by Bruce Leslie
“Swine-shaped, I got it!” The Lump laughed and turned the corner.
“I didn’t say swine-shaped, I said sign-shaped!” Marty’s face turned red while he shouted.
The Lump saw the big rectangle wrapped in canvas. It was twice the size of the old sign. He heaved it up on his shoulder with a grunt and it felt like it must be four times as heavy. He muttered to himself, “I hope Marty’s got something sturdy to hang this with, or it’s likely to fall and kill somebody.”
When the Lump returned to the tavern’s front side, Wendy was standing next to Marty. She was in her typical brown dress and white apron with her hair knotted in a bun atop her head, and looking as plump as ever.
The Lump smiled at Wendy and asked, “Did you decide to come outside and watch us put up the new sign?”
Wendy put her hands on her hips. “If you two knot-headed fellows are going to hang a sign, I’m going to make sure it’s straight.”
The Lump lowered the canvas wrapped sign to the ground and leaned it against the front wall. “That’s the heaviest sign I’ve ever lifted, did you make it from iron?”
Marty furrowed his brow. “Don’t be ridiculous, iron would be too dangerous. It could fall and hurt somebody.” He raised his chin and smiled. “I carved it from stone.”
“Stone!” The Lump opened his eyes wide. “We can’t hang a slab of rock up over the door!”
Wendy took a deep breath and rubbed the side of her head, just beneath the brown and gray bun of hair atop it. “I think Ollie’s right about this one, Martin.” She was the only person who ever called the Lump Ollie.
“If we don’t hang it, what are we going to do with it?” Marty asked.
Wendy pointed at the canvas wrapped stone. “We can just leave it there, next to the door. It will serve just as well to let people know the name of the place.”
“Sounds good enough,” said Marty. He nodded at the Lump. “Go ahead, then, let’s have a look at it.”
The Lump pulled the canvas off the stone sign. His jaws grew tight and he felt pressure build in his chest and rise into his head when he saw it. He turned to Marty and growled, “You chip-flipping idiot! Why’d you go and paint it up like that?”
The gray, stone slab looked more like a small monument that a tavern sign. The letters carved into its face were painted bright red and spelled out Marty’s Turnip Bowl.
“You best calm down now.” Wendy pulled a wooden spoon from her apron and pointed it at the Lump. “It’s painted that way because it’s his tavern now.”
“What?” The Lump drew his eyebrows together in confusion. “It’s always been your tavern, Wendy.”
“I’m retiring.” Wendy crossed her arms with a firm grip still on her spoon. “Martin has a knack for tavern keeping. He’s going to take it over and pay me a pension so I don’t have to fool with it anymore.” She raised her eyebrows. “He’s also promised me no potatoes in the turnip patch, so don’t get any ideas.”
The Lump asked, “What are you going to do?”
Wendy smiled. “That’s easy to answer.” She leaned her head back. “Whatever I want. You’re finally doing something with yourself, and the tavern is in good hands.” She brought a finger to her chin. “I just might start by visiting the seashore at Silverport.”
The Lump put a hand on the back of his neck, still trying to make sense of everything. “Well, if you’re going to Silverport, maybe you could deliver a message for me.” He let his hand fall to his side and looked at Wendy. “I haven’t had a chance to deliver it myself since I got back.”
Wendy nodded. “That should be easy enough. What is it?”
The Lump said, “I need you to find a lady named—”
A distant shout interrupted the big man’s words. “Lump, I need to speak with you! I have an urgent message!”
The Lump turned to find the source of the shout. He saw an unusual form coming up the path in the distance. The sight was a fair distance away, but he could see it well enough to piece together what approached. It was a tall, well-muscled stag with a wide rack of antlers sprouting out from it’s broad head. There were plenty of deer in the forest around Windthorne, but he had never seen a stag like that. A man in blue was riding the noble beast. He squinted his eyes to better see the odd spectacle approaching. The man just might be familiar, sitting tall and proud. The rider wasn’t wearing a ridiculous armor breastplate, but he did have a recognizable air about him.
The Lump brought his hands to the sides of his mouth and shouted, “Flynn! Is that you?”
2: Gifts and Messages
“Yes! It’s me!” Flynn rode closer on his stag. When he arrived at the patch of bare dirt in front of the tavern, the stag stopped and he climbed down. He still wore his familiar, blue tunic, but it was a bit faded. He had a longbow slung across his body and a quiver of arrows on his back. Tan-colored cloth was wrapped around his forearms and shins, and his hair was longer. In addition to showing three months of growth, his light brown hair had a long braid running down the left side. Under his arm he held a brown, burlap-wrapped bundle.
The Lump wrinkled his forehead in disbelief. “What brings you back to Windthorne? Are you finally on your way back home?”
“No, Lump.” Flynn walked closer. “I come bearing gifts and an urgent message.”
“Fine enough.” The Lump pointed over Flynn’s shoulder, toward the stag. “How’d you learn to ride that thing?”
“There really wasn’t anything to learn,” Flynn answered. “I’ll explain everything in due time.”
The Lump nodded. “Let’s have a seat inside and talk. Are you hungry?” He pointed at the white-haired man standing next to the new, stone sign. “Marty makes a fine stew.” He looked at Marty and asked, “You remember Flynn, don’t you?”
Marty smiled and nodded. “Yes. Isn’t he the one that tried to murder you last Autumn?”
The Lump laughed. “Yep, he sure is.”
Marty asked Flynn, “Are you here to fight again?” He swept his hand through the air in a wide, arcing motion. “There’ll be more room for doing it out here than in my tavern.”
Flynn shook his head. “No, sir, the Lump and I are the furthest thing from adversaries now.”
“That’s probably for the better.” Marty raised his eyebrows. “Lump’s gotten pretty good at scrapping.” He held a finger in the air. “If you want to beat him, play a hand or two of cards.”
Flynn narrowed his eyes and asked, “Are you the fellow that took my helm?”
Marty shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Oh, yes, I suppose I am.” He asked, “Do you want it back?”
Flynn shook his head again. “No, not particularly. It never fit quite right.”
Marty exhaled a sigh of relief. “Glad to hear that. It makes a right nice porridge bowl, I’d hate to give it up.” He glanced at the stag. “Where’d you get that fine looking deer you rode in on?”
Flynn looked back at the stag as well. “It’s not a deer, it’s a stag. I must admit it is an unusual means of conveyance.”
“How about that?” Marty said, “Conveyance must be a fancy word for a muscled-up deer.” He smiled. “I bet I could make a fine conveyance stew.”
Flynn looked at Marty and lowered his eyebrows. “The stag is not for eating.”
“That’s a shame.” Marty shrugged. “But, I guess we have to eat something. I should be off to check on the snares.” He jerked his head toward the tavern as he bounced away. “There’s plenty of stew in the kitchen, help yourself.”
Wendy smiled at Flynn. “I suppose I don’t have to worry about you drawing you sword inside, since you don’t seem to have one.”
“No, ma’am.” Flynn lowered his head. “I also apologize for my past behavior.”
Wendy laughed softly. “No need, all is fine now.” She looked at the Lump. “I should go prepare for my trip. I’d like to set off for Silverport in the morning.”
Flynn’s eyes grew wide with the mention of his hometown. “Silverport is be
autiful, you’ll have a splendid stay!” His face drooped into a slight frown. “I suppose I should send word to my mother.” He looked at the Lump. “She has likely heard nothing since you delivered my initial message.”
“About that…” The Lump looked at the ground and rubbed the back of his head. “I’ve been awfully busy since I got back. I haven’t had a chance to head off east yet.”
“Oh.” Flynn gave his head a slow, understanding nod. “Then I would much appreciate it, ma’am, if you would take word of my wellbeing to my mother.”
Wendy crossed her arms and tilted her head. “I’d be happy to do that. What would you like me to tell her?” She paused for a moment, then said, “Also, you ought to tell me how to find her.”
“Thank you.” Flynn gave his head a slight bow. “If you ask for the Lady Flint, anyone in Silverport will direct you to her.” He brought a finger to his chin and pondered what to say. “Perhaps, you should simply tell her I’m alive and well, and still striving to be a hero.” He smiled nervously. “Maybe, you don’t mention that I am in Windthorne. It would upset her that I didn’t come myself.”
“That should be easy enough.” Wendy nodded. “Your affairs are yours alone, I won’t share more than you wish.” She looked over her shoulder, then back to the Lump. “I do need to get a move on, I’ll say my farewells in the morning.” She turned and walked away.
The Lump beckoned at Flynn. “Let’s go inside so we can sit down and talk.” He walked through the door and Flynn followed.
Flynn said, “The idea of some stew does sound nice.”
“Absolutely,” said the Lump. “Have a seat, I’ll fetch a couple of bowls.” He walked into the kitchen.
Flynn took a seat and placed his burlap-wrapped package on the table before him.
The Lump came out of the kitchen with a bowl of stew in each hand. “What’s in your package there?” He placed the bowls on the table and took a seat across from Flynn.
“It’s a gift, for you, from Meena.” Flynn gave the package a gentle tap.
“Why didn’t she come as well?” asked the Lump.
Flynn answered, “You made her swear never to set foot in Windthorne again.”
“Oh, that’s a bygone.” The Lump swung a meaty hand through the air. “I wouldn’t hold her to that promise no more.”
“Here, open it.” Flynn pushed the burlap package across the table.
The Lump opened it and held up a large leather garment. “Look at that! It’s a new vest to replace my old one.”
The Lump thought back to his previous leather vest, the one he lost to a glob of acidic saliva that Red-Line spat onto it.
“It’s a cuirie, boiled leather armor,” said Flynn. “You may need it now more than ever. It’s a quite meaningful gift, Meena is no fan of leather.”
“But what about her boots?” asked the Lump.
“She understands there are necessities,” answered Flynn, “but she will not tolerate wastefulness or extravagance by way of loss of life.” He pointed at the package. “There’s more in there.”
The Lump reached into the burlap and pulled out two leather tubes with laces on them. “What are these?” he asked.
“They are greaves,” said Flynn,. “They are protection for your lower legs. Try them on.”
The Lump leaned over and attempted to wrap one of the leather tubes around his leg. The laces wouldn’t quite wrap all the way around his thick calf. “I appreciate the gift, truly, but I don’t think it fits.”
Flynn frowned. “That’s most unfortunate.”
“Wait, I have an idea!” The Lump wrapped the leather around his left forearm and held it out to Flynn. “Help me tie it.”
“That’s grand!” Flynn knotted the laces. “They will make wonderful bracers.” He helped the Lump place the other one on his right arm.
The Lump held his arms in front of his face and admired his new accessories. “These are fine looking things.” He pointed at the stew. “Go ahead and eat, I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Flynn put a spoonful in his mouth and swallowed. “This really is tasty stew. Meena won’t allow us to eat anything with fur or feathers.”
“What’s that?” the Lump asked. “She makes the rules now?”
“Yes,” Flynn answered. “The Common Folk follow her now.” He leaned forward. “They wanted her to be their queen, but she refused.” He took another bite of stew. “Of course, there’s also the treaty. The Common Lands may have no King or Queen.” He grinned and pointed at the Lump with his spoon. “They call her the Dragon!”
“Huh, the Dragon.” The Lump leaned back in his chair. “She’s fiery enough, alright. I think that name suits her.”
“There is also a more practical reason for the title.” Flynn lowered his spoon back into his stew. “The Solsons and Lunaris in the Needles are spies. Conversations about the Dragon are easily ignored, conversations about a Queen would not be so.”
The Lump nodded his head. “That is rather clever.” He wrinkled his forehead. “And you say the people follow her?”
“Yes.” Flynn raised his eyebrows. “You know how she was with the catamounts? And that incident with the wolves?”
“Of course I do!” The Lump held his hands wide. “You don’t exactly forget something like that.” He remembered all too well the strange, soothing effect she had on the big cats that ambushed them on the Herder’s Path, and the way she somehow summoned a pack of wolves to aid them in the Western Woods.
“Her abilities seem to have expanded.” Flynn tilted his head for a moment, deep in thought, then continued. “She can speak with birds and fur-bearing animals. Well, not really speak with them, but they do her bidding somehow.”
“Do her bidding? What does she bid?” The Lump furrowed his brow. “Does she have them put on plays for her?”
“No.” Flynn shook his head. “Nothing like that. They just seem to understand her general feelings. That’s how the stag came to carry me here.” He shrugged. “Meena bid it to do so, somehow.”
The Lump held his eyebrows high in an expression of disbelief. “Did you cross back over the bridge to get here?”
“Oh, no,” answered Flynn. “I don’t plan to do that again. I swam the river and the stag swam as well. It’s a stronger swimmer than I, and I’m the strongest swimmer I ever knew.”
The Lump crossed his arms and let them rest on the table. “So, Meena talks to all the animals now.”
“No, not all of them.” Flynn pushed his now empty bowl aside. “She doesn’t seem to have any connection with lizards or snakes… or fish, for that matter.” He leaned back. “I imagine that’s why she doesn’t get upset if we eat fish.” He wrinkled up his nose. “It would probably be acceptable to eat snakes and lizards, but no one is eager to test that theory.”
“So how did she learn to do this?” the Lump asked. “She didn’t seem to have a real good grip on it last I saw her.”
“I don’t know,” answered Flynn. “She has read that book we obtained many times over. Also, she often visits the crone and comes back with a strange new determination.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what they talk about, but the visits seem to enhance her abilities concerning animals.”
“I should have known that sour old lady would have her finger in the pie.” The Lump rubbed his shoulder. “She let a snake bite me, you know.”
Flynn rolled his eyes in their sockets. “Yes, I was there.” He leaned forward again. “She is never without that staff the crone gave her.”
The Lump nodded approval. “That’s a fine staff.” He held his hands out, palms up. “So, you came all this was to give me a present and tell me how Meena’s doing?”
“No, there’s more.” Flynn’s face grew long. “There is a crisis in the Needles.”
The Lump drew his eyebrows together. “What sort of crisis?”
“The Gallisians,” answered Flynn. “They are committing horrible atrocities against the Common Folk.” He lowered his face. “They want Meena as
their prisoner.”
“What?” The Lump pounded his hand on the table. “Why are they doing something so mud-loving idiotic?”
“It’s due to the dragon… well, I guess I should say Wyrm.” Flynn shook his head. “It went to Gallis when it fled the Needles. The foul beast hasn’t been anymore pleasant for them than it was for the Aards or Common Folk.” He balled his hand into a fist while it lay on the table. “They blame Meena, they think she sent it there intentionally.”
“That’s pure lunacy!” The Lump grunted. “If anybody’s to blame for it, it would be me.”
Flynn put a slight smile on his face and nodded. “That’s why I am hoping you can help.”
“Certainly!” The Lump pointed one of his oversized thumbs at his chest. “I’m sure if I talked to them it would clear things up.” He held his hands out in front of him. “Why, by Sol, I could even help them gather some blue flowers, and tell them how to deal with the ox-sniffing thing.”
“So you’ll come back with me?” Flynn asked.
“Yes, of course.” The Lump arched an eyebrow. “But, I ain’t swimming across the Oxhorn.”
Flynn smiled. “I didn’t expect you would.” He wrinkled his forehead. “So, will we take the bridge or ferry across?”
“That bridge is a death trap, I won’t be tempting Berek’s ghost again.” The Lump shook his head. “I hate those little river boxes, but they’ll make the journey a good bit quicker.” He pointed at Flynn. “Your stag won’t likely make a good ferry passenger.”
“Nothing to worry about,” said Flynn. “I’ll send him back alone. I’ll accompany you for the journey.” He rubbed his smooth chin. “Did you ever find the brigands that killed your mule?”
“No.” The Lump sneered and bared his teeth. “But, I’ve found I’m pretty good at rounding up outlaws. I imagine those crooked-nosed sons of a buck-toothed badger fled north to Gallis rather than back to Bleuderry.”
“So, you’ve been rounding up outlaws?” Flynn asked with a tone of genuine curiosity.
“Yup.” The Lump nodded his head. “I started by cleaning out the woods around Bleuderry, looking for the mule slayers. It gave me some kind of… I don’t know… satisfaction. I came home and things were getting a little rough around the edges here, so I kept it up.”