Emnor had the reputation of being an absolute gentleman with impeccable manners and never cursed or swore, but on this occasion, the only ever occasion, he did let his true feelings be known. “Bugger me ‘til doomsday, that bloody hurt!”
Harley now stood, mouth open, speechless. A few minutes passed as Emnor regained his composure, with the occasional ‘ouch’, sharp intake of breath or the rubbing of a particularly sore spot on his body. Now breathing normally, he looked across at Harley, who had a look of dread on his face. Emnor swung his legs around and now sat on the side of the bed.
“Master Emnor, I’m so sorry, it was only for a moment, well I think it was only a moment…”
“Be quiet, Harley, you’re babbling again,” said Emnor calmly.
“But you’ve been hurt, and it’s all my fault,” blurted Harley becoming agitated again.
“I’m fine, Harley, honestly. My mind witnessed the destruction of that other body and believes that I am hurt, therefore it is linking its pain to me, but that is already beginning to ease. No harm has been done and, after all, I am still alive, thanks to you, dear boy.”
This was not the reaction that Harley had been expecting. Being turned into a frog or blasted across the room by his mentor would have been something that he could understand but he was completely confused by Emnor’s ‘there, there never mind’ approach.
“Master, what exactly happened to you? You were in a right state when you woke up.”
“Got my backside kicked,” announced Emnor, starting to laugh.
Harley still didn’t understand and now looked more confused than ever. Emnor offered no more information but Harley could not help himself. He was a young man and very inquisitive and his next question left his lips before he even realised he wanted to ask it.
“By who, Master Emnor?”
“That’s whom, Harley, don’t be lazy when it comes to speech, dear boy, gives people the wrong impression, and in answer to your question, Prince Karrak Dunbar, second in line to the throne of Borell.”
“But, Sir, wasn’t he the lunatic we had imprisoned here, the one who kidnapped Master Barden when he escaped?”
“Oh dear, is that what you think happened? Take a seat, Harley, we have things to discuss. On second thoughts, give me a minute to change my robes, these are soaking wet. Wonder how that happened.”
***
The companions had begun to set up camp. A fire had been set, Hannock had surveyed the surrounding area for animal tracks or footprints, but found the ground devoid of either, Jared was studying his maps and Lodren was busy with his catering.
“Right, anybody fancy anything in particular?” Lodren asked. The others shook their heads, happy for him to make the decision. Hannock ventured a little closer to Lodren’s pots and pans, something that one had to do carefully, for the Nibby was most protective when it came to his kitchen equipment. “What are you doing, Mr Captain?” asked Lodren, a very faint snarl in his voice.
“Not touching, Lodren, wouldn’t dream of it, dear friend,” answered Hannock retreating a few steps and holding his hands in the air just to prove the point.
“Good. I don’t mess with your soldiering, so don’t mess with my catering.” Lodren was looking up at Hannock with a determined scowl on his face.
“Never entered my mind, Lodren, just noticed that you’re cooking quite a lot, considering there’s only the four of us.”
“Mind your own business,” snapped Lodren and, turning his back, continued with his preparations.
Hannock sat down on a log and leaned across to Grubb. “Have you been giving him lessons?” he asked.
Without even looking, Grubb replied. “Get stuffed.”
“Obviously not then, he’s still far too polite.”
Jared was always amused by the banter that was exchanged between Hannock and Grubb. It reminded him of when he and Hannock were carefree children. He could still hear his best friend’s childish voice threatening to cut off his head if he was a sorcerer. But that was a long time ago. Both now secretly wished that their adventures were over, and that peace would return to Borell.
Once the meal was prepared they all sat down to eat. It was usual for Lodren to potter around and join them a few minutes after they had begun, but not so on this occasion. He had traditionally returned to his campfire after serving the others, but after a few moments returned carrying a large wooden tray covered with various dishes.
“Back in a minute,” he said, and promptly disappeared into the darkness.
The others cast each other questioning glances but before they had time to speak, Lodren returned, empty handed.
“What was that all about?” asked Hannock, as Lodren made himself comfortable next to them, his own supper in hand.
“Thought they might like something,” said Lodren quite relaxed.
“Who might like something?” asked Jared.
“Them out there,” answered Lodren, pointing away from the camp.
“Who’s out there, Lodren? Do you know them?” asked Hannock.
“No.” Lodren said nothing more, finding his supper far more interesting than the conversation.
“So where are they exactly, can you see them?” asked Jared.
Lodren sighed. “I don’t know who they are, where they are or what they want, Mr Jared, I just know they’re out there. I thought giving them a bit of supper would show them that we’re friendly so they won’t attack us while we’re asleep.”
“As if we can sleep, now we know that we’re being watched!” exclaimed Hannock.
“Not everybody is bad, Mr Hannock, sometimes you’ve just got to trust people.”
“Lodren, they may not even be people. They could be three-headed monsters and their idea of supper, might be us.”
“Well we’ll just have to wait and see then won’t we!” But not once did Lodren look up from his supper during the entire conversation.
They took it in turns to stand watch and the night passed peacefully. As dawn broke, Lodren headed out to collect his tray and returned a few moments later. “I thought they might at least try it,” he said grumpily, staring at the untouched dishes.
“Let me see that, Lodren, if you would,” said Hannock. Hannock shuffled the bowls around the tray as Lodren held it.
“What are you looking for, Mr Captain?” asked Lodren after a few seconds.
“I don’t know how to say this, Jared, but he was right. We were being watched,” said Hannock.
“Of course we were, I told you that!” exclaimed Lodren.
“Lodren, I have even worse news for you, they didn’t like your cooking.”
“Nonsense, they never even tried it, the bowls are still full, look,” chirped Lodren, aghast at the possibility that someone existed who did not adore his lovingly prepared dishes.
“See here, Lodren, the drag mark across the top of this stew?” continued Hannock. “Someone, or something, licked it and the small dip on the side of that puree, caused by a tongue being dipped into it. Oh yes, these have been tasted, and whoever did the tasting, didn’t like it!”
Lodren went into a real strop and stormed away, ranting as he went. “You’re making it up because I warned you away from my pots and pans. How could you be so cruel when all I want to do is feed you and look after you? I mean… really!”
The next couple of days were a little tense, with Lodren hardly saying a word and riding at a distance behind them as they travelled, apparently mortally wounded by the unseen presence that had spurned his delicious cuisine. He was as polite as always, but seemed to find things to do each time one of the others attempted to strike up a conversation with him. Well, to be honest, not so much things to do, more excuses, to prevent any such conversation from taking place.
The end of another day, another camp set, another fire burning brightly in the darkness and Lodren busying himself around it. Hannock sat close to Jared and nudged his arm, nodding toward the oblivious Nibby. A similar scenario was unfolding with, what seem
ed to be, far too much food being prepared for it to be for just the four of them. Not daring to say a word for fear of upsetting him again his companions carried out their own tasks and duties. “Five minutes,” he announced, prompting the others to lay down whatever they were doing, for Lodren accepted no tardiness when it came to meal times.
Each was served in turn as usual and Lodren approached them with a small tray in hand set with a small selection of dishes, but he did not take his place, neither did he venture out into the darkness to offer it to the still, unseen strangers. A few seconds passed and Lodren turned away from them and bowed.
“Oh dear,” said Hannock, “he’s gone mad, now he’s giving food to imaginary friends.”
“I’m only invisible if I choose to be, Charles, you should know that.” The voice was familiar to them all and with a shimmering glow, Faylore appeared before them.
“Dinner is served, Your Majesty,” announced Lodren, leaning forward to present her with the tray.
The companions spent the next few minutes exchanging pleasantries and catching up with one another’s recent exploits. Faylore had intended to visit them in Borell but, having been informed by King Tamor of their mission, had pursued them, tracking their progress easily, with the aid of a few of her more mature, experienced kin.
“So, Lodren, you were correct when you said we were being followed,” said Hannock, at last having a good reason with which to cheer up the uncharacteristically depressed Nibby.
“I wasn’t talking about the Thedarians,” answered Lodren.
Jared took the opportunity to inform Faylore of the encounter and the snubbing of the food that had so upset Lodren. “They never ate a bite of it, Faylore, I mean, how rude can you be?”
Faylore noticed the glum look on Lodren’s face and smiled. His wounds could not have been deeper if he had been hit with a blade or arrow. “What exactly did you prepare for your unseen guests, Lodren?”
“There was stew, sausages, oh, and some meat pies. All sorts of stuff,” he replied.
“But you never saw them when you took the food from the camp?” she asked.
“No, they stayed in the darkness. But I know they were there, like I knew you were there.”
Faylore cast glances at her kin and, without a word being spoken, they nodded at each other, as if in agreement.
“Every dish contained some form of meat then, Lodren?” asked Faylore.
“Yes, like I said, there was a stew and… oh dear,” he replied.
“Do you think that maybe, whoever they are, aren’t meat eaters?”
Lodren now had a beaming smile on his face. There was nothing wrong with his cooking after all, the unseen guests were simply vegetarian. He began jigging up and down on the spot. “So if I cook them a vegetable broth, they’ll eat that?” he asked.
Hannock could contain himself no longer. “Just a minute, bird-brain, we’re not here to feed anyone who feels like dropping in unannounced. You’ll be laying out tables and polishing the silverware next!”
“Thank you, Charles, we’ll remember next time,” said Faylore.
“Present company excepted of course, Your Majesty,” added Hannock, bowing slightly but remaining seated.
Jared was witnessing, as he had done so many times, Faylore using her royal standing to make Hannock squirm, an art she had perfected some time ago. He decided to intervene and leaned forward. “So who are they, Faylore?” he asked.
“Well, from the information you have so far, I’d say it’s the Gerrowliens.”
“Oh not them!” exclaimed Grubb suddenly.
“You suspected it all along, Grubb, don’t deny it,” said Faylore.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t, I just hoped it wasn’t,” said Grubb in his usual grumpy manner.
“You knew all along, Grubb?” asked Lodren, “You let me think there was somebody who didn’t like my cooking all this time, when you could have just told me? What a horrible thing to do.” Lodren snatched the dishes from the companions, but not from the Thedarians, and stormed away to his campfire.
Grubb shrugged his shoulders. “You can’t please some people,” he said.
“The Gerrowliens. Who are they, Faylore?” asked Hannock.
“A warrior race, native to these lands, beautiful too, in their own way,” she replied.
“Another warrior race, perfect, just like the Dergon I suppose? So will they ambush us or just come charging into the camp when they’re ready?”
“Neither, Charles, they are a very honourable race. I hope they never heard you comparing them to Dergon, they’ll be most insulted if they did.”
“Well they should just introduce themselves properly then instead of skulking around in the dark,” stated Hannock.
“You seem to forget, Charles, this is their home, you are the trespasser. If anyone should be introducing themselves, it is you, to them.”
“Well if we knew where they were, we would!” exclaimed Hannock.
Grubb spoke again, “You say that, but trust me, it’s not that easy.”
“What’s easier than saying hello, Grubb? You just walk up to someone and say hello, pleased to meet you,” said Hannock.
“You know when somebody gets on your nerves, Hannock, and you get all sarcastic and impatient with ‘em?” asked Grubb.
“I do not ‘get sarcastic’, Grubb, impatient maybe, but never sarcastic.”
“Oh no, never sarcastic, Hannock,” stated Jared.
Hannock tried his best to ignore the last statement and pulled down the front of his tunic, a habit he had formed whenever unable to think of a suitable response, especially if it was close to the mark.
Grubb continued. “Well these fellas could teach you a thing or two about sarcasm. They’re so far up ‘emselves you wouldn’t believe it. They think they’re better than everybody. Stronger, faster, more intelligent, you just can’t talk sense to ‘em once they decide on something. Even if they’re wrong, and they know they’re wrong, they won’t admit it. It’s infuriating.”
Jared leaned across and placed his hand on Hannock’s arm. “Sounds like a match made in the heavens, you might even be related,” and he burst out laughing, much to Hannock’s annoyance.
Lodren had been listening intently to the conversation as, one by one, he had relieved their guests of dishes and bowls without comment. He rejoined the gathering taking a seat next to Faylore, whom he adored. “Queen Faylore, what do they look like?” he asked.
Faylore placed her arm around his shoulders, well as far as she could considering the width of them, for she, in return, had a great fondness for the Nibby.
“As I said, they are a beautiful race, almost as tall as we Thedarians but much broader and then of course there is the fur.”
“Fur!?” exclaimed Hannock.
“Yes, Charles, fur. Gold and black striped fur across their faces, large pointed teeth, and hands with razor sharp claws, for they are descended from wild cats.”
“You are sure that they don’t eat meat… or people?” asked Hannock, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.
“Quite sure, Charles, and they don’t attack either. They defend themselves if necessary, but otherwise, would make no threat toward another, well other than the Hissthaar that is.”
“And just who are the Hissthaar?” asked Hannock. He knew that he would probably regret asking the question, folding his arms and preparing for the worst.
“Do not concern yourself, Charles, we shall travel with you and the Hissthaar would never attempt to harass us, you will be quite safe.” Faylore had said this in a way that meant that she was not prepared to discuss the matter further.
***
“I say we just attack them, kill them all and have done with it. Let’s face it, they kill other lifeforms and eat them, they might try to eat us.”
“Poom, I’m sure they would not try to kill or eat us. The meat that is in their food comes from dumb animals, sheep, glamoch, not intelligent races such as ours.” Lawton looked
Poom up and down. “However, they may make an exception in your case,” he added.
“Let them try, I’ll take the lot of them by myself, I’ll beat them to a pulp, they wouldn’t have a chance. Did I tell you about the time those four…”
“Yes, Poom, you did, and about the time you got ambushed, and the time there was a gang of Hissthaar and you beat the one to death with his own arm, and every other fight you’ve ever had, and won.”
“Sorry, Lawton, I just get a bit carried away.”
“Some days, Poom, I wish you would.”
“That’s nice isn’t it, you’ll need me one day and I’ll be there to help, if anyone tries to hurt you I’ll knock them clean out. Did I tell you about the time I was…”
Lawton ran his hand across his face and sighed, he loved Poom more than a brother. They were alike in so many ways that it was difficult to separate the minds of the pair, apart from one thing. They were a warrior race, that was undeniable, but, as with any fighting force, there were differences of opinion when it came to the strategy of a battle. Lawton would plan to the last detail, Poom would grab the nearest weapon, if there was one, and charge in, throwing caution to the wind. Lawton was a huge being, a little portly, but powerful with it. Poom on the other hand was not much to look at. Almost as tall as Lawton and only half the build, when it came to fighting, he was a demon, who could, and had, bested foes twice his size. Peace had reigned over their lands for many years now. Lawton was content to live a calm existence and, although he had a love of life that kept him far younger than his actual years, was prepared to live out his life without pointless wars. Poom however, could not forget his glory days and loved nothing more than to regale his past battles to any younger member of the clan who was willing to listen, never omitting a single, gory detail. Most times, whilst in Lawton’s company, Poom would avoid the subject, slipping very occasionally into the ‘Did I tell you…’ scenarios.
Unfortunately for Lawton, he had heard the tales many times over and on occasion, unable to curb his friend’s enthusiasm, would make an excuse to escape his repetitive, inexhaustible supply of tales regarding his acts of carnage and heroics. Despite this, neither would prefer to be in any other company and were now watching the camp with interest.
The Ascension of Karrak (Karrak Trilogy Part One) Page 25