by Bruce Leslie
“Of course you pay for that by giving up several good inches of reach.” Flynn touched his gloved fingers to his own sword.
“Yes, that’s true.” The Lump took his hand off his sword and placed it between Tilley’s shoulders. “What about that fine piece of steel on your hip?”
“It was given to me for the celebration of my sixteenth year.” Flynn had a backhanded grip his sword’s hilt. “I was also given the breastplate and helm, though the helm never quite fit.” He raised his hand from the hilt and placed it flat on his head.
“Sixteenth year? How old are you now?” asked the Lump.
“I’m in my seventeenth now.” Flynn removed his hand from his head and took the loose left reign of his horse.
“So why the sword and armor?” The Lump squinted his eyes as he asked the question.
“Because I always wanted to be a hero.” Flynn paused and dropped his head. “Well, my mother always wanted me to be a hero.” He lifted his head back up to the road. “I would have been interested in the precious metal trade, like my father.” He raised his face to the sky and continued to speak. “From as far back as I can remember, my mother told me tales of Silas the Swift.” He looked at the Lump. “At first I thought they were just fantastic stories, and I’m sure many were, but as I got older I understood he was a real person. Heroes are a real thing.” His face turned back to the road. “From the time I was ten my mother had me take lessons from a member of the King’s men-at-arms… well, a former member.”
“Well, there’s your problem!” The Lump slapped his thigh. “They are trained to stand in lock step and take turns getting hacked at, not real fighting.” The Lump paused for a moment. “I guess that’s why the King needed people like my pop.”
“I must accept you’re right, after the tavern…” Flynn dropped his head and his shoulders slumped.
The Lump felt compelled to console the man. “Listen to me fellow, you’re brave. There’s no question about that.” He forced a broad smile. “And that’s something you can’t learn, you just have to have it.” He let the muscles in his face relax, letting go of the smile. “It does seem like you have honorable intentions, wanting to murder me in front of my townsfolk aside.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at the man. “Just make smaller moves, don’t slash and flail around like you’re trying to chop down a tree in one stroke.” He swung his arm in a half circle to illustrate his point. “Also, don’t drop the point of your sword lower than your hands. That leaves you vulnerable.”
“Did you learn that from your father? Did he teach you with that sword?” Flynn turned his face to the Lump and waited for the answer.
The Lump gave a hearty laugh. “No, I learned from Wendy. She’s deadly with a spoon - and you’ll never see the tip of it dip when she’s pounding your noggin.” He nodded at Flynn.
Flynn had a slight smile. “Thank you for the advice…do you think maybe—“
“No!” The Lump barked. “I’d have to be a hero to train a hero. Else wise, I’m not the patient type to give lessons in anything.” He shook his head side to side. “But if you want some real wisdom…” He furrowed his brow while he paused. “…Maybe you don’t have to poke people in the gut with a blade to be a hero.”
“You didn’t seem so dedicated to peace during our duel.” Flynn looked forward as he spoke.
“That wasn’t no duel, that was a scrap.” The Lump shrugged his shoulders. “It’s true I thumped you on the head, but I didn’t cut you.” The Lump shifted his weight on the mule, then continued. “Look at Wendy. What would happen to an odd looking fellow like me as an orphan?” He put a hand on his chest. “It’s true that she put many a knot on my head with her spoon, but she gave me honest work. She gave me a hat and this vest.”
“Lump, sir, that’s not a vest, that’s leather armor.” Flynn looked at the man he as he spoke. “The cap, it’s a helmet.” Flynn continued, “The vest, It’s called a cuirie, the leather is boiled to harden it.” He dropped his head again. “My mother made me study such things.”
The Lump clinched his jaws. “Wendy, that scoundrel, she just can’t leave me be.” His face felt hot.
Meena spoke up. “Why do you ride a mule? Can you not afford a horse?”
“Don’t you be worried about what I can afford.” The Lump’s jaws still felt tight. “I like my mule, she’s strong and I’m a heavy burden.” He took a deep breath to release the tension in his jaws. “Could you picture me on a horse? His belly would drag the road after a day’s ride.” The tightness was leaving his jaws. “Tilley’s also stubborn, won’t listen to nobody but me.” He pointed at his chest. “You take these broken horses, they will let anybody ride, follow any master.” He rubbed the side of Tilley’s neck as he continued. “That’s why it’s easy to be a horse thief. Have you ever heard of a mule thief?”
The Lump noticed a wide ravine in the road ahead, where it had been washed out from past, heavy rains. He saw several thick, oak planks spanning the gap. As the heavy wagon in front approached the planks, it slowed to a stop. The old man who was driving climbed down and inspected the crossing. He climbed back onto his wagon and goaded his oxen across. The planks rubbed together, groaning under the heavy burden of the wagon and its cargo. The hind wheels of the wagon caught the edge of the planks as it rolled back onto the road at the far side of the gully. The planks became dislodged, and slid down the mud into the deep ditch below. The wagon continued on, the driver didn’t bother to look back.
“I’ll set these planks right.” The Lump pulled Tilley to a stop and climbed down. He approached the edge of the gulch, lay down on his belly, and reached for the planks. He stretched his arm to its full length, but the planks were too far down. He called back to his companions. “I’ll climb down a few steps and get them, it shouldn’t take long.”
He took a step down, the ground was muddy and soft. He planted another foot on the ground and advanced sideways, with short steps. He felt the mud begin to move under his feet. His heart jumped into his throat as he yelped, “Sweet greasy cheeses!” The big man slid down the side of the ditch on his rump. He grabbed one of the planks as he descended and pulled it down with him. When he landed at the bottom of the ravine he felt a cold, wet splash from the brown water that had settled in it.
The Lump stood in the mud for a moment to think. The ditch had a stink to it that was all too familiar to a man who slept in a stable. He planted the long plank in his hands into the mud and began his ascent. He took a few steady steps up, then felt his feet spinning beneath him. He slid the short distance back to the bottom, on his belly this time.
He felt his chest vibrate as he shouted, still prone in the mud. “Slippery swine slop on half-baked bread!” He stood up and looked at the upper edge of the trench. It was barely higher than the top of his head. Well, I guess I’ll take it one job at a time. He threw the heavy planks up to the edge of the road one by one. After all the slats were safely on the near side of the ravine he took a deep breath and began his climb again. This time he dug his hands deep into the mud in front of him and climbed up. He used all four of his limbs like a grossly oversized goat. When he reached the top at last, he felt the slimy mud that coated his body. He shuttered when he thought about the foul odor coming from the brown paste.
The Lump inspected his arms. “I suppose I’ll need to wash at the next stream.”
He wasn’t surprised when he heard hearty chortles coming from Flynn, or the giggles from Meena. His attention was captured by Tilley. The mule was braying loudly, bobbing her head up and down with her eyes closed. Her lips were pulled back showing her large, blocky teeth. As the Lump watched her, he wiped the mud off his chest and grumbled, “Laugh it up, fuzzy mule.”
7: Molgadon
The sharp rays of light from the rising sun woke the Lump. Must have rolled over in my sleep, don’t ever sleep well with my face to the east. The group had made camp earlier than planned and lost at least an hour of travel time. When they found a stream the evening pr
ior, the Lump stopped to wash off the nasty smelling, dark brown mud that covered his body and garments. While his clothes dried, all the Lump had to wear was the extra set of underclothes he had been careful to pack. Given the circumstances, making camp seemed appropriate. Flynn wanted to set a watch, but the Lump assured him that Tilley would be loud enough to wake them if anyone approached. He also reminded Flynn why there was no such thing as a mule thief.
The Lump rubbed his heavy eyelids and rose from the sleeping burrow in the hedge that had offered him cover during the night. He set about putting on his brown tunic and breeches, they had dried overnight. He heard his companions stirring as well.
The Lump slid on his boots and went to retrieve some salted meat from the bags slung across his mule. “Have you two eaten?”
“I’ve been up for a bit.” Meena answered with far too much enthusiasm for dawn. “I found some wild apples. They’re a touch sour, but there is plenty for sharing.” She took a bite from the apple in her hand. “Just make sure to pick out the little worms.”
The Lump wrinkled his face at the thought of the worm-eaten apples. “I don’t believe I want any apples. I have salted meat. It takes some chewing, but you’re welcome to some.”
“That sounds very fine. My thanks to you, sir.” Flynn was strapping his polished, metal breastplate over his flowery, blue tunic. “My mother supplied me with a purse full of silver, I would be happy to buy fresh provisions when necessary.”
Meena chewed a bite of sour apple as she spoke. “Thank you for your courtesy, but I prefer fruit to meat.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you off of Wendy’s jerky by calling it chewy.” The Lump’s stomach was rumbling with all the talk of food. “It really has a good taste.”
“That’s not the case.” Meena carefully pulled a tiny worm out of her breakfast and placed it gently in the soil below the hedge. “I just prefer the fruit. I’ve known a lot of animals, just seems wrong to eat them.”
“It’s not like I’m trying to feed Tilley to you—” The Lump stopped mid sentence when he saw Tilley. The mule had small yellow flowers braided into her short, black mane. “Did you do this?” he asked.
“When I was looking for fruit I found a patch of pretty little wildflowers.” Meena’s apple was eaten down to the core. “I hope you don’t mind, I think she likes them.”
The Lump’s eyes were open wide while he stared at the mule. “No, I don’t mind. I think the ol’ girl deserves to be pampered on occasion.” He leaned forward and sniffed the flowers, but could only smell the mule. “I just can’t believe she let you fiddle with her hair and didn’t make enough fuss to wake all our dead grand-families.”
“Oh, she came with me into the woods. It was nice to have some company in the dark.” She tossed her apple core into the hedge.
The Lump retrieved a big, flat slice of dry, leathery meat from one of the pouches slung across his mule. “So now you’re trying to have a laugh at me. Tilley don’t go with nobody but me, she won’t even let Wendy feed her.” The Lump took a bite out of the salty meat and chewed with effort.
“Is that so?” Meena rose from her seat on the ground and spoke in a sing-song voice. “Oh, Tilley, my sweet, sweet girl, come to me.”
The Lump stopped chewing and his mouth opened. A small piece of slobbery meat fell out. He was struck dumb as he watched his mule stroll, quiet and easy, over to the cloaked girl. After blinking twice to ensure that his eyes weren’t deceiving him, he spoke. “I’m glad you’re not a mule thief.” He paused for a moment, considering the implications. “‘Eh, Flynn! We better set a watch tonight.”
The three climbed their mounts, the Lump on Tilley with Flynn and Meena upon Tracer. The animals resumed their walking on the Market Road. There was no other traffic.
“We should be at Molgadon in little more than an hour.” The Lump’s eyes felt more comfortable now, riding with the sun at his back. “Then we’ll be traveling by way of the path. That should be much more pleasant travel.” He paused for a moment, remembering the stink of the mud that had coated him the day before. “There won’t be any stinking gullies on the path.”
“Will we be able to see the market?” Meena asked. “I’ve heard that it’s grand. A great deal more to see than in the bazaar at Bleuderry.”
“No, we’ll just be riding past the city gates.” The Lump waved his hand in front of his face, shooing a fly. “Won’t get so much as a glimpse at the market.”
“That’s unfortunate, I most wanted to see it.” Meena paused for a moment, then continued. “Perhaps we should stop.”
“I thought you were the one worried about losing time.” The Lump twisted his neck around to look at his companions.
“True, it is urgent that we get to the Common Lands as quickly as possible.” Meena tilted her head and looked in the distance. “I do suppose it would have been something to see, a person only has a limited number of chances to see things in one’s life.”
“Oh, and the market it is so fine!” Flynn had a wide smile. “I go there every season.” He moved his hand through the air in wide gestures as he spoke. “The lengths of cloth are the stuff of dreams. I once saw a tapestry with every single color woven into it.”
The corners of Meena’s mouth dropped as her face formed a frown.
“Aromatic dried fruit, oh the scent! There is brilliant silver, jewelry, gems…” Flynn continued waving his hand as he listed the items.
Meena’s shoulders drooped and she lowered her face.
Flynn continued to wave and talk. “…worked steel like you’ve never seen—”
“Enough about the market, Flynn!” the Lump barked. “It’s just stealing from a person with his own permission.” He shook his head side to side. “They want you to spend good coin for ramps, the same ramps that grow wild in the ground not more than fifty yards away.” He pointed down at the dirt road. “Convincing foolish folk that all they need to be a hero is a pretty blue tunic with flowers on it.” This time he pointed at Flynn.
“You don’t even have to purchase any goods to enjoy the wonder.” Flynn paused, smiled, then continued. “There are jugglers and acrobats that the merchants hire to draw in crowds.”
The Lump twisted on his mule to better see his cohorts. “Maybe they could hire me on as a jester, people love to laugh when a big man falls.” This statement seemed to raise Meena’s spirits a little. “The worst part of the whole market is the barkers.” He turned his face back to the road.
Flynn nodded his head up and down. “I do agree that the barkers are quite the nuisance.”
Meena leaned a little to the side. “What are barkers?”
“The barkers are a bunch of no-good skamelars that merchants send to the road to drum up business.” The Lump growled as he spoke. “Pestilence!” He spat in the road. “They generally steer clear of poorly dressed big men on mules.” He looked over at his fellow travelers. “They’ll probably smell the silver in Flynn’s purse and descend on you two like flies.”
Flynn stiffened his upper lip. “I assure you, I can give as stern a dismissal to the barkers as any man.”
Meena asked another question, still leaning sideways on the back of Tracer. “So, the King of the Aards lives in Molgadon?”
Flynn looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Molgadon is the place where Aardland began. King Rondal lives in Molga castle, built on the spot by the river from which all the Aards sprang forth.”
Meena stopped leaning and sat straight again as she asked her next question. “Is he a good king?”
Flynn answered, still looking back at his passenger. “Of course, he is divinely chosen by Sol for the governance of the Aards.”
The Lump felt the need to elaborate. “By ‘divinely chosen’ he means born in a castle.” The Lump was now looking over his own shoulder. “He doesn’t really seem to do anything, so he doesn’t cause any problems.” He turned his head back to the road. “That’s always a good trait in a king.”
The party rounded a sha
rp turn in the road and a castle could be seen in the distance. It was a rather plain thing that consisted of a gray stone square about 60 feet high with four round, gray towers, one for each corner.
Flynn pointed at the stone structure. “There, Meena, in the distance, it is the pride of Aardland - the Molga Castle.”
Meena was silent for a moment, studying the castle carefully. “I don’t find it so grand, it’s barely more than a quarter as tall as the highest of the Needles.” Despite her statement her eyes remained fixed on the castle.
They were nearing the crowd of shabby clad, dirty-faced barkers gathered by the road. The group could already hear the mob’s shouts.
“The fruit is sweet enough to make you close your eyes and think of your dear old Grand-mum!”
“Cloth that never loses color, I’ll gamble you can’t even put a hole in it!”
“Silver so shiny ya’ haf’ta squint yer eye to look at it!”
“Come see the acrobats! They leap like deer, flip like crickets!”
“We have a juggler who eats flame!”
The Lump passed silently by the mob without harassment. As expected, they gathered around Flynn’s horse and brought Tracer to a stand still.
“You need to part and let us pass!” Flynn did his best to make his voice sound loud and imposing. “We have no time for trading today.”
“Don’t you want to buy something pretty for your girl?” A dirty-faced man was looking up at Flynn.
Flynn kept his face pointed straight ahead as he spoke. “The lady is not my girl.”