Bring out the MoHPs

Thanks for reading! This blog shouldn't be taken too seriously. I don't always put a lot of thought into the entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes (b) work on dialogue, and scene (c) build up the world of Korin, where my fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. 

That said, here's where we are:
Reunited with their companion, Broo Fang Tane, the freelance historian Esmiralda and Seymuhr, the odd brawler known as Skullsquasher, resume their journey to the palace in Veral Ski, where they would report to Queen Phedora on the death o their companion, Merrick, a leader in the mysterious Ministry of Human Preservation....

A tavern. I hesitated, unsure if I should risk the knock or the trip inside. Taverns presented a habitual problem for Broo Fang Tane. The man was on a journey to find peace, but there were still many, many steps ahead of him. 

He sensed my concern. "It will be...well," he said. 

"Well? When was the last time you were in a tavern and it went 'well.' Not since I've known you."

"There is always a...first...time," he said, and pushed through the door.

"Spoken like a true optimist," I muttered and followed him.

The room inside had already gone silent. All eyes were on Tane as he moved across the floor, heading toward an empty table near the far corner. He kept his head down. 

"We're not looking for any trouble," I said. There weren't too many people in the tavern, which I counted as a good thing. I glanced around, still wondering why we had been shown to this place, rather than the audience with the queen I had been expecting. There was nothing regal--or even much that was clean--about it. 

"What are you looking for, then?" A woman behind the counter called it out. She was short, thin, with gray hair pulled into a single tail that hung over her left ear. She wore a stained, vaguely colored shirt over patched stockings. 

"Uhhh..." I was not sure how to answer. 'The queen' seemed like a ridiculous thing to say. Clearly, for some reason, we had been misdirected. I did not think it sensible to brandish the symbol for the Ministry of Human Preservation, either. If there was some code word to utter, I did not know it. 

"How fresh is your spider?" Seymuhr asked, shouldering me aside.

"The spider is always fresh," she answered with, I thought, a touch of pride. 

"Good! Hurry it up, then. A man could starve waiting for a good bowl of spiderfat soup." 

The woman lingered, gazing pointedly at Tane. "Not a word out of you. I know your type and we've got more pressing things on our minds than, than..."her voice rose and she continued in a mocking tone: 'good tidings'."

Tane nodded, a glum gesture, tucked his hands into his sleeves and sat on the bench with his back facing the room. Seymuhr followed him. 

"Worry not," I told her. "We are just here for some food, apparently." Some of the other patrons returned their attention to their bowls, but a few others looked our way, whispered amongst themselves, and snickered. I motioned for Seymurh to lean in. "I don't think I thought this through."

He shrugged. "Perhaps not. But I like this place."

"I think we should leave. This can't be where we're supposed to meet the queen."

"Oooooh, meeting up with the queen, are ya?" The tavern wench said, much too loudly, as she plopped down three bowls of grayish liquid in front of us. "Well, why didn't ye say so? I'll just go and fetch her majesty right away!" She leaned in, cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered in a tone that was half conspiratorial, half understanding. "She's just finishing up some dishes."

"Queen?" I announced with a nervous chuckle. "Why would you say that? Meet the queen. Us? Why would three humble travelers expect to meet with the queen? Why...why we wouldn't presume to speak to so much as a land baron...What I said was 'I hope the meat is clean'."

She blanched at this and the room went deadly silent. "Well now. I serve the finest spider flanks this side of the wall, missie, and I'll cut anyone who says otherwise. Now I can fetch the queen, like I said, but if you're going to go around insulting my food, then we are going to have a quarrel."

I held up my hands. "I meant no disrespect to you or this, um, fine place, madam, I just..."

"So now you call me a madam? Is that it? I defend my business and you suggest I peddle in flesh?" Her voice was rising and more of her customers were looking at us. Some shifted in their seats, as if they were ready to leap at us. 

"No. No. Of course not. Not that there's anything wrong with that, if you do..."

She suddenly lifted her head and cackled, then walked away.

"Pay her no mind," a man had appeared behind me. "She doesn't own the place. Nor does she work here. She just wandered in one day, said her name was Jasper and she had spent most of her life as a goat."

"Explains the laugh," Seymuhr said. 

"But nothing else," I added. "What are you talking about? A goat? She does not work here? Where did she get those bowls of soup?"

"I don't know," the man answered. He was tall, with a belly that hung over his belt and black hair that resembled an overturned plate of noodles. "A better question, for you, at least--and I would think carefully before I answered it--is this: What have you done with my brother? Where is Merrick?"

Through the gate

Thanks for reading! 
This blog shouldn't be taken to seriously. I don't always put a lot of thought into the entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes (b) work on dialogue, and scene (c) build up the world of Korin, where my fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. 

That said, here's where we are:
Reunited with their companion, Broo Fang Tane, the freelance historian Esmiralda and Seymuhr, the odd brawler known as Skullsquasher, resume their journey to the palace in Veral Ski, where they would report to Queen Phedora on the death o their companion, Merrick, a leader in the mysterious Ministry of Human Preservation....

The bauble worked, although it took some convincing to get Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane to come with me. Seymuhr earned the most suspicious looks from the guards at the Noble Gate. They walked around him, slowly, sizing him up and down as if he were a cow they wished to purchase for meat or milk. Both guards were taller than Seymuhr--as was I and, in fact, most adults--but the well-used maces hanging from his hips drew a few questions. In the end, they tied them in place with some stout twine.

Tane, the poor man, was the subject of open scorn and a stern warning. "If you speak one word of cheer, I'll make mittens out of your tongue," the taller of the two guards snarled at him.

"I only have...one," the monk replied. "My...tongue woul...d not make a com...plete pair."

"That's the spirit," the guard answered. 

"Maybe a pirate could use a tongue-mitten," Seymuhr suggested. "Most of them only have one hand, anyway."

"Perhaps," the glum monk agreed.

We fell in step behind two more guards, who had answered a summoning bell as soon as I displayed the symbol of the Ministry of Human Preservation. I was left to wonder about the power of it; even I, a freelance historian well-versed in the ways of Korin and many of its cultures, was not familiar with the secretive group, yet the mere showing of it at the gate was enough to gain us passage. Was it only known to a select few who manned this post? Was it widely acknowledged in Veral Ski? Or had the queen been expecting to hear from Merrick who, until recently, had been an agent of the MOHP?

There was also this puzzle, which I had just entered my mind. Queen Phedora was, technically, my employer. It was her charge to preserve the history of the land that created the mission of the falcuhns to begin with. Falcuhns were people, gifted with observational skills and who could read and write, who were tasked with going out into the world of Korin and documenting what they saw. Why had Phedora not discussed this MOHP with me? Did she not think I was worthy?

I would find out soon. The Shieldsmen took an abrupt turn ahead of us, guiding us off of the main street that led to the primary castle gate. We found ourselves in shadow, following a tight alleyway between two buildings, past piles of stinking garbage. They stopped in front of a door set back into the wall so far that it might not have attracted notice had we not been guided to it.

"What is this? Aren't we to be guided to the queen?"

He gave a stiff nod, then backed down the alley way. 

I looked back to the door. I could hear, barely, the sounds of muted music from the other side, and conversation. I was about to raise my hand to knock on the door when I realized what it was.

"Bones of Barnok," I said, glancing down at Broo Fang Tane, who in no way mixed well with others. "It's a tavern."

Better luck next time

Reunited with their companion, Broo Fang Tane, the freelance historian Esmiralda and Seymuhr, the odd brawler known as Skullsquasher, resume their journey to the palace in Veral Ski, where they would report to Queen Phedora on the death o their companion, Merrick, a leader in the mysterious Ministry of Human Preservation....

Outside, the smell of the market lingered in the air and the muted sounds of merchants drifted up the winding roadway. The street in front of me was more silent, with travelers of all types moving up and down the street, shouldering burdens or pretending to look around so that they could catch their breath after climbing the steep grade. Every now and then a child would run by, leaning down the hill and trying to keep his or her balance as they raced down the slope, giggling. One, a girl with a blond pony tail, lost control of her momentum and squealed as her feet tangled and she flipped into the air to land jarringly on the cobbled roadway. She tumbled a short distance and lay, groaning.

"Better luck next time!" Someone called from the shade of an awning, and a few other witnesses chuckled at the girl's misfortune.

Seymuhr was one of those. He stood outside a tavern on the other side of the thoroughfare and wiped the ale he had just spit from his mouth as he barked out a laugh. He pointed and then slapped the man next to him on the back, accidentally knocking him to the ground, as well.

I hissed as I crossed to him. "What's the matter with you?"

He looked confused and glanced over his body. "Nothing," he replied, his voice grating like two broken plates. "Why do you ask?"

I pointed to where the girl still lay moaning. She was trying to push herself up onto her knees without much success. She shook her head, wiped her lip and then pressed her forehead against the stone again. "You find someone else's misfortunes funny?"

He shrugged. "When they look like that, I do." He took another sip of his ale. Meanwhile, the man he had slapped was standing again and looking very displeased.

"You better watch yourself, friend," he growled. He stood a head taller than Seymuhr, as many people did.

"Hold this," Seymuhr said, thrusting his mug toward me. I tried  not to let me excitement show. This was just the opportunity I was looking for. I fumbled for the flask I had recently purchased and turned away, mumbling to him to not do anything that would get us into any trouble.

"No trouble at all," he said.

The other man smiled. "Should I get you something to stand on?" He cracked his fists as he taunted Seymuhr, then lashed out with his right hand. It landed solidly on the side of Semuhr's head, but he barely moved. Instead he buried his left fist into the taller man's abdomen and then knocked him still with a single crashing blow from his right. He snatched his mug from me and took a great gulp.

I managed to hide the flask again, but just barely.

Seymuhr grained the glass, then looked into it and smacked his lips together. "Tastes a little funny," he mused.

I put an innocent expression on my face and blinked rapidly. "Is that so? It smelled fine. Come, let us leave this place while there are only two bodies in the street."

I led the way with Seymuhr behind me. Tane, with a bemused look on his face, followed.

"...you're in the middle of the ride..."

In the Great city of Veral Ski, Esmiralda and Seymuhr are looking for their companion, Broo Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk with a short temper and a talent for violence. After a brief violent encounter, they move deeper into the city...

We found Broo Fang Tane sitting cross-legged under tree on the outskirts of the market square. He had a pile of small, black nuts balanced on one knee and a half-eaten apple in the opposite hand. He took a bit from the apple and then popped a few nuts into his mouth to chew them simultaneously. He looked up at us and beamed.

"By Azzalia's Grace, I'm glad we found you in time," I said.

"Why? Did you want...some?" He held out the apple and pointed to the nuts.

"No. No thank you. I just meant we found you before you got into any trouble."

Tane gave me a quizzical look, and Seymuhr leaned in. "Before you got angry and killed a dozen or so people," he said. "Crowded city and all, one wrong move or wayward sneeze and Azrok alone knows what you would do."

"I don't under...stand," Tane said, but his face grew a little more grave.

I told him about our morning and the encounter with the crazed man Seymuhr knocked down. He pressed his lips together and rested his back against the small tree. Around us, the crowd swirled and the breeze brought us the smell of exotic spices, fresh flowers and human waste.

"I...see," Tane said in his typical lilting tone when I had finished. "And you....thought...that was me?"

I shifted my weight uncomfortably and looked to Seymuhr for help explaining it. His blank but cheerful expression told me he'd rather watch me fumble through the conversation. In fact he leaned back slightly, arms crossed, and wiggled his eyebrows.

"It wasn't my first thought," I lied. "And I was only concerned about your well-being," I lied again. "I meant no offense, only concern. I know you are not yet, er, at the end of your peace journey."

Tane was silent a long time. "No. I am not," he said at last, rising smoothly to his feet. The remaining nuts fell off his knee. He handed the apple, which still had some meat on it, to a passing child. The child took it, frowned, then threw it back at him, leaving a glistening spot on his cheek. Seymuhr laughed and slapped his thigh. "There are many ob...stacle...s."

I tried to change the subject. I kicked the apple out of site with the side of my foot and clapped Tane on his back. "Not to worry, my friend. There are obstacles on any journey. Don't fret too much; you're just in the middle of the ride, is all."

He gave me a brief, tight-lipped smile and nodded. "My journey is not yet...ended." He took a breath and I could see him shrug off the gloom that had just eclipsed his thoughts. "Nor has...yours. Was find...ing me your only er...rand to...day?"

"It was the first, but not the most pressing," I said and looked toward the heart of the city where the palace rose above the grimy streets. "I still seek an audience with the queen."

I headed that way.

Sticks and cobblestones

In the Great city of Veral Ski, Esmiralda and Seymuhr are looking for their companion, Broo Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk with a short temper and a talent for violence. They hear a shout of rage and a yelp of pain and assume they're on the right path...

"Come on!" I hurried in that direction, heart pumping in my chest. This was not some rural backwater or small village--this was Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in Korin, complete with its own Shield Corps and a jail. We had to stop Broo Fang Tane before too many people were killed or our visit would be an extended one in a damp hell forever removed from the sun.

I shuffled through the mass of fleeing people as quickly as I could as the sounds of the fight grew louder. Already someone was moaning in agony. I also heard sobs, gasps, and frantic shouts. I pushed through a final line and turned a corner and took in the chaos.

 Two men were still, laying at odd angles in a pool of spreading blood. Nearby, another held a left arm that sagged from his shoulder in his right hand; his eyes were squeezed tight and tears leaked down his cheeks. Two others circled a tall, lithe figure who pivoted to keep them both within his line of sight. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was not Broo Fang Tane.

He had a mop of red hair and a beard stuck out like a fan, making his head looked like a plate that framed a brown face with blue eyes and a wide mouth. Blood capped his skinned knuckles. His chest heaved from exertion or rage. He was not wounded. His two opponents wore the uniform of The Shield, basic black trousers and shirts covered with stiff plates of leather. They held two short, thick staves in their hands, but both also had short swords on their belts.

One of the Shieldsmen darted in and lashed out with this weapons and the man didn't even try to evade him. He just pivoted so that his broad back absorbed the blow and then whirled and somehow locked the man's head in the crook of his elbow. He kicked out at the other uniformed man and jerked his captor backward. I heard a loud snap and some of the assembled crowd gasped as the limp man fell to the cobbled street. The remaining guard was shaking off the effects of the kick, but the red-headed killer had time to pick up the fallen Shieldsman's weapons. He twirled one in his left hand and struck the guard's forearm, bringing a yowl of pain as the short staff dropped from a suddenly nerve-less hand. A final chopping blow felled him.

"Someone should stop him," a nearby voice mumbled.

"What was his crime?" I asked the woman, who was bent with age, but whose eyes were clear and defiant.

"He just killed three people. Maybe four," she snapped. "Is that not enough, woman?"

I jerked back, startled by the venom in her response. "I only wondered if he started the fight and if it was worth the outcome."

"Oh. I don't know. I think he took an apple that didn't belong to him."

"Rules are rules and laws are laws," a fat, dirty man put in.

"I think that might be a bit excessive," I suggested, then turned to look for Seymuhr. "You see? We must find Tane before...."

But Seymuhr was not behind me. I heard the crowd gasped and cringed, knowing what I would see: Seymuhr, walking calmly toward the bearded man. He loosened one of his maces from his belt, but carried it upside-down, with his hand near the metal head.

The bearded man laughed, rolled his shoulders and then tilted his head from side to side before settling into a battle crouch. Even with his legs bent, swaying on the balls of his feet, he was taller than Seymuhr, whose diminutive stature caused many to underestimate him. But Seymuhr was solid and heavy with muscle, possessing a strength beyond any man I had ever seen.

The bearded man lunged at him, meaning to slam a short staff into either side of his head. Seymuhr moved faster than I thought he could, ducking under the two blows and closing the short remaining distance between him and the bearded man with a half leap, and buried the handle of his mace into the taller man's groin. The fight went out of his eyes immediately, but Seymuhr flattened him with a crashing blow from his left fist that nearly spun the man's head around. His face hit the street and he moved no more.

Seymuhr tucked the mace back into his belt, dusted his hands off and walked back toward me.

"What?" He asked, probably in response to my slack-jawed gaze.

"I..." The crowd was beginning to disperse, leaving the bodies where they had fallen. A young woman helped the wounded Shieldsman to his feet. The pair staggered off toward the center of town, she trying to support his weight while he cried out in pain. She looked over her shoulder at Seymuhr, but said nothing. A nervous puppy cautiously approached the scene and started lapping up some of the blood. "Nothing I guess. I thought that man looked dangerous."

"He probably was," Seymuhr said. "For most."

"We should continue," I said. "There's no need to be here when the rest of the Shield shows up." I paused, certain I had seen a familiar face at the edge of the crowd but the person turned away and there were too many people in the square for me to be certain. We headed toward the market, but I couldn't help but look over my shoulder, feeling a vague sense of unease

Stuck in the middle

In the Great city of Veral Ski, Esmiralda and Seymuhr are looking for their companion, Broo Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk with a short temper and a talent for violence.

"We haven't seen any broken bodies yet. I suppose that's a good sign."

Seymuhr scowled, jostled by yet another body. "That depends on your point of view," he said. "There are far too many people in the world anyway. I can't even fart without sickening a crowd."

"Yes. Well, you could say that no matter how many people were near us." Although, in truth, the city smelled bad enough without his assistance. This close to the market the smells of exotic cuisine helped alleviate the stench of people and waste, but I already longed for the fresh scents of rain-washed trees.

Seymuhr grunted. "Let me guess. You are already missing the forest, the plains--some meandering creek filled with smooth stones and happy trout?"

"I didn't say...."

"Yet just yesterday you complained of a bed of rocks, dirt that caked your squeezlies and your hair and your toes and your..."

"My what? 'Squeezlies?'"

He nodded and looked up at me, holding his hands to his chest and flexing them. "You know what I'm talking about. Would you prefer I call them..."

"I would prefer that you did not mention them at all," I snapped. "Or look at them or even think about them." I pulled up my shirt and turned from his gaze. I could still hear his coarse chuckle, though, and felt my face redden because of it.

"My point, is that you are rarely happy with where you are, only where you were or where you are going. I don't think I've seen you smile more than twice since you joined up with us."

"Oh. Joined up, is that how you look at it? You threw me over your shoulder and carried me off into the night like a string of pelts and thrust me into battle with giants, long-vanquished pirates, horrid walking corpses, fed me spiders--how could I resist?"

"You could have left."

"You could have left me! Where you found me!"

"Broke, lonely and unhappy," he nodded. "I could have. But look at you now?"

"I am still poor and unhappy."

"But you have me," he said with a lopsided grin that I suppose he thought was charming. "And Broo Fang Tane. And a purpose and a story to tell!"

"You're not exactly helping your argument," I mumbled. I had to admit, though, there were some comforts to his companionship. A woman on her own in Korin was usually thought of as an easy mark and, although I prided myself on my ability to take care of myself, having a man thick with muscle and an unpredictable nature at one's side was enough to deter some of the more casual ne'er do wells that, no doubt, cast their appraising glances on me as we walked through the streets.

"Would another battle poem help?"

"Certainly not!"

He snorted. "The sooner you realize it, the better off you'll be."

"Accept what? Your poetic talent? I'll need a lot more convincing."

"No. We're never where we were and we'll never be where we're going. We're all just stuck in the middle and need to make the best of it. It's the same for all of us."

I was about to retort, but snapped my mouth shut. Then, from further down the street where the buildings on either side opened up to a large, open square, I heard a familiar battle yowl and saw several people turn and run. Then came a screech of pain. It sounded like we had found Tane, at last, and we were just moments too late.

In the city

In the Great city of Veral Ski, Esmiralda and Seymuhr are looking for their companion, Broo Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk with a short temper and a talent for violence.


Those who have never been to one of Korin's large cities probably envision it as a grand place, filled with wondrous sights, gleaming with gold and riches. Before my modest childhood in the woods of Maltiboor, before the raiders came and killed my mother and father and drove me into a life of travel, I had always thought they were places of pomp and pageantry, where the hardships of scraping a life from the land were far away, where magic was possible and peace and safety chased away every shadow.

Now, I just noticed the smell. The stench of unwashed bodies was nearly a physical thing that we had to walk through. I couldn't tell if this crowd was particularly ripe or if it was just one really smelly bastard ruining it for the rest of us and, by Keska's Curls, I didn't want to find out. I merely pulled my shirt up over my nose, ducked my head and weaved my way through the throng, hoping Seymuhr was following.

The crowd was pressed together near the gate but as we worked our way further from it the number of people gradually decreased as groups went off in different directions, headed to the market, a tavern, a shop or on some other errand. I poked my nose out and let out a breath.

We were on a straight, stone thoroughfare crowded on either side with buildings of various sizes. Pennants hung from some of the upper windows: the bright blue that Queen Pheadra favored serving as a backdrop to either a merchant's symbol or the falling star of the queen's standard, itself. Women, their bosoms hanging out of their loose shirts, leaned out some windows, calling down to any man who looked prosperous enough to enjoy their company.

The company was plentiful, there were people of all ages, races and sizes moving to and fro, some concentrating on their tasks, others sauntering about, gaping openly and a few hurrying as if on some important errand. One man, with a gleaming bald spot and a ring of hair that hung down to his cheeks, blew a kiss up at a red-headed wench and, craning his head to see her response, stubbed his toe on the uneven roadway and started to hop, holding his foot and cursing loudly.

"Better luck next time!" A pointing man shouted and laughed.*

He half turned to confront the man, still hopping on one leg. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He could formulate no witty response, though, and so endured the laughter of the crowd and his would-be lover above.

A small group had gathered outside a tavern, too, with a sign above its entrance that merely read 'Randy's' in the common tongue. Two large men, chests heaving, swayed on unsteady legs near the door. Both men had bleeding knuckles and ruined faces. One of them, a brown-haired man wearing nothing more than a pair of short breeches, blew a ragged breath out of his shattered lips and sprayed the other with droplets of pink spittle. He took a great lungful of air, raised his fist and slammed it into the other man's chin. More blood flew and the crowd shouted and gasped. The man's eyes glazed over and he slowly toppled backward as his knees gave way.

"I won," the first man, clearly exhausted, could not summon more energy than that. He looked around through eyes nearly swollen shut. "Did you see, lads? Victory is mine! The soup was good. Lads?"

I shook my head. In many places, disagreements were settled with fists, no matter how trivial the matter was. Someone would voice one opinion or defend an argument, and another would support the opposing side. When the disagreements became heated (or sometimes even before then) they would take turns punching each other in the face until only one, the victor, stood. I never understood the practice, for it led to mass delusions. For example, the sky above the Cliffs of Azrok were as blue as any other, but the people there are convinced they are green, merely because the 'green' champion hit harder and struck first. It was idiocy.

"Let's eat here," Seymuhr said, chuckling. "I heard the soup was good."

"That's not funny," I snapped. "We've just watched someone beaten to the ground over the quality of a meal! We'll never become a truly civilized society if we can't learn to disagree without knocking the life fluid out of each other."

"Yes we will," he said.

"No, I can't see it. We..."

"Yes. We. Will," he lowered his voice and took on a menacing tone. His hands were curling into a fists.

"Perhaps you're right," I glanced about nervously.

He laughed and was suddenly cheerful once more. "See? We just did it."

You just proved my point, I didn't say. People would never win an argument as long as the powerful had fists. "Yes, yes. You're quite wise. Come along. We should find our friend before he gets into any trouble--and you know how likely that is."

"No. I don't," his voice took on the same menacing tone.

I walked into the crowd, in search of Broo Fang Tane.


*A phrase of Frizzian origin. The streets in the city of Frizza were so unevenly cobbled that it was virtually impossible to walk among them unscathed. Even a moderate gait required complete concentration. Those unfamiliar with the city--or even locals who weren't concentrating on the road in front of them--were likely to bust a toe or twist an ankle. Frizzians, seeing this happen, often poked fun at the stumbling tourists by calling out: 'Better luck next time' or 'Keep practicing.'

On the job training

Seymuhr and Mira are about to enter the gates of Veral Ski in search of their companion, Broo Fang Tang, and to meet with the queen.


"What is your business here?" The guard loomed over both of us, snarling under a mustache that drooped nearly to his collar. His right hand tapped the hilt of his lendyll, a sort of short sword favored for close work.

"A friend of ours passed way earlier this morning," I said, instinctively gathering my shirt close up over my breasts. The guard's gaze lingered there and a tongue probed his cracked lips. "We seek him. After that we have business in the market."

"A fffffriend?" He sounded surprised. "At the m-m-m-market? What type of f-f-f-f-friend is so important that you waste my time this morning?"

I didn't know how to respond. "He's a cheerful chap, about so tall," I said, with a hand held level just above the top of my own head. "Dressed in robes..."

"Your f-f-f-friend sounds like a m-m-m-m-monK." He finished the word so savagely there was mist in the air.

"He is." Semuhr put in. He gathered himself up and stood between us. He was short than I, but tocky and fearsomely strong. "What business is that of yours? He means no harm to anyone."

"Usually," I felt compelled to add.

"Aye, usually."

"What business? What BUSiness? It is all my business," he called over our heads, spraying spittle. "Why..."

"That's enough, Art," the guard's companion put in. He placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him a few steps to the side. "Sorry about that," he said to us. "Today is his first day questioning the petitioners. I thought I'd give him a few moments to show his style."

"It needs some work," I said.

"T'appears so! We did see your companion earlier. Not many of those types will show their faces around here. I mean, I realize they're trying to do good and spread a little happiness, but you know, in times like these..."

I nodded. "Good cheer is a gift usually received with a closed fist, not an open hand. Hence our concern."

"You're in luck, then, if you're going to the market anyway. I believe that's where he was headed. Turn east after the fat whore dressed in blue and you'll come across it soon enough."

"Thank you for your kindness," I said with a bow, and good luck training your apprentice."

"Oh, he's a good lad, apart from the shouting and spittle and all; he'll come around." He glanced at Seymuhr, then back at me. "There are bath houses down that way, too. Strong soaps and thick brushes. You might want to steer your companion that way."

I gave him a tight-lipped smile and another quick bow. "I have hopes."

We ducked under the gate and headed toward the center of town. Art, looking downcast, ushered us on with a half-hearted wave.

A dangerous jest

Esmiralda and her companions, the Optimist Monk Broo Fang Tane and the odd, loutish warrior Seymurh, have traveled to Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in all of Korin, to report to Queen Pheadora on the death of their companion, Merrick, who held a prominent position within the queen's Ministry of Human Preservation.  Tane has already entered the city, having left on his own before the sun rose. Mira and Seymuhr are at the gate, when someone calls out an apparent insult....

"What did you say?" Seymuhr asked again.

The crowd had gone silent. Some fidgeted, while others pulled in closer to get a better look at the fight they surely expected to happen. Times were difficult throughout Korin and anyone who went looking for trouble usually found it in relatively short order. I glanced from Seymuhr, whose admittedly short but thoroughly stocky and muscular frame spoke to his fighting prowess, to the hapless serf who had called out the insult. He was thinner, much thinner, and taller, and dressed in patched clothing. One of Seymuhr's maces would shatter his frame. The next blow would turn it into pulpy mist.

"I meant no harm, my lord," he stammered. "I only responded in the Otlyndian way. I thought you might appreciate the jest."

"Ah." I understood then, and hurried to place myself between Seymuhr and the poor man. Otlyndians were, compared to most human denizens of Korin, small of stature. I had heard of a recent trend that was rippling through their society. "That explains it. You see, Seymuhr, the current Otlyndian fashion is to take part of someone's speech and hurl it back at them as a sort of good-natured insult. I think it originated in their children but adults have adopted it because it's easier than thinking on their own."

"It sounds like a dangerous habit," Seymuhr growled. He still had his right hand on the mace that hung from that hip. Evidently he didn't think he'd need the other.

"You're a dangerous habit!" the serf replied, although with less confidence than before.

I pointed to the man with both hands, hoping to prove my point. Seymuhr paused for a moment, then a smile grew slowly. He nodded. The people nearby who had been anxious chuckled nervously. Others voiced their dismay.

Just then I sense another presence. The shadow of a tall man fell over the small gathering and I looked to see one of the guardsmen, arms crossed and scowling. "What is the matter here?" He growled.

"You're the matter here!" Seymuhr responded, his normally gravely voice bright and cheerful. He slapped his thigh and turned back to the serf. "You know, that has its merits."

"You have your merits!" Was the response. Both men laughed. Seymuhr clapped him on the back and he fell, face first, into the dirt. He was clearly winded.

"Seymuhr," I whispered, "You might want to tone your good humor down a bit. You'll kill someone!"

"Is this....man...assaulting you?" The guard asked the flattened serf, investing the word 'man' with contempt.

"No," came the winded reply. He pushed himself to his knees and I helped him to his feet. He gave Seymuhr a wary look and rubbed his shoulder, which looked out of place. "We were sharing pleasantries."

"Well see to it that you do it on your feet," he snapped. He jabbed the poor fellow with a finger and then looked surprised when he didn't fall down again. It was his turn to give Seymuhr and appraising glance, from worn boots to bald head and back down again. "And you! Move along," he added, after a pause.

He stalked back to the shadow of the gate, which was now just a few feet away. I made sure the serf was not injured, then turned back to Seymuhr, whose brow was furrowed as he watch the guardsman.

"Are you mad? Veral Ski may be one of the more enlightened cities in Korin, and therefore tolerant of diverse people and viewpoints, but don't think that you can insult a member of the city guard without consequences!"

Seymuhr sniffed and cracked his neck, dismissing the notion of consequences altogether.

I snorted. "Well, at least wait until we're in the city before you start a fight. Or until I'm in the city, leastways. You might be content to spend your day brawling and shattering skulls, but I have important business here--and I'd rather go about it without being covered in someone else's innards."

We took another step forward. It was our turn.

 

A line in the stand

Esmiralda and her companions, the Optimist Monk Broo Fang Tane and the odd, loutish warrior Seymurh, have paused to rest in a tavern outside of Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in all of Korin. Here they wash the blood, gore and dirt of their recent adventure from their bodies but Mira finds the memory of their lost comrade Merrick is as restless as the living dead that claimed his life. In a dream, he hints at a new quest that Esimralda must undertake...


The street was already teeming with unwashed peasantry making their way to the stout gates of the great city. I fell in line behind a lean, crooked man dressed in rags who carried a bundle of pelts over his right shoulder and tried not to look at the vacant eye sockets of the hapless creatures. Seymuhr stood beside me, picking at his teeth. Carriages rolled by, unhindered at the gate, while we stood and slowly shuffled toward Veral Ski's impregnable walls.

"You could hide a small army in those carriages and deliver them to the queen's privy," I grumbled, impatient. "Yet we must wait, the insignificant masses, to be poked and prodded for the amusement of these so-called guards."

"I could stop one of those coaches," Seymuhr said. He wore one of his maces on each hip and he fingered one of them.

"You'd only cause a scene," I told him. "I'm merely voicing my displeasure."

"That's how they rule over you," he said. "They expect the complaints, but not the action. As long as these 'insignificant masses' you refer only voice their complaints to each other they are content to do as they please."

"Oh ho! Look at you! When did you become a social critic, so knowledgeable with the workings of the upper class?" I lowered my voice. "Let's just wait. We are nearly there."

"You pick up things when you travel," he said. "That, and things are the same everywhere. they always have been."

I had to nod. "True. These are trying times. Is this wisdom imparted to you from your parents?"

"I never knew them." He responded.

"Oh." I fell silent. I remembered, then, something that Merrick had told me shortly after I fell into his troupe: that Seymuhr claimed to have been abandoned by a river and raised by fish. Surely, that was impossible, a farce he told to deflect from his true heritage. Wasn't it? I studied him again from the corner of my eye: he was shorter than I--and I was not a tall woman--but broad and thick with muscle. I knew him to be fearsomely strong and ferocious in battle. He fought with a mace in each hand, not with any apparent skill, but with a strength and energy that battered and maimed any opponent we had come across. He was bald and loutish, with a thick nose and low eyebrows, but a sometimes disarming smile. "Well, it is true, nonetheless."

We moved forward, slowly, as the sun climbed into the sky. Soon the shadow of the Great Gate overtook us and we stood ready to enter the city.

If I can market there, I can market anywhere

Esmiralda and her companions, the Optimist Monk Broo Fang Tane and the odd, loutish warrior Seymurh, have paused to rest in a tavern outside of Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in all of Korin. Here they wash the blood, gore and dirt of their recent adventure from their bodies but Mira finds the memory of their lost comrade Merrick is as restless as the living dead that claimed his life. In a dream, he hints at a new quest that Esimralda must undertake...

"By the way, where is Broo Fang Tane?"

Seymuhr shrugged his thick shoulders and cracked his neck. "He said something about going to the market."

"The market? Alone? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"He seemed to be in a good enough mood."

"That doesn't necessarily guarantee anyone's safety." His mood was just what I worried about. Tane was an Optimist, one of the champions of good news and a positive outlook, dedicated to his cause--and that was a dangerous thing in Korin, particularly during times as troubled as we lived in. Optimist Monks were fierce fighters, trained by masters of power and grace, for their message was often so ill-received that it required immediate self-defense. Sometimes, trying to spread a smile was enough to start a fight in Korin. Telling someone to cheer up or that things weren't as bad as they seemed...depending on your audience, those simple, kind sentiments could spark a blood feud.

Moreover, Tane's normally quiet presence attracted teasers, ne'er-do-wells and pranksters of all sorts. Bullies flocked to the little man like hornets to a picnic. His journey toward inner and outer peace met setbacks anytime he ventured into public or, indeed, was noticed. In the short time I had known him, I watched him try to contain his short temper on many occasions, only to erupt into shocking, violent action when provoked too far.

"True," Seymuhr said. He glanced down at my plate, where I had pushed aside the spider leg. "Are you going to eat that?"

"Not on your life." I pushed the plate toward him. He snatched up the spider leg and bit through it, sending a small river of grayish ooze over his lips. "They didn't even cook it!" He was genuinely excited.

I turned away. "We should go after him." I wanted to go into Veral Ski anyway and hopefully purchase some better clothes before I met with the queen and shared the news of Merrick's death. Going to the market without Tane also gave me the option to pretend that I didn't know him, if his temper flared up. "I don't want him to hurt anyone--or worse."

"There are too many people in the land, anyway," Semuhr said with a belch. He scratched his groin and lifted his cheek. "Nobody will miss ten or twelve."

"I suppose that depends on who they are," I growled, waving a hand in front of my nose.

"Besides, you should give him more credit. We can always hope that nobody bothers him, or that his mind and soul remain at peace."

I grunted. "You know what they say about hope, don't you?"

"No. I don't."

"Neither do I." I tossed two coins on the table, waved to Mallyn, and headed for the street.

The Dark Dream

Esmiralda and her companions, the Optimist Monk Broo Fang Tane and the odd, loutish warrior Seymurh, have paused to rest in a tavern outside of Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in all of Korin. Here they wash the blood, gore and dirt of their recent adventure from their bodies but Mira finds the memory of their lost comrade Merrick is as restless as the living dead that claimed his life...


The cold stench of the cavern returned to me, clogging my nostrils and prickling the skin on the back of my neck. I felt cold, wet and small. Everything was silent and I was alone in the dark--a dark so complete that I could have poked my eye before I saw my finger.

I stood, filled with the certainty that the smallest move in any direction would send me tumbling into a deep pit and I would fall and fall and fall until my body was dashed open at the bottom. I strained both eyes and ears, listening for something that would guide me to some form of safety. At first I could not tell if my eyes were open or closed and the only thing I heard--or, perhaps I only felt--was the beating of my heart, steady and strong.

Gradually I heard something, so faint at first that I thought it was a trick of my own mind: a whisper, long and low and hoarse with pain. It was my name. I licked my lips and leaned forward, trying to catch a firmer grasp of the sound and slowly, painfully slowly, inched forward my right foot to test the surface ahead. It was solid. There was no pit--at least not directly in front of me.

Whimpering and hating myself for the sound of weakness, I moved in that direction. I slid my foot forward and only rested my weight on it when I felt solid ground. Tears leaked from my eyes and I couldn't stop shaking. I could not tell how far I moved, or how long it took me. I only know that my knees were weak and my whole body shaking before I saw the faintest glimmer of light ahead.

I fought the urge to run toward it. the cavern floor was still pocked and treacherous covered with protruding rocks or damp dimples that would surely turn an ankle or worse if I let my concentration lapse. The whisper grew louder, more urgent and more pained. I felt things moving in the air around me, imagined shadows flitted in the scant gloom at the corners of my vision and I clamped my mouth shut to keep from crying out in fear.

Where were my companions? Why was I alone? Sweat formed in my hand and made my knife slippery.

Slowly, I began to see more clearly and I felt confident enough to move a bit faster. I wiped my hand on my trousers and looked around me, hoping to see the shape of either Seymuhr, Tane or Merrick. Perhaps they were that close, and laboring in silence beside me.

They were not. I was still alone. I rounded a corner and saw why: Tane and Seymuhr were dead, their insides dripping and hanging from iron manacles attached to the damp walls of the cavern. Their eyes had been eaten out and their lips were gone; their teeth showed, crooked and yellow. Merrick was on the floor beneath them, a grievous wound at his center. He reached toward me, groaning my name.

I rushed forward, my stomach lurching, looking wildly about me as I bent down toward him.

"Don't talk," I urged him. "I will set you free; let us escape this place."

"I am free," he wheezed. "You...you are bound. You must help. Find him! Find him soon!"

"Find who?" I felt something moving in the shadows behind me, a cold air preceded it. It curled around my neck and dripped down my spine. "Bound to what?"

He pressed something cold into my hand. "Bound to him," he gasped. "You are bound to all."

The presence was right behind me, so large and terrible and cold that it left like my bones had turned to ice and my blood boiled to my skin. I looked up into a darkness so black it hurt my eyes and saw dancing red globes--eyes filled with a malevolent mirth. They grew closer and the cold started to surround me...

I woke with a start, covered in sweat, panting alone in my room. My fingers were clumsy as I reached toward my knife. My left hand ached and blood dribbled from my clenched fist. I slowly pried my fingers open and saw the symbol of the Ministry of Human Preservation; in my sleep I had clenched it so tightly that it bit into my skin.

I sat back against the wall, holding the knife in one hand while staring at the wound on the other. Merrick's dream words floated back. Bound, I thought. The meaning was obvious. But who was...him? Or was it just a dream, after all? The answers were as elusive as sleep.

A talent for slaughter

Esmiralda and her companions, the Optimist Monk Broo Fang Tane and Seymuhr Skullsquasher were enjoying a brief respite outside the walls of Veral Ski, the largest city in the land of Korrin. Soon, they must visit with the queen and tell her of the demise of their colleague.

Mallyn bent down, bucket and sponge in hand, and started to sop up the blood.

"We really should just paint the floors red," she called to us. With a snorting chuckle she added, softer: "And the walls and the windows and the ceiling, perhaps the door..."

Broo Fang Tane smiled slightly at the attempt at humor. "I coul....d help," he said.

"There you go," I was relieved that his good humor was returning. So, I think, was everyone else who had witnessed the rather lop-sided fight. "Don't think of it as a talent for slaughter, but redecorating!"

"Either way, you'll never want for work," Seymuhr put in.

"I must admit, you do have a propensity to attract unwanted attention," I said after another mouthful of spiderfat soup. Indeed, I had been in three taverns with Tane and seen more than a dozen men dead or maimed because of it. "Is that what first took you to the Temple of the Sun?"

The Temple of the Sun, in far-off Nicaria, was where pilgrims went to learn the Way of the Optimist, and the fighting skills required to spread good cheer during these troubled times. Korrin was often a silly place, but it was a dark place, too, and anyone who tried to cheer someone else up had to know how to defend him or herself.

"I do not know," Tane said. "I was to....o...youn...g to understand much a...bout that place and i...t's teachings."

"Oh? I'm afraid I do not understand. I thought most boys who joined the order sought it out when they were of age. Is that not the case?"

"It is, usual...ly," Tane said. "But not for........................me."

In his slow, halting way, Tane told us of how his father had led him into the snow-slickened slopes of the Jagged Peaks and wept with joy when he found the temple gates. He remembered his father's heavy fist pounding on him and then not much else. When he looked up, his father was already walking away.

"Oh. He just left you there?"

Tane nodded. Mallyn had scooted near the table, her pink sponge working furiously at a thick blood stain.

I could only imagine how frightened Tane must have felt, and confused. I shook my head in wonder. It was no wonder Korrin was such a dark and silly place when parents took no responsibility for or joy in their offspring.

"With no word at all?"

"Oh, he said one...thing. But it was to the monk who....opened the...gate and...not to...me."

"I hope it was 'thank you,' at least!"

Broo Fang Tane shook his head. "It was: 'Good luck with this one.'"

"Well that's the next best thing," Mallyn said with a snorting chuckle and then, when I shot her an irritated glare, scrubbed the floor with renewed vigor. "I've heard worse," she muttered.

I favored Tane with a sympathetic glance, but the monk was looking down at the table and did not see it. I patted his hand, instead. Seymuhr, his belly full of spiderfat soup, roasted spider flank, spider silk noodles, spider jerky and whipped spider cream, had dozed off.

An all-too brief peace

With the mountain witch Abilene vanquished, Esmiralda invokes her traveling stone to return her and her companions to civilization--in this case, Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in the world of Korin. Here, she means to inform the Ministry of Human Preservation of the loss of their colleague, Merrick, who served the ministry under the direction of Queen Phedera. First, she intends to find a hot bath, warm food and a soft bed.

"Bucket of blood?" I asked Seymuhr. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"Why not?" He answered with a shrug. He glanced around. "I doubt they have that much here, anyway."

"It's just...I...we shouldn't be making such a scene. The way we look, people are apt to ask us questions."

Broo Fang Tane slurped his soup, winced, and pulled a long, thick spider claw from between his teeth. He held it up in the dim light of the tavern, sniffed it, then crunched it between his jaws. My stomach hitched and I saw the serving woman leaning over the crucible. She took in a deep breath, eyes sparkling, and licked her lips. I heard loud eating noises all around me and I tried to ignore them.

"We have nothing to hide," Seymuhr said. "And look around you. Nobody is paying us any heed."

Indeed, the figures in the tavern were all slumped over their bowls or spider-filled platters, crunching and slurping away. Around the walls, men sprawled in some of the booths, their arms up around their seats and their legs played open. Two of them had their boots off and were wiggling crusty toes. Coated in gore we may have been, but stand out we did not.

Then the door banged open and four men walked in. The first, a man large and broad with a thick neck and broken nose, lit up when he saw the three of us. He clapped hands together and made a soft, gleeful sound as his three companions snickered. He walked toward us.

As he approached, he licked the palm of his hand and then slapped the top of Tane's bald crown. He chortled at the sharp sound, licked his palm again and slapped It down, a little more firmly.

Tane tensed for an instant, then his shoulders relaxed. He looked up at the man.

"Why do you....do....this?"

The man stuck a finger up his nose and rooted around before answering. "Why? Oh why, why why. Why does the river flow to the west?"

"That's where the sea is," I answered, hoping to send the man away.

"There are seas in the east, too," he pointed out. He pulled a slimy finger out of his nostril and wiped it on Tane's cheek.

"Please, I want no troub.....le," Tane said.

Seymuhr leaned back, arms crossed, a mischievous smile on his face. I glared at him, imploring him to intercede.

"You won't be any trouble, monk-ey," the man snarled. A strange look crossed his face and he abruptly turned around, raised his arse and broke wind in Tane's ear. "There, I just wanted to remind you of your mother."

I shouted. A soft, high-pitched growl had started in Tane's throat. I recognized the sound and my heart started racing. "Leave us in peace! We are merely weary travelers, looking to enjoy some...some fresh spider!"

"Peace?" The man seemed unfamiliar with the word. He glanced back at his companions and repeated it. Two of them scratched their heads, the third let out an inquisitive grunt as he spread his hands in a confused gestured.

"Yes." Tane regained his voice. "I am a man of....peace."

The man snatched up the bowl and emptied it on to Tane's head, pushing it down and twisting it. "Well, you're a man of peas, now!" He chortled, slapped his own belly and bent over laughing. Seymuhr chuckled, too, but I caught a dangerous glint in Tane's eye and heard his knuckles crack as he formed a tight fist. The high-pitched growl returned and grew into a crescendo.

"Oh, bones of Barnok," I whispered. Tane exploded into action and then the shrieking started.

A hot meal and a bucket of blood

With the mountain witch Abilene vanquished, Esmiralda invokes her traveling stone to return her and her companions to civilization--in this case, Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in the world of Korin. Here, she means to inform the Ministry of Human Preservation of the loss of their colleague, Merrick, who served the ministry under the direction of Queen Phedera. First, she intends to find a hot bath, warm food and a soft bed.

We selected a small inn on the outskirts of the city. It was filled with weary travelers and few of them took much notice of us as we stumbled in and sat heavily at a table near the far wall. The conversation inside was muted and most men where slumped over brown cups of ale. There were a few women sprinkled between them, equally plain, many with their hair tucked under a cloth or braided into place.

A huge vat bubbled over smoldering coals in the fireplace, giving off an exotic, spicy scent that made my stomach rumble. The keeper gave it a quick stir, sniffing the vapors he disturbed. He motioned for one of the serving women and pointed in our direction.

"Do you have any coin?" I asked Seymuhr.

"A few."

"Let's hope it's enough to buy a meal, a bath and a room for the night. I am not quite ready to be seen in civilized company."

"I think you...look...nice," Broo Fang Tane said. "And the sm....ell is har...dly...noticea....ble."

I gave him a fake smile. "Thank you for that."

The serving girl approached, a tired but cheerful look on her face. Her hair was the color of straw and her shirt was pulled tight around her middle, open at the top. Seymuhr's gaze lingered there and I rolled my eyes. Men: covered in gore and fresh from battle, they think women find them as irresistible as they do.

"A good day to you, travelers," the woman said. "We've ale and dried leaves for tea, a bit of mutton left and greens that are fresh from the market."

"What's in the pot?"

"Oh, you must be from far away indeed, if you don't know of our soup. It's rather famous."

"I bet it's delicious," I said, with real relish. "What is it called?"

"Well, it's spiderfat soup, of course. The best in the land." She curtsied as she said it, as if she was solely responsible for its taste and reputation. "Everything we serve here is made of the finest spider."

"I see." I could feel my face falling. "Even the mutton?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "It's spider-mutton, actually. Fresh, juicy flanks. We rub a little thyme and rosemary into the carapace to give it an extra bit of flavor--not that it needs much," she added with a snorting laugh.

"I'll go with the greens, then," I said.

"One spider leg salad," she repeated, then went on before I could protest. "And you two?"

"All of it for me," Seymuhr said, slapping the table. "And keep it coming!"

Tane merely nodded and I was grateful for that. I was too hungry to wait for him to work his way through another sentence. I requested, as politely as I could, anything that did not include spider and the woman gave me a puzzled look, but promised to see what she could find.

"You would think, being this close to a city and so many farms, that they would serve something besides spider," I said. I reached my fingers into my hair to scratch my scalp and pulled them away, disgusted. It felt like they were coated in slime. "Are there no cows in the fields? Fish in the river?"

"Cats in the barn?" Seymuhr put in, earning a scowl.

"You're in a fine mood," I said. "I thought Tane was the optimist among us."

"You need to learn to live without all your fineries," he told me. "Korin is not such a  bad realm if you lower your expectations of comfort."

Perhaps. But what type of place was it becoming? Who would carry on Merrick's mission? Korin was and hopefully always would be a silly place, but it could be dark and dangerous, too. Confronting the mountain witch and skimming through the book that chronicled her evils, I couldn't help but wonder if the shadows were growing and the light, receding. I felt suddenly weary for the stories I would have to tell--starting with Merrick's end at the hands of the pirate's undead mistress.

Then the serving wench returned. She plopped down two bowls of steaming soup in front of Tane and Seymuhr. Part of a hairy spider leg protruded from the viscous surface of Tane's bowl; he used it to stir the broth. She placed a heaping bowl of peas in front of me with an apologetic shrug.

"That's all we have, besides spider," she said.

I looked at the bowl, then at the soup that Seymuhr was noisily slurping, then at the pot bubbling in the crucible, then back at the peas and then completed another visual circuit.

"You know what? I'll try the soup, instead."

She turned toward the pot, but left the bowl of peas on the table.

"Later, we'll need two rooms," I said. "Do you have any available?"

She nodded and took another step.

"And a fresh bucket of blood to bathe in," Seymuhr called after her.  Pointing at the gore that covered his arms, his face, his scalp, was smeared down his legs, across is abdomen, between his fingers and caked on his boots, he added: "This, this is just getting too sticky and stale for my tastes."

Battle under the mountain

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...

Broo Fang Tane let loose another stone that ripped through the air and bounced off the witch's cheek. This time, the impact loosened the flesh on her face like a ripple in a still pond: the skin roiled and dropped and fell, revealing a curved jaw studded with pointed, blackened teeth. Her eyes turned black and cold and an inhuman shriek filled the chamber, so ghastly and shrill that I covered my ears--nearly stabbing myself with my knife in the process.

A wave of cold energy swept over me and knocked me to the ground. For a second I couldn't breathe--it felt like snakes made of ice were wriggling up my nose. I rolled, spat and coughed. My companions had fared better. Merrick was still on his feet, although the wave of cold had knocked him a few steps backward. Tane had joined Seymuhr, who battled the horde of shuffling dead things that cut off our escape. They were violence and destruction personified--Seymuhr with his two maces causing ruin wherever they landed and Tane a one-man storm of chaotic precision. His fists and feet scattered liquefied brains and putrefied flesh wherever they landed. His eyes were wide with rage and nearly every blow was punctuated by his bizarre, high-pitched war cry. Both of them were coated with gore.

"On your feet, woman!" Merrick hissed at me. His face was red, his eyes puffing and his chest heaving. He growled some form on incantation and cocked his fingers in what looked like a painful fashion, but the mountain witch only cackled at his attempt to overcome her own magic.

I rolled, grabbed my knife again and said a prayer. My heart raced and I tasted dirt and stone. What could I do? I could be no help to Seymuhr or Broo Fang Tane--they appeared to be holding their own. It was Merrick who was failing. He was clearly overmatched. I crawled off to the side of the cavern, where the shadows were deeper, and made my way laboriously around the cavern. Maybe Merrick could distract Abilene long enough for me to strike her. If my simple blade would have any effect, I did not know.

The air sizzled with arcane energy and stank of rot. Sounds unlike any I had ever heard assailed my ears, horrible syllables that awakened in me an icy panic. I am shamed to admit it now, but I found myself cowering in the shadows, covering my head with my arms in a futile attempt to block those repulsive noises. I whimpered and tried to will my body to move to help, to stand and strike, but could not. My fingers felt for the Traveling Stone that rested between my bosom. Escape was so close; I could call on its magic and be free almost instantly.

Merrick shouted in pain just then, and I pulled my hand away. Tears burned in the corner of my eye. I felt dirty and small. I forced myself to my elbows and crawled forward--until I saw a ragged pair of boots in front of me. Baram. With a tremendous effort, I lifted my head and saw her gazing down on me.

"What?" I gasped and spat. "Have you come now to finish your work, witch?"

"Yes," she said. She half-opened a hand, revealing a twisted piece of wood that I first mistook for a broken shard of bark. The she twisted it and I saw it was a slender blade, not carved, I somehow knew, but shaped through some other means. I was unfamiliar with the making of it, but I recognized it for what it was and I could scarcely believe it--even after Baram ran a thumb over its edge and her bright blood spilled in a straight, thin line.

"Is that...witchwood?" 

She nodded once and pressed the blade into my palm. At once I felt its warmth, like I was enveloped in an invigorating bath. I stood.

"We must hurry," she said. "Our time here wanes."

Next: The Witchwood Blade

Which witch is which

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...

The air turned bitterly cold as we approached the red flickering light. My feet protested each time I took a step forward, as if my lower bones rebelled against the chill that leapt up like frozen daggers from the ground. I saw varying degrees of effort on my companions' faces as the light intensified. Only Baram looked immune--perhaps the forest sage was in tune with the land no matter what the overlying conditions were; the stale heat of summer, the fresh winds of spring and autumn, the icy grip of winter. Whatever the reason, she walked steadily behind us, urging us silently toward our goal.

Which we saw when we rounded a final bend.

The rock opened before us. Jagged walls reached toward the sky and were lost in the blackness. Below, the red light pulsated, not created by some form of flame or forge or even magic, but seeping from rents in the stone that looked like open wounds. The stench was horrendous; it pushed back against us, baked into our nostrils but the sudden heat. I gagged.

The floor was littered with crawling, twitching things that had once been human. Their scattered remains convulsed is a grisly dance that was terrible to behold, as if their death had not brought them any peace but instead increased their torment. They writhed and shrieked and wailed as they wiggled toward us, groping toward our ankles with rotting fingers.

Merrick dragged the bottom of his staff in front of us, as if he could create a line in the filth-blackened stone. He mumbled something and the gem at the stop of his staff began to glow. Broo Fang Tane pulled his chained weapon from his belt and swung it in a circle, a low battle cry forming at the base of his throat.

I moved behind Seymuhr and stared at the bizarre spectacle that awaited us.

Abilene herself--so I assumed--lounged on a slab of rock that was elevated from the cavern floor on a heap of ancient bone. I didn't know what I had expected--some form of vile, age shrunken wraith with burning eyes and sagging flesh, perhaps--but her appearance surprised me. She was short, plump, with red hair and freckled cheeks that looked more youthful than my own. A black cloth covered her ample bosom and another was tied around her wide hips. Still her bright green eyes and full lips oozed a sort of feminine promise. I could see how Harfigorn could have fallen under her spell and why his crew would have blindly followed them both.

"Hello," she said in a voice that was surprisingly mild and pleasant.

"Hi." Seymuhr answered. Then shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, when Merrick elbowed him.

"I must admit, I didn't think you'd go through with it," Abilene said. "A testament to the power of love, or some such thing."

"Wouldn't...?" Merrick was clearly as puzzled as I was. He looked at me, confusion in his gaze, then scratched his scalp.

Abilene's laugh was melodic. She bent over, her hands between her thighs, as her green eyes lit with mischief. Even I felt my gaze drawn toward the shadows of her cleavage, the promise of her somehow still vibrant womanhood. "Oh, come now," she slid a slender tongue over her perfect teeth--not hanged and chipped as I had expected, at all. "Come forward. Your task is done. Admirably done. Your reward awaits."

Seymuhr took half a step. An exclamation burst from my throat. Merrick clutched at his shoulder.

Abilene's voice was suddenly cold as iron. "Not. You, irf." She lifted her gaze above his head and crooked a finger. "Come forth, woman."

"Irf?" I glanced at Seymuhr. Irf? He had the old blood in his veins? Then I saw Baram steel herself and step forward, pushing a stunned Merrick aside. She gave me a mournful gaze as she walked toward Abilene's perch. My stomach went sour and my throat went dry. "No."

She didn't answer, but Abilene laughed again. "'Fraid so, dear. Did you think you could survive long enough to find me if I didn't want you to? I rule this place. All that happens is within my will -- and my will alone."

Baram walked stiffly toward the divan, shoulders set and head held high, as if she had to force herself not to look over her shoulder at us. She headed not directly to Abilene, but a recess in the cave wall to her right. In the darkness beyond the throne I could barely make out what looked like bars.

"No matter," Merrick called. "You only speed your doom. We are here to stop you."

"You are here," Abilene corrected in a frosty voice, "to advance my dominion over this land. Your companions are here to witness it and carry that image and the knowledge of how powerless they are to their graves. It is boon I will grant you, so your death may be a relief."

"That's very kind of you," Seymuhr said.

I glared at him, shocked. Was he in the grip of some type of charm?  

"What?" He sounded defensive. "She didn't have to do that."

I opened and closed my mouth several times as I tried to find something to say to that. Then several things happened at once. Baram, hidden within the recess behind Abilene's throne, shrieked in horror and rage. Broo Fang Tane let out a high-pitched war cry and I saw a smooth stone fly from his sling and strike the witch on the forehead. She snarled and wiped away the blood that blossomed there--and a small sheet of perfect skin came off with it, revealing yellow bone. The jewel atop Merrick's staff was blazing and it sounded like he was singing. Rasping sounds filled the cavern behind us and Seymuhr turned that way, a mace in each hand and a grim smile on his face.

Just like that, the battle was joined. I stood in the middle, unsure of where to direct my attention or which foe to fight.