by Bruce Leslie
“What do you do with outlaws once you round them up?” Flynn asked.
“That’s the best part!” A toothy grin stretched across the Lump’s face. “What I do is—”
The tavern door swung open with a clatter. Marty trotted across the threshold, his face red. Stuart, another of the townsfolk, was with him and looked frightened.
Marty said, “I ran into Stu here while I was checking my snares.” His nostrils opened wide and he shook his head. “He says there’s some outlaws about.” He looked at Stuart. “Tell ‘em.”
“It’s true.” Stuart nodded. “My wife was making me fetch some things for her mum in Effingham - it’s been almost five months I tell you, and her mum still hasn’t left. It’s like—”
“Enough about your wife’s mum!” boomed the Lump. “Tell me about the outlaws!”
“Oh, yes.” Stuart rubbed his head. “Masked fellows ambushed me on my way back home, they took the bundle I was carrying.” He raised his eyebrows and held his hands up by his shoulders. “It had my wife’s mum’s underclothes in it! My wife is going to blame me. You have to get it back.”
“Don’t you worry, I’ll deal with the scoundrels,” said the Lump.
“And look at what they did to me.” Stuart pulled up the sleeve on his tunic and showed a deep gash on his arm, crusted with dried blood.
“We’ve got to clean that, Stuart.” The Lump frowned while he looked at the cut. “Where did you say it happened?”
Stuart answered, “This side of Effingham.”
“That’s even worse!” The Lump opened his eyes wide and his face turned a dark shade of red.
“Why is that?” Flynn asked.
The Lump looked at Flynn. “That’s on the way to Silverport, Wendy’s going that way tomorrow.” He stood up from his seat. “We have to deal with this at once, I’ve got to rid the road of those brigands before morning. Wendy’s too stubborn to delay her trip.” He pulled on his new leather vest and worked at the buckles. “Flynn, if you help me out, we can be off to the Needles sooner.”
“Yes, sir.” Flynn nodded. “I’d be honored to help you.”
The Lump turned to Stuart and Marty. “Stu, you need to clean that cut with spirits.” He pointed. “Marty, you’re coming with us.”
Marty jerked his shoulders with a start. “What? Why?”
“You’re taking us in your new oxcart.” The Lump walked to the corner of the room and picked up a large, heavy sack. “It can carry more than just turnips.” He slung the sack over his shoulder and walked toward the door. “Besides, you have to learn to protect Windthorne while I’m away.”
3: Ground Apples
Night had fallen. The moon hid behind the clouds and a very few stars were visible overhead. This made the night dark and unwelcoming, a foreboding time to undertake any heroic endeavor.
The three men stood around Marty’s oxcart, each of them feeling a bit tense. There was nothing impressive about the rig, it consisted of a plain, brown wooden cart hitched to a plain, brown ox. There was a tarp stretched across the cart’s rear to cover its humble cargo, a half-load of turnips. The ox stood quietly and chewed its cud. The animal seemed unbothered by the darkness around it.
Marty put a hand on the old, weathered tarp. “I hope you don’t plan to risk my turnips. They don’t grow on trees, you know!”
“No, they don’t.” The Lump shook his head as he tossed the sack over his shoulder into the front of the cart. “They grow in the ground.”
Marty nodded. “That’s right! Not on trees, that’s why I call them ground apples.”
The Lump put his hand on the hilt of the tiny sword at his belt. “Potatoes are ground apples, everybody knows that.”
“Not me.” Marty climbed onto the front of the cart and sat next to the sack. “I call my turnips ground apples.” He gave his head a quick nod. “Tasty, little ground apples.”
“Don’t worry, my plan won’t risk your turnips.” The Lump pointed at Marty. “You’ll be the bait!”
“What?” Marty’s eyes opened wide as saucers. “I don’t want to be bait! That don’t sound nice.” He shook his head. “I don’t even now how to be bait.”
“It’ll be fine.” The Lump waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Just be natural… and make sure you watch out for arrows, or bolts.”
“That ain’t natural!” A profuse quantity of sweat appeared on Marty’s brow. “I don’t know how to do that!” He wiped the sweat with the back of his hand and more beaded up to replace it.
“You just keep your eyes open.” The Lump shrugged his shoulders. “If you see something fly at you, move out of the way.” He looked at Flynn. “It’s easy, isn’t it, Flynn?”
Flynn shook his head. “Not particularly.”
The Lump grunted. “Everything will be fine.”
“It’s actually quite difficult to duck an arrow,” said Flynn.
“Be quiet!” The Lump wrinkled up his face. “There probably won’t be any arrows, anyway. Let’s get on with it.” He pulled back one corner of the tarp and beckoned at Flynn. “Climb under here with me, we’ll stay hidden with Marty’s dirt apples.”
“Ground apples!” Marty shouted. “They’re a sight less dangerous than flying arrows.”
The Lump growled and shook his head. “We’re climbing in with the turnips.”
The two men climbed under the tarp and shifted among the turnips in an attempt to get comfortable. There was little comfort to be found. Once they settled, the Lump grabbed the tarp and replaced it above them. Marty goaded the ox and the cart’s wheels creaked as it pulled onto the road.
Marty whistled an off-key tune to break the night’s silence. The cart moved slowly along the path toward Effingham. After traveling quite a distance without incident, a noise caught the white-haired man’s attention. His whistling quieted.
A shout rang out.
“Help! Please, help! I’ve been injured!” The words came from a figure huddled under a dingy blanket beside the path. “Please help me!” The form shivered beneath the blanket as the spring night grew cool.
“What’s this now?” Marty pulled the cart to a stop. “Did bandits get you? I’ve heard there are brigands on this road.” He climbed down from the cart and approached the figure. “Don’t worry, now. I’ll give you a hand.”
When Marty stood over the form, it threw off the blanket and jumped up. The stranger spun Marty around and held a dagger tight against his throat. A wiry arm wrapped around Marty’s chest and held his arms against his sides.
Marty squealed. If the Lump didn’t know the source of the sound, he would have sworn that someone just stepped on a rather small cat’s tail.
“What’s in the cart?” the bandit demanded. He pressed the blade harder against his victim’s neck.
“Just turnips.” Marty tried to smile and forced out a nervous laugh. “Simple little ground apples, nothing worth cutting nobody over.”
“Nobody calls turnips ground apples,” said the bandit.
Marty nodded his head gently, and replied, “I do.”
“And what about the bag?” the bandit asked. “What’s in that?”
“Oh, that’s just…” Marty frowned. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. It belongs to a friend.”
The bandit whistled and three conspirators came out of the trees. He ordered, “Go check the bag!”
One of the newly appeared men climbed onto the cart and opened the sack. He looked into it, then raised his head and said, “It’s full of ropes!”
The bandit holding Marty groaned. “That’s worth next to nothing.” He looked at his two remaining colleagues and nodded toward the cart. “Go look at the cargo, see if it’s truly turnips.”
“Ground apples,” said Marty.
“Be quiet,” ordered the bandit. “I told you, nobody calls them that.”
The two accomplices did as they were told. They walked to the rear of the cart and one of them threw back the tarp. The man leaped back, startled.
>
Flynn popped up from the turnips with his bow drawn. He released the bowstring, and an arrow sailed toward Marty and the bandit.
The arrow flew over the bandit’s head, but he ducked by reflex. His grip on his hostage loosened.
Marty opened his mouth wide and clamped his teeth down on the hand holding the dagger.
The bitten bandit cried out in pain, and the dagger fell to the ground.
Marty kicked the dagger into the brush and ran toward the oxcart, blind with fear.
The Lump sat up, and buried his left fist squarely in the center of an outlaw’s face. He drew his undersized sword from its loop with his right hand.
The bandit in the front of the cart, next to the bag of ropes, stood and kicked the running Marty hard in the face.
Marty’s head snapped back and he fell to the ground with a pained moan.
The bandit jumped out of the cart and onto Marty. He grabbed a handful of loose tunic in one hand and punched the pinned man in the face with his other.
Flynn threw down his bow, put his foot to the edge of the cart, and leaped onto the back of the man attacking Marty. He pulled the attacker off his victim and wrestled him to the ground.
Marty put his hands on his battered face and rolled under the cart.
The Lump jumped out of the pile of turnips and kicked aside the outlaw he had punched. He chased the other brigand as the outlaw fled toward the trees.
The commotion startled the ox, and it trotted down the road, taking the cart of turnips with it.
Marty got to his feet and chased the cart. He shouted, “Get back here with my cargo!”
The Lump reached out a meaty hand and caught the cloak of the fleeing bandit.
Marty climbed onto the cart and settled the frightened ox.
Flynn called out, “Lump, behind you!” He continued to wrestle on the ground with his adversary.
The Lump spun around and saw a bloody-nosed bandit charging him with a dagger held high.
A turnip hit the bloody-nosed bandit in the head and halted his charge.
Marty was in the back of the cart. He leaned over, grabbed another turnip, and launched it. His aim was true.
The Lump buried his fist in the turnip-struck attackers belly, and the man crumpled to the ground. He turned back around with his sword hand raised. A dagger crashed against his forearm. The boiled-leather bracer prevented the blade from cutting his flesh. Meena’s gift proved useful much sooner than he anticipated.
The Lump grabbed the dagger-wielding man and tossed him across the path.
The brigand landed atop his downed companion. They both groaned.
The Lump marched over to the two downed bandits and pinned them to the ground. The muscles in his arms bulged as he pressed them against the dirt.
The bandits struggled to breath against the pressure of their captor’s hands pushing down against their chests.
Flynn gained control of his opponent, and held the outlaw’s shoulders against the ground. After a brief moment of thrashing, the man stopped struggling and lay subdued.
The bandit leader charged Flynn and struck at him with his boot. The brown, leather heel screamed at Flynn’s head.
Flynn rolled out of the way, and the kick missed him. The maneuver forced him to relinquish his grip on the man he held down.
The previously pinned bandit climbed to his feet, unsheathed his dagger, and brandished it at Flynn. The bandit leader stood next to him with his hands balled into fists.
Flynn held his hands wide and shuffled side to side, keeping a watchful eye on the two bandits.
The two outlaws advanced on Flynn.
A volley of turnips soared through the air like shots loosed from a tiny catapult. The improvised missiles pelted the two men across from Flynn without mercy. They cursed and raised their hands to shield against the attack.
Marty stood tall in the back of the cart and chucked a steady stream of turnips. With a look of dogged determination on his battered face, he shouted, “Feel the fury of my ground apples!” One eye was swollen and blood ran down his cheek.
Flynn struck at the distracted bandit and knocked his dagger to the ground. He glanced down, then dived for the weapon.
The two bandits leaped for the weapon as well. A three way struggle broke out on the ground as the two bandits wrestled with Flynn. Arms, legs and curses swirled about as they fought beneath a hail of turnips.
The Lump shot a nervous glance over his shoulder. He maintained his hold on the men below him.
Flynn jabbed his elbow against the ribs of one bandit, and smashed his forehead against the nose of the other. It allowed him a moment of unencumbered movement. He clutched the dagger and shot to his feet.
Marty shouted, “That’s how you do it!”
Flynn extended the dagger toward the two bandits and said, “Stand down, both of you!” He bared his teeth and stepped toward them. His disheveled hair gave him a crazed appearance.
“You heard the fellow, you lice-loving donkeys!” Marty stood in the back of the cart with a turnip held by his ear, ready to launch. “We’ve got you like rabbits in a snare!”
The bandits rose slowly and raised their hands. Their faces drooped with acceptance of defeat.
The bandit leader snarled, “All of this trouble for a load of turnips.”
Marty held his turnip hand higher. “What was that?”
“Fine!” The bandit leader spat on the ground. In a disgusted tone, he said, “Ground apples.”
The Lump heaved his captives up from the ground and dragged them to the front of the cart. He gave them a powerful shove, and they smashed against the other men. All four bandits fell to the ground in an ugly, groaning pile.
The Lump looked up at Marty and drew in a deep breath. “Drop your turnip and throw me those ropes.”
“You got it!” Marty let his makeshift weapon fall from his hand and fished the ropes out of the sack. He tossed them to down to the path.
The Lump loomed over the bandits with his sword pointed. “Go ahead, Flynn, tie these ugly sister-kissers up.”
“I’ll be happy to!” Flynn bound each of the bandits’ hands behind their backs, then looped several lengths of rope around the lot of them. When he finished, they were tied up in a tidy bundle.
Marty Jumped down from the cart and scampered around to gather the turnips scattered about the path. He carried an armful back and dropped them into the cart. “I think I found most of them.” He smiled and there was a gap in his grin.
“Uh, Marty,” the Lump said, “it looks like you lost a tooth.”
“A toof?” Marty brought a hand to his face and felt his mouth. He mumbled, “It will grow back, won’t it?”
“Sure!” The Lump nodded with a false smile on his face. “If you drink plenty of milk, it will probably only take a month or two.”
Flynn stood up and tilted his head to one side. “I don’t think it works like that.”
“Of course it does.” The Lump swatted a big hand toward Flynn. “Don’t discourage the fellow.”
Flynn shrugged, then looked down at the bound bandits. “What do we do with them now?” he asked.
“We leave them here.” The Lump pointed at the bandits. “Someone will be along to deal with them soon enough.”
“So, it’s as simple as that?” asked Flynn.
“No.” The Lump shook his head. “There’s something else.” He climbed into the cart and fished around in the bag.
Flynn furrowed his brow. “What’s that?”
“Wait a bit and you’ll see.” The lump pulled out a scrap of parchment and a piece of charcoal. He scribbled on the paper, then climbed out of the cart and tucked it into the rope around the bandits. He stood, pulled off his cap, and ran a hand through his mop of dark hair.
“What’d you write, Lump?” Marty asked with a hint of a whistle through the gap in his teeth.
The Lump put his cap back on. “Take a look and see.” He held an open hand toward the bound men.
Flynn and Marty looked at the note. It read These scoundrels captured by the Dragonblinder.
Flynn turned his head to the Lump. “So you call yourself the Dragonblinder now?”
“Yup!” The Lump chuckled and his ample belly shook. “I think it’s got a ring to it!”
4: Steeplecross
The red and pink light of the rising sun was to the party’s rear as Marty pulled the oxcart to a stop outside the lone tavern in Windthorne. Marty could no longer open his swollen right eye, but his missing tooth seemed to help his whistling stay on key.
Wendy stood in front of the tavern with her arms crossed and tapped her foot. “I hope you boys didn’t have too much fun last night!” She pointed her wooden spoon at the Lump. “The morning chores still need to be done, you know!”
Marty climbed down from the cart. “I’ll see to ‘em.”
“It’s best you do! If you run this place into the ground, you won’t be able to pay my—” Wendy gasped when she saw Marty in the dawn light. “What happened to your face?”
Marty nodded and waved a hand. “Oh, I just captured some outlaws last night - Lump helped.” He opened his mouth and displayed his gapped grin. “I also lost a tooth in the process!” He pointed at the gap in his smile. “Lump told me it’d grow back soon enough.”
Wendy looked at the Lump and scowled. “Ollie!”
The Lump frowned as he climbed off the cart with Flynn close behind him.
Marty waved. “Have a safe trip, fellas” He turned toward the road. “I need to grab a quick bit of sleep, then I’ll get things going at the tavern.”
“Hold on, Marty,” said the Lump. “I was hoping you’d give us a ride to Steeplecross, to hire a ferry. It would save us some time.”
Marty turned back around and rubbed his head.
Wendy asked, “Why are you going to Steeplecross?”
“Oh, I guess I didn’t tell you,” answered the Lump. “There’s some trouble in the Needles. Flynn, here, told me about it. That’s why he came to visit.”