by Hondo Jinx
It had been an eerie experience.
Philia called the doe from behind a screen of tangled briars. The animal just stood there, blinking at her with its big, dark eyes until he hurled the spear.
“How is the venison?” Philia asked.
Braddock nodded, chewing.
“It is good,” Elizabeth agreed, “but it would be better with wine.”
“As would my fruit, sweet sister,” Philia said. “You should have seen the Meadow Master take the deer. It was a quick, clean kill. He is a great hunter.”
“That wasn’t hunting,” Braddock said, remembering the strange moment, the deer just standing there, mesmerized and fearless even as he raised his weapon. “That was slaughter.”
Elizabeth gave him a curious look. “What’s the difference?”
“I don’t know,” he said, not wanting to talk about it. “Doesn’t matter. Meat is meat.”
“I think I’m strong enough to soothe the wild cattle now, husband,” Philia announced proudly.
On one of her flights, Tilly had spotted a small herd grazing at the foot of the western slope.
“Why bother hunting at all?” Elizabeth said. “If you can mesmerize the cattle, why not bring them here? Then we would have meat on the hoof, plenty of hides, and all that manure for fuel and fertilizer.”
“That is an excellent suggestion, sweet sister,” Philia said, but Braddock could see by her expression that she was troubled.
“Would that work?” he asked.
Philia shrugged. “I do not know, husband. I could probably lure one beast to our meadow with the promise of good grazing, but I doubt I’m strong enough to influence a herd.”
“One might be enough,” he said, picturing it. “You’ve never seen a better cattle horse than my mustang.”
“What are you proposing,” Elizabeth asked, “a cattle drive?”
“It could work. Tilly, could you mesmerize a cow, too?”
Tilly frowned. “No, Master. I am sorry.”
“That’s all right. How many head?”
Tilly looked confused. “Master?”
“How many cows in the herd?”
Tilly glanced upward in thought, ticking her head back and forth. “Eighteen, master.”
“This might work,” Braddock said. “Depends on their disposition and how many bulls there are.”
With plentiful grass, cattle would prefer to stay in the lowlands, but the grasses down in the valley had shifted with the season, going brown and dry.
If Philia could mesmerize the boss bull, they might drive the herd uphill. If these animals were anything like Earth cattle, they would appreciate the plateau’s long views and vibrant, green grass.
But new problems rose in Braddock’s mind. “We would need a lot of fence posts.”
This served as another reminder that Doal would soon begin his long hibernation. Braddock had come to rely heavily upon the bargle. Life without Doal’s help would be much more challenging.
“I don’t think we will need a fence, husband,” Philia said. “Once the cattle reach the meadow, it will be easier for me to influence them. Besides, our grass will remain green all winter. Its growth will slow, and it won’t be quite as nutritious, but even beneath heavy snow, the grass will remain a vibrant green. It will support the herd.”
Braddock nodded, thinking about it. He would still hunt for their meat but running even a small herd upon the plateau would create a bulwark against starvation in case the game disappeared completely or Braddock ended up dead or disabled.
He raised his cup. “Good idea, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth smiled and raised her own cup in return.
“Maybe even a very good idea,” he continued. “Come spring, the cows will calve. It could be the start of something.”
“And come spring, we will have extra mouths to feed,” Philia said, glowing with excitement.
“More sprites will be joining us?” Elizabeth asked and glanced, frowning, at Tilly.
“Yes,” Philia said. “Undoubtedly.”
Though Braddock thought his wife didn’t look so certain. For a second, her glowing enthusiasm dimmed.
“Others will follow,” Tilly chimed in, “eventually. The sprites are nervous now. Hortensia is very angry. Her handmaidens watch everyone constantly in case someone tries to escape.”
Smiling again, Philia reached out to twist a strand of Tilly’s golden hair around her finger. “Your escape will surely embolden others. More sprites will come. I have faith in this meadow and in our Meadow Master. Once the word spreads that a true man reigns here, monster girls will come and beg for his seed.”
Braddock drained his cup.
Tilly rushed to refill it.
Philia turned to Braddock with a huge smile. “And once they hear my husband has impregnated me, we will be overrun with sprites.”
Elizabeth choked on her water. “Wait, what?”
Tilly froze in mid-pour, unaware that Braddock’s cup was overflowing.
Braddock raised one eyebrow at Philia, a smile creeping onto his face.
Philia burst into laughter. “I’m pregnant! The tales were true. Once a Meadow Mother accepts her first handmaiden, the way is open, and the seed takes.” She wiped at sudden tears. “I felt the pregnancy quicken after we made love today, husband. You are going to be a father.”
“Congratulations, Meadow Mother!” Tilly squealed, zipping over to embrace Philia.
The loud clatter of the dropped pitcher roused Braddock from his shock, and a broad grin split his beard. He was going to be a father.
A flood of emotions rushed through Braddock. His head swirled with joy, incredulity, love, concern, and questions.
From boyhood, Braddock had assumed he would someday become a father. But over recent years, he had begun to wonder if he would ever settle down, marry a woman, and sire children.
It had begun, back on the frontier, to seem downright unlikely.
But now, everything had changed. He was going to be a father.
For an instant, an explosion of joy obliterated all thought and all lesser emotions.
Then, pragmatically, his concerns returned. Soon, he would have a baby to feed and clothe and protect. Suddenly, he felt foolish for lingering this long over dinner. Winter was coming, and there was work to be done.
Braddock stood so quickly the log toppled. Then he swept his beautiful wife into a hug and kissed the top of her head again and again while a weeping Tilly hovered beside them, sobbing her congratulations.
Philia laughed and blinked up at Braddock, her long lashes dewy with tears. “I can feel our daughters within me, husband. They are so excited to meet their father.”
“Hold on there, darlin,” he said, leaning back to stare at her grinning face. “Daughters?”
She nodded, sniffing happily.
“Sprites only have female offspring, master,” Tilly explained. “And what lucky girls they will be!”
He squinted at his wife. He had always assumed he would have sons. The notion of a daughter was both bewildering and wonderful. But she hadn’t said daughter. “You both said daughters.”
The sprites nodded happily.
“As in more than one.”
“Of course there will be more than one, silly!” Philia said, nuzzling into his chest. “The triplets are excited to meet their daddy!”
Triplets?
Across the table, Elizabeth laughed loudly.
Suddenly, Philia stiffened in Braddock’s arms, and in that same instant, his danger senses came to life, bringing with them a fierce territorial feeling.
“Intruders,” Philia said. “Intruders have entered the meadow.”
Philia was right. Braddock could feel it like a sharp change in the weather.
He turned to grab his rifle.
To her credit, Elizabeth was already lifting the Henry to her shoulder and staring toward the meadow.
Drawing a pistol, Braddock approached the barricade.
One hundred yards distant, e
ighteen or twenty short, stocky intruders were coming this way in a tight bunch, spear points bristling over the dark mass like porcupine quills.
Tilly zipped up and perched atop the high stone wall. “Goblins, Master!”
19
They were closing the distance with casual slowness.
The goblins were short—perhaps five feet tall on average—but bullishly stocky with stubby necks and burly shoulders. Beneath their ragtag armor, their mud-colored hides were brindled with stripes the color of dry moss.
Atop their stubby necks, their faces were aggressive and unfortunate, like tribal masks come to life.
One of them raised a hand and called, “Hello, friends!”
“They are not friends, husband,” Philia said, voicing Braddock’s thoughts.
Meanwhile, Braddock realized he had understood the goblin language. Willing himself to speak in their tongue, he called out, “That’s far enough.”
The words that came from his mouth were a harsh tangle of grunts and whining that he ended by spitting emphatically on the ground, sensing that was correct Goblin protocol.
The group halted forty yards away.
As this range, Braddock saw they were pug-nosed and bug-eyed with wide mouths full of crooked, sharp-looking teeth.
Elizabeth crouched behind the barricade with the barrel of the Henry leveled atop the stone. Braddock was glad now he had asked Doal to place the waist-high boulders across the gap.
“Should I shoot them?” Elizabeth asked, squinting through the sights.
“Not yet, darlin.”
One goblin stepped in front of the others and displayed an ugly smile. “What is the problem, my friend? We have been traveling for a long distance and only wish to stop and rest and share conversation with you.”
All lies, Braddock knew. These were the same goblins he had clashed with the day he arrived, the same bunch who had been spying on them. They had gauged Braddock and his women, tallied their numbers, guessed at their strength, and decided to make a run at it.
“You’re not welcome here,” Braddock said. “Get off my meadow.”
“Why so unhospitable, my friend?” The lead goblin strolled forward a few steps with his arms spread, trying to look harmless. The effect was ruined by his brutal, heavily scarred face, ragtag armor, and the sword on his hip. “We come bearing gifts.”
Braddock lifted a six-shooter. “Take one more step, and I’ll kill you.”
The goblin stopped abruptly and feigned disbelief. “Why do you distrust us so? We have no dispute with you. We only wish to welcome you, to be your friends, to be allies against common enemies.”
“Master, the western slope!” Tilly shouted.
Philia zipped to the top of the back wall. “Several intruders, husband!”
Braddock sensed them as she spoke, felt them entering the meadow and knew they were trying to attack from behind.
At the same instant, the lead goblin who’d been talking to Braddock fell into a crouch, and several spearmen charged forward, pulling back their weapons as the goblins behind the spearmen drew steel.
Braddock fired, striking one of the spearmen in the chest, dropped behind the barricade, and fired with smooth and deadly speed.
Goblins jerked and fell.
“Maiden Mother!” Tilly screamed, launching from her perch.
Beside Braddock, the Henry boomed.
A few spears launched into the air but passed harmlessly overhead.
An arrow whizzed from behind the charging pack and sliced through the air inches from Braddock’s ear.
“Philia, call Doal!” he shouted, dropping his empty pistol and pulling the other.
The Henry roared as Elizabeth fired again, and Braddock saw the archer drop.
Ten feet away, the closest goblin howled, raising his sword overhead.
Braddock shot him in the face, swung his barrel, and fired again, blowing another attacker off his feet as Elizabeth fired the Henry.
A goblin came barreling over the barricade. Braddock blew him back with a bullet to the gut and pulled the pistol close to his body, realizing the goblins were on them now.
Another goblin leapt over the stone. Holding the pistol tight to his body, Braddock pulled the trigger again, blasting him aside.
Another attacker bowled into Braddock and knocked him backward.
For a fraction of a second as Braddock fell, the goblin was on top of him. The intruder’s brutal, inhuman face bellowed as his blade flashed overhead.
A normal man would have hit the flagstones and felt the goblin’s steel.
But Braddock was not a normal man. He was an experienced fighter with supernatural speed and power roaring to life in his body as he defended the meadow.
So as he fell backward, Braddock grabbed hold of the goblin, arched his back, and threw his legs forward, turning his fall into a roll. His upper back slammed into the flagstones, but he rolled with it, and a second later slammed the goblin into the ground and found himself atop the intruder.
Still holding the goblin, Braddock jerked his head back and drove it forward sharply. His forehead nailed the bridge of the goblin’s nose like a sledgehammer.
The nose shattered, spraying blood, and Braddock felt his enemy go momentarily loose in his grasp.
Another headbutt would blast the goblin into unconsciousness, but instead, Braddock spun off him into a crouch, turned, and fired as fast as he could, dropping a goblin holding the Henry victoriously overhead and another goblin wrestling Elizabeth to the ground.
Beside him, the stunned goblin grunted and sat up, and Braddock swung the empty pistol like a hatchet, smashing the butt into his cheekbone.
This knocked him flat again.
Braddock dropped the empty pistol and yanked three feet of glowing steel from its scabbard.
The determined goblin sat back up.
Braddock swung the blade in a whistling arc. Its edge struck the goblin’s neck and kept going, slicing through meat and bone with the ease of cleaver chopping roasted pork.
Wearing a shocked expression, the decapitated head hopped into the air, fell to the flagstones, and bounced away. The body slumped there, the severed neck pumping jets of dark blood.
Braddock’s magical blade had sliced through the neck so smoothly it hadn’t even knocked over the corpse.
The Henry boomed then boomed again.
Elizabeth was back on her feet, firing at the retreating goblins.
In the meadow, a gigantic stone hand burst from the ground, seized a fleeing goblin, and squeezed.
The goblin yelped sharply.
Braddock heard a wet and muffled pop followed by crunching. Gore drained from between the stony fingers, which rose into the air as Doal pillared out of the ground with a terrible roar.
Elizabeth fired again, and Braddock saw one of the three remaining goblins drop halfway to the tree line.
An impressive shot.
The redhead steadied herself behind the sights again, but Braddock touched her shoulder.
“Hold your fire, darlin.”
“No!” she shouted. “We have to kill them all!”
The Henry jumped again. Across the meadow, another goblin fell.
The lone survivor plunged into the trees.
As Elizabeth swung the barrel in that direction, Braddock took the rifle from her. “We need to save ammunition.”
“We have to kill them all,” she said again. Her eyes, wild as those of a snared bobcat, stared out from a face freckled with blood.
Three deep scratches scored her milky-white forehead, which was framed in a muzzle blast of red locks in disarray.
“Meadow Master!” Tilly shouted.
She crouched, holding Philia’s hand and weeping.
Braddock’s heartbeat spiked.
Philia…
His unborn daughters…
He ran to Philia, sensing the absence of the goblins who had attacked from behind.
Philia lay on her side, murmuring groggily. An
arrow jutted from the back of her shoulder.
“They shot the Meadow Mother,” Tilly cried. “She fell from the top of the stone and hit her head.”
Philia’s chest rose and fell, rose and fell.
Braddock peeled back Philia’s eyelid. The dark pupil had dilated, nearly eclipsing the green iris.
The head injury was serious.
His mind raced. “Tilly, fetch an elixir.”
“Yes, Master,” Tilly said, and shot away.
Evenings, Philia had been creating elixirs for cleaning and healing.
Braddock hoped this worked. It had to work.
Glancing across the stone circle, he saw Elizabeth at the barricade, watching Doal stomp wounded goblins into so many bloodstains on the meadow.
Having armed herself with a spear and a sword, Elizabeth looked like a savage warrior princess from some wild jungle.
Tilly returned with a tiny, green vessel containing a thimble’s volume of healing potion.
Braddock held the elixir close to Philia’s mouth.
“Not yet, Master,” Tilly cautioned. “First we must remove the arrow. Otherwise, the Meadow Mother’s flesh will heal around it.”
“Thanks,” he said, and handed her the potion.
The arrow was buried to the feathers in Philia’s shoulder. Having hit her from below, the rest of the arrow jutted from the back of her shoulder high up and at a sharp angle.
He took the bloody shaft in two hands, slid one fist close to Philia’s flesh, and snapped the arrow, doing his best to stabilize the portion skewering her shoulder.
Philia whimpered, then cried out when he seized the feathered end and pulled the broken shaft from her flesh. Philia’s green blood coated the shaft and drained onto the flagstones.
This done, Braddock opened the tiny vessel and poured the elixir slowly into her mouth.
Philia coughed and sputtered. Her body shimmered with green light.
Braddock watched in amazement as the bloody hole in her shoulder pulled together. The wound closed, blurred, and smoothed. Seconds later, the flesh was completely healed. There wasn’t even a scar.
Philia’s eyelids opened, revealing normal-sized pupils at the center of fully conscious eyes. “Husband. Tilly. What happened?”
They told her, and she nodded, remembering.