9 Tales From Elsewhere 12

by 9 Tales From Elsewhere

  "Wha's this?" Frederick asked, as he was propped against a wall.

  "My house," Tarlen said simply. He placed his hand against the door, and whispered a jumbled string of words. It opened soundlessly, and Frederick was pushed through.

  A cold breeze brought some of Frederick's senses back to him. He stepped out of his filthy shoes onto the wooden floor, and sank down onto a bench. The smell of past suppers lingering in the walls, and quiet, dim lights immediately had his eyes drooping. Tarlen said...something...and he was lifted back up. They walked into another room, with a pair of chairs, and a strange-looking bed. He gently fell onto the padded thing, and closed his eyes to keep the world from spinning.

  "Just like always," he heard Tarlen mutter, not unkindly. His friend padded softly out of the room, leaving him to his sleep. A woman's voice mumbled through the walls -- curious, but unalarmed -- and Tarlen rumbled something reassuring to it, and the unmistakable tone of loving chiding flowed alongside a bubbling giggle. Tarlen said something else, and the giggling became laughter; chairs scraping on the floor as he chased her around the room. Loud, obnoxious kissing echoed through the house. Frederick closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise. He never understood how people could stand such a noisy life...

  The torturous trilling of birds woke Frederick come sunrise. He slowly lifted his head, and was surprised by how clear it was. Only a slight wincing at the sunlight, and the painful echo of birds reminded him of last night's excitement. The way he'd acted though -- as though he'd spent the whole night wandering from tavern to tavern, though he knew he'd barely made it past the second. An almost gentle queasiness slid up his throat at the memory, and he sighed in aggravation. He should've known better than to drink like it was twenty years ago.

  He stood cautiously, and peered out a window. It was just barely morning, but plenty of people were already crawling through the streets. More citizens being brought within Verdenhelm's walls in preparation for the oncoming battle. Not that Hogenhein's army would ever see the walls, but his majesty always believed in caution during war. Frederick's tongue played in his mouth as he saw the tired and frightened wander through the unfamiliar sights, and sighed again. He should find his feet now; retrieve his things from his unused tavern room, and head home. His majesty could go hang. Frederick knew he would rather spend the war, however long it lasted, in peace, rather than crammed in here with everyone else. Besides, he knew Tarlen would find some way to convince him to stay here, damn the man's tongue. He scrawled a note thanking his friend for looking out for his drunken self, but left long before anyone woke.

  The air was already getting warm, but not unbearably so. Frederick strode swiftly past the strange faces, and retrieved his belongings with minimal effort. A girl with a freckled, easy smile and fiery hair in braids took his key back.

  "Found another place to stay?" she asked as she inspected the room, and Frederick gathered his things.

  "Yes."

  "We'll be sad to see you go," she said quietly, though they both knew the room would be full by midday. "Where're you staying now?"

  Frederick bit back a rude comment, electing to simply grunt instead. "With friends," he not-quite lied. After all, if a man wasn't friends with himself, who else could he name as such? The girl still smiled, but kept silent at his laconic response. Thankful she didn't pry more, he placed a few heavy coins in her palm before he left. He allowed himself a twinge of satisfaction when her eyes bulged, and she stumbled over her thanks.

  Those at the gates paid him no attention as he slunk out. Most likely, they'd been working double shifts to account for the flood of people. He could see in their haggard faces that some old codger leaving was the last thing on their minds. Marching horns echoed through the field, and he saw scouts melt into lupine shapes to flash through the fields; others took to the skies on leathery wings, their roars and screeches bringing fierce smiles to the people below. More horns followed, and the first wave of soldiers began striding in crisp formation through the gates. Their armor shone in the sunlight, covering them from head to toe in enchanted steel. They held no weapons, nor did they bring supplies -- their armor would be all they needed. He watched alongside everyone else for a while, remembering what it was like to be in one of those suits. His blood sang with joy as the mass of people began to cheer -- one or two at first, and before another dozen soldiers had made it into view, everyone was howling for them. Frederick smiled at them, and the adoration; he wished them all well, but for him, those days were long over, and to be honest, he was glad for it.

  Frederick made his way through the tall grass, rather than the roads, avoiding the makeshift camps and checkpoints. Scouts on horseback trotted through the grass, and others on foot, skulking in the trees; most of them reassigned guards from the city gates, they stopped him just long enough to recognize him. He just had to assure them he would be back before sundown, and oh, he just had a few more things he wanted to collect. He could see they didn't believe him in the least, but they had more important things to do than argue with him. When his house came into view -- still standing and unburnt -- he gave his aching legs a rest, and slowed from his forceful march. A nagging curiosity prodded the back of his mind; a trio of horses were tied to the fence. They nibbled the grass and flicked their tails, not caring much for the old man approaching the house. Several pairs of heavy footprints sank into the dirt, leading into his home. Caution won the day, and Frederick slunk around the side, towards the kitchen. It wouldn't be much of a surprise if thieves were taking advantage of all the confusion, and taking what they could from those on the outskirts.

  He froze as a window was thrown open in front of him. Caught without a hiding spot in sight, he knelt down and lifted a heavy stone, should it come to a fight. A mustachioed man with skin browned from riding in the sun stuck his head out. A fashionable folded hat with a quail feather sat atop his head, and bobbed and he lit a small cigar. Someone called from inside, and the strange man turned his head sleepily -- missing Frederick entirely. He let out a slow breath as the thief withdrew, and knelt down under the window. The acrid stink of the smoke lingered, and he crinkled his nose, trying not to sneeze. More voices trickled from inside, none of them familiar, or even in any local tongue. Fear gripped him as he recognized the smooth, velvety sounds of Hogenhein's tongue. Even more so when he heard Joren respond fluently. Frederick shuffled to his feet, the stone gripped tight in his hand. He had to get back to Verdenhelm to let them know their enemies were already here. And had been here, he thought, cursing his fool self for being so trusting.

  The tiny, casual snap of a twig was all the warning he had.

  The rock was in motion as Frederick turned, and flew true into the face of the one-eyed man who'd been sneaking up on him. He yelled and stumbled back, his nose bloody and broken, and stars in his eyes. Frederick leapt forward to grab and twist the arm that held a truncheon sharply; there was a crunch, and a yelp, and Frederick savagely clubbed the side of his head. The man fell bonelessly to the ground, but there was no time to savor the victory. Doors slammed, and the alarm was raised as Frederick charged away from his home, making for the trees that seemed further away than they ever had before. His heart sunk as footfalls came closer and closer, till he thought they were right next to him. Gambling, he slid to a halt and braced himself quickly; he twisted as the closest pursuer slammed into him, unable to stop in time, and found himself flopping and rolling on the ground. Frederick's heart sank as he saw the runner had friends -- three of them, in fact, who'd already begun to spread out and approach.

  "We thought you were staying inside the walls," Sera said, shrugging her bow into her hands. Her breath came steady as she knocked an arrow.

  "Never was one for the city," Frederick gasped, the truncheon clenched in his hand. Sera's companions edged cautiously towards him, and he swung the club wildly to keep them at bay. An arrow splintered in the dirt by his feet. Sera already had another one ready and at his chest when he turned. Her mouth wa
s sad, but her eyes hard, and he didn't doubt the next shot would find its mark. He dropped the truncheon, and let them each grab an arm. They muscled him back to the house where the riders waited, along with his houseguests. Joren smiled, and shrugged helplessly.

  "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

  "No you're not," Frederick spat. "You don't know the meaning of the word."

  One of the new men said something to Joren, who rubbed his eye. "Well, it was nice to meet you. Unfortunately, we do have to kill you. Nothing personal," he said, drawing a long, thin knife. Frederick struggled in his captors' grips as the knife pressed gently into his throat. A lightheadedness took him, and the world began to swim in front of him. There was a flash of something hot in his mouth, and a scream, and the world faded into blinding white.

  Frederick stirred as something lapped at his eyelid. He pushed weakly at whatever it was, and heard Tobias's familiar growling coo in response. The tongue returned to prod and slather his face until he rolled onto his back.

  "Yes, yes, I'm glad I'm alive too," he murmured, and grunted as Tobias happily curled up on his belly. Frederick sat up slowly, his entire body one giant, throbbing bruise. Even his hair seemed to ache, if that was even possible. He pushed the dragonling off, much to its irritation, and himself to his feet. His legs weren't too bad, this time, nor his mouth (getting teeth replaced was always such a chore). As usual, the worst of it were his arms and hands, which looked like pulped meat. The fingers worked -- barely -- and clotting blood sloughed off every bit of him, like a disgusting shed skin. Frederick stumbled over someone's arm, torn off at the shoulder, as he walked towards his house.

  He sighed. Any repairs his guests had made were undone, or worse. A body hung by a pair of swords thrust into the side of the house, its belly slit and spilling onto the ground. Another was missing most of its face, with great bite marks working up and down its neck and shoulders. Crows cawed from all over his bit of land, and Frederick knew if he bothered to look, he'd find what was left of his house guests and their friends. He made his way into the house through a gaping hole -- Evan's pulverized form lay on the floor, boot prints clear through his back.

  "Yech," Frederick muttered, disgusted. He'd have to redo the whole floor; he didn't feel like kneeling for a solid week to scrub the blood out of every nook and cranny. He was pleased to find that the kettle was still in its cubby, and he began making tea. It was still uncomfortably warm out, but it would clear his head, and get the taste of blood out of his mouth. Making a face, he picked at a few chunks of flesh stuck between his teeth, spitting them onto the floor. Tobias flapped onto the counter, his claws skidding as he settled himself, and rubbed at Frederick in worry. Scratches along the jaw placated him, however, and soon he was content to curl up in his usual sunbeam. The sound of hoofbeats pounding in the dirt drew him from the calming task of boiling water.

  A dozen men were on his property. From Verdenhelm this time, thankfully. A few road horses, though most stood, tense and quietly terrifying in their faceless armor. For those without, expressions ranging from terror to a calm readiness swam across their faces. Frederick made sure to make a good deal of noise before he emerged; it wouldn't do to survive all this, and then get cut down by a jumpy soldier.

  "Colonel Haegen?" The broadest of the armored soldiers strode swiftly towards him, his voice strangely sonorous.

  Frederick sighed, trying not to let on how weary he really was, for vanity's sake. "No longer a colonel. State your business, boy, and be off with you. There's a war on, and I don't think they're going to waste people to clean up my home."

  The soldier was quiet for a moment, and tilted his head. Without a sound, the helm retracted into itself to reveal a youthful, handsome man whose great, bushy mustache and beard had just began to see gray. Under the mound of hair, Frederick could just make out a mouth twitching in a grin. The retired colonel laughed loudly as he recognized him.

  "Lamar!" he said, embracing his old friend. "Ah, it's been too long! I see you've given up on dying that poor thing," he said, gesturing to the twitching facial hair. "Finally decided to accept the pains of aging?"

  "Luke sent us out to round up any stubborn hold horses," he said evenly. A quick glare was all that was needed to silence the stifled chuckles of his men, who quickly found other things to pay attention to. Frederick curled his lip and spat.

  "You can tell that ass I didn't take his orders before he crowned himself, and I'm not likely to do so now."

  "You sound like a brat," Lamar scoffed. "Or does the Mad Bear honestly plan on hiding away out here, the lone defender of the nation?"

  The sound of a scuffle drew their eyes; Tobias had found a hand, somewhere, and was gleefully batting it about. One of the soldiers (apparently a little too unnerved by the macabre sight) had gotten a lash from the beast's tail across his face when he tried to take it away.

  "Get away!" Frederick roared, the warning pain between his eyes throbbing fiercely again. It calmed when the soldier leapt back, awkwardly shuffling back to his horse. Others slowly let their hands droop towards their weapons, or let their armor ripple with intent; Lamar frowned, and again, they stilled. "If Hogenhein reaches my door, then yes, I'll fall back to the city's walls. Will that suffice?"

  Lamar rubbed between his eyes. "He's been on the throne for twenty years, and I'm still getting caught between the two of you butting heads," he grumbled. "If it's losing control you're worried about -"

  "That's not it at all," Frederick laughed.

  "Then-"

  "I said I don't want to." Frederick shrugged as his friend's face turned purple with frustration. "Lamar, I'm happy out here, by myself. Besides; you and I both know Hogenhein will never get this far. This little war of theirs will be crushed in a month at most, and everyone will go home, the same as the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that."

  Lamar looked away, sucking his teeth. "Your belly tells me you're still friends with Tarlen," he stated. Frederick's eyes narrowed, and he stood a bit straighter.

  "Everyone gains a bit when they retire," he grumbled.

  "Gain any more and we'll have to start calling you the Mad Pig," Lamar sang. "Their daughter. Ellie?" The fire in his friend's eyes died, and turned to wariness. "Quite the prodigy. Very promising hawkguard."

  "Indeed," Frederick growled. "Her parents are exceptionally proud."

  "As they should be. Though...I'm sure they would sleep much better if she were assigned to..." Lamar made a few nonsense noises, as though he was thinking about something. Frederick breathed slowly, and tried not to think about knocking that pensive look right off his face. "Guard the walls," he finished, smirking as he cut off Frederick's bellow.

  The building irritation still simmered, and Frederick took a few calming breaths before he dared respond. "Stationed at home, you say?"

  "Of course! In fact, I have it on good authority that her commanders -- though impressed -- believe the young lady would benefit from more training, and time to ease into her new position."

  "How wonderful," Frederick bit out.

  "I know! Isn't it just? Though I'm not quite sure why I brought it up." Lamar sighed dramatically, waving to the skies in frustration. "You were, of course, just telling me that you couldn't be swayed to live in the city for a time-"

  "Lamar-"

  "No, I understand! Perish the thought! The great Mad Bear of old would rather die than give up his sol-"

  "Lamar!"

  "What shall I tell the poor King Lucas, long may he reign, and strong may his children be?" he continued, ignoring Frederick entirely now. "How will I form the words to impart such a woeful message?" He grabbed Frederick's lapels. "How?"

  Frederick sighed deeply, matching Lamar's tormented sorrow with one of deep, long suffering. "And people wonder why I live by myself. Tobias!" he called. The dragonling flew, hand dangling from his mouth, to Frederick's shoulders. He settled there like a cat, contentedly chewing on his favorite perch.

  "I knew yo
u'd see reason," Lamar oozed. He went to clap Frederick on the shoulder, but thought better of it given his stormy expression. "Alright, you heard the man," he said to his men. "Tomas, grab his tea; Patricia, his robe and slippers will be on the floor by a chair somewhere in there; Xan, there'll be a pipe on top of a book. The rest of you, piss if you have to. We leave soon as we can. Oh, relax," he said at Frederick's puckered face. "It'll be over before you know it."

  "Save it for your wife," Frederick said, loud enough for the others to hear. He allowed himself a smile at a cough from the nearest soldier. "You're right, of course. It'll just be for a little while, and I'll have my feet up the whole time. Nothing to do but lounge about, read...catch up with old friends for early morning tea... very early morning," he said evenly.

  "I'll have to pass," Lamar said. "And before you think to go pounding on my door, that's what the locks up and down the gates are for."

  Frederick nodded. "Are you still married to Ophelia? Ah, wonderful woman! Always loved my stories, if I remember."

  "A pox on your black heart," Lamar growled.

  He let himself smile in earnest at Lamar's stony glare. Suddenly it felt like his stay wouldn't be so aggravating after all. With one final look at his home, and the now desperate repairs it needed, he began walking with the soldiers towards Verdenhelm, and civilization. A faint throbbing pulsed on the side of his head, and he sucked in a long, cool breath.

  Just a month. Maybe two. Not long.

  Not long.

  THE END.

  SARS 21 by Peter Markson

  They continued to walk down the street- an inconspicuous looking man wearing faded jeans and a Yankees cap. The man answered to the name “Mike.” His companion, a German Sheppard dog, responded to the name “Lampwick.”

  “Calm yourself friend,” Mike said.

  He tried to change the subject.

  “Honestly, this language they programmed us with.... speaking it… It’s humorous.”