by Brad C Baker
“Don’t mind my asking ser, but what happened to your hair and beard?” asked their server with gentle concern.
“You get many dwarves in here, lady?” Vlados said, a little sensitively.
“Aye, we do,” she smiled unabashedly. “That’s why I have the compassion to ask and to offer to help fix it up for you.”
“You are Lara?” asked Crallick.
“Aye. I am ser.”
“Go with her Vlados, you’re ugly enough without the help of the fire,” Crallick said.
“Go bugger yerself,” came the dwarf’s acid reply. ”Yer ugly from birth.” But he got up and accompanied the human woman anyway.
Harold came over to the table and sat. The inn hadn’t been particularly busy that eve, with only twelve patrons to scatter themselves among the dining room’s six tables. “I can chat now with you if it pleases you, ser.”
Crallick tapped his mug, “Come back with a full one of these and we can get going.”
Harold rose up, disappeared into the kitchen, and then returned with a pair of mugs. He sat down, sliding one to Crallick and drawing a swig from the other. “Alright then ser, what, or who are you hunting?”
It was Crallick’s turn to draw from his mug. “There was a caravan of marauders, driving two slave wagons. There were at least two girls prisoned in those wagons. They numbered about a score. Two were reptilemen. Others of whatever heritage. They were travelling west down the Royal Road. They may have stopped here, or passed by. I need to know all you know.”
Harold gave a slow exhale of resignation. “Those were some dangerous customers to be sure. Now that’s not to say you don’t look capable enough, but you should make sure you have a good enough reason to follow that lot.”
“They burned down my friend’s inn, and took our daughters,” Crallick growled.
“Those are good reasons,” Harold admitted nervously into his mug. “I will help you in any way I can.”
“Just tell me what you know,” Crallick sipped again.
“They came through early yesterday. They refused the hospitality of the stablehand, Mr. Hobbs. This disappointed him greatly, as Yanni is quite fond of animals and he recognized some Talban plain blacks. They rather rudely said they would care for their own mounts and wagons. There were two elven looking girls, both Vitani, I think, and a dwarven maid. There were the two reptilemen of which you spoke of. The Nekomin she-cat was a practitioner of Chessintra’s arts.” Harold shuddered, thinking of the black and silver robed cat. “She seems to be the advisor to the leader. I think she answered to the name ‘Ferran’. One reptile had a spiked weapon on his tail. The other never left the wagons. They bought enough meals for twenty-six breakfasts. They paid with gold minted coins. I’ll get one for you.” Harold got up and returned with a coin. He offered it across to Crallick.
Crallick took it and examined it. The one side held a profile of a human matriarch, the other side a dragon rising behind a shield with crossed blades. “An Amarol Dragon?” Crallick confirmed.
“That is what I thought too,” confirmed Harold. “I’ve seen them before, but usually from lone travellers, or merchants who’ve travelled a long way indeed.”
The men looked up at the approach of Vlados and Lara. The dwarf looked much improved. His strawberry blond hair had been shaved from either side of his pate, and cropped short, creating a wide and low mohawk. It fanned out at the base of his skull to flow into his shorter beard, which now was thickly braided into three short and full braids.
“Well, shite, don’t you look a sight better?” Crallick greeted him.
Vlados snorted in reply.
The pair retired to their room. “Learn anything useful?” Vlados asked as they settled in for the night.
“Yeah,” Crallick yawned. “See you in the morning.”
***
Golden sunlight streamed in the Merry Gold Inn’s windows, piercing the eyelids of the sleeping men. Crallick dragged himself up. Vlados stirred under a goose down duvet. Crallick threw a shoe at him with a thud.
“Get up.”
“Bugger off,” Vlados snarled.
“Is that what you want me to tell the girls?” Crallick smirked.
Vlados was up and donning his armor. No mirth showed on his face.
Wordlessly, the two descended to the dining hall. They walked up to Harold, who smiled. “Good morning, sers. I’ve had your stone appraised. I’ve removed the fees for the beds, meals, and stabling. There was a five percent commission to the money-changer.” Two bags of coins were presented to Crallick. “There are seven-hundred and fifty crowns, and two-hundred and fifty dragons. I figured you may find those more useful than I would find them.”
Crallick tossed the lighter bag to Vlados, then opened the larger bag, drawing out twenty-five coins. He proffered them back to Harold, “Give five to your wife, as I can stand to look at my friend again, and then divvy up the rest between yourself, Yanni, and the minstrel.”
“Thank you ser Crallick,” Harold gushed.
“I’ll double your tip if your wife can fix his face,” Vlados said.
Laughing into her hands, Lara said, “I’m sorry, master dwarf. I’m afraid that’s a miracle for Jyslin’s hands, not mine.”
“Let’s go,” Crallick growled.
The eighth day progressed at a hurried pace. They had found that Harold, or Lara, or both, had put cinnamon buns in their packs, along with a rasher of bacon each. They were much better fed throughout the day, so they rode deeper into it.
The ninth day found them crossing the Bhanrigh River. There was a marble quarried bridge that married dwarven craftsmanship and Vitani magic. Tall spires anchored the corners with a white, smooth surface that could accommodate four horses abreast with room to spare. Low walls on either side lent a feeling of safety and security, with decorative reliefs adding artistic beauty to the bridge.
The companions took no notice of this beauty, their focus set solely on their objective somewhere out of sight, down the road.
The last day of the ten day trek should have been reserved for prayer, but the two determined travellers chose to ignore this as well. What didn’t go ignored was when, close to evening, they were about to begin looking for a campsite when they heard guttural tongues in the dusk-light. Crallick swiftly dismounted his ride. Crouching low, he quickly moved into the brush. Vlados trailed him a little less certainly, and a might bit less silently.
“Goblins,” Crallick hissed.
“How the blazes can you tell?” whispered Vlados.
“I speak it,” Crallick grinned. “I learned while adventuring. I think they’re talking about eating frog’s legs.”
“Oh,” said Vlados. “Well, I hope they enjoy their dinner, now let’s go.”
“Garrum! Garrum! Help! Help!” came a deep voice over the chatter. This brought about a round of guttural laughter and jeering.
“Aww, shite,” Vlados groaned. “We can’t go and let them eat a froggle. That’s just not right.”
Crallick looked at Vlados. “You realize we’ll probably lose half a day because of this?”
“I couldn’t face my daughter if I let some innocent thing get eaten and I could have done something about it.” Vlados pulled out his hammer.
“Just making sure you know the score,” Crallick warned. “I’ll make the call if we can do something or not. You will follow my lead on this, understand?”
“Sure,” Vlados began.
“Wait for my signal.”
Vlados was about to ask what it was going to be when the damned crossbreed flew into the woods, and out of sight. He figured he’d find out soon enough.
Crallick worked his way around the clearing that held the smell of burning pine and maple. He counted five voices other than the froggle. Crallick climbed a towering maple and crawled along a thick branch that was overhanging the clearing by around ten feet. He sat up, unslung his sword sheath, and hung it over a branch in easy reach. He drew his bow and nocked an arrow. By this time
, two of the five-foot tall figures had grabbed the froggle’s bound form and were fastening him to a pole. Quickly making an assessment, figuring the most physically powerful goblin was the one in charge, he let loose his arrow.
Vlados heard a chorus of goblin yells. Were they of anger or fear? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He just figured that it must have been the signal that Crallick was talking about. Raising his hammer, he charged towards the clearing and the screaming.
The screaming goblin hushed when Crallick’s blade separated his head from his neck as he dove, spinning, from the tree. Another goblin tried to push his stinking, steaming intestines back into his gut in vain. He sagged to his knees before losing consciousness for the last time.
The two remaining goblins were more alert and swiftly flanked Crallick, coming from either side of the fire. Crallick faced the one away from the road, trusting Vlados to do his part.
The dwarven cry erupted into the clearing as his hammer smashed through the skull of the startled, then dead, goblin.
Crallick’s eyes flickered over his shoulder, then glared intimidatingly back at the sole surviving goblin. Its grip loosened on its sword. The goblin raised its hands to surrender. Crallick flicked the tip of his sword across the throat of his victim. A crimson mist spayed the now nighttime clearing.
“Thanks for the campsite,” Crallick grimly offered.
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Vlados.
“No, I’m not.” Crallick started back to the trunk of the maple to reclaim his sheath, bow, and quiver.
“But it’s disgusting,” protested Vlados.
“Toss the bodies over there.” Crallick pointed to a ditch in the gloom.
“What about the smell of blood?”
“Scavengers are looking for an easy meal. They won’t come near the fire,” Crallick lectured.
“Ooooh, he is smart one!” a new voice piped in. “He knows! He speaks true.”
“And then there is him?” Vlados mentioned. “What about him?”
Crallick dropped back down to the ground without so much as a crunch of leaves. “What about him? He saw what I can do. You won’t trouble us, will you?”
“Garrumm! No! You saved me! My service is yours!” The froggle wiggled free of his bindings when Crallick cut them off the pole.
With a rapid bounce that easily carried the froggle twelve feet over to Vlados, he grabbed the bottom half of a goblin and flung it deep into the bushes. “I will help! Garrum!”
Vlados, startled, dropped the top half of the goblin. The froggle promptly treated it the same way as the other half. After the clearing was cleaned, they gathered by the fire.
“I’m Crallick, and this is Vlados. Who are you?”
“Hullaboo! Garrum,” he replied, licking his eyes with a prehensile tongue.
“I’m a hunter of sorts, Vlados is a brewer, and you?” Crallick asked.
“I am a warrior!” Hullaboo boasted, then became sullen. “My tribe scattered in front of a goblin horde. Garrumm.” He licked his head again. “My pondmate, gone. Tadpoles, gone. Fellow warriors, gone.” He licked his back. “Garruum. Some live, more dead. All lost. You?”
Vlados answered for them, “Our home was destroyed and our young were taken. We’re going to get them back.”
The froggle excitably rose up on his haunches, “Avenge upon them! Avenge upon them! This I can help with! Yes! Yes!” Slurping his wet tongue over his bulbous eyes, Hullaboo continued, “You saved me from death, so I can help you with this! Yes?”
“So you’re a warrior?” Crallick put to him.
“Yes, yes!”
“You don’t have a weapon,” Vlados bluntly pointed out.
Hullaboo quickly glanced about, bulbous eyes leading his square head to and fro. “Snap, squelch, phlllpt!” his tongue lashed out to secure one of the short swords of the goblins and reeled it back in to his waiting grasp. His wide mouth widened even further into a satisfied grin. “I have one now.”
Crallick’s dour demeanor cracked. “Fine, Hullaboo, let me sleep on it.”
Hustling over in a near panic, Vlados whispered, “You can’t be seriously considering this?”
“Why not? You insisted we rescue him.” Crallick looked over, “I can’t help but think he might be more useful in a fight than what meets the eye.”
“Huh,” Vlados grumbled.
With a wicked gleam in his eye, Crallick softly said, “He has to be more useful than you, in any event.” As Vlados huffed indignation, Crallick called over to Hullaboo, “You take first watch, then wake me when the moon is at its highest.”
“Yes! Yes! You make sleep time. I’ll protect.”
“Just one thing before I rest,” Crallick said from his bedroll. “How were you taken prisoner?”
“There was a hunting party of many goblins! They found me! Took my spear! My shield! The survivors wanted to eat me! Not even to save me for their tribe. Very selfish!”
Laughing in spite of himself, Crallick asked, “How many more than the number we took you from?”
Hullaboo looked at his webbed hands, then his feet. “More than both hands, but less than adding a foot,” he concluded.
“Not bad,” Crallick nodded. “Good night.”
Vlados asked, “Twelve gobs then?”
Crallick opened an eye. “No, ten. Froggles have only three fingers, with an opposable thumb. More area for webbing. He can probably swim faster than I can run. We’ll keep him. He may be useful.”
As the spring moon rose into the sky, Hullaboo watched his sleeping comrades. They were noble folk, risking their lives for one they didn’t know. Trusting, gullible, or foolish, maybe stupid, he wasn’t sure, but they were noble. He would stick around to keep them safe. He would also continue to allow them to think he was simple until he figured them out. Better safe than sorry.
Chapter Four
“Bannathyrran troops began their mighty advance
Amarallan lines sounded with draconic screams.
Arrows, bolts, shot, and spells flew across the expanse,
Perforating both armies. The blood ran in streams.”
-Verse 5: Ballad of Ser Crallick Carnage-born.
Marahaven was the crown jewel of cities in the Bannathyr Kingdom. It was nestled into the rocky shores on the eastern shore of the ocean. The ocean’s name was in contention, depending on which of the three major kingdoms you asked. There were only two details that seemed to be agreed upon. The first was that it was vast. The second was that nobody had managed to transnavigate it to the other side… presuming there was another side. The three major powers all held coastal navies, along with dozens of other lesser powers and independent groups.
Those particulars plagued Crallick’s mind. He was terrified that if he couldn’t catch his quarry before Marahaven, then they would be lost in the chaos of the drama of the high seas. He kept these concerns and doubts to himself, for Vlados’s sake, and plastered grim confidence upon his face. Crossroads was less than a tenday away. This was the first place they could split from their path, heading south to Jharrim, the jewel of the south. He could easily track and cope with that. He was used to following prey through the land, even through cities. Jharrim was a loose alliance of independent city-states that rallied around Jharrim’s Sultan. The loose political structure allowed for ease of travel and a ripe environment for bounty hunting and assassination. The slave trade was also alive and well. Vlados had said they had been looking for virgin girls. With a shudder in his saddle, Crallick decided it was best not to think along those lines.
Six more days travel along the Royal Road found the three companions looking down along a descending run of verdant clover fields towards tracks of farmed corn that lead up to the walled city of Crossroads. The city had grown up around a southbound trade route to the Nekomin lands of the south that ran all the way to the Amarallan Kingdom. Crossroads was populated mainly by southern men, Nekomin, and Vitani. The travellers could barely make out an inn just before the field
s of corn began.
“Two days until Crossroads,” observed Crallick.
“Great, we lose them then,” grumbled Vlados.
“Why would you say that?” asked Crallick.
“Well, once they get in there, how would you divine just which way they went?” Vlados spluttered.
“Good point. How, how?” Hullaboo asked.
“How do you spice your ale?” Crallick sneered. “Just don’t worry, they won’t evade me,” he inhaled, unnoticed by the others. “Here,” he finished.
Sundown that day marked the end of their fortunate weather. A cool northwesterly wind blew in, bringing with it cool spring drizzles and uncomfortable gusts that found chinks in armor and up sleeves. It chilled sweat from the skin, leaving them shivering. Well, except for Hullaboo. While he reveled in the moisture, his olive green skin beading with vitality, the coolness brought a lethargy to the amphibian.
Concerned, Crallick put to him, “Hullaboo, are you going to be okay?”
A quiet, “Garrum, yes, yes. Just sleepy when cool.”
Vlados cantered up to the inn, “Are we staying, or riding on?”
“Staying,” Crallick slowed up beside his friend. “Nothing will be gained other than a chill, fatigue, and poor humour by pressing on tonight.” He led his horse into the stable. “Here we will revitalize ourselves, feed ourselves, and maybe find information.” He took out several of the Amorallan dragons and held one out to the stable boy. “Seen one of these lately?”
“Aye ser, just last night in fact,” the boy quailed a bit. “Are they your friends?”
Crallick took the measure of the boy, “No they are not.” He took a knee. “What would you say if I told you I’m a Bannathyr Knight-Ranger, and I’m hunting some very vile villains? Could you help me?”
The boy nervously chewed his lower lip. “I’d believe you. I think they are very bad people. They took Mindy-kitty and they threatened to kill everyone if they were interfered with. They had coins like that one.”