Gleeman's Tales

by Matthew Travagline

  The Luddites all wore their ceremonial, blood-red robes and kept their heads shaved clean. A bitter bile rose in Harvey’s throat, threatening to breach his mouth, but he swallowed it back, succeeded in separating his mind from the coming slaughter. He felled the first man as he sliced clean through the Luddite’s thin neck. He then plunged his blade into the chest of a second man and booted him to the ground before any of the others had a moment to react.

  ◆◆◆

  Harvey’s second victim screamed as he flew onto the table. His blood-curdling yell roused the sleeping woman who opened her eyes to see Roy’s face as he shoved a blade under her chin. Now overcome with the same spell of the fury that ailed his friend, Roy tore through the tent’s canvas siding and charged at the two chefs who each had the forethought to arm themselves. When one of the chefs saw Roy charging, he turned from watching Harvey battle the other Luddites and raised his weapon, a blazing branch from the fire, wielding it as though it were a sword of fine steel. Roy smiled, part of his mind thinking back to the fighting he and Harvey had partaken on Blue Haven streets. With muscles rippling from the adrenaline, he vaulted over a table and executed rapid slashes that reduced the branch to a mere half-arm’s length. Chunks of flaming wood flew onto the muddy ground, their fires snuffed out in the wet muck. After limiting the Luddite’s defense, Roy swung his arms down, aiming his blade for the bald head.

  The Luddite quickly moved the branch in the path of the blade, but Roy’s feral strength surpassed the Luddite chef’s. The blade cleaved through the smoldering branch, buried itself a finger deep in the man’s head, splitting the skull and spouting hot blood to match their robes. Roy strained to remove the blade from its bone-burrow, pulling and wiggling it, but the refined steel sat adamantly in its socket.

  The second chef turned at the commotion caused by the first chef’s demise and charged at Roy wielding a butcher’s knife like a lance. Roy saw the charging Luddite a moment before the knife would have speared him through the ribs, and he tumbled away, his hands searching for any weapon as his legs kept him a hair’s breadth from the edge of the sharp cooking tool. Roy’s fingers traced over something hard and hot. Ignoring the searing heat burning his hand and fingers, he gripped and launched a cast iron skillet brimming with hot slurry at the head of his attacker. The pan ricocheted off his opponent’s head, dumping the steaming contents on his face and down his robe.

  The man’s squeal, for the moment that he was still able to push breath through his mouth, resembled that of a pig as its throat was sliced and its blood drained. Blinded, he ran wild around the camp. Roy plucked the dropped knife and tested it in his hand before throwing the blade towards the fleeing chef. It twirled in the air and he worried that the handle would hit the man, but in the last instant, the blade righted itself and slipped right into the man’s neck. He tumbled down, tearing through the canvas tent central to the camp.

  Roy heard a yell of surprise come from within. He wondered, for only a moment, who could have slept through the entirety of the ruckus outside only to be woken by that disruption.

  ◆◆◆

  While Roy had been busy dispatching his chefs, Harvey had dealt with another planner who pulled a dirk from his belt. After losing the third of their companions, the final two separated themselves and snarled at Harvey, threatening to lunge at any moment. They became distracted by the blood-curdling screams of the scorched chef for a moment too long. Harvey spied his opportunity and dispatched both with his sword as the chef crashed into the tent screaming.

  After his minor victory, he rejoined Roy just as his friend was stooped over the deceased body of the first chef, prying the blade from its burrow. It slopped out, coated in thick blood. Harvey turned to approach the tent but stopped when out of it came a Luddite bearing considerable rank.

  In lieu of the the traditional red robes, this Luddite wore gold clothes adorned with frilly epaulettes and a lion’s pin on his right breast. He tested a long blade in the air as he emerged, exuding a musk of overconfidence. He eyed Roy and Harvey, both coated in his subordinates’ blood, with dismissive hatred. “How very noble of you to kill unarmed men and women. Now you too shall taste the steel you have so selflessly doled out upon my people.” The Luddite’s voice was iron. His stern expression and emotionless light eyes betrayed no fear.

  “And I suppose you would have the whole world forget how you torched a building killing a man and child?” Harvey felt the leather of his sword’s hilt shrink under his grip.

  A look akin to confusion may have passed over the Luddite’s eyes, but it was retracted and replaced with the same iron stare.

  “It’s time people decided for themselves how they want to progress in the world,” Harvey said. “Your organization is no different from those that ended the first age, thousands of years past.”

  But despite the leader’s arrogance, Harvey thought it odd that he was not attacking. Then he realized that he was missing someone. His mind fluttered as he plotted out the action. He fought the five at the planning table, while Roy handled the two at the cook-fire and the one sleeping. He knew that there would be one leader, and counting the woman who they saw walking toward Pike’s Cathedral earlier, he was only accounting for ten.

  Harvey gripped Roy’s arm and whispered, “Roy, there must be one more giving us the slip. I’ll take care of this leader. You go see if you can stop the runner.” Roy grunted and took off toward the rear of the leader’s tent. Harvey heard the faint sounds of a scuffle coming from behind the canvas, but he could pay no heed as the Luddite leader took that moment to charge, his long steel blade aggressively angled.

  His mind clearing, Harvey tensed his body, waiting for the last possible moment, then feinted to the left and brought his blade arcing to slice the leader’s underarm. The Luddite had been anticipating the feint, so his blade fell to a defensive stance. The sharp sting of steel biting steel split the calm afternoon. A light spark flew off from the clash of the blades.

  Harvey played defensive, paying attention for any obvious chinks in the Luddite leader’s defense. After a few minutes of sword slicing sword, he was no closer to discovering his way through the man’s iron defense than when the battle began. To make matters worse, he was tiring under the strength of his opponent. His own forehead throbbed due to a rapid heartbeat. And from his hairline, streamed a mix of sweat and blood trickling down from a lucky swipe. His breathing came more and more labored.

  Feeling the ebb of his own strength, Harvey lunged, taking the offensive. His blade shot forward at a speed at which even he was surprised, but at the last moment it met steel and was deflected.

  Unfortunately, the Luddite leader had a momentary lapse in his concentration as he eyed Roy leading a limping man back into the camp. With his eye off the battle for that instant, he was unable to parry Harvey’s next strike, so the blade slid through flesh, tearing into the Luddite’s shoulder blade. Hot blood flushed out as Harvey retrieved his blade and kicked the shocked Luddite to the ground. The blood soaked through his shoulder adornments and spilled down, marring his golden robes.

  Confusion and fear bubbled up, seeping onto his face.

  Harvey leaned down and spat, “You people make me sick.” With one swoop, he severed the Luddite leader’s head at the base of his neck.

  He then cut the rope holding the silk Luddite banner and used it to clean the blood from his blade and face. Harvey offered the flag to Roy, who shook his head. Done wiping Luddite from his face, Harvey tossed the banner into the dying embers, an action that reinvigorated the flames causing them to shoot up in a renewed life.

  From the woods walked the woman they had seen earlier, her hands lugging a basket dripping with bloody meat. “I’m back from—” the woman said but was startled to walk in on the aftermath of the bloodbath. She dropped the basket, spilling the meat onto the grass. Harvey sprinted to her with an unnatural speed and slugged his fist into her temple, rendering her unconscious before she even hit the ground. He then walked bac
k to Roy and the man who looked shocked.

  “Who is this?” Harvey asked Roy as he wiped bloody spittle from his face and hands.

  “Name’s Rolly,” the man said, speaking for himself.

  Harvey’s jaw dropped. “Rolly? The man who lives in the cathedral?”

  “Lived. Now that it’s all burnt, I got no home,” the man mused.

  “Why’d they come after your cathedral? A little boy said you had first age relics inside, books even?”

  “That boy who was always snooping in my home? Is he alright? Jacob, his name was. I think.”

  Harvey shook his head, swallowing a lump. Tears clouded his vision. “He’s dead.”

  “Those bastards,” Rolly spat. “I suppose this is my own fault. Too free with my tongue. Yeah, I have books from the first age.”

  “And now that’s all gone,” Roy guessed.

  “Nope. Got it stored away from the Pike, I did. Word’s been spreading of the Pantheon stretching out, looking for first age knowledge. Knew it was only a matter of time before the Ludders came over, thinking to get to me before any of Gideon’s ilk. I hid ‘em.”

  “What’d you do with them?” Harvey asked.

  “With all due respect to you and your friend for saving my ass, I didn’t keep ‘em safe this long by blabbing about to every handsome boy to ask me that. I gotta find someone trustworthy to hand ‘em off to. Someone who will cherish ‘em—preferably someone who can actually read the archaic script. I’d love to be able to hear some of those stories one of these days before I kick it.”

  “It’s no wonder the Luddites went after you. In one moment of listening to you, I’ve already heard you speak in opposition to all their doctrines,” Roy said.

  “Yeah, well when you get to be my age, you stop caring for who you please and who you tick off.”

  “Come on, Harv,” Roy said. “Let’s get back to the inn. I’m in desperate need for something strong and I think the townsfolk will be happy to see this one alive.”

  “For once, I agree,” Harvey said. “I could use a good drink.”

  “If you’re buying, I could use something strong,” Rolly said, laughing. The three walked back towards Pike’s Cathedral. Harvey and Roy switched between walking and supporting Rolly as he hobbled and limped back through the wet woods.

  “That was just like the old times, eh, Harv? You and me cracking skulls, spilling blood for what’s right? Reminds me of our scuffles in Blue Haven.”

  “Yeah, except now we are the very thing that we fought against in Blue Haven,” Harvey admitted, killing their mood.

  Chapter 15

  “I am longing for a soft bed under these rickety bones more than anything in the world right now,” Gnochi said, complaining as he walked behind Perogie.

  Cleo noticed his pace slowing in tandem with the sun as it waned in the sky. She feared that they would have to spend another night sleeping under the stars. The pair had not passed any farms during the day, so they pushed on, hoping to reach a decent shelter.

  “Oh, come on, you liar,” Cleo said. “Your bones aren’t that old!” She shook her head, smiling. A chilly wisp of wind tickled at the nape of her neck, now unprotected by long hair. For not the first time that day, she rubbed at her head, willing the warmth not to vacate despite its free path out. The shiver rekindled an anger she had been harboring. The smile dropped from her face. She pulled Perogie to a halt.

  Gnochi continued walking some time, then stopped and turned. “Everything alright?” he asked.

  “It’s not fair,” she said, her voice failing to suppress a light squeak. “You get to. Oslow gets to. Everyone else gets to flaunt who they are. If I do, people get hurt or they whisper. It’s not fair, Gnochi!”

  “You’d be surprised how much everyone hides about themselves, Oslow and myself included.”

  She sent a look his way which said that his words meant little.

  “Listen, Cleo. You’re right. It’s not fair. You should be able to be yourself. You know that nothing is going on between us. I know it. The problem is, no one will take our word for truth, and there are people who feel entitled and try to intervene. Or people like the brigand,” he said, his tone grim. “To be honest, I don’t know if I can effectively protect you should I come face to face with a skilled warrior.”

  “I don’t want protection!” Cleo steamed, her words seemed to grip Gnochi between his cheeks. He nodded. “I didn’t leave home to go from one protectorate to another. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Of course you can.” His voice sounded dull, eyes glossy. “You’ve already proven that by saving me.”

  “You know what? Just forget we had this conversation,” Cleo said, urging Perogie forward with a light kick.

  “Come, let’s get to an inn so I can rest my weary bones,” Gnochi said after a minute of silence.

  “You don’t even care?” Cleo asked, her voice teeming with frustration. “I didn’t mean that when I said forget it. Show some compassion. It’s not fair that I cannot be myself.”

  He stopped walking and said, “This issue is not as black and white as it seems. On the surface, I am Gnochi Gleeman: bard, musician, and man. But is that the true me?” Placing a hand on Perogie’s shoulder, he said, “We need to remember our roles in Pike’s Cathedral. The closer we get to Blue Haven, the less my sway will matter.”

  Cleo looked down from her perch into Gnochi’s dark eyes. She saw the same emotionless void in them that she remembered seeing in her father’s servants many times in the past.

  ◆◆◆

  “So, you’re telling me, Jacob told you that it was the Ludders who burnt down my home?” Rolly asked, beckoning for another mug of steamed ale.

  Twirling a copper pence in his hand, Harvey watched the man with one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. He had no problem imagining why stories of the weird surrounded the man. The inn was beginning to fill with both locals and the staff from the menagerie on leave.

  “Might believe you,” he continued after taking a long draft from his new glass. “Except you’re perfectly sober, telling me a dead boy spoke to you.”

  Harvey couldn’t shake the ache which permeated through his bones. He wanted to be alone, yet found himself among a crowd of the rowdy in mourning. “You’re here aren’t you?” he snapped. “That should be proof enough.” He failed to mask his ire at being questioned.

  “Aye, and after the shit you boys went through, the fact that you’re still sober scares me as much. Roy, get that boy a drink!”

  “Come on, Harv, you promised a drink,” Roy chimed, his eye trailing off to follow something behind Harvey.

  “After taking down all those Ludders and a leader, too with only a sword.”

  “Pipe down before your tongue gets us killed,” Harvey hissed. “Besides,” he said, his voice quieter, “only one was really armed with something other than a dagger.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself,” Roy said, shoveling a forkful of braised beef into his mouth. A trail of gravy trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  “Ooh, a burning stick and a butcher’s knife are formidable weapons, I forgot,” Harvey said, life returning to his words. He called over a barmaid. “I’ll have a warmed hard cider,” he told her. “Roy?” He watched his friend wince as he struggled to swallow the mouthful, his face reddening from the exertion. “He’ll have the same.” He said, slapping Roy in the back. A glance over at Rolly’s grinning face evoked a sigh. “And one more for Rolly, as well.”

  “Aye, that’s a good lad,” Rolly said, turning his now empty glass over on the table.

  She quit the room to fill the order.

  “I’m ready to be out of this shanty and back on the road to Blue,” Harvey said, twiddling his thumbs.

  “I agree. No one here seems welcoming,” Roy added.

  “Maybe that has something to do with the burning of our pride and joy,” Rolly said, spitting onto the floor.

  Harvey saw Roy wind up for some witty rema
rk, taking a gust of air in his lungs, but the arrival of two travelers silenced the inn’s mirth and drew the table’s attention away. He noticed that the shorter traveler, after stepping into the dim light gifted from the chandelier, was an adolescent with light grey eyes and close-cut dark brown hair. Harvey thought he spied a smattering of freckles on the boy’s face, which was softly rounded and feminine. The boy looked old enough to be fourteen or fifteen, though he had not a trace of facial hair to his name.

  They stood in the doorway for a minute until the shorter of the two slapped the wall three times, though the entire inn was already silent.

  The small traveler cleared his throat. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said in a voice Harvey thought was a tad too high pitched for as old as he had guessed. “I present my master, the traveling bard: Gnochi Gleeman.”

  A fervor of whispering spread through the inn. The boy stood wrapped in a ripped and burnt poncho. The autumnal-colored garb covered simple traveling clothes that fit snug to his thin frame. The apprentice bowed and, upon rising, donned a hat just a bit too large for his head. It covered the tops of his ears, its brown color accented by a mottled feather tucked into a tan band. The hat concealed all but a few rogue strands of his dark hair.

  The sound of rushing feet came from some back room. The gamey innkeeper rushed into the main hall with a wooden club, assuming that a quiet dining hall was a sign of trouble, but was greeted courteously by the boy.