If you haven't read Chapter 3, read that first.
"Wait!"
Valinor Trollslayer grabbed Mort by the shoulder to keep him from continuing. The other party members stopped.
"What is it?" Teserk asked.
Valinor didn't respond. He moved in front of Mort, crouched down and examined something. He gently pulled some of the forest fauna aside and pointed to a thin string that stretched across the cart trail.
"What's that?" Mort asked.
Valinor motioned Mort back a few feet, ducked low to the ground and pulled on the wire with a finger.
VvvvvssssSSHHHHHHPPPPP!
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
Three supple branches tore through the air above the ranger's head. Knives lashed to the end of each branch sunk hilt deep into a nearby tree. Had Valinor been standing when the wire was tripped....
Mort swallowed and visibly paled. "Oh. Never mind."
"We must be getting close to the outlaw camp."
Teserk grinned. "Nothing like a few death traps to warmly welcome your visitors."
"What, you think there are more of those things?"
Valinor look askance at the now trembling farmer. "You can count on it. You stay here. I'll scout ahead a bit to see what we're up against.
"Sure. No problem. I'll just wait right here."
Valinor moved off into the woods. Mort took a few steps back into an area clear of the trees. He unintentionally stepped on a dry branch.
CRACK!
The farmer shot three feet into the air and fell hard on his rump. His hand landed on top of an anthill. Little red fire ants acted quickly to defend their nest and Mort leapt to his feet, squealing in pain.
Teserk laughed uncontrollably as Theadina helped the poor farmer remove the fearsome ants and treated the multitude of angry red welts that began to form on his hand.
"Now THAT was well worth this whole ordeal."
-----
Valinor had discovered and disabled four more traps - another spring trap, a covered pit and two nooses - and bypassed two lazy sentinels before he came to the outskirts of the outlaw camp. Though he possessed ample skill, he had needed very little of it to circumvent the band's defenses. This told him two important things: first, the thieves had only marginal skill in woodcraft and second, they really didn't expect anyone to find them this deep into the woods. They were fools.
At the moment, the ranger was crouched in the shadow of a large elm at the eastern edge of the clearing that was the outlaw camp. The clearing was circular, approximately 200 feet in diameter and was dominated by a large tent towards the center. A semicircle of six smaller tents, lean-tos really, lined the forest edge close to where Valinor hid. The band's horses and cart were stationed on the western side of the open space along with the camp's latrine. The cart trail, which led to the southern point of the camp, was blocked off by a large pile of dead brush. A small stream meandered past about a hundred feet to Valinor's rear and provided the outlaws with a fresh water supply.
Valinor counted seven men in the clearing. Two, gathered close to a fire in the exact center of the camp, were in the process of preparing supper. Two of the others were tending to the horses. The remaining three were gathered in a circle on a space of clear ground tossing dice. All had the look of bullies. They were above average in size, well muscled, and their faces were heavily lined and scarred. There was no clear leader among those he could see, so Valinor made several educated assumptions. There were more men than tents, so every tent had to be shared. By their size, the ranger estimated two men per tent. The leader, of course, would get the luxury of the large center tent to himself. That made a total of thirteen: twelve outlaws and one leader.
Valinor made some quick mental calculations. He saw seven men currently, had passed two sentinels and had killed one in the form of the assassin earlier in the day. That made ten. Valinor counted horses. There were twelve he assumed belonged to the band, plus a giant of a horse that must have been Mort's 'Mammoth'. Add the horse they had recovered in the forest and the number matched up with his estimate of the band's strength. Given that the leader was relaxing in his tent, that still left two of the outlaws unaccounted for.
A small rustle of branches behind him was all the warning Valinor got. He hit the ground and held his breath, not daring to move. Two pair of well-worn leather boots walked to the edge of the clearing from deeper in the forest, stopping not five feet from where the ranger lay.
"Aw, spit! They done started the game without us."
"Well, what did you expect, Dawson? They weren't going wait for our patrol shift to end."
The man called Dawson turned his head and spat to the ground. The spittle hit Valinor's arm. He resisted the urge to wipe the foul fluid away.
"What's with these stupid patrols anyway? We already got two sentries posted, an' they sleep most o' the time anyway. What do we need to be walkin' around fer? Broadbent's getting' paranoid!"
"Stop your complaining, Dawson. It's just a two-hour shift. Dinner will still be hot when we get done. Broadbent knows what he's doing. Do you want those gnolls to come upon us unawares?"
"Aw, spit! We ain't seen hide nor hair o' them things for weeks. I says we chased 'em off for good last time. Broadbent's wastin' my time."
"Better watch your tongue, Dawson, or Broadbent will sic Silent on you when he gets back."
Dawson shifted his feet uneasily. "I d-didn't mean nuthin' by it. Honest. Aw, spit, Luther. Let's get movin'."
The two men moved back into the woods and were soon gone. Valinor breathed a sigh of relief and got back to his feet. He quietly moved away from the camp and headed back to where the others waited.
-----
"So there are just twelve of them? That should be a breeze."
Mort stared at Teserk incredulously. "You can't be serious! We're talking about twelve - TWELVE - armed and vicious thugs! And you think it'll be like a stroll through the meadow? You're crazy!"
Valinor stifled a smile. "We won't be fighting all of them at once. In fact, if we're lucky, we won't have to fight many of them at all."
"An just how do ye plan t' do that, lad?" Colin asked.
"I've heard of this Broadbent," Valinor replied. "He's ex-military. Honorable in his own way. I'm sure he'd be open to a challenge for the hospitality of his camp. I've got a plan."
-----
Clive Conners sat sleepily at his watch ten feet up in an old elm tree. The wooden platform was hard, but Clive had managed to arrange himself comfortably enough. Unlike some of his band brothers, Clive didn't mind watch duty. Since nothing ever happened out this far into the woods, he was able to use the time to catch up on his sleep.
He was almost asleep when he heard a voice. A female voice.
Clive blinked back the sleep and came to his feet. He listened carefully for a few minutes, but heard nothing else. He was just about to dismiss the episode as a dream when he heard the voice again, closer this time. It was definitely a female voice. And the woman seemed to be crying.
Ignoring protocol, Clive clambered down the rope ladder and made his way toward the source voice. He found it two minutes later.
The woman was sitting on a fallen log. She was beautiful. The skin of her face was a creamy white. Her eyes were a dark liquid brown. Rich brown hair was gathered into a braid that fell over her left shoulder. A long royal blue cloak was draped about her, making it difficult to see the details of her clothing. The woman had one boot off and was in the process of massaging a dainty foot.
"Stupid blister," she muttered. Her full lips made an "O" shape as she noticed Clive.
Clive raised his hands in a calming gesture.
"S'all right, miss," he said, "I ain't fixin' ta hurt ya."
"I should hope not," the woman replied. "I've suffered quite enough for one day."
She held the offending boot up to show him. "Can you imagine having to walk for miles, alone, in a boot of such shoddy workmanship?"
Clive's eyes widened at the word 'alone'. He was beginning to see some possibilities.
"Let me help ya, there, miss."
"Oh, would you? I'm simply too weak to manage it myself."
The woman held her foot out in his direction.
Clive made a beeline for the woman. In his haste he failed to notice the man concealed behind the bush next to the fallen log.
There was a crack as Mort swung a thick branch across the back of the Clive's head. The guard collapsed unconscious at Theadina's feet.
"Well done, Mort," the Knight said as she pulled first her stocking, then her boot back onto her foot. "Let's hope the others have it so easy."
-----
Valinor could clearly see the guard on the platform, though he himself was well hidden. The ranger reached into his pack and retrieved a small black pouch. This he carefully affixed to the end of a blunt-tipped arrow. His weapon ready, Valinor nocked the arrow and took careful aim.
The shaft flew true, striking the tree a scant two inches from the guard's face. The black pouch exploded upon impact, enveloping the startled guard in a cloud of powered herbs. The guard inhaled deeply in his surprise, an action that caused him to gag, then cough uncontrollably. His eyes rolled suddenly up into his head and he collapsed to the floor of the platform.
"Sweet dreams," Valinor said, moving on toward the camp.
-----
"What's this, now?"
Dawson had stopped abruptly, causing Luther to run into him.
"Looky there," Dawson said, pointing in the direction of the stream. Tied to a tree near the bank was a sleek black horse. The horse was unsaddled.
"That's Silent's mount."
Dawson gulped, remembering his complaining from earlier and Luther's threat of Silent's retribution.
"Aw, spit! What's she doin' out 'ere? An' without no saddle?"
"I have no idea," replied Luther, "But I reckon we'd better check it out."
"Aw, spit!" Dawson muttered, but he followed Luther over to the mare.
"She looks all right," Luther said after a brief inspection of the horse. "Let's take her back to camp.
Before Dawson could answer a flying shadow descended from a tree branch above, knocking both men to the ground. Dawson rolled with the impact, coming up into a crouch a few feet away. He was quickly leveled by a well-placed kick to the side of his head.
Luther got only a cursory glance at his attacker before the man's fist connected solidly with his jaw.
Colin helped Teserk off the unconscious Luther then untied the black mare from the tree.
"Come on, lass," he said, "Your job's not finished yet."
Monday, July 27, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Week Update
Just goes to show how very few people read the blog as no one has yet castigated me for missing 2 days of posts. Well, I'm not gonna make them up. I will, however, post a FFF later today. Just so you know.
All four of you. :)
All four of you. :)
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
"Secret Life of Pets"
This short is in response to a challenge about the secret life of pets. What would our pet's secret life be? Hmmm.....
"Hey, Sky."
Chirp!
"How are you this morning?"
Chirp!
"Me, I'm tired. Jarom was up at 2:00 again. He's nine years old, you'd think he could sleep through the night. How are you doing on food?" Todd checked the parakeet's food dish. "Still looks okay. But you've pushed your water bowl out again. That's the third time this week."
Chirp!
"Yeah, okay. Look, I'm gonna refill this, but you gotta stop pushing it out."
Chirp!
"Smart alec."
Todd filled the water container and pushed it back into place. "You know, Houdini pushed that out the very first day we got her. We put the cage in our room, came back ten minutes later and she was flying around. That's how she got her name; she was a great escape artist. We had to keep her wings clipped just in case. At least with you we don't have to worry about that. You don't leave your cage even when we leave the door open."
Chirp!
"Well, I gotta go to work. Have fun."
Sky watched as her Ward left the kitchen. She hopped to the front of the cage and tilted her head to one side, listening for the tell-tale signs he had left the house. When she was sure he was gone she hopped over to the water container.
"Houdini was just plain stupid," Sky thought. "You never leave the cage when the Wards can see you."
She pushed on the water dish. It hardly budged. Sky sighed. When Adam-Ward filled the water dish he only managed to get it half full. Dad-Ward was more careful. The heavier dish was very difficult to push. Sky was forced to make several attempts before she succeeded in pushing the dish out of place. It fell to the floor, splashing water every which way. Sky waited a few minutes, listening carefully. Sometimes one or the other of the adult Wards would still be in the house long after she thought they were gone. When no one came running, she used her beak to lift up the plastic piece that fell to cover the hole left whenever the water dish was removed, and then slipped out of the cage.
It was only a short hop to the kitchen table. Jarom-Ward had eaten cereal for breakfast. It seemed her subliminal suggestion was still working: there was milk spilled around where his bowl had been. Dad-Ward thought Jarom was just messy, which was true in a way. Sky's suggestion would never have worked had the general tendency not existed already. There was a large quantity of milk today. That was good. Last night's incursion had been particularly harsh, severely depleting the arcane shielding. Without a fairly substantial reinforcement spell the shadowlings would break through.
Sky hopped over to where the spill was and wet her claws. Taking a deep breath, she began a very complicated song. As she sang she traced an intricate design on the table top. It took almost an hour, and she was close to being hoarse when she was done, but when she stepped back to look at her handiwork she was pleased. Everything was just as it should be. Only one more step.
Careful not to disrupt the pattern lines, Sky hopped to the centermost point of the design, and then focused her chi. The chakra responded and a third eye opened on her forehead. Using her Sight as a guide she infused the design with her life force. It drained her reserve tremendously, but when she was finished the rune web radiated protective energy. It was finished. The spell was active. The shadowlings would gain no entry tonight or many nights to come.
Exhausted, Sky returned to the cage. She felt like napping, but knew she had to eat if she wanted to replenish the chokata she had spent on the spell. She ate the millet out of the food mix the Wards provided her. She was tired of millet, but the artificial color on the other pieces would harm her balance, so she avoided it. When she had finally eaten her fill she flitted up to her swing and drifted to sleep.
She was awakened by the sound of the back door opening. Dad-Ward came in and set down his things. Sky game him a welcoming, "Chirp!"
"Hi, Sky," he said. He took a look at the table. "What a mess! Not only did Jarom spill his milk today, he played with it afterward. I've told him a million times...." He continued to mumble as he left the room.
Sky gave a satisfied chirp. Jarom would catch some grief, it was true, but his dreams would be safe from the shadowlings, and that was what really mattered.
"Hey, Sky."
Chirp!
"How are you this morning?"
Chirp!
"Me, I'm tired. Jarom was up at 2:00 again. He's nine years old, you'd think he could sleep through the night. How are you doing on food?" Todd checked the parakeet's food dish. "Still looks okay. But you've pushed your water bowl out again. That's the third time this week."
Chirp!
"Yeah, okay. Look, I'm gonna refill this, but you gotta stop pushing it out."
Chirp!
"Smart alec."
Todd filled the water container and pushed it back into place. "You know, Houdini pushed that out the very first day we got her. We put the cage in our room, came back ten minutes later and she was flying around. That's how she got her name; she was a great escape artist. We had to keep her wings clipped just in case. At least with you we don't have to worry about that. You don't leave your cage even when we leave the door open."
Chirp!
"Well, I gotta go to work. Have fun."
Sky watched as her Ward left the kitchen. She hopped to the front of the cage and tilted her head to one side, listening for the tell-tale signs he had left the house. When she was sure he was gone she hopped over to the water container.
"Houdini was just plain stupid," Sky thought. "You never leave the cage when the Wards can see you."
She pushed on the water dish. It hardly budged. Sky sighed. When Adam-Ward filled the water dish he only managed to get it half full. Dad-Ward was more careful. The heavier dish was very difficult to push. Sky was forced to make several attempts before she succeeded in pushing the dish out of place. It fell to the floor, splashing water every which way. Sky waited a few minutes, listening carefully. Sometimes one or the other of the adult Wards would still be in the house long after she thought they were gone. When no one came running, she used her beak to lift up the plastic piece that fell to cover the hole left whenever the water dish was removed, and then slipped out of the cage.
It was only a short hop to the kitchen table. Jarom-Ward had eaten cereal for breakfast. It seemed her subliminal suggestion was still working: there was milk spilled around where his bowl had been. Dad-Ward thought Jarom was just messy, which was true in a way. Sky's suggestion would never have worked had the general tendency not existed already. There was a large quantity of milk today. That was good. Last night's incursion had been particularly harsh, severely depleting the arcane shielding. Without a fairly substantial reinforcement spell the shadowlings would break through.
Sky hopped over to where the spill was and wet her claws. Taking a deep breath, she began a very complicated song. As she sang she traced an intricate design on the table top. It took almost an hour, and she was close to being hoarse when she was done, but when she stepped back to look at her handiwork she was pleased. Everything was just as it should be. Only one more step.
Careful not to disrupt the pattern lines, Sky hopped to the centermost point of the design, and then focused her chi. The chakra responded and a third eye opened on her forehead. Using her Sight as a guide she infused the design with her life force. It drained her reserve tremendously, but when she was finished the rune web radiated protective energy. It was finished. The spell was active. The shadowlings would gain no entry tonight or many nights to come.
Exhausted, Sky returned to the cage. She felt like napping, but knew she had to eat if she wanted to replenish the chokata she had spent on the spell. She ate the millet out of the food mix the Wards provided her. She was tired of millet, but the artificial color on the other pieces would harm her balance, so she avoided it. When she had finally eaten her fill she flitted up to her swing and drifted to sleep.
She was awakened by the sound of the back door opening. Dad-Ward came in and set down his things. Sky game him a welcoming, "Chirp!"
"Hi, Sky," he said. He took a look at the table. "What a mess! Not only did Jarom spill his milk today, he played with it afterward. I've told him a million times...." He continued to mumble as he left the room.
Sky gave a satisfied chirp. Jarom would catch some grief, it was true, but his dreams would be safe from the shadowlings, and that was what really mattered.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
"The Game - Chapter 3"
This is Monday's story - I was sick last night and didn't get it posted...
If you haven't read Chapter 2, read that first.
The party moved more cautiously than before as they traced the path back to the site of the ambush. Valinor would scout ahead for several minutes and then return to tell them the way was clear, only to disappear again as the others started forward. Teserk was impatient at the frequency of the stops, but Valinor was insistent. His argument was that they couldn't be sure exactly where the bandits had appeared from, or disappeared to. Care was needed to ensure they didn't stumble into the outlaws' camp or fall into ambush themselves.
Colin used the time to inspect and care for the horse that had come into their possession.
"She's a beauty," he declared as he checked the mare's hooves for any loose stones.
Teserk had heard the remark over and over again as Colin continued his ministrations. The half-dwarf was somewhat of an expert in the care and handling of horses, having spent a decade or so with the Kings' Lancers. Teserk had to admit that this horse was a prime specimen, but he tired of Colin's continual declarations. It wasn't as if Colin was trying to woo the horse. But, then again....
The thought put a smile on Teserk's face. Thoroughly cheered, the fighter moved over to where Theadina and Mort were talking in hushed tones.
He heard Mort pose the question, "So how does a noble and her companions end up traveling between cities without a horse to their names?"
Theadina blushed. "That would be my doing. We came upon a merchant and his family traveling toward Riversend a few days back. It was the day after that massive thunderstorm - the roads were a mess. The merchant had two large wagons and had been trying to pull them with only two horses. The poor things weren't up to the task. One of them had died from the strain, the other looked to follow soon after."
"He must not have been a very good merchant if he could only afford two horses to haul two wagons."
"My thought exactly," Teserk said, earning him an icy look from Theadina.
"Both he and his wife were extremely young," she continued, "And they had just started their business. They intended to set up shop in Riversend and had brought with them everything they owned. All of their money had gone into merchandise. They hadn't thought about how they were going to get it all there."
"A hard lesson, and one he needed to learn if he's going to be successful," said Mort.
Theadina nodded. "I agree. Still, we couldn't just leave them there."
"So you sold them your horses."
"She GAVE them our horses."
"They had no money! It was my spiritual duty to help them any way I could."
"So you're WALKING back to Fen Halven?"
Teserk grinned. "Yup. Course, if we're lucky maybe we can talk this bandit group of yours into donating a steed or two. If they're all as nice as that one there, we'll have traded up."
At that moment, Valinor emerged from the woods to the north.
"The road is just a half-mile away. The way is clear."
The group followed quickly and they were soon standing upon North Road. The "road" was really just a dirt wagon trail that cut a narrow path through the Wildwoods. Still, it provided a more direct route from Caddington to Heart's Gate than did the Duke's Highway, which skirted the forest. While partially paved and guarded by ducal patrols, it added nearly a week to the length of the journey.
"North Road" was known as "Bandit's Alley" to the locals. Countless bands of outlaws and brigands made the surrounding forest their home, but the groups spent so much time hassling each other that travelers were rarely bothered. It seemed that Mort had been an exception.
Mort's wagon sat like a beached whale on the side of the road. Every useful part had been scavenged - wheels, brake, even one axel had been taken. The remaining axel had cracked, evidence as to why the bandits hadn't just driven the wagon back to their camp.
Mort hopped up to where the diver's seat had been and began pulling frantically at the loose boards beneath. One came up almost immediately revealing a hidden cavity under the seat. His face fell as he realized the space was empty.
"They found the ransom money," he said with a slight catch to his voice.
"We expected that, didn't we?" Teserk reminded him.
"Yes, but that didn't stop me from hoping that, just maybe, we wouldn't have to go after them."
Valinor was checking the various tracks that led to and from the ambush site.
"How many of them jumped you?" the ranger asked.
Mort thought for a moment. "I remember about eight men on horseback, including the man that chased me."
Valinor nodded. "That concurs with what I'm seeing. These marks here indicate they had a cart waiting in the woods to carry away any booty. I'm guessing they loaded the wagon parts into the cart to haul them back to their storage area. They took your other horse, too."
Teserk blinked. "Other horse?"
"Sure, I had two," Mort said.
That something that felt out of place back at the ravine suddenly clicked into sharp focus in Teserk's brain. His eyes narrowed.
"There wasn't any harness on Betsie back in the ravine. She was saddled. You only used one horse to pull that thing?" He motioned at the relatively large wagon bed.
"Mammoth was up to it," Mort said after the slightest pause. "He's a big Clydesdale and he hates being teamed up."
Valinor nodded. "I can make out his footprints here. In fact, it looks like they hitched him up to their cart."
"Then why even bring Betsie," Teserk went on, "If Mammoth didn't need the help."
The pause was slightly longer this time, but no one else seemed to notice. "I wasn't sure that this big wagon was going to make it all the way to the Wizard's home. You know these country roads - one big rainstorm and they're all muddied up. Betsie was my back up plan in case something went wrong."
"And you're lucky you had her along," Theadina chimed in, giving Teserk a withering look. "She saved your life."
Mort nodded his agreement.
Teserk shook his head slightly. Something was not right here. Mort's answers did fit the facts in evidence, but the fighter was convinced now that the farmer was lying. He just couldn't put his finger on how. Then he had another thought.
"Where's the body?"
"The body?" asked Colin
"Yes, the body of that guy you picked up...Finch. You said he was killed here, but there's no body."
"W-well," Mort stuttered as he backed away from Teserk. Teserk's face had become strangely distorted and his hand had grasped the hilt of his sword. "They must have t-taken it with them."
"A convenient..."
"There is a trail of blood that leads from there," Valinor pointed at a point next to the wagon bed, "To here, where the cart was parked when it was loaded. Looks like they dragged poor Finch over here, then loaded him up."
"Regardless..."
"That's enough now, lad," Colin said sternly as both he and Theadina stepped between Teserk and the now terrified Mort. "This is not a court an' our friend isn't on trial."
"What's got into you?" Theadina added harshly. "This man has lost his daughter and needs our help. We have pledged it to him. We should be trying to figure out how we're going to get the ransom back from the bandits, not questioning this good man's character!"
Teserk knew from experience that he would never win this argument. Theadina was too into her "help the innocent" mode to listen to reason and Colin was clearly interested in finding more horses so he didn't have to walk all the way back to Fen Halven. He could appeal to Valinor, but the ranger's sense of justice was such that he would need much more substantial proof of Mort's lies before he would be convinced of treachery. The evidence so far matched Mort's story...or was Mort matching his story to the evidence? Teserk couldn't prove anything, so he didn't bother pursuing the matter. He took his hand from his sword hilt.
"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm not too excited about the prospects of taking on a whole band of outlaws. I guess I'm a little on edge. No hard feelings?"
Teserk extended his hand toward Mort who accepted it, if somewhat reluctantly.
"The cart headed into the woods over here."
The group moved off, back into the Wildwoods. Teserk played rear guard, turning one image over and over in his mind.
He was certain Mortimous de Vous had winked at him as they had shaken hands.
If you haven't read Chapter 2, read that first.
The party moved more cautiously than before as they traced the path back to the site of the ambush. Valinor would scout ahead for several minutes and then return to tell them the way was clear, only to disappear again as the others started forward. Teserk was impatient at the frequency of the stops, but Valinor was insistent. His argument was that they couldn't be sure exactly where the bandits had appeared from, or disappeared to. Care was needed to ensure they didn't stumble into the outlaws' camp or fall into ambush themselves.
Colin used the time to inspect and care for the horse that had come into their possession.
"She's a beauty," he declared as he checked the mare's hooves for any loose stones.
Teserk had heard the remark over and over again as Colin continued his ministrations. The half-dwarf was somewhat of an expert in the care and handling of horses, having spent a decade or so with the Kings' Lancers. Teserk had to admit that this horse was a prime specimen, but he tired of Colin's continual declarations. It wasn't as if Colin was trying to woo the horse. But, then again....
The thought put a smile on Teserk's face. Thoroughly cheered, the fighter moved over to where Theadina and Mort were talking in hushed tones.
He heard Mort pose the question, "So how does a noble and her companions end up traveling between cities without a horse to their names?"
Theadina blushed. "That would be my doing. We came upon a merchant and his family traveling toward Riversend a few days back. It was the day after that massive thunderstorm - the roads were a mess. The merchant had two large wagons and had been trying to pull them with only two horses. The poor things weren't up to the task. One of them had died from the strain, the other looked to follow soon after."
"He must not have been a very good merchant if he could only afford two horses to haul two wagons."
"My thought exactly," Teserk said, earning him an icy look from Theadina.
"Both he and his wife were extremely young," she continued, "And they had just started their business. They intended to set up shop in Riversend and had brought with them everything they owned. All of their money had gone into merchandise. They hadn't thought about how they were going to get it all there."
"A hard lesson, and one he needed to learn if he's going to be successful," said Mort.
Theadina nodded. "I agree. Still, we couldn't just leave them there."
"So you sold them your horses."
"She GAVE them our horses."
"They had no money! It was my spiritual duty to help them any way I could."
"So you're WALKING back to Fen Halven?"
Teserk grinned. "Yup. Course, if we're lucky maybe we can talk this bandit group of yours into donating a steed or two. If they're all as nice as that one there, we'll have traded up."
At that moment, Valinor emerged from the woods to the north.
"The road is just a half-mile away. The way is clear."
The group followed quickly and they were soon standing upon North Road. The "road" was really just a dirt wagon trail that cut a narrow path through the Wildwoods. Still, it provided a more direct route from Caddington to Heart's Gate than did the Duke's Highway, which skirted the forest. While partially paved and guarded by ducal patrols, it added nearly a week to the length of the journey.
"North Road" was known as "Bandit's Alley" to the locals. Countless bands of outlaws and brigands made the surrounding forest their home, but the groups spent so much time hassling each other that travelers were rarely bothered. It seemed that Mort had been an exception.
Mort's wagon sat like a beached whale on the side of the road. Every useful part had been scavenged - wheels, brake, even one axel had been taken. The remaining axel had cracked, evidence as to why the bandits hadn't just driven the wagon back to their camp.
Mort hopped up to where the diver's seat had been and began pulling frantically at the loose boards beneath. One came up almost immediately revealing a hidden cavity under the seat. His face fell as he realized the space was empty.
"They found the ransom money," he said with a slight catch to his voice.
"We expected that, didn't we?" Teserk reminded him.
"Yes, but that didn't stop me from hoping that, just maybe, we wouldn't have to go after them."
Valinor was checking the various tracks that led to and from the ambush site.
"How many of them jumped you?" the ranger asked.
Mort thought for a moment. "I remember about eight men on horseback, including the man that chased me."
Valinor nodded. "That concurs with what I'm seeing. These marks here indicate they had a cart waiting in the woods to carry away any booty. I'm guessing they loaded the wagon parts into the cart to haul them back to their storage area. They took your other horse, too."
Teserk blinked. "Other horse?"
"Sure, I had two," Mort said.
That something that felt out of place back at the ravine suddenly clicked into sharp focus in Teserk's brain. His eyes narrowed.
"There wasn't any harness on Betsie back in the ravine. She was saddled. You only used one horse to pull that thing?" He motioned at the relatively large wagon bed.
"Mammoth was up to it," Mort said after the slightest pause. "He's a big Clydesdale and he hates being teamed up."
Valinor nodded. "I can make out his footprints here. In fact, it looks like they hitched him up to their cart."
"Then why even bring Betsie," Teserk went on, "If Mammoth didn't need the help."
The pause was slightly longer this time, but no one else seemed to notice. "I wasn't sure that this big wagon was going to make it all the way to the Wizard's home. You know these country roads - one big rainstorm and they're all muddied up. Betsie was my back up plan in case something went wrong."
"And you're lucky you had her along," Theadina chimed in, giving Teserk a withering look. "She saved your life."
Mort nodded his agreement.
Teserk shook his head slightly. Something was not right here. Mort's answers did fit the facts in evidence, but the fighter was convinced now that the farmer was lying. He just couldn't put his finger on how. Then he had another thought.
"Where's the body?"
"The body?" asked Colin
"Yes, the body of that guy you picked up...Finch. You said he was killed here, but there's no body."
"W-well," Mort stuttered as he backed away from Teserk. Teserk's face had become strangely distorted and his hand had grasped the hilt of his sword. "They must have t-taken it with them."
"A convenient..."
"There is a trail of blood that leads from there," Valinor pointed at a point next to the wagon bed, "To here, where the cart was parked when it was loaded. Looks like they dragged poor Finch over here, then loaded him up."
"Regardless..."
"That's enough now, lad," Colin said sternly as both he and Theadina stepped between Teserk and the now terrified Mort. "This is not a court an' our friend isn't on trial."
"What's got into you?" Theadina added harshly. "This man has lost his daughter and needs our help. We have pledged it to him. We should be trying to figure out how we're going to get the ransom back from the bandits, not questioning this good man's character!"
Teserk knew from experience that he would never win this argument. Theadina was too into her "help the innocent" mode to listen to reason and Colin was clearly interested in finding more horses so he didn't have to walk all the way back to Fen Halven. He could appeal to Valinor, but the ranger's sense of justice was such that he would need much more substantial proof of Mort's lies before he would be convinced of treachery. The evidence so far matched Mort's story...or was Mort matching his story to the evidence? Teserk couldn't prove anything, so he didn't bother pursuing the matter. He took his hand from his sword hilt.
"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm not too excited about the prospects of taking on a whole band of outlaws. I guess I'm a little on edge. No hard feelings?"
Teserk extended his hand toward Mort who accepted it, if somewhat reluctantly.
"The cart headed into the woods over here."
The group moved off, back into the Wildwoods. Teserk played rear guard, turning one image over and over in his mind.
He was certain Mortimous de Vous had winked at him as they had shaken hands.
Friday, July 17, 2009
FFF - "High Gate" Chapter 1
Here's the first of hopefully many. Remember, there is next to no editing for this. You've been warned.
Chapter 1
"So, Davind, tell me what happened."
"Well, sir, I was in the practice yard. I had just finished putting my sparring equipment away when I noticed Master Horvinnt's dog digging up some of Madame Orrison's flowers. I tried to stop him, but you know what Kumai's like. He growled at me and refused to leave. So I picked up a few clods of dirt and tossed them his direction. That's when Jonner here showed up and pulled his sword on me. I tried to explain what I was doing, but he wouldn't listen. He just attacked me."
Jonathun couldn't keep quiet any longer. "That's not true, sir!"
Master Gendall held up a callused hand. "You will wait your turn, cadet." He motioned for Davind to continue.
"Well, sir, I wasn't just going to let him skewer me. I dove for the weapon rack and swept up a sword. Just in time, too. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. If you hadn't come along, one of us would have been hurt for sure."
"Sir! That's not what happened..."
Master Gendall turned his formidable gaze on Jonathun, stopping him mid-sentence. "Did you or did you not pull your weapon on Cadet Davind?"
"I did, sir, but..."
"And did you or did you not proceed to attack Cadet Davind?"
"I wouldn't call it attacking, sir..."
"And did I or did I not find you and Cadet Davind crossing swords when I arrived in the practice yard?"
"Yes, sir, but..."
"Then I have no choice but to acknowledge Cadet Davind's complaint."
"But, sir, that's not how it happened!"
Master Gendall's eyes bored into Jonathun. He wanted to continue, but he dared not. He felt like one of the insects pinned to the display boards in Master Hovinnt's office.
"The penalty for fighting with weapons is usually the lash, but in this case, I feel a more poignant lesson will apply. You are sentenced to five days of penance labor and banned from attending the Returning."
Jonathun felt his stomach lurch. Banned from the Returning? Somehow he found his tongue.
"But...but Master Gendall. This is the first Returning in almost twenty years. My brother is one of those in the party!"
Jonathun glanced aside at Davind. The other cadet stood at strict attention, but the smirk on his face was unmistakable. The slodding jerk had set him up. He just knew it.
"I'll do anything, Master. I'll take double the lashes. Please, just let me go to the Returning."
"I'm sorry, Jonathun, my decision is final." Master Gendall rose to his feet. "Tomorrow morning the two of you will report to the Sanctum. As Master Hovinnt will be leaving for the Returning with the rest of the school this afternoon, Master Lyden will be in charge of your labor assignments."
The five days of penance labor were nothing. Missing the Returning, however...Jonathun thought he would die. What would his father think? Despair threatened to overwhelm him and for the first time in years, Jonathun was on the edge of tears.
"Uh, Master? Both of us?"
Davind's voice pulled Jonathun back. It took a moment for him to understand what had been said.
"The penalty for fighting applies to both participants, Cadet Davind. You are in no way exempt."
"But it was his fault!"
"Both participants, Cadet Davind. If you disagree with my choice of punishment for you, I can add the lashes."
Davind swallowed audibly. "No, sir."
"Good. Now get out of my office, both of you, before either one of you says something else you might regret."
Jonathun slammed the door to his room so fiercely his roommate drew his sword.
"What the shards are you thinking?" Gregory protested. "I might have run you through." The shock fled from his face as he noticed Jonathun's expression.
"What happened?"
"Davind was tormenting Kumai and I drew on him. We crossed swords."
Gregory whistled. "That's not good. Did Grendall find out?"
"He caught us before we'd done more than a few passes. He banned me from the Returning."
"That's harsh."
Jonathun sat on his bunk. "I haven't seen my brother in five years, Greg. Five years. That's a long time to be out on Search. Mother had given up any hope of seeing him again."
"But he's back now, right? Those who have a successful returning are done with their service. Your brother's a hero now. Sure, you'll miss the party, but it's not like you won't ever see him again. Graduation is in two months. I'm sure he'll come for that."
"You're probably right."
Gregor put a hand on Jonathun's shoulder and grinned. "Aren't I always?"
As Gregor went back to packing his satchel, Jonathun frowned. The sour spot in his stomach took a turn for the worse. Gregor may be right most of the time, but not in this case. In this case, he was dead wrong.
Jonathun watched from the shade of the portcullis as the masters and his fellow students mounted up for the trip to West Gate. They were quite a sight; Masters Grendall, Horvinnt and Callisfield in their green Seekers uniforms and the students in the yellow overtunics of the High Gate Academy.
The entire staff of the school was heading to the Returning. Cooks, stablemen, smiths, groundskeepers, everyone was gathered together for the trip. All available carts, wagons and mounts had been conscripted into service. The procession was so large, the journey which would take a mounted man two days was scheduled for a full five. It was a grand adventure.
And he would be left behind.
The feelings of despair Jonathun had felt earlier had evaporated, burned away by the heat of his anger. His brother was part of the Returning and he was being left behind.
He hammered his fist into the gate, hardly noticing the pain of the impact. Shards take Davind and his constant scheming!
Jonathun spotted his rival across the marshaling yard, standing in the doorway of the main building. Davind wore a scowl the size of a spring melon. It was obvious that he was as angry as Jonathun over being left behind. Served the jerk right for setting him up. If Jonathun had to stay behind, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that Davind was as miserable as he was.
Jonathun corrected himself. "Not quite as miserable," he muttered. "He doesn't have a brother that's part of the Returning."
The sun chose that moment to emerge from behind the last remaining cloud in the sky, bathing the marshaling yard in glorious brightness. Armor and buckles sparkled as the restless horses stomped and shook their heads. The scene contrasted so greatly with Jonathun's mood he had to retreat farther into the shadows to keep from swearing out loud.
Master Grendall's voice rose above the general cacophony. "Cadet Leader, form up your squads."
Gregor, the black baldric sporting his Leader bars proudly displayed over his overtunic, swung his horse out of position and dressed the line.
"Form up, you bogguns," he called out. "Everyone in his place."
The murmurs that generally accompanied such an order were absent today. The other cadets, eager for the adventure that awaited, complied with the command with a sharpness and discipline which would make even Master Horvinnt proud.
Gregor guided his horse back into position behind the Masters. "Everyone accounted for and ready, Master Grendall."
"Excellent, Cadet Leader," Master Grendall replied. "Let's be off, then. Frederick."
The cadet seated next to Gregor put a horn to his lips and blew a short cadence. As one, the troop of Masters and students trotted from the marshaling yard to take their place at the head of the caravan waiting beyond the walls of the academy.
Jonathun couldn't bear to watch their departure. He was back inside before the masters even passed the gate.
Chapter 1
"So, Davind, tell me what happened."
"Well, sir, I was in the practice yard. I had just finished putting my sparring equipment away when I noticed Master Horvinnt's dog digging up some of Madame Orrison's flowers. I tried to stop him, but you know what Kumai's like. He growled at me and refused to leave. So I picked up a few clods of dirt and tossed them his direction. That's when Jonner here showed up and pulled his sword on me. I tried to explain what I was doing, but he wouldn't listen. He just attacked me."
Jonathun couldn't keep quiet any longer. "That's not true, sir!"
Master Gendall held up a callused hand. "You will wait your turn, cadet." He motioned for Davind to continue.
"Well, sir, I wasn't just going to let him skewer me. I dove for the weapon rack and swept up a sword. Just in time, too. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. If you hadn't come along, one of us would have been hurt for sure."
"Sir! That's not what happened..."
Master Gendall turned his formidable gaze on Jonathun, stopping him mid-sentence. "Did you or did you not pull your weapon on Cadet Davind?"
"I did, sir, but..."
"And did you or did you not proceed to attack Cadet Davind?"
"I wouldn't call it attacking, sir..."
"And did I or did I not find you and Cadet Davind crossing swords when I arrived in the practice yard?"
"Yes, sir, but..."
"Then I have no choice but to acknowledge Cadet Davind's complaint."
"But, sir, that's not how it happened!"
Master Gendall's eyes bored into Jonathun. He wanted to continue, but he dared not. He felt like one of the insects pinned to the display boards in Master Hovinnt's office.
"The penalty for fighting with weapons is usually the lash, but in this case, I feel a more poignant lesson will apply. You are sentenced to five days of penance labor and banned from attending the Returning."
Jonathun felt his stomach lurch. Banned from the Returning? Somehow he found his tongue.
"But...but Master Gendall. This is the first Returning in almost twenty years. My brother is one of those in the party!"
Jonathun glanced aside at Davind. The other cadet stood at strict attention, but the smirk on his face was unmistakable. The slodding jerk had set him up. He just knew it.
"I'll do anything, Master. I'll take double the lashes. Please, just let me go to the Returning."
"I'm sorry, Jonathun, my decision is final." Master Gendall rose to his feet. "Tomorrow morning the two of you will report to the Sanctum. As Master Hovinnt will be leaving for the Returning with the rest of the school this afternoon, Master Lyden will be in charge of your labor assignments."
The five days of penance labor were nothing. Missing the Returning, however...Jonathun thought he would die. What would his father think? Despair threatened to overwhelm him and for the first time in years, Jonathun was on the edge of tears.
"Uh, Master? Both of us?"
Davind's voice pulled Jonathun back. It took a moment for him to understand what had been said.
"The penalty for fighting applies to both participants, Cadet Davind. You are in no way exempt."
"But it was his fault!"
"Both participants, Cadet Davind. If you disagree with my choice of punishment for you, I can add the lashes."
Davind swallowed audibly. "No, sir."
"Good. Now get out of my office, both of you, before either one of you says something else you might regret."
Jonathun slammed the door to his room so fiercely his roommate drew his sword.
"What the shards are you thinking?" Gregory protested. "I might have run you through." The shock fled from his face as he noticed Jonathun's expression.
"What happened?"
"Davind was tormenting Kumai and I drew on him. We crossed swords."
Gregory whistled. "That's not good. Did Grendall find out?"
"He caught us before we'd done more than a few passes. He banned me from the Returning."
"That's harsh."
Jonathun sat on his bunk. "I haven't seen my brother in five years, Greg. Five years. That's a long time to be out on Search. Mother had given up any hope of seeing him again."
"But he's back now, right? Those who have a successful returning are done with their service. Your brother's a hero now. Sure, you'll miss the party, but it's not like you won't ever see him again. Graduation is in two months. I'm sure he'll come for that."
"You're probably right."
Gregor put a hand on Jonathun's shoulder and grinned. "Aren't I always?"
As Gregor went back to packing his satchel, Jonathun frowned. The sour spot in his stomach took a turn for the worse. Gregor may be right most of the time, but not in this case. In this case, he was dead wrong.
Jonathun watched from the shade of the portcullis as the masters and his fellow students mounted up for the trip to West Gate. They were quite a sight; Masters Grendall, Horvinnt and Callisfield in their green Seekers uniforms and the students in the yellow overtunics of the High Gate Academy.
The entire staff of the school was heading to the Returning. Cooks, stablemen, smiths, groundskeepers, everyone was gathered together for the trip. All available carts, wagons and mounts had been conscripted into service. The procession was so large, the journey which would take a mounted man two days was scheduled for a full five. It was a grand adventure.
And he would be left behind.
The feelings of despair Jonathun had felt earlier had evaporated, burned away by the heat of his anger. His brother was part of the Returning and he was being left behind.
He hammered his fist into the gate, hardly noticing the pain of the impact. Shards take Davind and his constant scheming!
Jonathun spotted his rival across the marshaling yard, standing in the doorway of the main building. Davind wore a scowl the size of a spring melon. It was obvious that he was as angry as Jonathun over being left behind. Served the jerk right for setting him up. If Jonathun had to stay behind, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that Davind was as miserable as he was.
Jonathun corrected himself. "Not quite as miserable," he muttered. "He doesn't have a brother that's part of the Returning."
The sun chose that moment to emerge from behind the last remaining cloud in the sky, bathing the marshaling yard in glorious brightness. Armor and buckles sparkled as the restless horses stomped and shook their heads. The scene contrasted so greatly with Jonathun's mood he had to retreat farther into the shadows to keep from swearing out loud.
Master Grendall's voice rose above the general cacophony. "Cadet Leader, form up your squads."
Gregor, the black baldric sporting his Leader bars proudly displayed over his overtunic, swung his horse out of position and dressed the line.
"Form up, you bogguns," he called out. "Everyone in his place."
The murmurs that generally accompanied such an order were absent today. The other cadets, eager for the adventure that awaited, complied with the command with a sharpness and discipline which would make even Master Horvinnt proud.
Gregor guided his horse back into position behind the Masters. "Everyone accounted for and ready, Master Grendall."
"Excellent, Cadet Leader," Master Grendall replied. "Let's be off, then. Frederick."
The cadet seated next to Gregor put a horn to his lips and blew a short cadence. As one, the troop of Masters and students trotted from the marshaling yard to take their place at the head of the caravan waiting beyond the walls of the academy.
Jonathun couldn't bear to watch their departure. He was back inside before the masters even passed the gate.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
"The Game - Chapter 2"
If you haven't read Chapter 1, I would start there first.
Valinor had very little problem backtracking the path that Mort and his attacker had followed earlier that day. Mort had made no effort to conceal his trail and the signs were even evident to Teserk, who had little knowledge of woodcraft. After about an hour the forest opened onto a large ravine, a miniscule stream no more than two feet wide meandering along the bottom. The south side of the ravine, the direction from which they approached, sloped smoothly down to the bottom. The north side, however, was very steep and rocky. Navigating the north side would be very treacherous. Teserk could see that the trail they followed led down to the bottom of the ravine, right to the body of what looked like a dead horse.
Valinor lead the group down to the horse. The body was fresh. Flies were busy sucking at a gash across the animal's neck. The ranger bent down to examine the corpse.
"Ah, poor Betsie!" lamented Mort. "She was a good horse. Got her when she was a colt. She served me well for nearly 15 years. I'm so sorry, lass."
"What happened?" Teserk asked.
"We were moving very fast through the woods. I kept looking over my shoulder instead of where we were headed. The top of the ravine there is very well hidden and I didn't see it until the last minute. Betsie tried to stop, but we skidded over the edge. I managed to throw myself off just in time. I watched her slide to the bottom. I slid down after her - but there was nothing I could do. Poor lass had broken her front leg. I couldn't bear to watch her suffer, so I put her down. Near broke my heart."
Teserk could see the broken leg. It was twisted at an unnatural angle and the jagged edges of bone poked through the torn flesh of the foreleg.
"You were quite proficient at putting her down," Valinor said, standing. "The cut you made was very precise and the instrument very sharp."
"I'm a mink farmer," Mort replied somewhat defensively, "I slaughter animals for a living."
He pulled a wicked looking tool from a leather case at his belt. There was a distinct curve to the blade. Teserk had never seen anything like it before.
"I designed it myself," Mort continued. "Slides easily between a minks fur and muscle and the curved edge makes the skinning go faster."
"It's remarkably clean," Valinor noticed.
"Washed it in that there stream when I was finished. This little knife represents my livelihood. Couldn't have it getting rusty on me."
Valinor withheld further comment and turned to the north side of the ravine, looking for a way up the embankment. The way was quite steep, devoid of any sturdy vegetation for handholds and littered about with fist-sized rocks that skittered away down the hill at the least provocation.
"You're lucky you didn't take the same fall as your horse," Theadina commented as she watched Valinor struggle to find a way up the slope. "It surely would have been fatal to you."
"Thank the spirits for that," Mort agreed.
"Did th' bandits attack ye on foot, or on horseback?" Colin asked suddenly.
"On foot, mostly. A couple of them had horses."
"Was yer pursuer one o' those?"
"I think so. Why do you ask?"
"I'm wondering where HIS horse be."
Mort blinked. "I don't know. That's a good question. He certainly followed me on foot past this point."
The question was answered as Valinor called down from above.
"There's a black mare tied to a tree up here."
"Well, then, there you go," Mort said. "He must have seen my fall and proceeded more cautiously."
"Of course," Theadina reasoned, "Chances were that you were seriously injured, if not outright killed, in the fall. He figured he had time to find a safe way down."
Their musings were interrupted by a shout from Valinor.
"There's no real safe way up here at this location," he said. "The tracks here show that the assassin headed east to find a better way down. Rather than waste more time, I'm going to lower a rope so you can climb up."
Mort said goodbye to Betsie as Valinor knotted some rope to a sturdy tree and tossed it down to the group. Theadina climbed up first, followed by Mort, Colin and finally Teserk.
When he reached the top, Teserk took a moment to study the terrain. He could see how Mort would have missed the drop off. The trees here were fairly thick and the edge of the ravine was lined with brush. The assassin's horse was tied to a medium-sized elm right next to the place where Betsie had gone over the edge. Several bushes had been ripped out in the struggle, leaving a hole in the brush line. The ravine at that point was especially steep.
Teserk thought of something. "You said you followed your horse down the incline?"
"The man was after me." Mort looked over the edge and swallowed hard. "I wasn't really thinking clearly at the time."
Theadina said what they were all thinking. "You are lucky to be alive."
Mort could only nod.
"The trail continues back this way."
Valinor set off down the trail. Colin untied the black mare and led her after, Theadina and Mort following. Teserk hung back a bit. He looked one last time down the slope. Something was not right here. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he was missing something important, something that tickled his brain, but refused to show itself.
Teserk sighed. He wasn't the thinker of the group - he left that to Theadina or Valinor. He would just have to trust that whatever was lurking in the back of his skull would show itself before too much longer.
With that thought in mind he headed out after his companions.
Valinor had very little problem backtracking the path that Mort and his attacker had followed earlier that day. Mort had made no effort to conceal his trail and the signs were even evident to Teserk, who had little knowledge of woodcraft. After about an hour the forest opened onto a large ravine, a miniscule stream no more than two feet wide meandering along the bottom. The south side of the ravine, the direction from which they approached, sloped smoothly down to the bottom. The north side, however, was very steep and rocky. Navigating the north side would be very treacherous. Teserk could see that the trail they followed led down to the bottom of the ravine, right to the body of what looked like a dead horse.
Valinor lead the group down to the horse. The body was fresh. Flies were busy sucking at a gash across the animal's neck. The ranger bent down to examine the corpse.
"Ah, poor Betsie!" lamented Mort. "She was a good horse. Got her when she was a colt. She served me well for nearly 15 years. I'm so sorry, lass."
"What happened?" Teserk asked.
"We were moving very fast through the woods. I kept looking over my shoulder instead of where we were headed. The top of the ravine there is very well hidden and I didn't see it until the last minute. Betsie tried to stop, but we skidded over the edge. I managed to throw myself off just in time. I watched her slide to the bottom. I slid down after her - but there was nothing I could do. Poor lass had broken her front leg. I couldn't bear to watch her suffer, so I put her down. Near broke my heart."
Teserk could see the broken leg. It was twisted at an unnatural angle and the jagged edges of bone poked through the torn flesh of the foreleg.
"You were quite proficient at putting her down," Valinor said, standing. "The cut you made was very precise and the instrument very sharp."
"I'm a mink farmer," Mort replied somewhat defensively, "I slaughter animals for a living."
He pulled a wicked looking tool from a leather case at his belt. There was a distinct curve to the blade. Teserk had never seen anything like it before.
"I designed it myself," Mort continued. "Slides easily between a minks fur and muscle and the curved edge makes the skinning go faster."
"It's remarkably clean," Valinor noticed.
"Washed it in that there stream when I was finished. This little knife represents my livelihood. Couldn't have it getting rusty on me."
Valinor withheld further comment and turned to the north side of the ravine, looking for a way up the embankment. The way was quite steep, devoid of any sturdy vegetation for handholds and littered about with fist-sized rocks that skittered away down the hill at the least provocation.
"You're lucky you didn't take the same fall as your horse," Theadina commented as she watched Valinor struggle to find a way up the slope. "It surely would have been fatal to you."
"Thank the spirits for that," Mort agreed.
"Did th' bandits attack ye on foot, or on horseback?" Colin asked suddenly.
"On foot, mostly. A couple of them had horses."
"Was yer pursuer one o' those?"
"I think so. Why do you ask?"
"I'm wondering where HIS horse be."
Mort blinked. "I don't know. That's a good question. He certainly followed me on foot past this point."
The question was answered as Valinor called down from above.
"There's a black mare tied to a tree up here."
"Well, then, there you go," Mort said. "He must have seen my fall and proceeded more cautiously."
"Of course," Theadina reasoned, "Chances were that you were seriously injured, if not outright killed, in the fall. He figured he had time to find a safe way down."
Their musings were interrupted by a shout from Valinor.
"There's no real safe way up here at this location," he said. "The tracks here show that the assassin headed east to find a better way down. Rather than waste more time, I'm going to lower a rope so you can climb up."
Mort said goodbye to Betsie as Valinor knotted some rope to a sturdy tree and tossed it down to the group. Theadina climbed up first, followed by Mort, Colin and finally Teserk.
When he reached the top, Teserk took a moment to study the terrain. He could see how Mort would have missed the drop off. The trees here were fairly thick and the edge of the ravine was lined with brush. The assassin's horse was tied to a medium-sized elm right next to the place where Betsie had gone over the edge. Several bushes had been ripped out in the struggle, leaving a hole in the brush line. The ravine at that point was especially steep.
Teserk thought of something. "You said you followed your horse down the incline?"
"The man was after me." Mort looked over the edge and swallowed hard. "I wasn't really thinking clearly at the time."
Theadina said what they were all thinking. "You are lucky to be alive."
Mort could only nod.
"The trail continues back this way."
Valinor set off down the trail. Colin untied the black mare and led her after, Theadina and Mort following. Teserk hung back a bit. He looked one last time down the slope. Something was not right here. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he was missing something important, something that tickled his brain, but refused to show itself.
Teserk sighed. He wasn't the thinker of the group - he left that to Theadina or Valinor. He would just have to trust that whatever was lurking in the back of his skull would show itself before too much longer.
With that thought in mind he headed out after his companions.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
"The Broken Door"
The apartment building I lived in while growing up had the most remarkable door. It had four doors, really - a set of double doors, with a single door to either side - but it was the door on the left that had the special qualities. Those qualities came to life one summer when management hired Joe Potts as the resident doorman.
Mr. Potts, or Doorman Joe as us kids affectionately called him, had been afflicted with spinal tuberculosis as a youth. The infection had caused his spine to deform, giving him a humpbacked appearance. His mobility was severely limited as a result, but he could stand well enough, and though his movements weren't crisp and snappy as with the doormen of the fancy hotels downtown, Doorman Joe had a talent for opening doors.
Joe's talent wasn't obvious to most of those who lived there. He was an unassuming man, very polite, but quiet. Most of the residents had only a passing relationship with him, exchanging nods and pleasantries while studiously avoiding any stray glance at his physical deformity. Certainly none of them ever asked him about it; it would have been too socially "gauche." As children, we had no such reservations.
Doorman Joe had been more than happy to tell us about his condition. He had a special fondness for us children, perhaps because once we understood his deformity was only physical, we never thought about it again.
Joe was a great listener. While other adults only pretended to listen when we spoke, Joe paid rapt attention. We shared our joys, our fears, our hopes and expectations. Joe never judged us. He gave advice from time to time, but never in a way that felt like we were being lectured. We loved him, and we knew that he loved us.
Because we were so comfortable around him, much of our play took place near the front of the apartment building. The lease strictly prohibited loitering in that area, but Joe was never one to enforce that particular rule when it came to us. In fact, Joe encouraged it.
I said he had a talent for opening doors. This was particularly true with The Broken Door. The Broken Door was the leftmost door of the four when you stood outside the building. It featured a large sign that read "Out of Order - Use Other Doors." At some point in the past the building's foundation had shifted just enough to wedge the door shut. The Door was never locked. It had no need to be. I watched person after person try to open that door - those who were either too stupid or too stubborn to pay attention to the sign. No one ever could - except Doorman Joe. Somehow he managed to position himself just right, and the Door would open. All us kids watched him do it over and over again. Joe took great pleasure from opening the Door, letting it self-close, and then watching the group of us try to open it again, all to no avail.
We asked Joe how he did it. He simply shrugged.
"It's a magic door," he said. "When opened properly, it can take you anywhere you want to go."
Of course we didn't believe him, at first. We needed a demonstration. Joe smiled.
"Where do you want to go?" he asked. There were shouts of Florida and the Zoo. "Surely you can do better than that," he said.
I had just read a story about King Arthur and Excalibur. "Camelot!" I exclaimed.
"Now that is a place worth going," Doorman Joe said. He opened the door, and we flew through it. We spent the afternoon in Camelot, joined with the Knights of the Round Table in fighting for liberty and equality. Queen Gwenevere played with Arthur and Lancelot, though no kissing took place. (We were too young to go that far, even when in Camelot.)
Joe opened the Door for us each day after that. We visited a multitude of fantastic places, from pirate coves to fairy castles, the depths of the ocean to the alien vistas of Mars. There was nowhere The Broken Door couldn't take us, and no matter how far we went we were always in reach of our mothers' calls for supper. It was childhood bliss.
An incident just a few weeks before summer's end changed all that.
We were playing out front as was our habit. Keith Fletcher had joined us that day, an occurance that was unusual all by itself. Keith had a tendency to be clumsy. He was constantly falling down the stairs and running into things. Most of us wore the bumps and bruises from such events as badges of honor; Keith tried to hide his beneath long sleeves and sunglasses. His parents kept him inside most of the time. It was a rare treat when Keith got to join us.
On this particular day, Keith's father came home from work early. Keith's expression spoke volumes. He wasn't supposed to be outside, and he had been caught. Mr. Fletcher seized Keith by the arm and jerked him onto his toes. Keith cried out.
"What are you doing out here?" Mr. Fletcher demanded. "You're supposed to be inside!"
I didn't like the look on Mr. Fletcher's face. Neither did Doorman Joe.
"Take your hand off the boy." Joe's voice was quiet, but it contained a note of anger I had never heard from him before.
"Mind your own business, cripple," Mr. Fletcher said. "He's my son and I'll do with him as I please."
"Release him now, or I'll call the authorities."
Mr. Fletcher threw Keith to the ground. He landed hard, skinning the palms of his hands.
"Get inside, son. We'll have a lot to discuss when I'm through with this."
Keith picked himself up, tears streaming down his face. He made a beeline for the Door. He didn't look up as Joe let him in.
Mr. Fletcher squared himself. He was a big man, much bigger than Doorman Joe.
"Are we going to have a problem here?" Mr. Fletcher asked, rubbing his fist into his palm.
Joe remained silent. Mr. Fletcher smirked. "Then we're done here.
He moved for the center doors. Doorman Joe stepped in front of him.
"Get out of my way, cripple."
"That door is broken today," Joe said. "We're using this one instead."
Joe opened The Broken Door. Mr. Fletcher stepped through the doorway. Joe followed him through, and closed it behind.
No one saw either Mr. Fletcher or Doorman Joe again after that. The police came and questioned everyone in the building, but could garner no clues. We tried to explain to them about The Broken Door, but as no one could open it, our accounts were quickly dismissed. After a week the police gave up. Mr. Fletcher and Joe were gone; it couldn't be explained.
A new doorman was hired soon after. Doorman Scott didn't like kids. He strictly enforced building policy, and we were forced to find other places to play. It didn't matter. We had learned what we needed from Doorman Joe.
I visited the old neighborhood today. I was surprised to discover they had demolished the apartment complex to build modern condominiums. It made me sad briefly. I had spent such a happy summer there once. It had changed my life.
As I drove away, I realized that it didn't really matter about the apartments. The building was gone, but the memories, they live on. As does the secret of the Door.
Mr. Potts, or Doorman Joe as us kids affectionately called him, had been afflicted with spinal tuberculosis as a youth. The infection had caused his spine to deform, giving him a humpbacked appearance. His mobility was severely limited as a result, but he could stand well enough, and though his movements weren't crisp and snappy as with the doormen of the fancy hotels downtown, Doorman Joe had a talent for opening doors.
Joe's talent wasn't obvious to most of those who lived there. He was an unassuming man, very polite, but quiet. Most of the residents had only a passing relationship with him, exchanging nods and pleasantries while studiously avoiding any stray glance at his physical deformity. Certainly none of them ever asked him about it; it would have been too socially "gauche." As children, we had no such reservations.
Doorman Joe had been more than happy to tell us about his condition. He had a special fondness for us children, perhaps because once we understood his deformity was only physical, we never thought about it again.
Joe was a great listener. While other adults only pretended to listen when we spoke, Joe paid rapt attention. We shared our joys, our fears, our hopes and expectations. Joe never judged us. He gave advice from time to time, but never in a way that felt like we were being lectured. We loved him, and we knew that he loved us.
Because we were so comfortable around him, much of our play took place near the front of the apartment building. The lease strictly prohibited loitering in that area, but Joe was never one to enforce that particular rule when it came to us. In fact, Joe encouraged it.
I said he had a talent for opening doors. This was particularly true with The Broken Door. The Broken Door was the leftmost door of the four when you stood outside the building. It featured a large sign that read "Out of Order - Use Other Doors." At some point in the past the building's foundation had shifted just enough to wedge the door shut. The Door was never locked. It had no need to be. I watched person after person try to open that door - those who were either too stupid or too stubborn to pay attention to the sign. No one ever could - except Doorman Joe. Somehow he managed to position himself just right, and the Door would open. All us kids watched him do it over and over again. Joe took great pleasure from opening the Door, letting it self-close, and then watching the group of us try to open it again, all to no avail.
We asked Joe how he did it. He simply shrugged.
"It's a magic door," he said. "When opened properly, it can take you anywhere you want to go."
Of course we didn't believe him, at first. We needed a demonstration. Joe smiled.
"Where do you want to go?" he asked. There were shouts of Florida and the Zoo. "Surely you can do better than that," he said.
I had just read a story about King Arthur and Excalibur. "Camelot!" I exclaimed.
"Now that is a place worth going," Doorman Joe said. He opened the door, and we flew through it. We spent the afternoon in Camelot, joined with the Knights of the Round Table in fighting for liberty and equality. Queen Gwenevere played with Arthur and Lancelot, though no kissing took place. (We were too young to go that far, even when in Camelot.)
Joe opened the Door for us each day after that. We visited a multitude of fantastic places, from pirate coves to fairy castles, the depths of the ocean to the alien vistas of Mars. There was nowhere The Broken Door couldn't take us, and no matter how far we went we were always in reach of our mothers' calls for supper. It was childhood bliss.
An incident just a few weeks before summer's end changed all that.
We were playing out front as was our habit. Keith Fletcher had joined us that day, an occurance that was unusual all by itself. Keith had a tendency to be clumsy. He was constantly falling down the stairs and running into things. Most of us wore the bumps and bruises from such events as badges of honor; Keith tried to hide his beneath long sleeves and sunglasses. His parents kept him inside most of the time. It was a rare treat when Keith got to join us.
On this particular day, Keith's father came home from work early. Keith's expression spoke volumes. He wasn't supposed to be outside, and he had been caught. Mr. Fletcher seized Keith by the arm and jerked him onto his toes. Keith cried out.
"What are you doing out here?" Mr. Fletcher demanded. "You're supposed to be inside!"
I didn't like the look on Mr. Fletcher's face. Neither did Doorman Joe.
"Take your hand off the boy." Joe's voice was quiet, but it contained a note of anger I had never heard from him before.
"Mind your own business, cripple," Mr. Fletcher said. "He's my son and I'll do with him as I please."
"Release him now, or I'll call the authorities."
Mr. Fletcher threw Keith to the ground. He landed hard, skinning the palms of his hands.
"Get inside, son. We'll have a lot to discuss when I'm through with this."
Keith picked himself up, tears streaming down his face. He made a beeline for the Door. He didn't look up as Joe let him in.
Mr. Fletcher squared himself. He was a big man, much bigger than Doorman Joe.
"Are we going to have a problem here?" Mr. Fletcher asked, rubbing his fist into his palm.
Joe remained silent. Mr. Fletcher smirked. "Then we're done here.
He moved for the center doors. Doorman Joe stepped in front of him.
"Get out of my way, cripple."
"That door is broken today," Joe said. "We're using this one instead."
Joe opened The Broken Door. Mr. Fletcher stepped through the doorway. Joe followed him through, and closed it behind.
No one saw either Mr. Fletcher or Doorman Joe again after that. The police came and questioned everyone in the building, but could garner no clues. We tried to explain to them about The Broken Door, but as no one could open it, our accounts were quickly dismissed. After a week the police gave up. Mr. Fletcher and Joe were gone; it couldn't be explained.
A new doorman was hired soon after. Doorman Scott didn't like kids. He strictly enforced building policy, and we were forced to find other places to play. It didn't matter. We had learned what we needed from Doorman Joe.
I visited the old neighborhood today. I was surprised to discover they had demolished the apartment complex to build modern condominiums. It made me sad briefly. I had spent such a happy summer there once. It had changed my life.
As I drove away, I realized that it didn't really matter about the apartments. The building was gone, but the memories, they live on. As does the secret of the Door.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)