Biltong was a thing in Teletha, and whenever I left the city, I ensured I had several pounds of it. Before long, I had a slice of jerky the size of my arm in front of me. I ripped off a strip and tossed it to Sulky.
She greedily ate.
I sighed, "I'm sorry I was mean to you. How did I ruin your life?" My apology was half-hearted, but I tried to make it sound at least a little sincere.
"When the Archmage died," she started, "we celebrated like the rest. We knew he was evil. Knew he was terrible to those unlucky enough to cross him or that evil paladin."
It wasn't the first time someone had mentioned the paladin, but I had never seen him. I worried about it at first, but six months of nothing had made me a little complacent.
"And?" I asked before taking another bite.
"We soon found out that the Archmage, for all his evils, kept the worse things at bay," she said.
"Yeah, I've been told crime has gone up in the city," I commented.
I could hear anger and poison in her voice, "Whole towns were ransacked by oraks! A whole tribe came into my village and," she paused.
She didn't need to finish; I knew the story. It was the same everywhere. Kill an asshole, and one hundred other assholes jump up to prove how much more of an asshole than can be.
"Sorry," I said sincerely.
"Did you even think?" she asked.
I waited for a moment to collect my thoughts. I never really told anyone about how it happened or why. The truth was it was more an accident than anything.
"No," I finally admitted. "But, from what I understand, that piece of shit deserved what he got."
"But I didn't, and neither did my dad," she said.
Even though EENT had hit, I could tell she had tears in her eyes.
I leaned back against my plate carrier and stared up at the sky. There was no Big Dipper, no Orion, and no Polaris. There were three moons that always traveled along the same path, at the same distance from each other: one big earth-like moon, and two other ones about one-tenth the size following in its wake. I was still having trouble believing I was there.
What could I do except say sorry?
A chill hit as the last remaining warmth of the day fled. Rover came near me and laid down, curling up almost dog-like.
I stood up, woobie in hand, and walked over to where Cloy had curled into a ball. I gingerly put my woobie over her.
"I'll want that back," I said.
Once again, I was on the grass, my back propped against my pack and plate carrier. I slowly started to nod off, before hearing a quiet, "Thank you," from across the way.
Chapter 11
I'm not a heavy sleeper, so when the scratching from my horse nibbling at a piece of grass woke me up, I was not shocked. The fact that my sulking acquaintance, my bounty, the horse, and my fucking woobie were gone, did, in fact, shock me.
After a brief inventory, I determined nothing else was missing. I also determined that I had no idea how to track a horse among a thousand different hoof prints on the road.
The bounty was worth five hundred clacks, which is a tidy sum of quatloo.
My woobie, however, well, my woobie is priceless.
I was raised properly in the fine town of Opelika, Alabama, and momma always told me not to hit women, but in my opinion, any woman that steals a man's poncho liner is not a woman at all and is in definite need of an ass-whooping.
In minutes I was on my way back to Teletha.
The whole ride back, I had red in my eyes.
"What type of sick bitch takes a woobie?" I asked Rover.
He shook his head, empathizing with me.
Before too long, I approached the walled city.
The large singular tower jutted straight up from the center like some sort of Farquaadian masterpiece.
"Welcome back, warrior," a guard in blue and white livery said.
I stopped my horse and nodded to him, and then asked, "Have you seen a woman on a black mare, with an orak head, come through here recently?"
He cocked his head and replied, "Aye, come through here, naught a tenth sky prior."
I clenched my jaw and hit my horses flank. Two hours. She could be anywhere.
"You're a good man Jorgo," I called behind me.
The road, like all roads in Teletha, were covered in flat stone, with half-pipe culverts edging the main thoroughfare. Waste and water were thrown into the street as shop owners and housewives alike cleaned from the night before. It smelled like Afghanistan.
The Catcher's Guild wasn't far from the gate I entered, and that was likely the bitches first stop.
I turned down the various alleys and sideroads until I arrived at the Knight's Lance.
As I turned, I saw a saddeless mare hitched alone to a post.
I once again grabbed my M4, which I seriously needed to name, checked the chamber, and walked into the bar.
"Hey, James," the guard greeted me.
I nodded to him, anger welling up in me.
I pushed through the door and took stock of the room. Sitting at a table in the far corner were Cloy and Pardo.
Her back was to me, but I recognized her raven hair.
Without turning around, she said, "I told you the warrior would return."
"Very well, Cloy," Pardo said, pushing the stack of coins across the table.
This was obviously not the reaction I had expected, so I was mildly taken off guard.
"Master," Confusing said, "As requested, I have collected your fee plus the thirty extra clacks for bringing the head back in a timely manner."
I attempted to mouth something in response, but words escaped me. "Cool," I finally said.
"Master, I also have two baths being drawn with the fresh essence of flowers, an elven masseuse for you, as requested, and of course a fresh meal of fruits," she said, finally turning towards me. "Was there anything else you desire?"
Her face was still bruised and bloodied, but her demeanor had changed considerably.
I stood there, agape. I was agaped, and in my agapedness I had almost no response.
"Great!" I said and gave her two of the dumbest thumbs up I could possibly give.
I would normally give you the details of the elfish massage, but I want to keep the story focused on the fight, and not my sexual prowess. Needless to say, if you have never received an elfish massage, I highly recommend it. The closest thing I can think of is Nuru. Children at home, don't google that.
Fast forward almost a full sky, and I was downstairs, belly full, pocket full, and sitting next to a very strange and not as annoying young woman as I thought.
The Knight's Lance was packed with an array of single and married men, all attempting to drink the night away, and except for the staff, Cloy was the only woman in the bar.
Every night at the Knight's Lance was a party. That night, a single minstrel with a lute or ukelele sang ditties, in what I imagine was the Telethan equivalent of pop.
"One day, I'm going to introduce you people to rock," I said to my beer.
"We know what rocks are, James," Cloy said.
I hadn't realized she was sitting across from me.
"Kevin," I corrected her.
"Hmm?" she inquired. Kevin was a waspy name, not something common to Teletha.
"Kevin is my name. Not James Bond," I said.
I'm not sure why I was opening up. I never corrected any of the other bar patrons before. I was just incredibly relaxed, and a little nostalgic for actual adult company.
"Oh, did you have a false name because you were afraid the Archmage's minions would hunt you down?" she asked.
"No, I just," I had no idea how to tell someone who had never seen a movie, why I would tell everyone my name was James Bond, or that I was trying to remain a little incognito. "Anyway," I said, attempting to segway to the next subject, "Thanks for all that stuff you did."
"Was no trouble at all, Kevin," she said, smiling at me.
She was no longer covered in blood, and save for
the small gash on her nose; there was no apparent damage. Her hair was black as tar, and I hadn't noticed it before, but her eyes were light purple, like lavender.
"You're actually quite beautiful," I said, and then quickly checked myself. I didn't say crap like that.
"And you are starting to get drunk," she responded.
"I've had three gulps of this warm piss," I retorted.
She smiled again, and then asked, "How old are you?"
"Twenty-six years old," I replied without thinking.
"So young?" she asked.
"On Earth, our years are considerably longer than yours," I responded, once again, without thinking. It was as if the words just verbally vomited with no interjection of my brain.
I hit the side of my head, "Brain hurty."
"Earth? Is that where you are from?" she asked.
"Yes," I responded instantly.
The pub grew quiet, and I realized that Cloy and I were the only two in conversation. It was strange that the music had stopped.
"Are you a demon?" she asked, seriously.
"No," I said without quip or explanation.
"Human?" she asked.
"Yes," I responded shortly once again.
"How did you kill the Archmage," she asked, staring into my eyes.
Had I not noticed how amazing her crystal blue eyes were? "I put two rounds in his head."
"Why are you here?" she said, gazing intently at me with those beautiful emerald orbs.
"Who the fuck knows," I said.
In a flash, the pub came back to life, and the music began playing again.
Cloy still sat across from me, her brown eyes looking at me intently. She was tense, as if ready to bolt.
"Hooves, balls, and mouth, what the hell was that?" I cursed. I was very proud of cursing proficiency. I was slowly graduating from a P to a T.
"What was what?" she replied coyly.
"Oh, don't play Cloy with me," I said, giggling at my own pun.
She rolled her eyes and immediately changed the subject, "What's next?"
In the past, I would have pressed the argument, but now I just wanted to relax. "Now I hire a guide," I said.
"A guide?" she asked, "For what?"
"Nosy aren't you," I said.
She reached up and touched her nose and then frowned.
I'm not sure if it was the drink, the massage, or the fact that I found my woobie folded and cleaned on my bed, but I figured I give the girl the old college try, "I've been told there are some caves out there that have some little dudes who can replicate almost anything metal."
"Dwarves or gnomes?" she asked, sitting back and grabbing her crystal goblet of neon pink liquid.
"What in the hell are you drinking?" I asked, staring at the nineties throwback drink resting in her chalice. It looked like someone took a highlighter and squeezed it into a wine glass.
"Fey wine," she said.
"Looks sweet," I said, leaning in closer to examine the drink that I was pretty sure belonged under some black lights with idiots dancing on ecstasy.
"Quite the contrary," she said a hint of a strange accent touching her lips, "It is sour."
"Oh, you gotta let me try that," I said, reaching for the glass.
She recoiled at my approach and held the glass close to her chest, "No! Are you crazy? This is fey wine!"
"Yeah, you mentioned that," I said, reaching for the glass.
She shook her head and finally acquiesced.
I barely remembered taking a sip.
Chapter 12
Have you ever slept on a picnic bench? Like slumped over on one? Yeah, it sucks.
I awoke in the Knight's Lance, my M4 pulling down on my right shoulder, with the barrel gently scraping against the wooden floor. A pool of drool covered my hands, exactly where my face was resting.
"What the," I said slowly, gaining consciousness.
"Good morning, Kevin," I heard from a chipper voice behind me.
The smell of fresh bacon, spiced potatoes, and warm bread filled the air.
A wooden plate was placed in front of me as I sat up. Promptly a spear and a knife were placed in either hand. A second later, a wooden mug of dark breakfast beer appeared behind the plate.
"I can get used to this," I said, spearing a potato and tossing it in my mouth.
"We didn't get a chance to continue our conversation," Cloy said, sitting across from me, the same as she had done the night before.
The bar room was empty, and I saw the sun starting to peek through the windows.
"Were we even having a conversation?" I asked, mouth full of the tuber.
"We were speaking about how you are going to free the people of Teletha from all tyranny, setup a Murican' government, and liberate the," she paused a moment, "I think you said, the fuck out of people, because of freedom and shit."
I chuckled a little and took a swig of my beer.
"What's so funny?" she asked seriously.
"Nothing," I said, and let out a slight belch. "I just get a little overly patriotic when I drink."
"A great philosopher once said, 'In beer there is boasting, in wine there is love, but in the drink of the fey, lies nothing but your deepest truths,'" she quoted.
"Benjamin Franklin once said, 'In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is freedom, in water there is bacteria,'" I replied.
"I'm not sure what bacteria is," she started, "but it seems as if good wisdom is true regardless of the world from which you came."
Immediately a glimpse of the night came back to me, "Hey, what the fuck! I've never told you where I came from!"
"You were drinking," she said smiling, and then added, "a lot."
I eyed her with suspicion but decided to change the subject.
"Anyway, what are you gonna do now?" I said, genuinely interested.
"What do you mean?" she replied innocently.
"I mean, what are you going to do now that you are back in Teletha. Like, are you going to open a shop or something?" I asked, grabbing another potato.
"Are you asking for advice?" she looked back cocking her head.
"No," I said a little frustrated, "What," I enunciated every word, "are, you, going, to, do?"
She replied back in the exact same tone and rhythm, "What, do, you, want, to, do?"
I looked at her angrily.
She sat with a cherubic smile and wide innocent brown eyes.
"You know, I've never been married, never had a serious girlfriend, but I feel like you should be my ex," I said, grabbing a piece of bacon with my hands and devouring it instantly.
She just smiled.
"You know what's weird?" I mused.
"What?" she asked.
"Why is there bacon here? I mean, why are there horses? Why is this like a Lord of the Rings place? It makes no sense. I'm on a different fucking planet, and half the shit here is identical to Earth," I said, trying to answer a question that had boggled my mind since I landed here.
"The gods play their games as we play ours," she said.
"I hate platitudes. Like Sergeant Rod always said, 'It is what it is.' Like no shit," I ranted.
"There are great mysteries in the universe, and we know very few," she explained, "But the gods know more, and their workings are difficult to predict."
"It's too early for this," I said and proceeded to scarf down the rest of my food and beer.
Cloy looked on with bemusement as I finished the meal like a ranger student finished some contraband pogey bait.
I stood up, grabbed my bag full of clacks, and strode out the door.
"Where are we headed?" Clingy said.
"Alchemist," I said without further explanation.
She followed.
I stepped over the stream of muck and took a hard right towards the stables. After checking on Rover and slipping him the Teletha equivalent of an apple, I made my way to what I designated as Beverly Hills, but everyone else just called Hill Crest.
People recognized me, an
d some gave the standard greeting while others pulled their children away, fearing I might rain down fiery retribution or maybe turn them into a newt.
I turned a corner onto the large thoroughfare that bisected the city and was halted by a mass of citizens and peasants, apparently enamored by a street preacher.
Prophets, philosophers, con men, and street vendors would often garner the attention of the bored and curious.
"Bigger crowd than usual," I remarked.
"Wait," she said, grabbing my arm, "I know that voice."
The voice in question was a pleasing baritone, like the guy who did the Allstate Commercials. Honestly, it was hard not to listen to him.
"Demand from the council; demand that they prostrate themselves before Bolokbal, and all will be forgiven. Security will be provided. The famine will lift, and Bolokbal will once again bless this land," he yelled.
"I've met Donker, and Brykon," I turned to Cloy, "But who is Bolokbal?" I asked.
"Do not speak the dark one's name," she said, pushing her thumb to the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes, and giving the necessary slight nod.
I rolled my eyes, "Well, he just said it," I said, pointing at the center of the mass, where I assumed a charismatic black actor stood.
"He is the Voice to Mortals," she said, doing the same sign of protection.
"And I will ensure a measure of grain to each family every day," he declared.
Whispers and acknowledgments ran rampant through the crowd.
"All those that place the seal of Bolokbal on their door will receive a reprieve from the coiner's rate, and a stipend of salt in addition to their measure of wheat," he said to more murmurs and whispers.
"Sounds like empty promises," I said and started to walk off.
"He is evil incarnate," she said, and then to slam her point home, "He sacrificed the High Priest's daughters, only six months back."
I vaguely recalled some weird crap like that when I first arrived.
"Not my circus, not my clowns," I said.
"Please?" she begged, fear in her voice.
Did I mention I'm a sucker for humans of the feminine variety?
"Were your lives not better, when Bolokbal protected the town?" he declared to the crowd.
"What does he mean?" I asked Cloy, already knowing the answer.
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