by Tom Liberman
“Not to mention their wives and sons,” said Petra as she moved over to him. “You’ll want as many allies as you can get as quickly as possible. There will be those currently in power who will move against you. While you are nigh on invincible with the hammer in your hands a few hundred soldiers and crossbowmen might prove troublesome, no?”
Dol nodded again and took his hand off the hammer hilt. “There is some truth there,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m sure I could handle it in the end but all those dead people doesn’t make a lot of sense. So what should we do?”
“It won’t be easy,” said Petra with her hand on her chin. “Milli is pretty distinctive and so are you, Dol. I’m the only one who people might not recognize right away. Witchy women are everywhere.”
“So, we send you in first?” said Milli. “I don’t like that idea.”
“What else do you suggest?” said Petra with a tilt of her head and a twinkle in her eyes.
Milli shrugged and looked at Dol with wide eyes and a blank expression as her tone became more girlish, “I don’t know. What do you think?”
Dol shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, send in Petra to see what’s going on.” Then he turned to the older woman and put his hand on her shoulder. “Just go into town and figure out the way to Gazadum. After that I’ll take care of the rest.”
Petra nodded her head, “That sounds reasonable, Dol. But there might be more trouble if they know you are coming. They’ll set up guards around the entrance. We might need to make a distraction or something.”
“It’s possible,” said Dol with a shrug and he rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t really matter in the end but we’ll deal with that problem if it happens. For now, get on your horses and let’s ride to glory!”
Chapter 27
Twenty armed soldiers stood in front of the large campfire and guffawed as one of their number capered in a strange little dance punctuated by sharp upward jabs of his arms. Other soldiers played makeshift instruments in a tune apparently known to all of them. The dancer was dressed in an ill-fitting leather tunic and nearby, leaning against a tree, stood a small wooden shield with two of its slats badly warped. At his side he wore a short sword or perhaps a long dirk and the men providing musical accompaniment and cheers were equally ill-equipped.
“We’re farmers,” said one of two men off to the side as they watched the dancer near the fire go through his routine once again. There wasn’t much to the dance and it seemed to repeat itself regularly which gave those other members of the group plenty of opportunity to drink from small flasks as they shouted out encouragement.
“Somebody has to do it,” said another man as he took a swig from his skin and grimaced. “The damn baron is off chasing his son again and there aren’t any soldiers.”
“So why do we have to do it? Couldn’t we just let this idiot go into the mountain and get himself killed? The Great Fire Lord will never let a human slay him. What business is it of ours to stop him?”
“High Priest Aaran says it’s our business,” said the second man with a shrug of his shoulders as he took yet another sip of the liquid inside his flask.
“Bah,” said the first man and spat on the ground with a grimace. “Those priests are good for nothing except living off the hard labor of others. What do they do except take our bread and tell us to get down on our knees and beg forgiveness so the Gods don’t kill us all?”
“They keep the Gods from killing us all,” said the second man. “What would happen if we didn’t support the priests and give our offerings?”
The first guard shrugged his shoulders and spat again, “Who can say?”
“I can say,” replied the second man turning towards his friend. “I can say and I can say it loudly for all to hear. If the priests didn’t keep the Gods at bay the world would turn to chaos. The demons and devils would walk the earth and destroy us all. We’d have no moral or ethical foundation. We’d be just animals, killing and rutting.”
“Do animals just kill and fuck?” said the first man turning to face his companion.
“Of course they do,” said the second man. “Just look at them,” he said and pointed to a group of ducks sitting placidly on the dark pond.
The first man turned and looked at the quiet animals, “I’m looking.”
“That’s not what I mean,” said the second man. “I mean, they don’t kill each other all the time.”
“Nor do men,” said the first man.
“I’m making a point,” said the second man. “If we don’t have morals we’re nothing more than animals.”
“Yeah,” said the first man. “But my question is what’s so bad about animals? They’ve been getting along all these years. They don’t spend half their day kneeling and praying to live or praying to be good or hoping their kid doesn’t die. I mean, they get along all right.”
“They’re animals,” said the second man.
“Yeah, I get that,” said the first man with a shrug of his shoulders and a wry smile.
“Then why are you arguing with me,” said the second man.
“Because you’re not answering any of my questions,” said the first man.
“That’s because they’re stupid questions,” said the second man. “Everyone knows people are different than animals.”
“Orcs also?” asked the first man.
“They’re almost animals and that’s the point isn’t it? Look at the way they live. Goblins too, just to satisfy their carnal desires. They have no ethics, no morals, no religion.”
“The goblins do too have religion. They’re crazy religious to that god of theirs. That’s why they do all that raiding to have sacrifices.”
“That’s not the point,” said the second man. “Aren’t you listening?”
“I think I am,” said the first man scratching his head. “Are you sure it’s not you who is not listening?”
“Don’t make this about me,” said the second man and gave the first a short little shove. “Just because you don’t have any ethics isn’t any reason to blame the priests. It’s your free will to believe or not believe. No one makes you pay the tithes.”
“They do make me pay the tithes. The soldiers come by and if we don’t pay they take what they want,” said the first man. “You’re talking utter nonsense.”
“You’re not listening,” said the second man.
“Are you absolutely certain it’s me that’s not listening?” said the first fellow.
“Yes, I’m sure. Pay attention,” said the second and glared his companion. “Are you stupid?”
“I don’t think so,” said his companion and scratched his head.
“And yet you’re of the opinion that we are the same as animals?”
“I don’t actually recall saying that,” said the first man.
“Will you two shut-up,” said a third voice from around the fire. I’m trying to get pleasantly drunk before I have to go home to my wife and six kids. Personally, I don’t mind being out here in the dark waiting for some dwarf maniac warrior to come and kill the Fire God. It’s safer than home!”
With that everyone around the fire laughed heartily, slapping their knees and toasting one another, “Here’s to marauding dwarves, may they often grace us with their presence!” and such inanities. The men around the fire continued to entertain each other as the hours of the night slowly went by, and they did not notice as Petra slowly approached on the little mule she borrowed from Dol just an hour ago. She managed to maneuver the beast all the way up to the campfire before one of the men noticed.
“Hey, you there!” shouted one of them and tried to pull his short sword from its scabbard but only managed to entangle it in between his legs so that he stumbled towards her. “What are you doing here?”
Petra pulled up the little mule with a quick yank of the reins and smiled down on the men, “I’m a witchy woman from the north villages. I heard there was need for my concoctions in these regions. Potions of courage, elixirs of strengt
h, and the such.”
The men around the campfire, at least the ones not curled up and snoring on bedrolls, looked at each other back and forth, and then the leader eventually shrugged his shoulders and managed to pull out the sword, “Now that you mention it we might be in need of a few such potions. There is a great dwarf warrior come to slay the mighty God of Fire in the volcano and we are tasked with stopping him!”
“You’ll need potions of strength at least,” said Petra and dismounted. “How many of you are there? I can give you a better price if we just mix them into the stew and you all drink. If I have to sell you each a potion it will cost more.”
“I might need some courage,” said one thin man with a little moustache and a shy smile. “I raise chickens mostly.” He fingered a little dirk at his side, shrugged his shoulders, and tilted his head to the side, “I can cut a chicken’s throat but I’m afraid I’d piss myself if someone came at me with a sword.”
“That’s all right, dearie,” said Petra and came over to pat him on the shoulder. “You’re probably not the only one here who isn’t a soldier and could use a brace of courage. I make the finest potions for a hundred miles in all directions. One sip of my courage elixir and you’ll be ready to take on an army.”
The man smiled at Petra and scratched his head, “Maybe I’d be best off running away instead of towards an angry dwarf with an axe?”
“You might be right there,” said Petra with a laugh, and the men around guffawed loudly enough to wake even the drunkest passed out around the fire. “But, you’ve got a job to do and if you run away then you’ll be found in the end. The priests with their magic can tell if a man is lying or not.”
“It’s true,” murmured several voices from the darkness. “They can make you talk. If we run away then the priests will get it out of us in the end. Then when the baron gets back with the soldiers he’ll put our heads on pikes.”
“He’s a right bastard is our baron,” said one of the gruffest of the group. He wore a heavy leather jerkin, and a long blade hung in a scabbard from his side. “We’ll fight and do our best, don’t you worry Jocuso. Better to die standing up like a man than captured and in chains. Maybe this dwarf won’t come at all. What fool takes on a God?”
Petra looked up at the rough character and nodded her head, “A big one,” she said.
“A big dwarf or a big fool,” said Jocuso in a tremulous voice which elicited a burst of laughter from the men around the campfire.
“Maybe both,” replied Petra. “Now, how many are in for the potions; the more the better price I offer.”
“Do we need two potions? One for strength and one for courage?” said a voice from the crowd.
“I can mix them together easily enough,” said Petra with a broad grin and she began to unpack the various tools of her trade from the mule. There were dozens of little flasks, several small bundles of strange herbs that gave off intoxicating odors, little bags of powdered substances, a mortar and pestle, and a few other pieces of equipment of varying shapes and sizes. Petra busied herself unpacking all the items and setting them into precise positions on a felt mat as the men began to crowd around her and gaze at her preparations.
“Who is paying for this?” said Petra as she continued her work without abatement.
The gathered men immediately began to reach into pockets and the sound of metallic coins clinking came through the crisp air. Various discussions and bargains came and went from the men as to who should pay more and who should pay less. Some arguments as to the weight of the imbiber and the potential for that person requiring an increased amount stalled the negotiations for a while as Petra began to mix various ingredients in a large bowl. Eventually the men sorted out their differences and the gruff member of the group came over with a hand full of coins, mainly silver but a few of copper and other base metals. He put them on the felt to the side of Petra’s preparations, “There you go, witch. That should be enough to take care of us all.”
Petra looked at the pathetic little pile of coins and thought about the heavy gold in her own purse and the gemstones that jangled next to them. She realized not more than a couple of months ago this sort of sale would keep her in food and supplies for months and shook her head, snorted, and smiled broadly.
“Is it not enough?” questioned the man and reached into his pocket.
“No, no,” said Petra shaking her head, “I’m sorry. I was thinking about the last time I saw coins like this,” she said and reached into the pile to pull at one of the pieces that looked different than the rest. It showed a green jungle like environment on one side and a topless woman carrying a spear on the other.
“That’s from the jungle kingdoms,” said one of the men peering over her shoulder as she examined the coin. “I got it from a northern trader. They say there are jungles a thousand miles long in the northlands. That spear woman is a goddesses of their land I think but I don’t remember her name.” The man, he wasn’t particularly tall but had a thick neck and a heavy build to go along with thinning hair and a flat, pug nose. “Do you think the dwarf will really try to kill the Great Fire God?”
Petra shrugged, “It’s possible, best to have your courage up just in case, right?”
“Oh, I don’t mind that, I’m old now and my, cough, cough, my lungs are filling up all the time. My father died even younger than me. I’m going to die anyways. I just worry about my children if the Fire God is dead. Who will drag the sun across the sky, who will tease the seedlings out so they can grow?”
“Who teased the seedlings before the Fire God resided in the volcano?” said Petra as she continued to mix her ingredients carefully.
“Is that nightshade?” said a voice from the back as Petra continued her work.
“Just a smidge,” said the woman dumping a healthy clump into the mix. “For courage.”
“Isn’t nightshade poisonous?” questioned the voice.
“Only in large doses,” said Petra and immediately began to put a ground purple powder into the mix. “Besides, it’s counteracted by this Passion flower. Nothing to worry about.”
“I’ve never seen herbs like those,” said another voice looming over her shoulder. “I’m a gardener and those aren’t from around here.”
Petra suddenly looked up with her eyes huge and half-bugged out. “Get away,” she screeched, “get away from the witch or I’ll curse you all.”
The men immediately backed away and began bickering among themselves, “See what you did?”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You can’t tell a witch how to brew a potion any more than you can tell a blacksmith how to hammer a horseshoe.”
“They’re crazy, those witches, one of them cursed my sister-in-law, and she grew an extra arm out her back.”
“That’s horse dung,” said another voice. “People don’t grow extra arms out of their backs.”
“I’ve seen it,” said another voice. “My missus is the midwife, you know, and sometimes them babies come out all deformed with extra parts and missing parts. She has to dispose of them, you know, but she always tells the mother that the cord was around their neck and they died. I’ve seen some of things that get borned, I have.”
“I didn’t say they couldn’t be born, you idiot,” shouted another voice. “We’ve all got goats and chickens that get borned with extra parts but I’m saying extra parts don’t just grow afterwards!”
“Them little lizards can grow their tails back,” said another voice.
“I ain’t talking about lizards, I’m talking about people,” came the reply.
“But if they can grow back parts why can’t a person, especially if they been cursed by a witchy woman,” said another voice from the darkness.
“You ever see a person grown an extra arm out of their back?” questioned yet another voice out of the darkness.
“Just cause I ain’t seen it don’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“What the hell did he just say?”
“
I said that it could happen even if I never seen it,” clarified the voice.
“Well, what kind of an argument is that? I’ve never seen your wife ride a blue-jay to the top of tree. Does that mean it’s possible?”
“His wife is too fat to ride a burro so that ain’t a fair test,” said another voice and the men broke into laughter.
“Hey,” said the insulted man. “I like a bit to squeeze on, besides a fat wife means a good dinner on the table when you get home.”
“He’s got a point there,” said another voice and the men all laughed again.
“Would you just shut up,” muttered Petra under her breath, but the men continued their conversation apace as the night went slowly on. The moon was high in the sky now and tens of thousands of stars shone brightly as the men slowly began to wind down from the excitement of Petra’s arrival and subsequent potion-making exercises.
It took her an hour to mix up the sleep potion for the almost two dozen men and she was careful not to put too much of the toxic nightshade in, “Don’t want to kill them,” she said to herself as she carefully poured the last mixture into the bowl. “Could some of you strong fellows get a big pot of water boiling on yonder fire and I’ll dump in my potions.”
A half-a-dozen of the men immediately grabbed nearby little wooden buckets and dashed off into the darkness, presumably towards a creek or well, while others found a big cooking cauldron from somewhere and began to muscle it over to the large fire. It only took a couple of minutes of work and the cauldron, filled with water, was in place on the fire, and the men gathered around it and watched as Petra muttered strange words and gesticulated with sharp, jabbing motions towards the sky, earth, and fire.
Petra was careful to slip off the little translator amulet before she began her witchcraft although she still used the same words as if the audience could understand her, “By the night that gleams and the moon that shines, by bats wings and cats eyes, I call forth the goddess of the moon to shine her beams upon eve.” The gibberish went on for another few lines and Petra went through the motions with all the practice of an old cobbler setting away his tools. The ritual took about two or three minutes and then she dumped the contents of her work into the cauldron, immediately eliciting a cloud of purple and gold vapor and a shower of hisses that crackled for a few moments before subsiding.