by Drew Hayes
“Well . . . not that fair.” Fritz returned the barbarian’s hug, though she took great care not to touch the axe strapped to her back. As they broke apart, Grumph stepped in, offering the elf his massive hand. She accepted and the two shook, a sight that would have sent the less tolerant from both their races into absolute fits.
“Be careful,” Grumph said, doing his best not to accidently crush the woman’s slender hand.
“Keep taking care of this lot. I don’t know how they survived for three days without you, but I doubt it will happen again.” Fritz ended their handshake with a quick wink. By the time she turned, Eric was there, hand also sticking out, though he looked more awkward than Grumph had.
“Oh, so you were fine grabbing my arm in the deadly catacombs, but now you get all shy,” Fritz quipped.
“That . . . was just me making sure everyone was keeping up,” Eric replied. Though he’d given it no thought in the heat of the moment, it was an awfully familiar way to hold someone he’d barely met.
Fritz, thankfully, seemed to have little care for formality. She grabbed Eric’s hand, and then pulled him forward, catching the normally nimble man by surprise and wrapping him in a hug.
“Thanks for making sure I was safe,” Fritz said. She leaned deeper into the hug and whispered her next words into his ear so softly that only Eric could hear them. “You’re kind of cute, though. Get a little confidence, and you might not have to play the hero to get me in your arms again.”
Then they were parted, Fritz with a sly expression on her face and Eric suddenly turning so red it looked like Fritz had hexed him. Which, in a way, she had. After all, not every magic requires spellcasting.
Timuscor was waiting to say goodbye next, Mr. Peppers still standing by his feet. No one had yet been able to figure out why the boar was still present long after the spell had ended, and after Talcia was convinced not to dismiss it, the group collectively decided to just chalk it up as a weird aftereffect from being around so much potent magic. Mr. Peppers grunted by Fritz’s feet as she and Timuscor shook hands—no sudden hug or teasing words for him—and just like that, the elven traveler had reached the final adventurer.
“If I may, I would like to walk you out to the teleportation site myself,” Thistle said. “One can never be too careful, after all.”
“Why thank you, brave paladin. I gladly accept your offer.” Fritz pushed open the wooden door, allowing Thistle to step into the bright afternoon sun. All around them, the festival was building to a full swing, every member of the town thankful to have control over their bodies once more, even if said bodies didn’t work in exactly the way they remembered.
“Do you think these people will be all right?” Fritz asked, watching as a cluster of undead men carried a load of lumber across the street.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Thistle admitted. “But they aren’t evil, and they aren’t hurting anyone, so it’s not my place to tell them their way of life is wrong. The world, I fear, will not be quite so accepting, though.”
“Talcia has promised to explain the happenings to the Table of Mages, who will in turn speak to the leaders of Cadence Hollow. Perhaps with a bit of determination and persistence, we can convince them to lend the town aid, or at least not treat it as a hostile entity.” Fritz began heading up the cobblestone road, walking lightly as they made their way toward the site of Talcia’s ritual. “And what of you and yours, my brave paladin? What quest will you next venture on?”
“I can’t say I have much of a quest in mind,” Thistle admitted. “But this experience did ignite some curiosity in me. If my friends are willing, I think we may head farther north, make our way in the direction of the lone road into Baltmur. After learning of its origins, I find myself with a desire to see the kingdom firsthand.”
“It’s supposed to be dangerous,” Fritz cautioned.
“And Briarwillow was supposed to be peaceful,” Thistle countered. “Danger, whether we like it or not, comes with the life that we have chosen.”
“Ah, the mighty adventurers, journeying across the lands. Yet, in all my travels, I can’t say I’ve ever met any others quite like you five.” Fritz looked down at Thistle, an unmistakable twinkle in her eye. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“I will happily answer that question, my fine trader, if you can tell me why it is I’m certain I know you, and yet have no memory of your face.”
For the first time since Thistle or any of the others had met her, Fritz appeared visibly taken aback. Her eyes narrowed, and for an instant, the playful mask of the traveling elf slipped away. In that moment, Thistle could see the true mind at work, and he found himself unexpectedly intimidated.
“You, brave paladin, have either led a very interesting life or possess a will harder than iron.”
“Likely the former over the latter,” Thistle replied. “Shall we let it rest there, then? I mean you no ill will, and in fact would be happy to count you as a friend, if you would have me.”
A smile bloomed on Fritz’s face, and, with that, she was back to her usual self. Like glimpsing a crocodile swimming in a lake, though, the vanished threat didn’t change what one knew was there. Still, as she stuck out her hand, Thistle accepted the gesture, for he’d meant his words. Fritz was someone he would like to have as an ally, especially if his other option was an enemy.
“We are friends, Thistle. You and I, and all the others as well. Friends who trust one another and would never needlessly speak behind the other’s back.”
“That is a cornerstone of friendship,” Thistle agreed.
Their hands parted, and they began walking once more. Soon, Talcia and Ferdy were in view, the elder of the two waving his staff about as he finished the last of his incantations. As the air around him began to flicker—a hole in space opening up in the soft dirt of a barren corn field—Fritz glanced at Thistle one last time.
“A word of caution to a friend: Even for a paladin, making enemies of gods is a dangerous game. Do not assume Kalzidar will take your slight lightly. Always keep your guard up, always be at the ready. What you have, your odd little family, is more precious than you can possibly know. There is no shortage of people and monsters in this world that would take it from you.”
“Aye, that’s a lesson I’ve already learned once.” Thistle tilted his head back in the direction of the inn, where the others were likely slurping down warm bowls of delicious soup, the afternoon heat be damned. “I’ll give everything I have to keep them safe.”
“Then it seems, Thistle the paladin, that you are a good friend to have.” Fritz stepped away from the gnome, walking over to Talcia and Ferdy, the latter of which greeted her with a glare. They turned and gave one last wave before stepping into the glowing doorway. Moments later, it vanished, leaving only the corn field, and Fritz’s warning, behind.
Thistle began his walk through the village of the undead, back to the inn where his party was waiting.
Other Novels by Drew Hayes
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About the Author
Drew Hayes is an author from Texas who has now found time and gumption to publish a few books. He graduated from Texas Tech with a B.A. in English, because evidently he's not familiar with what the term "employable" means. Drew has been called one of the most profound, prolific, and talented authors of his generation, but a table full of drunks will say almost anything when offered a round of free shots. Drew feels kind of like a D-bag writing about himself in the third person like this. He does appreciate that you're still reading, though.
Drew would like to sit down and have a beer with you. Or a cocktail.
He's not here to judge your preferences. Drew is terrible at being serious, and has no real idea what a snippet biography is meant to convey anyway. Drew thinks you are awesome just the way you are. That part, he meant. You can reach Drew with questions or movie offers at [email protected] Drew is off to go high-five random people, because who doesn't love a good high-five? No one, that's who.
Read or purchase more of his work at his site: DrewHayesNovels.com