“The farm is just around the next bend,” said Shin. “We should keep quiet.”
Gnebnik swung a leg around and slid off the mount, landing heavily from a drop higher than he was tall. Shin bounded to the ground, landing gracefully and noiselessly, his long legs soaking up the landing like a pair of coil springs. He lifted Breta off, setting her next to Gnebnik.
“Don’t like coming straight up the front path,” said Gnebnik. “There another way?”
“We can cut through that grove,” said Breta.
“I thought these were beasts,” said Sam. “You think they’re going to use some sort of tactics?”
“Semi-intelligent,” said Shin, removing a large crossbow from a holster on the right front of the saddle. “Not quite intelligent enough to learn the common tongue, but we should not underestimate them.” He turned to Gnebnik. “Speed or stealth?”
“See if we can get the drop on ‘em,” said Gnebnik. “Leave Sally here.”
“Just as well,” said Shin. “I haven’t had the chance to feed her this morning—she’s a little grumpy.”
Shin led the way, taking long silent strides in and around a grove of nut trees double head high. Their trunks were almost as wide as a barrel, and their dew-covered turquoise leaves would have looked more at home in the tropics than the otherwise temperate Hazelhearth. They took cover behind the last row of trees and peered at the farmhouse. It was three stories tall, the first floor of stone with just a few small windows with bars over them. The half-timbered upper levels had larger windows, also with bars.
“Looks more like a small fort than a farmhouse,” whispered Sam.
“Outside the city walls, you need it,” said Shin.
“Where did ya’ last see your brother and sister?” whispered Gnebnik, taking out a telescopic, leather-bound spyglass.
“The roof of the barn.” Breta said, pointing to a two-story timber structure.
Shin leapt to a low branch of the nearest tree. “There’s a pen between us and the barn. I’m seeing movement… at least a couple of… wait, there’s something else. Tiger jackals. Damn. Probably drawn to the blood.”
“The pen is for our emus,” whispered Breta. “We heard a commotion. We had a look. That’s when the moerko jumped us. We got separated, I made it to the house, Jella and Nils squeezed into the barn from the vent in the roof. Jella is such a good climber.”
“What a mess,” whispered Gnebnik, scrutinizing the emu pen. “I count three moerko, four or five tiger jackals. Keeping their distance from the moerko.”
Lee grabbed the spyglass from Gnebnik. “Jackals? Those are jackals?”
“Tiger jackals,” said Gnebnik, taking his spyglass back.
“Look more like striped hell-hounds.”
“The tiger jackals are just beasts. They’ll instinctively fear fire—we should be able to smoke them. But I doubt it’ll have much effect on the moerko,” said Shin. “Should I try it?”
“Yup. Sam, Breta stick together. The weakness of a polearm is being flanked. If you cover each other you become a much tougher target. Got it?”
Sam glanced at Breta. She can’t be more than twelve and she shows no fear. You can do this, Sam thought. “We’ll get your brother and sister back, honey.” He nodded at Gnebnik. “Just like the three-legged race.”
Gnebnik made a mental note to ask Sam what sort of strange racing beasts from their world had three legs, concentrating for the moment on the task at hand. “You two are a unit. Stay to the right and behind us. Defend yerselves and try to block anything comin’ up behind us.”
“I’ll take lead, Lee cover my back. The two of us should bear the brunt of the fighting, but let them come to us. Don’t attack anything unless I say so.”
“And Shin will… what?” asked Lee, turning right then left to find the neko missing. “Where’d he go?”
“Nekos are very stealthy. He’s moving to a cross-wind position to smoke ’em.”
The four of them tiptoed toward the emu pen, the sound of growling, grunting, tearing flesh, grinding bones becoming clear as they drew closer. The moerko and tiger jackals were in loose groups at opposite ends of the pen, seemingly in a tentative stand-off. For the moment, there was enough raw meat to go around.
One of the moerko, with stringy brown-orange fur, stopped, sniffing the air.
Gnebnik froze in place.
The moerko grunted to the others and drew itself to its full height on its gangly legs—a head taller than Lee.
A smoke bomb sailed through the air, landing between the moerko and the tiger jackals.
The tiger jackals yapped and yowled, scampering away in a frenzy, half cloaked behind the thick smoke.
Gnebnik let out a guttural roar, clanging his sword against his shield. He shot a glance at Lee, then an annoyed nod.
Lee followed suit, his mace making a satisfying metallic clang against the shield.
Gnebnik shot him a disapproving glare.
“What?” grunted Lee.
“Where’s yer battle cry?”
“I usually just have to flex a bicep and crack my knuckles.”
“If we get outta this…”
The apparent alpha among the moerko yowled, beat its chest and leapt the fence toward them. Two others from the emu pen followed, charging them with a hopping, shambling gait, like enraged drunken gorillas.
“Good.” Gnebnik’s eyes glowed with an intensity belying his stumpy stature. “They’re split for now. I’ll take the first swing, you counter when the beastie reacts.”
Shield in front of his sword hand to hide his strike, Gnebnik lunged at the last minute, his sword and shield hands reciprocating like a pair of powerful pistons. The stabbing lunge of his short sword connected solidly to the beast’s gut.
Yet the beast never wavered in its attack, the unnatural reach of its long arms stretching around Gnebnik’s shield with ham-sized fists.
Lee swung the mace, striking its left shoulder with a brutal blow that cracked the beast’s collarbone, stopping its left fist dead.
The moerko lunged again, this time its maw gaping wide, but Gnebnik blocked the bite, his shield crunching against the creature’s jaw.
“Shift back and right,” growled Gnebnik, shuffling with measured half-steps.
Had the beasts known the nonexistent state of Lee’s martial training, they would have attacked him. Yet not benefiting from this tactical knowledge, they continued to focus on the smaller and weaker-looking gnome.
The alpha bellowed an unearthly howl, throwing itself at Gnebnik for another attack, joined by a second beast to its left. The right most moerko made a broad circle attempting to get behind Gnebnik and Lee.
“We’ve got to stop it from attacking them from behind,” said Breta. She sidestepped, nudging Sam along as she moved, as if leading a ballroom dance. “Just jab at it. You don’t have to hit, just keep it off balance.”
Lee slammed his shield hand forward, connecting a glancing blow to the second creature’s jaw, following up with a swing of his mace aimed at the creature’s hips. Unskilled human opponents will instinctively defend their head, frequently leaving their lower torso exposed as they do. But beasts?
His blow connected, answering his question quite satisfactorily.
Gnebnik landed a third strike with his shortsword, the blade slicing deep into the creature’s gut, grazing its lowest rib as it did. The creature collapsed like a scarecrow that had fallen from its stake. He pulled his sword out. “Shift back and right,” he again yelled.
Moerko number two howled, hunching over the fallen alpha, giving Gnebnik an opening to focus on number three. Yet they were now joined by two more who had been hiding in the barn. The two new assailants circled right, trying to get behind the group from the other direction.
They stopped abruptly, one howling in pain from a crossbow bolt that had pierced it almost to the fletchings, the other gazing in confusion, trying to spot their attacker.
“ ’Bout time Shin got into it,”
said Gnebnik.
Uncertain if the second of the two flanking moerko would press the attack, he seized the opportunity, roared, and charged the moerko in front of him, slashing viciously downward. A gash opened up—shallow, but over half the length of the creature’s torso.
“Yell. Do your damn battle cry,” growled Gnebnik.
Lee responded, spouting a stream of barroom insults. Or perhaps off-key chorus lines to lewd shanties. The banging of mace against shield muddled the actual words. The moerko, however, correctly interpreted the general gist. Deciding that the odds were no longer in their favor, they retreated to the tree line in their bizarre hopping gait.
Shin rejoined them like a shadow reappearing after a cloud drifts past the sun. “This is a mess. Who knows what else the blood will draw.”
“Aye.” Gnebnik glanced down at Breta. “Yer little brother and sister in the upper level of the barn?”
Breta nodded. “It might be locked. I don’t remember.”
“Shin, keep an eye out. The rest with me.”
The barn reminded Lee of his uncle’s farm in Indiana. A bit more stoutly built, smaller doors, littered with the bloody corpses of emus… and a moerko whose chest had been savaged by a lucky kick from one of the emus.
Perhaps it wasn’t that similar to his uncle’s farm.
A ladder led to the second level which was split, two-thirds open, one third behind a stout door. Held shut by a bronze padlock.
Breta pounded on the door, two small voices called from within.
“Where’s the key, lass?” said Gnebnik.
“I… don’t know. We’re not supposed to go in there.”
Lee yanked on the chain. “How did your brother and sister—”
“Jella and Nils.”
“Yes, them. How did they get in again?”
“Through a vent in the roof, wasn’t it?” said Sam. “Honestly, Lee, pay attention.”
Gnebnik glanced about the interior of the barn. “Maybe we can pull ’em back out the same way. We’ll be needin’ a rope an’ ladder.”
“There’s a ladder in the shed,” said Breta. “But I think the rope is inside the strongroom. Maybe there’s more in the shed.”
Sam hefted the lock. “Phosphor bronze plating, looks like a three-lever design…” He glanced down at Breta. “I don’t suppose you have any tools around?”
“The good ones are in the strongroom. But my older brother was fixing the hay lift a few days ago. He might have left his tools out.”
“Good idea, Sam,” said Lee. “Maybe there’s a crowbar and we can bust open this lock.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
“If you two can break through the lock, good,” said Gnebnik. “Lemme see if I c’n get through the other side. Where’s this shed, lass?”
Gnebnik and Breta darted out the door, while Sam located a worn maplewood toolbox in the corner of the barn next to a jumble of pulleys and iron hardware.
“Keyhole saw, compass, level, jack plane… damn, it’s all carpentry tools,” muttered Sam, fishing through the chest.
“No crowbar?” asked Lee.
“Not what I was looking for.” Sam pulled open a drawer at the bottom of the chest. “Bingo.”
“And?”
Sam shut the toolbox. “Help me carry this to the second floor.”
The two had just set the toolbox in front of the padlocked door when they were interrupted. First by Gnebnik announcing that they had found a ladder but no rope, then by Shin reporting growls, howls, and other less-than-friendly sounds approaching from the woods.
Lee turned to Gnebnik. “What now? The second floor seems plenty defensible. Those tiger-jackals don’t look like they can climb.”
“But the moerko are excellent climbers, and I don’ like backing myself into a corner. No idea how long we’d be stuck here.”
They were interrupted by a clank of chains hitting the floor timbers and a pair of elated shrieks, turning to find Jella and Nils throwing themselves into Breta’s arms.
“How’d you break through…”
“Open, not break,” said Sam, shoving a nail set and spool of wire back into the tool chest. “It was a simple three-lever mechanism.”
Gnebnik glanced at Sam, at the children, and shrugged. “Let’s move.”
They made it back to where Shin had left Sally, to find her helping herself to some unripe apples from the orchard. Shin stroked her long neck. “Sally, nooo. You know green apples don’t agree with you.” He leapt on, hoisting Jella and Nils to his lap. “We need to get back to town before our scavengers run out of emu flesh to chew on.”
Chapter 7
The seven of them were at the city gates three-quarters of an hour later. Lee was in good spirits after the “brisk jaunt” and the children were remarkably calm following their brush with death. Shin remained quiet, while Gnebnik and Sam were panting far too heavily to display any sort of emotional reaction.
Sally confirmed that green apples indeed did not agree with her, much to the dismay of Lee, who was forced to take a detour to the brook to wash an unpleasant deluge of reptilian vomit from his shirt.
Sam and Lee were rewarded with generous helpings of Tillie’s “special of the day,” mugs of imported ale, and a much-needed night’s sleep.
The two met at Gnebnik’s workshop just after dawn the following morning.
“Adventuring’s no joke,” said Gnebnik. “Level ones are vulnerable—even with a party leader looking out for them. And most do not, I might add.”
“Getting thrown into the fray untrained seems more dangerous,” said Lee.
“Aye, that it is,” said Gnebnik. “And yesterday’s little fracas showed just how bad things have gotten with the city watch.”
Lee grinned, visions of heroics swirling through his mind.
“Here’s the deal,” said Gnebnik. “I’ve still got work to do, I still need assistants to help with it. But if we start early with an hour of training before work, an hour at lunch, and an hour after work, you two might have a better chance of stayin’ out of the stomachs of any beasties ya cross paths with.”
Lee’s face assumed a Cheshire cat configuration.
“I’m not interested in becoming some sort of warrior,” said Sam. “Besides, if I learn anything it should be one of those muskets.”
“A military rifled musket? The kick would more’n likely dislocate your shoulder. Besides, powder’s in short supply, and they’re only used in engagements with a group of ten or more, or when defending a fixed position. Gunfire draws too much attention.”
“And hacking up creatures with axes and swords doesn’t?” said Sam. “That makes no sense.”
“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe a critter has a loud shriek, maybe not. Maybe it puts the scent of blood in the air, and critters downwind pick it up.”
“If you’re trying to argue against firearms you’re doing a terrible job of it,” said Sam.
“The point is maybe,” said Gnebnik. “But fire a single shot, and the sound carries 360 degrees. That’s a definite. And that’s your first lesson in survival: the wilderness is full o’ critters. Big, nasty predators that could kill you and devour your little body before you know what hit you. And what about the herbivores? You think they just sit around waiting to be eaten? No, they run fast, jump high, some have horns or spines or poison, or any number of things. And they’ll use ’em on anything they see as a threat. Humans are damn fragile in the wilderness.”
“Your pep talks need work too,” said Lee.
“The point is, there are fights you need to complete a quest, and there are those that have nothing to do with your quest: random encounters with beasties in the wild. Every fight is a chance to be wounded or killed. Except those fights you avoid.”
“Right,” said Sam. “Avoiding fights sounds good to me.”
“Oh, you’ll still need to fight,” said Gnebnik. “Ya may even need to fight unnecessary ones. But avoid what ya can.”
“Fine. S
o no firearms. What then? A bow? I’ve done a bit of archery.”
“You don’t look strong enough to handle a bow. I’ll put you with a javelin again. They’re designed for throwing so they’re light enough even you should be able to handle one.”
Sam grumbled, but said nothing further.
The first morning’s training was spent with a demonstration of the training dummies and sparring weapons. Space was tight within the city walls, so the training area was the assembly square for the city militia, most of which had been sent to the front lines. The noon session was proper grip and handling of weapons, and the evening’s was stance. By noon the third day, Sam and Lee were hard at work abusing mechanical training dummies: a series of devices, the more advanced of which contained pivots and mechanics to simulate a moving target. The fact that only one of the six dummies was of human size and shape unnerved Sam more than a little. Lee’s imagination on the other hand needed no encouragement, he was already envisioning himself as Saint George.
“The mechanics in these training props are quite ingenious,” said Sam, poking at counter-rotating arms of a dummy resembling a four-armed gorilla.
“No, no, no,” growled Gnebnik. “You need to put some power behind some of your strikes. If an enemy senses you’re doing nothing but feints, he’ll eventually wise up and charge you.”
“I can’t put any more power into it. I’m not a brute. Like Lee.”
“You can do better.” Gnebnik grabbed the tip of Sam’s sparring spear. “Thrust.”
Sam grunted, putting his entire modest body into the effort of shoving and jabbing.
Gnebnik was clearly moved by the results: moved in the way that a three-ton bronze statue might be moved by an autumn breeze. After absorbing a half-dozen spear thrusts from Sam, he shoved in return, sending him tumbling on his ass.
“Yer stance is rubbish. This is combat, not ballroom dancing.”
In a show of apparent solidarity, Lee took that opportunity to be clobbered by the mechanical tail of the “terrible turtle” training dummy.
◊ ◊ ◊
Sam trod heavily on the warped planks of the steep staircase leading to their bedroom in the attic that evening.
Hazelhearth Hires Heroes Page 5