The trek continues

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place—and the treasure that he is most likely buried with...


Our trek continued. I fell into an easy silence, lulled from the dangers that awaited us by the lilting tune that Broo Fang plated on a wooden flute. I was impressed with his dexterity; I had little of the grace one expects in my sex and tripped continually over exposed roots or the gnarled vines that spread across the forest floor like twisted ropes. Broo Fang avoided all obstacles and kept a steady, if mournful, tone with his music. He never stopped smiling.


Ahead, Seymuhr smashed his was through the growth like a soldier determined to break down a siege wall. He constantly jerked his head to shake off the flying pests that surrounded him. His maces, one in each hand, struck tree from root as he cleared a somewhat northern path for us to follow. Merrick walked behind me, quiet and contemplative.


We headed toward the mountains in search of a lost pirate, his evil sorceress and, I hoped, vast wealth. I enjoyed my role in the land of Korin as a falcuhn, a historian of sorts who traveled in search of the stories and customs that would have been otherwise lost to the annuls of time. It was a noble occupation, a worthy cause, yet it often failed to fill my pouch with coin and I grew weary of wondering where my next meal would come from. And I had given up hope that I would be rescued from that fate by some knight or prosperous merchant--or even a farmer in need of a womanly touch. I was too old, too heavy, and too difficult to get along with for extended periods of time. A forgotten treasure trove was my best option, at the moment.


Sad.


As the day wore on, I grew hungry, but not hungry enough to call for a rest or to ask for one of the dried spider legs that Seymuhr had been munching on since we left the site of Harfigorn's shipwreck earlier in the day. He still had a fistful of the things stuck into his belt and if their stubbly, arm-length size was not enough of a deterrent, the proximity to his smelly hide was. Rarely in my life had I encountered an entity--human or otherwise--that filled the air around it with such unpleasantness. He was like a skunk, regaling in his own stench.


Then he halted, abruptly and let out a growl that might have been a profane curse.


"What must I do to rid myself of these pests?" He waved his arms wildly, disturbing another cloud of the humming things. "I've no more blood to give them!"


"You could try bathing," I suggested, before I could stop myself. "They might not be so attracted to you if they didn't think you were a rolling pile of fresh dung dropped by a sick cow in a field of rotting fish."


He paused and glared at me, his lip curling into a snarl. I stopped, fear prickling my belly. Seymuhr was a warrior of some repute, a man (I guessed) of great strength, with a twitchy disposition. Had I gone too far? It would not be the first time my tongue, unfettered by reason, had brought trouble to my feet.


Then he started to chuckle and I relaxed somewhat until another insect, this one large enough to cast a walnut-sized shadow, buzzed close to his ear. He shouted again then waved his maces in incoherent fury, bit only succeeded in felling two saplings and knocking himself cold.


"Well. I guess we....will....rest....here," Broo Fang said, flute poised at his lips. He was a monk and an optimist, who spoke slowly and with an unusual rhythm.


"Indeed." I was grateful. I looked around for a stump to rest on. "I, for one, am not wiling to try to carry him. I would never get the smell out of these clothes."