The Adventures of Theophilus Thistle

by David Partelow

  “Have it your way!” Lennix yelled before addressing his men. “Take him!”

  Theophilus urged Renard forward. The fox was fast, but they had been pushing a taxing pace before their rest. Theophilus had no way of knowing how fresh and rested Lennix’s group was. The little weed hoped that they could outrun them, but if not, he was prepared to fight his way out if necessary. He had no intention of sending any of his pursuers to the Dream, yet he sorely wished they shared that sentiment.

  Through the footfalls and panting of Renard, Theophilus could hear the flowers gaining ground on them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a marigold flower coming up on his left, riding on a floral mare of green leaf and a wild, orange mane. Theophilus drew one of his thorn daggers, prepared to defend himself and Renard as the marigold drew his sword. Before he could reason with the flower, Theophilus was forced to dodge a sword stroke meant for his head.

  With a growl, Renard snapped at the marigold and his mount. Taking the floral mare in his teeth, the fox jerked his neck to the right, tossing the mare and rider to the ground. The rider and mount both roused, uninjured, but they were certainly out of the chase. Theophilus nodded to his speeding mount.

  “Well done, Renard,” he said for the fox’s efforts. “Whoa!”

  Theophilus jerked his head to the left just in time. A spear sailed by his right ear, just narrowly missing his head. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the owner of that spear, a daisy flower now drawing his own sword angrily. Theophilus lifted his legs and spun around to face this rider. Narrowing his eyes upon the daisy flower, Theophilus prepared his counterattack.

  Drawing his free hand to him, Theophilus hurled three thorns at his attacker. The daisy flower evaded two of the thorns, but the third struck his shoulder, sending the flower toppling from his mare and on to the ground. Theophilus then spun once more, taking the reins again, satisfied with the results and the preservation of life despite the attempts on his own.

  “Keep at it, Renard!” The little weed exclaimed through the excitement. “We’ll get through this yet!” The fox barked a reply and kept his hard pace.

  “Theophilus!” At the sound of Lennix’s voice, Theophilus turned his head. The snapdragon flower had leaped from his own mount, his spear drawn over head for a killing stroke. The little weed spun once more, dagger at the ready. As Lennix met him, Theophilus attempted to deflect the attack completely, but the blade of the spear still grazed Renard. The fox yipped painfully as Lennix’s momentum hit Theophilus, sending him off the fox.

  As Theophilus toppled, he was saved by the reins. He dangled dangerously upon Renard’s side as Lennix secured his own footing. On both flanks, the remaining riders were coming up on Renard, ready to topple the fox and weed. Standing above him, Lennix offered Theophilus a triumphant grin.

  “And so ends the adventures of Theophilus Thistle,” said Lennix as he prepared to strike once more with his spear.

  Theophilus beheld the unfolding scene before looking up angrily at Lennix. “We’ll see about that,” he replied before making his move.

  As Lennix thrusted with his spear, Theophilus propelled himself using Renard’s side. Still holding the reins, the little weed swung under Renard’s neck. Finishing his swing, he let go of the reins and shot upwards toward Lennix. Theophilus buried his feet into the flower, sending them both off the back of Renard. As Lennix toppled to the ground, Theophilus saved himself by grabbing hold of Renard’s tail.

  Putting his little blade away, Theophilus used the dangling position to hurl thorns at the legs of the flanking flowers’ mounts. Connecting with both, the floral mares shrieked before stumbling and sending their riders crashing to the ground. Theophilus then swung on Renard’s tail, landing once more upon the fox’s back before letting out a victorious cheer.

  “Maybe next time, Lennix!” Theophilus called out before he seated himself on Renard again. Regaining the reins, he goaded the fox faster as they amassed distance between themselves and the flowers.

  As the little weed and fox sped away, Lennix recovered and stood, brushing himself off angrily. He watched the fleeing weed, intent on making him answer for the travesties he had just wrought on him and his men. Wounded in body and pride, the other flowers gathered around Lennix as they looked to their commander for what to do next. Viewing at each of them sternly, Lennix had only one thing to say as Theophilus disappeared in the distance.

  “No one, and I mean no one ever speaks of these moments to anyone ever,” said Lennix.

  Chapter Three

  The Grand Market

  With the warm afternoon beating down upon them, Theophilus and Renard made their way upon the final leg to Saelen’s Grand Market. The little weed now walked alongside the fox, guiding the panting mount by his reins. Theophilus felt that his new friend had done enough in their journey and was intent on acquiring them both food and water as he garnered information about Calla. For now, he kept a relaxed pace, allowing Renard rest and respite from his exertion.

  Theophilus gauged the approximate time from the location of the Firestar before patting Renard’s side. “Don’t worry, friend. We are not far now. I intend on getting for you more food than even your belly can handle,” said the weed. Renard made a grunting sound, still panting as they walked onward.

  By his guess, Theophilus surmised they had less than a league left in their travel. He worried that Pyron may have lied to him but quickly banished such thoughts. His former commander was a grim fellow but still held to his own code of honor. Theophilus continued forward confidently, seeing now that they were not far from one of the junctions of the Great Road. While wary to travel directly upon it, the little weed had no problem following it from a respectful distance.

  As the two new friends walked, Theophilus saw many a curious traveler upon the Great Road. By some of their packs and carts, he surmised they were heading to the market to sell and trade. Elves, dwarves, pantheryns, and the like all filled the road sparsely, paying little mind to the grasses and fields around them. This was obviously their ritual and routine, for their actions looked as natural to them as breathing. For many, the market was either their lot in life, be it scratching by or prospering fully.

  Theophilus walked silently and softly with Renard in tow, still taking in the limitless views offered to him by Lunaria. He was short in stature and feeling smaller all the time as he realized just how little his corner of the world truly was. This revelation from his travels was indeed exciting and terrifying. Lunaria was full of wonder, and seeing it now made Theophilus ponder his own place in such a vast world.

  But these thoughts soon banished swiftly when he first laid eyes upon Saelen’s Grand Market.

  Even at a distance, it was obvious the market was an immense spectacle. Aisles of carts, tents, caravans, and peddlers adorned with all the colors of the region amassed in chaotic order. Theophilus could already see and smell the offerings of food, weaponry, armor, spices, potions, clothing, and more. A single, solid structure presided over all the peddlers and from a span Theophilus made out the signs that indicated it housed a pub and inn. Thousands came and went, buying and selling while others remained for drinks and rest. The very magnitude of it all held Theophilus spellbound as his feet halted his progress.

  Theophilus was enthralled by the quantity of it all. In seconds his eyes witnessed creatures and wares he had only heard of or imagined in dreams. There was an allurement to it all, yet the little weed could not help but feel wary. If this was where Calla was being held, he had no way of knowing how he would be treated by the other patrons. Instead, Theophilus focused on his memories of Calla and at last his feet worked once more as he pressed forward.

  As they neared the market, Renard whined and offered hesitance about advancing further. Theophilus scratched him behind the ear. “Don’t worry, my friend. I would not ask you to enter such a place. I will have you wait out here until I return with food and information,” said the weed as he found a tree and tethered the fox to it.


  Petting the fox one more time, Theophilus steeled himself and headed toward the market. Behind him, Renard barked, indicating his displeasure at being left alone. Theophilus reassured him that he would return as he kept his pace moving solidly forward. He still felt a deep fear and apprehension about finding Calla in such a place. Yet the lingering thoughts of her boldened his steps and the little weed pushed onward.

  Entering the market, Theophilus was immediately swept into the raw current of the place. Swiftly he was pulled into a crowd of walking patrons, many paying him little mind or notice. The little weed had to make sure he did not get stepped on as he tried to navigate his way through the heavy footfalls of those much larger than he was. One elf even stopped long enough to scoff at his presence. He received only warm smiles from children brought along with their parents.

  “Excuse me…pardon me, good sir…I’m down here so you know!” Theophilus continued to move speedily to what felt almost like a stampede to him.

  At last, the little weed made it through a major walking lane and could breathe a sigh of relief. Calming himself, he began to get the hang of the rhythm of the place and remained close to the vendors. Relaxing a bit, Theophilus took note of what was being offered, even making his first purchase of meat. The butcher was kind to him despite his size and for an extra coin the dwarf had his son take the meat out to Renard while Theophilus continued his search.

  In his exploration, Theophilus was able to gather more supplies for his journey as he asked about for vendors that sold ingredients for potions and elixirs. He was pointed in the direction of the mystic aisle, which was about six rows deep into the market. Turning the corner of the aisle, Theophilus instantly felt a subtle change of atmosphere. He also noted that scores of customers bypassed the aisle completely. There was definitely more reverence here; those that walked down the mystic aisle spoke softer and were more careful with their words. The little weed surmised that some present were likely powerful wizards and magic casters in their own rights.

  Keeping vigilant, Theophilus ventured to one of the caravans set up with a full table before it. A dirty gnome sat on a stool and presided over an assortment of plants, roots, eggs, tails, feathers, and other odds and ends. Vials of colored and sometimes glowing liquids hung on a net behind the gnome as the bearded halfling eyed Theophilus intently. Clearing his throat, Theophilus nodded to the gnome and he prepared to introduce himself.

  “Good afternoon, good gnome. My name is Theophilus Thistle of Bunda-Bas and I come to you in search of information. I shall gladly compensate you for your time if you would but allow me,” said the little weed with a bow.

  As the gnome continued to eye him, Theophilus felt a foot come stomping down behind him. Turning, the little weed looked up to a thick beard adorned with beads resting under greedy eyes. Taking his hands from a long cloak, the dwarf standing behind Theophilus rubbed his hands together as he smiled wickedly at the little weed. “If this don’t be all, Harlim. Usually I have to bring you such prizes to sell. This one brought itself to you for me. How kind!” the dwarf laughed.

  The gnome who the dwarf called Harlim slapped a fist against an open palm before pointing to the dwarf. “He is not yours to sell! Fell from my table, yes he did,” spat the gnome.

  “I did no such thing,” protested Theophilus as he looked cautiously between the gnome and dwarf. “If you two choose to be of no help to me, then I will take my business elsewhere.”

  The dwarf stroked his thick beard as his eyes gleamed. “I do believe you have become our business, little weed. Your kind bring a nice bit of coin alive and whole, isn’t that right, Harlim?”

  “He’s mine!” yelled the little gnome.

  “Oh, bother,” cursed Theophilus as he began to run. Soon the gnome and dwarf were yelling and chasing after him.

  Theophilus fell into a full sprint, dodging and ducking under the legs of those he passed as the commotion drew attention to him and his pursuers. Something told the little weed that he had to get out of the mystic aisle as soon as he could. Yet now there was much focus upon him as he tried to make out with his life.

  “You found my weed!” came a voice.

  “No, that one is mine!” said another.

  “How dare you claim my property!” was a third.

  “You truly must be kidding me,” mumbled Theophilus as he sprinted faster.

  With more hands clamoring for him, Theophilus had to take further steps in his evasive maneuvers. Leaping upon one of the tables, the little weed gracefully wove through the sundries atop it before an elf slipped and crashed across it in his attempt to nab him. Jumping from the table, Theophilus threw one thorn into a grabbing hand. The wielder of that hand yelped in pain as he pulled his wounded appendage away. Landing upon the ground, the little weed ran through the legs of a wolfen who was toppled by the swarming mass giving him chase.

  “This is utter madness!” Theophilus exclaimed as he continued his retreat.

  The little weed kept his daunting pace, leaping away from anxious hands or jumping onto a shoulder before leaping off again. More vendors were now leaving their booths to claim him, and the hysteria only intensified. Theophilus knew he had to keep running. The end of the aisle was closing in. If he could make it, he would lose himself in the crowd or perhaps find a guard to whom he could plead his case.

  But it was then that Theophilus saw more vendors cut off his route, effectively trapping him within the aisle. Coming to a stop, the little weed drew his daggers as he looked down both ends of the aisle. If they meant to have him, Theophilus would not go without a fight. The vendors at the end of the aisle slowly walked toward him as the clamoring mass from behind him rushed him still.

  Harlim, from before was ahead of the pack as he neared Theophilus. “He’s mine, I say!” claimed the gnome as he leaped to pounce upon his prize.

  Theophilus leaped then, placing a foot on Harlim’s head and sending him face first onto the ground. Landing on the gnome’s back, he pointed one of his blades toward both ends of the aisle, ready for battle. His move had given the advancing groups pause, but the hesitance did not last long. With their quarry trapped, the crowd moved with slow, steady sureness.

  “Stop this!”

  With these words, a small fireball sizzled through the air, striking the ground before the pack approaching Theophilus. Immediately, they paused again as the caster of the fireball leaped between them and the little weed. Theophilus recognized his defender as a young imp. Behind him, a taller, cloaked figure stood against the advance of the other vendors, both individuals shielded Theophilus from the greedy patrons trying to claim him.

  With the crowd halted, the little imp spoke up. “I do not know what compels you to claim this weed, but he belongs to none of you! If you are set in quarreling to have him, then my mother and I shall join his side to even the odds. So, what say you now?”

  Theophilus watched as the assembled vendors and patrons talked amongst themselves before slowly dispersing. The weed breathed easier as he thanked his lucky stars. The imp and cloaked figure waited at the ready to make sure there was no ruse. Below him, Harlim moaned something about his aching head. Soon the mystic aisle was almost back to normal and Theophilus was no longer in danger.

  The imp turned then, smiling easily at the little weed. His yellow eyes held no malice and he was in fact, the gentlest imp Theophilus had ever seen. Nodding to Theophilus, the imp spoke. “You are safe now, little weed. I am sorry they tormented you as they did.”

  Theophilus nodded to the imp. “You and your mother have my thanks,” he said.

  The imp’s “mother” faced them, nodding to the little weed. With her smooth features and deliberate movements, Theophilus recognized her instantly as a stone troll. “It was our pleasure. Are you injured at all?” she asked.

  Theophilus shook his head. “I am quite fine, thanks to you both,” he said.

  The imp’s grin deepened. “That is fine news then, little weed,” he said before kneeling and extendin
g his hand. “I am Puercelor, yet I would prefer you call me Elor.”

  The weed took one of the imp’s clawed fingers into his hand and shook it. “I am Thorn-Ren of Bunda-Bas, but I would greatly prefer that you call me Theophilus Thistle,” he replied.

  The little imp chuckled. “It would appear that neither of us were satisfied with previous lives,” he offered.

  Theophilus chuckled at this. “I think you are correct,” he said, wryly.

  The imp nodded to this, feeling immediately a kinship with the little weed. “Then perhaps we will get along just fine,” said Elor as he pointed to the stone troll. “Theophilus, this is my adoptive mother, Marin.”

  The weed turned and offered her a deep bow. “It is an honor and pleasure, Marin. I thank you as well for your intervention. It is nice to know I’m not ending up in a soup or potion on this day,” he said.

  “Of course,” said Marin, with slow and steady pace. “Such things are not our intention.”

  “But the day is still young,” said Elor as Theophilus gave him a look. “I jest, of course.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” said Theophilus.

  “This mystic aisle is a dangerous place for your kind, Theophilus. What brings you here?” Marin asked.

  Theophilus drew a heavy breath as he lowered his head. “There is someone close to me, a flower from Alethia, that has been lost. I take some of the blame for her kidnapping and must reclaim her and bring her home. I cannot rest until I do so. I was told the mystic aisle would be a good place to start to find flowers like Calla being put up for sale,” he said.

  Marin nodded somberly. “Unfortunately, this is quite true. Alethian flowers are a rare and heavily sought-after commodity, especially for dark magic,” she said. “I am sorry, Theophilus.”

  “I have not given up yet,” replied the weed. “I believe there is still time to reclaim her.”

  Elor smiled at this. “That is good, for where there is hope there is still light for the way,” he offered.