“What are you going to paint for me today, my little Artist Dodger?” she’d often ask him, and thus the boy with no name finally earned the first of the many aliases he’d become known by.
He proudly used this new moniker as he continued to refine his skills on the streets and in the back alleys of Kreel. But as the years passed, Dodger began to grow weary of all The Fagin’s games. The thrill he got from stealing and evading pursuit began to wane, and he tired of losing his brothers and sisters to either the dungeons or gallows when they got caught, or watching them disappear when The Fagin ‘graduated’ them from his school.
The Fagin would assure Dodger that those fates wouldn’t befall him, but as the weeks rolled into months and months into years, Dodger became less and less reassured by those promises, and by the time he’d turned into a teen, Dodger finally left The Fagin’s employ.
No one knows for sure what finally prompted the young elf to leave the only home he’d ever known. Some say Dodger finally tired of the cruel way The Fagin treated the children who didn’t meet his ever-more-demanding quotas. Others say it was The Fagin who kicked Dodger out, fearing the way his band of tiny thieves looked up to the boy, and the loyalty he’d earned by protecting those who couldn’t meet the quota by making up for their shortfall with some of his own plundered loot.
There are darker stories still, that claim The Fagin slew Xira in a jealous rage after discovering her and Dodger together.
But whatever the reason he left, the parting was less than amicable, and Dodger found himself once again alone on the streets, trying to eke out a meager living whatever way he could.
“Now, thieving in a city without the backing and protection of a guild is a sure invitation to the gaol or grave, and many a rogue’s story has ended this way,” The Old Bard said as he leaned toward his audience and began speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “But it seems The Fates had another lot in mind for our young hero.”
2
Lord Flynn
The Old Bard stared into each of the faces gathered around the campfire. He saw how the reflections of the flames in their eyes echoed the curiosity burning within them to hear the rest of his tale.
He smiled to himself as he held their stares, drawing out the moment a bit longer. He took another swallow of the sweet wine to lubricate his throat then continued his story.
Dodger soon realized that he needed to leave the city if he was going to survive. He knew little of the world outside the city walls, but knew it was sheer folly to try to traverse The Adventurer’s Highway alone on foot. For just a few leagues beyond the farmsteads that supported the city was the Haunted Forest, a place said to be rife with marauding bands of goblins, gnolls and even an ogre or two. It was even rumored that common rodents which lived there grew to unusual and monstrous size.
Dodger had seen the condition of many a band of travelers who’d risked a journey through the woods. Even the more well-armed parties looked battered and bruised and their first stop once inside the city was to God’s Way to visit one of the many temples there to heal up their wounded.
Dodger supposed he could take one of the other three roads leading to and from the city. The road to the south lead to a series of small hamlets and Dodger had no desire to become a farmer. He loved the energy and excitement of the city and didn’t think he could stand the hard work, long hours and monotony of country life. He had met—and robbed—his fair share of people from those villages and found them all to be bores.
The road to the east lead into the mountains, and to the Dwarfish mines. Dodger had also run across a few of them, and with the exception of a group of seven miners and their human companion, he found the dwarfs to be a dour lot. Besides, he had no desire to spend the rest of his life underground, digging through the earth just to make someone else rich.
He supposed he could take the road to the west. He knew it eventually led to the coast, and he’d overheard men in the alehouse and taverns talking about a port city out that way, but didn’t know much more than that. From the drunken talk, it sounded like the type of place he’d like, big and bustling, with ships bringing in new people and things every day. He could do well there, he thought, and if things got too rough, he could always stowaway on a ship and go somewhere else.
But what would happen if he got there and discovered the ‘city’ was no more than a glorified fishing village? He had no more desire to become a fisherman than a farmer.
That pretty much only left the Adventurer’s Highway to the north. Countless times, he’d overhead the advice handed out by veteran adventurers to the city’s youth who oohed and ahhed over their fine masterwork equipment and marveled at the way they freely spent their gold.
“Crave fine things, do you now?” they’d enviably ask. “Well then, boy,” they’d say even if the ‘boy’ they were talking to turned out to be a girl, “You need to go west—follow the Adventurer’s Highway. That’s where you find your fame and fortune… that is if you survive!” Then they’d laugh and go back to their drinking.
Dodger had always like the sound of that, but he couldn’t convince any of those veteran adventurers to take him with them. Even when he tried to sign on with newly forming parties, the reaction would always be the same. They’d take one look at him and exclaim, “We’ll not be having any child in our group! Now go run back to your momma, boy! We gots important grownup stuff to discuss here!”
Well as you can imagine, Dodger would have been happy to run back to his mother, if he’d remembered who’d she was, or where he was from. But he didn’t, and he knew that every day he remained in the city, the chance became greater that The Fagin would find a way to arrange his disappearance, the way he’d arranged the disappearance of so many of his foster brothers and sisters over the years.
So, since he couldn’t hire himself out to one of the many parties leaving the city, Dodger decided that he’d just stowaway on one of the caravans that came and went from the city on a somewhat regular basis.
And this my friends, is where The Fates stepped in. For Dodger was no fool, and he chose the most well-protected caravan he could find—one guarded by twelve professional swordsman dressed in chainmail, and one cloaked holy man who bore the symbol of Arenor around his neck.
What Dodger didn’t know was that he’d chosen the caravan belonging to Edward, Lord of Flynn, and Blademaster to the royals of Bardak and Palt. And while he was able to secret himself aboard one of their wagons, he wasn’t able to keep his presence a secret for long. The third day into their journey, he was discovered trying to steal some food from the cook’s wagon.
By now, they were well into the Haunted Forest and the lord’s men were already on high alert. Unlike the clods and bullies who made up the city guard, these men were no lumbering oafs and knew how to work together as a unit. While he was still faster and more agile than they were, they soon had him surrounded. Any hopes of escaping them were dashed when the cloaked man stepped forward, held out his holy symbol, and began gesturing at him while chanting some strange prayer. In an instant, Dodger felt invisible bands of force ensnare him like half a dozen lassos suddenly pulled tight. He couldn’t move his arms or hands from his sides, and his legs felt like they were glued together. He was totally immobilized and it was all he could do to remain standing.
“Well, what have we got here?” an older human asked as he approached the group. He was wearing a crimson and black tunic, black trousers, and a traveling cape made from the finest of leather. At his side was one of the finest swords Dodger had ever seen—a long, slender blade, with a cupped guard and a grip banded in black leather and braided gold.
“A thief, M’lord,” one of the men said. “Caught him pilfering our supplies.”
“That true?” Lord Flynn asked.
Dodger stared back at the man, making his eyes as big as saucers and putting on his most pitiful expression. “Please, sir, I only wanted some food,” he whimpered, trying to sound as pathetic as possible. “I’m just a poor or
phan…”
“Do you take me for a fool, boy?” Flynn growled angrily, not fooled for an instant by the Dodger’s act. “You’re a thief, plain and simple! No doubt sent to case out this caravan before your gang tries to raid it. Well,” he said drawing the ornate sword from his side. “I know how to deal with your lot. I’ll send you back to your masters with your hands in a box! Take him!”
The lord’s men grabbed Dodger and led him over to a nearby tree stump. There they pushed him to his knees, tied his wrists together, and lashed them to the stump. Still caught up by the cleric’s spell, Dodger was powerless to resist. The men stepped back as their master approached, with his sword held high above his head.
But before Flynn could bring it down and sever Dodger’s hands from his wrists, a band of goblins riding worgs burst through the trees, gibbering and screaming their war chants as they fell upon the caravan.
In an instant, Dodger was all but forgotten, as the lord and his men turned to face the new and more pressing threat. The invisible bands of force that had immobilized him faded away a moment later, and once able to move again, Dodger worked furiously to free himself from the stump as a melee erupted around him.
In the confusion of the battle, Dodger managed to slip away into the tree line, and even with his wrists still partially bound, managed to climb to safety high up in the canopy of one of the trees. Hidden from sight from both his captors and the attacking goblins, he sat down on one of the branches and used his teeth to undo the last of the knots.
The lord and his men were more skilled than their attackers, but the goblins had numbers on their side. At first, Dodger was unsure who’d eventually win the fight, and wasn’t going to stick around to find out. But then he watched as two of the raiders climbed aboard one of the wagons, killed its driver and made off with it.
Immediately the lord’s men sounded a new alarm, and Flynn himself began running after the departing carriage—in the back was his golden-haired daughter. Spurred on by his toddler’s terrified screams, the lord flew faster than Dodger had ever seen a human run, but he was nowhere near as fast as the two horses whipped into a frenzy by the goblins. Even the lord’s priest was unable to stop it. By the time the holy man finished chanting his prayers, the fleeing wagon was too far out of range.
“Now at this point, any normal person would have taken the opportunity to make good his escape. But as we all know, our friend was no ordinary person. For instead of running away, Dodger immediately began giving chase to the fleeing wagon through the treetops.
“Without a moment’s thought, he began running, leaping and sometimes even swinging himself from limb to limb following the cart. Unlike the goblins, he didn’t have to stay to the forest path, and was soon able to get ahead of the stolen cart. He stopped when he came to a tree with a thick bough that crossed over the path. Then, using the rope that had once been used to bind him, he attached it to the branch and leapt off.
The goblins on the wagon looked up just in time to see Dodger swinging down directly at them. He knocked the driver clean off the cart, dropping into his seat in an almost casual way.
“Mind if I drive?” he asked the driver’s surprised cohort. “I get wagon sick riding in the back.”
The goblin just looked at him for a moment like he was insane, then bared its teeth, growled something in its guttural tongue, and reached for its short sword.
“I guess you do!” Dodger said, only now realizing he was unarmed. He quickly reached for anything he could use to defend himself, finding only the handle of a lever at his side. He grabbed it with both hands as the goblin swung at him. True to his name, Dodger managed to dodge the blow by diving over the side of the speeding cart, using his grip on the lever and his momentum to swing himself back up onto the wooden roof of the carriage. When he landed, a bit unsteadily, he found the lever had cracked off in his hands. He didn’t have time to worry that he’d just broken the carriage’s brake and there was now no way to stop it. He was just relieved to have a weapon as the goblin climbed up after him.
“Back off, or I’ll beat you with my, um, fearsome, um, wooden stick!” he threatened as the goblin approached, undaunted.
“Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dodger said, clumsily swinging his makeshift club at his foe.
The goblin easily parried the blow, then launched its own attack. Dodger again managed to avoid the swing, but was forced to retreat almost all the way to the back end of the roof.
Up until this point, Dodger had never been in a real fight. In fact, the only weapon he’d ever used was a dagger, and then he’d only used that to cut purses or as an improvised lock pick. He hated fighting, because he did not like hurting other people. Of course, he didn’t like getting hurt all that much himself, either. That’s why running away always seemed like the best option whenever things turned ugly. Only now, he didn’t have that choice.
“Look, why don’t we settle this like two civilized…” Dodger began, but stopped as the goblin bared its teeth and snarled at him.
“Okay, so you’re not civilized, I get that! I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you keep the wagon and all the loot, and I’ll just take the kid in the back and be on my way. Believe me, human children are more trouble than they’re worth! Sorta like chicken wings. They’re a lot of work for just a little meat, and they taste awful! So whaddaya say? We have a deal?” he asked.
The goblin answered him in true goblin fashion, and took another swing at him.
This time, Dodger used his ‘club’ to block the attack instead of retreating. The sword bit deep into the wood, and for a moment became stuck in it. The goblin grinned, and pulled his weapon back, trying to use the opportunity to wrest the club out of Dodger’s hands. But fear had made Dodger’s grip strong, and as he struggled and twisted to keep hold of the weapon as the goblin pulled his sword free, he wound up striking the goblin in the face with one end of the stick of wood.
Green blood spewed from the goblin’s broken nose as it howled in pain.
“I warned you not to mess with my fearsome wooden stick of goblin bane!” Dodger said, trying to sound threatening, but it came out more as an apology.
The enraged goblin was neither appeased by the apology nor cowed by the threat. It just hefted its sword above its head, and with both hands brought it down toward Dodger’s head.
Dodger took hold of ‘goblin bane’ with both hands, thrusting it up and out over his head in an effort to deflect the downward swing. The goblin’s blade crashed into it with a mighty crack, all but splitting it in twain.
While the attack had failed to cleave Dodger in two, Dodger’s only means of attack and defense was now useless, and the goblin knew it. It bared its teeth again as it took a moment to steady its balance on the bouncing wagon before striking what was sure to be the final killing blow.
Dodger put that momentary pause to good use. He glanced behind the goblin while he steadied himself, then cast aside the fistful of splinters in his hands, so they’d be free for what was coming.
“I see nothing’s going to stop you from getting your point across,” he said, eyes locked on the goblin’s blade. “But there is something you really ought to do before you kill me.”
The chronicles are unclear on whether the goblin really understood what Dodger was saying, but it did pause, looking at him quizzically.
Dodger pointed behind the goblin, yelled “Duck!” then somersaulted backwards, catching the edge of the roof in his hands and using it to swing into the open doorway in the back of the carriage.
The goblin had barely enough time to turn around before a low-hanging tree limb swept him off the roof.
Dodger watched from the inside of the wagon as the goblin’s body hit the ground with a loud thud.
“I guess a tree’s bark is worse than that goblin’s bite!” he quipped, smiling at the startled little girl at his side. She had stopped wailing and was looking at him with eyes as wide as a full moon.
“So, kid, whaddaya say we ge
t outta here and look for your father?” he asked the little girl.
She nodded slowly, still unsure about him.
“Good girl!” he said encouragingly as he glanced around the inside of the wagon. “Say, your father wouldn’t happen to have any rope in here, would he?”
The little girl nodded again and quickly found some for him. Dodger took it, then grabbed a large kite shield he found among the now scattered belongings bouncing around inside of the wagon, and set it on the floor, curved end down. He quickly stepped onto it, hooking his feet into the handholds and shifting his weight around to test its balance as the shield rocked side to side like a boat in the swells.
“Eh, I guess it’ll do,” he said to the toddler as he secured one end of the rope to a metal ring hanging from the ceiling. He grabbed a hold of the other end with his left hand, then beckoned her to come to him.
As you can well imagine, the little girl was hesitant at first, but with some more urging and another warm smile from Dodger, she finally came to him. He scooped her up with his right arm and hugged her to his chest.
“Hold on real tight, and don’t let go!” he told her.
The little girl nodded that she understood, then buried her face in Dodger’s shoulder.
“Okay, kid. Here we go!” he said, hopping backwards out of the wagon, the shield attached to his feet. They landed with a bounce and were immediately yanked forward, but Dodger’s keen agility and sense of balance kept them upright as they surfed along the ground, being pulled by the cart.
Dodger slowly let out the rope he held in his left hand, until they were well behind the fleeing wagon. When he reached the end of the tether, he tossed it aside and used the hand to help him maintain his balance as they gradually lost speed. He brought them to a stop with a great sliding flourish, then hopped off the shield.
Tales From Thac Page 16