Benjo snorted. “Coal might’ve adopted both of us, but that don’t change the fact that you’re nobility.”
“Why do you keep bringing that up? The Vriils aren’t even your nobility. They’re Dremaldrian nobles. You’re from Razbeck.”
“So sorry, ‘Lord Willum’.” Benjo said, giving him a deep bow. “I didn’t mean no disrespect or nothing. See us peasants don’t always understand your high-sounding talk.”
Willum shoved the bowing man, sending him off balance, and Benjo fell to the ground, laughing.
“Oh, let him pretend to kowtow, Willy. I find it amusing,” Theodore said.
Willum closed off their connection again. Somehow the imp had found a way to open it up on his own. Willum found that more than a little bit disconcerting.
“Did you come all the way down here to mess with me, Benjo?” Willum asked.
“You gotta admit it’s kinda funny,” Benjo said, sitting up. “When we were kids, Father made you work with everyone else. You were covered in dirt head-to-toe, just like me and here, all along, you were the heir to the Vriil fortune.”
Willum reached out his hand and pulled Benjo to his feet. “It was good for me that Coal did. If word had got out that I had surfaced, Ewzad Vriil would have had me killed.”
“I guess you’re right,” Benjo said, still grinning. “I just think it’s funny is all.”
“Yeah, well I’m not finding much funny lately,” Willum said. He turned from Benjo and continued eastward towards the outside edge of the farmlands.
Benjo hurried to catch up with him and walked at his side. “That’s why I came. Samson said you were out on patrol and that you weren’t in a good mood, so I thought I’d keep you company.”
Willum gave him a slight smile. “Well you’re definitely better to talk to than my axe.”
“Oh, right,” said Benjo, blanching slightly. Willum’s axe made him nervous. He didn’t like how wicked it looked with its black haft and blood red runes. It also didn’t help that the one time Willum had let him touch it, the imp had made some pretty frightening comments in Benjo’s mind. “Good then. So, uh, what’s bothering you?”
Willum sighed. Benjo never had been subtle. He always got right to the point. “I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to coming back here for so long, but now that I’m back, I just . . . Tolivar loves it here. He wants to stay, but I’m just having a hard time being content. I know I should love it here, being back home. I know. I just . . .”
“Oh, that,” the big man said, nodding sagely. “That’s an easy one. I know what’s bothering you Willum.”
“Great,” Willum said, shaking his head. “Please enlighten me.”
“It’s ‘cause father’s not here,” Benjo replied. “I’ve been feeling the same way ever since I knew he’d died. Coal’s Keep just ain’t the same without Coal.”
His words hit Willum like a punch in the stomach. Of course. It really was that obvious, wasn’t it? Coal was the reason he’d always assumed he’d come back and live his life out here. He had been more than a father, after all. He’d been his bonding wizard.
With Tolivar things were different. Sure he had Willum’s bond and they had a mutual affection for each other. But Tolivar didn’t expect his bonded to stay at his side forever. Samson would stay with Tolivar because, well that’s what rogue horses were made to do. But Bettie would be leaving for the academy soon with Lenny and their new baby. Where did that leave Willum?
“What?” Benjo said, giving him a strange look. “Darn. I was wrong, wasn’t I?
Willum realized that he was wearing a sour look on his face. “No. No, Benjo, you were right. That’s exactly my problem.”
“Oh. See? Easy,” the big man said, his smile returning.
The two men walked on in silence for a moment, Benjo whistling to himself and Willum brooding. Then Benjo said, “Hey, Willum, looks like we got some strangers coming up the road.”
Willum looked up, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. Sure enough, far in the distance, there were some figures on the road coming in from the east. They were on horseback. “Yeah, you’re right, Benjo. You’ve got good eyes.”
Benjo’s smile grew wider and the two men picked up the pace, jogging towards the oncoming horsemen. It was likely that they were soldiers from the king on one of their infrequent visits, or perhaps a troupe of merchants. But as they drew closer, Willum could see that they weren’t the king’s men. There were six riders altogether, and none of them were wearing the distinctive red uniforms of Razbeck’s troops. Also they didn’t seem to be carrying enough equipment to be merchants.
Willum reached out to slow Benjo down just before they crested the next rise on the hilly road. “Hold back, Benjo.”
“Why?” Benjo asked, edging up so that he could see over the top at the riders.
“We should get a better idea of who they are before we go running up to them.” Willum reopened his connection with the axe. This time he spoke to the imp mentally. Can you get a feel for those riders?
“Ho-ho, Willy. So now you want to speak with me?” said the imp in irritation.
“You see something I don’t?” Benjo said, raising his hand to his brow.
You were being annoying and you know it, Willum replied to the imp. Just tell me who’s coming. Please.
“Aww, you threw a ‘please’ in there. Ho! How sweet. Like I was a dog that needed to be tossed a bone.”
Come on, Theodore, Willum replied. He understood why the imp was perturbed, but he did not have time to play around.
“Ho-ho! I wonder what I can get for this information?” the imp mused. “Perhaps I should require you to speak to me aloud only for the next week.”
Willum pursed his lips. Theodore liked it when Willum spoke to him aloud. The imp claimed that’s what ‘friends’ did. Their current arrangement was that Willum would speak to him verbally only when he was alone.
“I don’t know what you’re worried about,” Benjo said, unaware of Willum’s conversation with his weapon. “Some of them are wearing academy standard gear.”
“Academy gear?” Willum said. He looked again. It was hard to tell since they were all wearing long winter cloaks. Academy graduates didn’t have a uniform per se, but their equipment did have a certain style to it. Muted colors and straight lines. “I think you’re right, Benjo. Those three in the back.”
“Come, Willy. Are your eyes really so bad?” said the imp, eager to be relevant now that Benjo had ruined his game. “Don’t you recognize your friend, old wood-face?”
“Swen?” Willum said, breaking into a grin. One of the men was quite tall in his saddle. Now that he knew what to look for, Willum realized that the long staff he saw over the man’s shoulder was, in fact, Swen’s oversized bow. “I wonder what he’s doing up here? Come on, Benjo.”
Swen and Willum had become good friends during the war. Willum had been excited when he’d heard that Swen had been posted at the academy outpost a day’s ride to the south. Unfortunately, Swen had only been allowed to come up to visit once in the two months since then. The local commander was pretty strict and he didn’t allow the men much free time.
“If you care, the two riders in the front are carrying magic weapons and I’m pretty sure one of them is a dwarf,” added the imp.
Yeah, thanks, Willum replied. That information didn’t matter so much now that he knew the riders were friendly.
“It’s weird, academy guys coming this time of year. You think they need supplies or something?” Benjo asked
“Maybe,” Willum said. Coal’s Keep was known in the area for being well stocked all winter long, but the last time he’d seen Swen, he’d sent him back with plenty of extra supplies for the outpost. Surely the winter hadn’t hit them that bad.
He reached out to Tolivar through the bond. Hey, we’ve got some company approaching from the east.
Is that so? Tolivar replied. The veteran warrior was in the kitchens and his arms were soaked up to the
elbows as he helped Becca with the dishes. Do you need Samson and I to come down?
I don’t think so. He sent Tolivar an image of the approaching riders. It’s an academy group. Swen’s with them.
Huh. Keep me posted, Tolivar replied.
Willum and Benjo stood at the top of the rise and waved to the riders. Swen’s tall form waved back and Willum watched as he said something to the others before spurring his horse ahead. As he approached, Willum noticed something strange. Not only was Swen carrying ‘Windy’, his oversized bow, he had a smaller bow sticking up from behind his back as well.
“You humans and your need to use two weapons,” remarked the imp, making a back-handed stab at Willum’s own two-blade style. “Ho! What’s he going to do? Fire them both at once?”
Swen reined his horse in a short distance from them and dismounted. He wore a wide smile that bent the regularly angular lines of his long face as he approached Willum and clasped his hands. “It is good to see you, friend.”
“Yeah, I’m glad to see you, too,” Willum said, returning his smile. “I’ve got to say I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Two bows, Swen?” Benjo said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, big man,” Swen said in his deep monotone voice. He had met Benjo the first time he had been up to visit and the two tall men had hit it off. “Windy can be slow to fire. And while this was fine up on the wall, I needed something else for shorter distances. So I made this.” He pulled the smaller bow off of his back and held it out. It was expertly crafted and was the size of a good medium range bow, though with Swen’s long arms it looked like he was holding a child’s toy. “I call her, ‘Stinger’.”
“I’d say that fit’s it pretty good,” Benjo said. “You gotta teach me bowmaking one of these days. Bettie just makes steel bows and Lenui’s been too busy. Plus they’ll be leaving soon.”
An uncharacteristic eagerness appeared in Swen’s eyes and Willum knew that Benjo had started off on the wrong subject. “Ah, but the art of bowmaking is not something one can learn in one short lesson. It would take many-.”
“Guys, can you have this conversation later?” Willum said, interrupting the tall man before he could get rolling. “What brings you here, Swen?”
“Oh, I’m here on a job,” he said, looking a bit disappointed. He jerked his head towards the approaching party. The others were cresting the rise. “Or we’re here, that is. We’re looking for recruits.”
“You’re looking for recruits here?” Willum said in disbelief. “From the farmlands?”
“Well, you and Tolivar specifically. You know, the bonded,” Swen said. “Maybe Lenny if he wants to come.”
“Ooh, a mission!” cried the imp. “Ho, Willy, that’s just what you need.”
“Hello there, Willum,” said one of the other riders. Strangely, he was mounted on a mule.
Willum looked up, unable to recognize him for a moment. Then he realized he was the dwarf the imp had told him about. He was big for a dwarf and kept his beard short and well trimmed. “Jerry the Looker?”
“His name’s Djeri,” snapped one of the other riders as they got down from their horse. This one wasn’t wearing standard academy gear, just some badly damaged leather armor.
“It’s Captain Djeri,” Swen said, exaggerating the pronunciation.
“Oh, right,” Willum said and saluted the dwarf. “Sorry, sir, I just didn’t recognize you without your armor on.” Djeri the Looker was a defensive specialist and Willum had never seen him outside of full platemail. Right now he was just wearing a chainmail shirt over a winter coat.
“It’s alright,” Djeri said, climbing down from his saddle. Unlike every other dwarf Willum knew, Djeri talked with an upper class accent. He sounded human. “My armor was badly damaged and the outpost didn’t have a replacement set that would fit me. Hopefully I can get my uncle to provide me with one.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Lenny will be happy to see you! You haven’t had the chance to see the baby yet.” Willum said.
“I’m looking forward to meeting my new cousin, too,” he replied.
“Hey-ya, Oddblade,” said another of the riders, this one a woman.
Willum recognized her immediately as Helmet Jan. She had been at the Mage School during the siege as well. Jan never had taken to wearing academy standard gear, preferring to stick with a heavy scalemail armor. Then there was the weird helmet she wore. It was rounded and made of polished steel. It covered her head tightly, covering her face to her upper lip, leaving just her lower jaw exposed, with two round holes for her eyes.
“Hey, Jan,” he said. Willum couldn’t understand how she saw out of that thing, but he had seen her in battle and somehow she did it.
“Our outpost commander would only let four of us go,” Swen said. “So I picked the best I could. Jan and Dinnis and Lem the Whip.”
Willum nodded to the other two academy guards. Dinnis was a new graduate of the academy, but was a good swordsman. Lem the Whip had made a name for himself during the war. He was a quiet sort, but deadly with his barbed weapon.
“And who is this?” Willum asked, looking at the man in the ratty leather armor.
“It’s a girl, Willy,” the imp said.
And the imp was right, Willum realized. She was tall and broad shouldered, with brown hair cropped at shoulder length, but definitely a woman as much as the armor tried to hide it. She might even have been pretty if not for her nose, which was badly bent.
“Tarah Woodblade,” said the woman, looking him up and down. “I’m the one hiring on this operation.”
“Uh, wow,” Willum said, impressed. Of course. The armor was in such bad shape that he hadn’t realized it was made of moonrat leather. Then there was the long quarterstaff she held in one hand. It was blood red and covered in strange runes. “The Tarah Woodblade.”
“Ho-ho! Maybe Woodblade was the name of the ugly stick she was hit with,” the imp sniped.
Not funny, Theodore, Willum replied. During the siege of the Mage School everyone had heard of Tarah Woodblade. She had single handedly rescued all fifty survivors of the fall of Pinewood. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Willum Oddblade.”
“Odd blade, huh?” Tarah asked, cocking her head. “Is it because of that axe you’re carrying? I’d say it’s more menacing than odd.”
Willum laughed off the impolite tone of her voice. “No, that’s not it. Though I guess the axe is partially the reason. You see I’m a dual wielder. This is my other weapon.” Willum pulled his second weapon out of the sheath he kept behind his back. It was a black-handled scythe, made especially for him by the dwarves during the siege at the Mage School. The scythe had been runed with air magic, extending the reach of its blade.
“An axe and a scythe?” Tarah said, raising an eyebrow. She slapped his shoulder. “Okay. I guess that would qualify as odd. Djeri says you’re good. Wanna join us?”
Helmet Jan grunted in irritation. “Look, lady, you may be the client, but that don’t make you in charge. Once you pay the academy, we decide who’s coming.”
“You’re not in charge either, Jan,” said Swen. “Captain Djeri is the highest ranking officer here.”
Willum blinked at them. “Uh, what’s the job?”
“It’s a rescue mission,” Tarah Woodblade said, giving Helmet Jan a stern look.
“We’ll talk about it when we get there,” Djeri said.
“Fine. Is the keep this way?” Tarah asked, pointing down the road. Willum nodded and she gestured at Benjo. “You, boy!”
“Me?” Benjo said in surprise.
“Boy?” said the imp letting out a snicker.
“His name’s Benjo,” Willum said. “He’s my older brother.”
“Benjo, then,” Tarah said, gesturing the man over in as imperious a manner as any noble. He walked to her and she thrust her horse’s lead into his hands. “Here. Lead my horse for me. We’ll walk from here.”
“Uh, alright,” Benjo said, looking at the rope in his hands. “B
ut it’s a couple miles from here.”
“Good. My legs need to stretch.” She pulled a long blood-red quarterstaff from the side of the horse’s saddle where she’d had it tied and began striding ahead down the road.
“Ho-ho. Now I wonder where she got that?” The imp mused.
Helmet Jan spat. “There she goes. Always has to lead the way like she’s the boss. Even if she don’t know where we’re going.”
“She’s the best guide you’ve ever seen, Jan,” said Djeri, frowning as he followed after Tarah. “She’s used to leading the way.”
As everyone else started moving, Willum trotted up to keep pace with the long-legged woman. She glanced at him as if irritated that he was walking by her side.
Willum smiled at her. “So, Tarah, I heard a lot about you during the siege.”
“Yeah?” she said.
“Yes and what you did for the people of Pinewood was amazing,” he said.
“What are you trying to do, Willy? Get on her good side?”
I’m just curious, he replied.
Tarah nodded. “It wasn’t easy getting those folks out with all those moonrats breathing down my neck, but I did what I had to do.”
Her voice hadn’t warmed up at all, but Willum pressed on. “Well, it was great. There was one thing I always wondered, but the Pinewood survivors didn’t seem to know.”
“Yeah? What?” she asked.
“Ooh, she’s a hard one, Willy.”
"How did you get the name, Woodblade?”
“How did I get it?” The woman snorted. “Nobody gave me this name. Tarah Woodblade was born a legend.”
“Ho-ho! Is this woman for real?” laughed the imp. “I like her. Bent nose and all!”
Willum slowed down and let the woman stride ahead. He looked back to Djeri the Looker. “She’s . . .”
The dwarf sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a long story, Willum. Wait until you get to know her better.”
Willum reached through the bond. Tolivar? I think you should gather everyone together. This is going to be interesting.
Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) Page 7