoke them.

I had time to think of an escape. We were still among the trees that bordered the town of Alt. Tall and straight with thick branches beyond the reach of any but the tallest man, the trees provided few obstacles but plenty of cover, should we have need of it. We moved with relative ease, although the occasional low-lying twig slapped painfully against my skin. A blanket of last year's leaves softened our footfalls. Soon the trees would grow wider apart and the land would slope up, giving way to the grassy hills where, apparently, our quarry...nested? Lived? What did a Hustyn settlement look like, anyway? Well, now, that would certainly provide for an interesting detail. Perhaps if I survived this mad quest, I could gather enough information to earn a few coins for my trouble. If I made it out alive.

The easiest way to make a hasty retreat was to use my Traveling Stone, a magickal trinket given to me long ago by the priests of Tooman, but I was loathe to use that device for I knew not how long it would last. Surely, the energies infused into it would run out at some point. Besides, it was a better idea to rely on one's own abilities rather than some supernatural artifact. It kept you from getting careless.

Should I abandon my new companions, then? I owed them nothing—less than that, even, for I was brought to them unwillingly. Still, the idea of leaving a man (however repugnant) to face such a horrid fate merely to save my own hide didn't sit well with me. Some type of diversion, then, would be in order. Hustyn weren't known for their intelligence—there was a reason that the phrase 'as gullible as a giant' was heard in so many marketplaces. I would have to take careful note of our surroundings when we arrived to develop an appropriate plan. Still, I felt the familiar, smooth shape that hung from a plain strand of leather looped around my neck. It was good to know that my Traveling Stone was still an option.

We moved silently through the forest for what seemed like hours. It could not have been so long, for the night was still unblemished by any gray trace of dawn and the trees above us were still live with the sounds of night creatures stirring or hissing at our sudden passage. This wounded man must have been deaf as a turtle not to hear the commotion our presence caused—that or he knew that he was not alone in the forest and didn't care. That was a chilling thought, because that meant...

I swore silently and looked around for Merrick, Broo-Fang—even Seymuhr—but didn't see any of them. Then I noticed that the forest had gone silent, at last, and I was the only person moving in the twilight. I paused, holding my breath as my heart pounded in my ears like a drummer on a marching line. Had I somehow veered from our course? Fallen behind? Or had they stopped and allowed me to stumble on into certain danger?

I knew better than to call out and my throat was too tight to try, anyway. I decided that I could manage a hoarse whisper and was about to give it voice when a cold hand grasped my chin and I was pulled roughly to the ground. I struggled, my voice muffled by the strong fingers clamped over my mouth. I kicked and felt my heel bite into a hard surface—a shin, judging from the grunt of pain that followed, and was about to start throwing elbows when I was turned quickly over and found myself staring up into the face of Connell Malak. He held a finger over his lips—which were, in fact, squeezed in an expression of pain—and nodded to see if I understood.

I stopped struggling, and he released me. I rolled away from and spat to rid myself of the taste of his flesh. It didn't quite work. "You keep your lice-ridden paws off me," I hissed.

He rubbed his shin with one hand, an irritated expression on his face and pointed beyond the trees with the other.

"Just be quiet, you stupid woman," he snarled. "And look."

The trees fell away, revealing a clearing that was shaped roughly like a gigantic egg. The grass there was well-trampled and still. A figure cautiously detached himself from the trees on the up and to our right and moved slowly into the center of the glade. He looked about wildly, jumping at sounds I suspect only he heard, and kept his hand on his sword. I could see the bandage even in the wane light of the moon. It was the wounded man from the tavern.

And beyond him, where the trees gathered together once more at the base of a gentle slope, something was stirring. Something big.

 

Silence shrouds the forest

Previously: Bracing for an attack, Mira instead is confronted by her old familiar nemesis, Connell Malak, and is surprised to find that her new companions not only know the man but are willing to follow him into the darkness. Where? She's about to find out...

I couldn't help but recall that frenzied trip up the hillside so long ago. This was nearly the same: the pounding fear, the uncertainty, the snap of thorny twigs sent hurling toward my flesh by an uncaring leader. The forest sped by in a blur. I stumbled, my foot caught in a root and nearly fell. Nobody else seemed to be having this much difficulty. Was I truly that clumsy? As clumsy as my father always told me I was?

I thought about stopping and letting whatever mad mission this was continue without me, but I faced two fears: first, I didn't want to be left alone in the forest--even this close to the city. I was not exactly helpless, but the darkness is always embraced by all manner of creatures that cannot stand the light of day. I would rather not test my short blade against them. Second, Malak was now leading this exhibition. I recalled the woefully inaccurate map and his signature, with proud loops and artistic curls at the bottom of it. No matter who these men were, they deserved a better fate than to follow one such as he.

Cursing, I rubbed another fresh welt and ducked under a different, thicker branch. My eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom and I saw three of my companions moving with stealthy haste in the same direction. Merrick's bulk was easy to pick out, as was Seymuhr's squat form. Malak would be the one directly ahead and between those two, picking his steps as carefully as could be under the circumstances.

I caught up with Merrick first.

"I don't like this," I hissed. "We should not be following this man into anything. He's not only shown a remarkable propensity for providing false information...he's signed his name to it!"

He shot me a quizzical look. I didn't care to expound. "I'll tell you later. Trust me when I say that is reputation among my circle is suspect at best. His reputation among any outside his own mind is suspect, now that I puzzle over it."

Merrick grunted, nodded and surprised me. "I know," he said. "I have my reasons. For now, you ask me to trust you. I ask you to trust me. I'll explain myself when we reach our objective."

"Our objective?" I pointed toward the fading shapes of Malak and Seymuhr. "If we follow him into the night, there's no tell where we'll end up—or if we'll be able to find our way back!" I felt under my shirt, where my traveling stone hung protected in its soft pouch. I, at least, could escape, and perhaps take two companions with me. I had never tried to summon anything so large—because I never had the need. I was usually alone.

"Of that, you need not fear," he said. "Our stout companions will protect us, and I am adept at finding my way in the wilderness—as you must be, yourself. Surely, you didn't find your way into the city by accident?"

It had been nearly an accident, but Merrick was right. I had more than a rudimentary knowledge of the area surrounding the town, because I had spent some time recently mapping it out. In fact, now that I had a better sense of my surroundings and at least a fair idea of the direction we were heading, I had a pretty good guess at where we were going--and why Merrick thought it prudent to mention the words 'stout' and 'protect' in the same sentence.

"Hold!" I hissed again. "We're moving north, toward the hills? I've heard tales of Hustyn settlements..." Hustyn. Others called them giants, but none called them friend. They barely tolerated their own kind.

"Aye," Merrick agreed. "That tale has been told, but none have verified it. I fear another, deeper evil at work, as well. That is my objective. Our objective—and if you tarry any longer, we'll be late to the slaughter!"

He pushed me away and hurried off. I hesitated, then followed. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else and were attached to yet another's feet. If I was clumsy before, I lurched like a drunken cripple now. Five of us, heading toward a settlement of giants? That was a slaughter I wanted to be late to.

 

The Wounded Man's Gold, Part 10

Previously: after joining an oddly-mixed band of adventurers, Mira settles in to get more acquainted with her new companions. She is startled--and soon dismayed--when she learns of the ambitions of Seymuhr, the brute who abducted her. He considers himself a poet, and subjects her to some really, really bad poetry. Just as she's shaking off this latest experience, the company hears strange noises in the forest. Expecting an attack, Mira finds herself alone to face down this new foe...

There was little enough time to react, but I was frozen anyway. I barely had time to curse my misfortune when the figure burst from the trees, panting and with a wild look in his eyes. He yelped when he saw me and his eyes widened in shocked recognition--as mine must have, as well.

"Malak?" I asked at the same time he shouted my name. "What are you doing here?"

Connell Malak had, in a way, introduced me to this tale, but had abruptly left when things started to get uncomfortable. I assumed that he was well on his way to some safer location--or a nearby bed with a warm, willing companion. He was about the last person I expected to see. Was there was someone or something chasing him? That seemed more likely.

He looked past me and made eye contact with Merrick. "It is time," he said. "He moves now, with speed and stealth. We will have to hurry to catch him."

Merrick nodded, grunted, and sheathed his sword. Seymuhr kicked dirt over the fire. Broo-Fang Tane dropped silently out of a nearby tree, landing like a cat. I knew he was nearby, but even so his quiet appearance startled me. He flashed me a shy smile.

"You know these men?" I asked Malak. "Are you a member of this company?"

They ignored me and I hissed in exasperation. "Who is moving? Moving where?"

"I will explain later, if there is time," Merrick said. "Right now, if we're to accomplish our objective, we must make haste."

Malak nodded and started back into the woods. "It's this way," he said over his shoulder, a hoarse, tense whisper. "He was heading north, toward the hills."

Seymuhr slipped into the forest behind him, with Broo-Fang on his heels. Merrick took one last look around the clearing, nodded and motioned for me to follow.

"Come," he said. "We have a task tonight, after all. If you would have a hand in this tale--or the telling of it--hold your questions and take flight. We are in pursuit of of an elusive quarry: the wounded man you spoke to earlier, and his gold."

He turned and followed the others into the forest, leaving me stunned, a pool of ice spreading throughout my stomach.

"Thieves? Do you mean to tell me you are nothing but thieves...?"

"Just come, Esmiralda. I promise you we are not. We are interested not in the weight of his riches, but the mystery and, I suspect, treachery behind it."

Alone in the forest or following blindly a group of men toward an uncertain goal. My own lack of coin had brought hard choices to me these past few days. I stepped out of the clearing, into the darkness, where the sounds of pursuit led me I knew not where.

The 'poet' speaks

Previously: Mira, a freelance historian and seeker of tales, thinks she has stumbled onto a mystery when she is abducted. After coming to an uneasy truce with her new companions, she begins to learn more about them. She is surprised--and very skeptical--when told that Seymuhr, the brute who tossed her over his shoulder and whisked her into the woods, considers himself a poet in training....

Seymuhr got to his feet, brushing dirt from his back side. His mouth contorted in what I assume was a smile and he made a few rough, moist noises with his throat. What an unlikely appearance for one who claimed to dabble in the softer arts. Most who attempted to move others with their words too some pride in the way they presented themselves; even those who spent more time traveling the back pathways of the land from village to hamlet had a certain quality that made them appealing to the eye, whether it was nice hair, a pretty face, strong jaw line or a pleasing shape. And, in my experience, at least, they all had nice, engaging smiles.

Not Seymuhr. He was shorter than most men—and many women, for that matter, including myself—but nearly as broad as he was tall. That he was strong there was no question, for his limbs were thick and solid, his torso like a chunk of stone waiting to be sculpted. He had no hair, save for the wisps that protruded from his misshapen ears. His cheeks were pocked, his teeth irregular and yellow. His knuckles were gnarled and prominent and dotted with fresh scabs that stood out from the blotchy patches that identified old wounds like broken beads on dirty tile. But his eyes were a deep and piercing blue, a shade darker than I had seen before, and flecked with orange. Maybe I could concentrate on those.

"My knuckles were keys
freeing several teeth from the
prison of his jaws."

He paused, eyebrows lifted like squirming caterpillars, as if asking if he should continue.

I could only gape at him. After a few moments, I looked at Merrick, who gave me a mischievous smile.

"Sneering with disdain,
I popped his eyes, crushed his skull
and split his sternum."

Of course. It would have to be Nogovian poetry. The Nogovs were a peaceful people who lived on the eastern coast, where the tumultuous winds of the Heanen Sea nurtured all manner of flowers in the spring time, eased the harsh air and scalding sun during the summer, scattered the brilliant leaves of the fall and brought sleet and ice in the winter. Their land was a virtual mosaic, no matter when you arrived and how long you stayed and their poetry usually reflected that. I say usually, because its simplicity made it the most abused form of all the arts. Nogovian poetry consisted of three lines of defined length: the first was five syllables, the second, seven. A third five-syllable line finished it.

I looked again at Merrick.

"I call them versus verses," he said with the hint of a chuckle, then called to Seymuhr: "How about something a little...softer, for the lady?"

Seymuhr nodded, tilted his head back and buried a finger into his bristling beard, apparently to scratch his chin. Then, his expression brightened.

"He would have held her
so tenderly, but then I
pulled off both his arms."

Merrick clapped his hands, whether in mock appreciation or genuine affection, I could only guess. I certainly hoped it was the former.

"He can do this all night," Merrick said.

Perhaps, but I could not. "If you ever travel to Govon," I told Seymuhr, "it would be best to keep your gift to yourself. They are protective of their art."

I grunted as I got to my feet, intent on finding some true nature to reflect on, but that was not to be. I froze, heart skipping, as I heard the sound of someone—or something—crashing through the underbrush, heading directly toward our clearing. Merrick's expression had turned serious, and a short blade scraped from his scabbard and glinted in firelight. Seymuhr had a mace in each hand. The monk was nowhere to be seen.

Life is all about timing, being in the right place at the right time—or at least not the wrong place at the wrong time. That simple fact never seemed more relevant than it did at that moment. I shared a clearing and, I think, a common objective with three men who most likely knew hot to fight, yet they were behind me and I, alone and unarmed, stood closest to this new threat.

 

Next, The Wounded Man's Gold continues...

A Hidden Skill

Previously: Asked to recount what made her decide to become a Falcuhn, or freelance historian, Esmiralda tells of a day in her early childhood, while on a ill-fated hunt with her father. After investigating a desolated village, they realize their mistake....

The forest had gone silent, save for the swishing of the leaves above us and the slow crackling of the dying fire. Broo-Fang Tane had melted into the shadows, unseen and unheard; I had barely registered his movement. Seymuhr had his back to us and was relieving himself of all the ale he had consumed earlier that night and, from the sounds of it, then some. Merrick gave me a sympathetic look that I brushed off.

"We were too late, of course," I said. "Maybe if we had...as soon as I saw the smoke, but..."

He cleared his throat. "There was no way of knowing. You could have suffered the same fate. Was she...?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. We didn't find her. We never found her, although we searched and searched. My father...well. Enough of that. What of you? How did an educated man come to be traveling with this brute?"

Seymuhr glanced over his shoulder, correctly assuming I had referred to him, and gave me a lecherous smile. The man must have a bladder the size of an ox.

Merrick chuckled. "In these times, a man who knows how to fight as well as he does isn't such a bad companion, you know."

I had to acknowledge that simple wisdom. It was a large part of why I was still in the clearing, and not clawing my way through the forest.

"But the fight is not all he knows. And, besides, I couldn't refuse an apprentice."

That surprised me. "An apprentice? Him? What could you possibly be teaching him."

Seymuhr hiked up his trousers, turned and sat on a log.

"Why, one of the Arts, of course. Seymuhr is a bit of a poet, and would build on that skill."

I gaped and looked back and forth between the two, looking for the hint of a smile. I saw none, although I thought I detected a twinkle of mischief in Merrick's eye. It could have been a tear. My guess was that someone with arms as thick as Seymuhr's could claim to be whatever or whoever he wanted. It wasn't too much to assume, then, that Merrick had little choice in the matter.

"Oh, yes," Merrick went on. "He is a poet all right."

"I admit, I find that hard to believe," I said.

Merrick shrugged. "If you are attacked and are forced to defend yourself, are you not a fighter? Thrown into the ocean, are you not a swimmer?" He paused and then tapped the side of his forehead. "If you jump from a tree, do you not—however briefly—fly? So it is with him."

He settled back, arms crossed, a satisfied look on his face. Did he think he had just imparted some life-changing wisdom? I hoped not. That would mark him as a follower of Aphor, who was known for the simplistic truths he passed along to his disciples during his time wandering the territories. The problem with Aphorists was that they were never as intuitive as the divine being they emulated. Their truths, therefore, tended to be a bit one-dimensional.

No matter what Merrick's personal beliefs were, I remained skeptical--both of Seymuhr's ability as a poet and Merrick's argument. "If I set a cow on fire, it does not make me a cook," I told him.

But Seymuhr got to his feet, dusted off his hands and cleared his throat. He leaned his head from side to side, stretched his arms and flexed his muscles.

"Would you like to hear a verse or two?" He asked, his voice raspy.

I glanced at Merrick, who was smiling now, and then back at Seymuhr, taking in his sturdy legs, thick chest and powerful arms and the maces that hung from his belt on either side of his hips. I guess I had to.