"My name is Axel Rose, of the clan Guns and Roses," I said in my haughtiest voice.
"You will also relinquish the black fire weapon," he commanded. I noticed his hand went to his pommel.
This was new. My mind raced around for a witty remark but found none; I just said simply, "Molon Labe."
Interesting fact, Telethan's don't speak ancient Greek.
Even though he was ignorant of Spartan speak, he did get the idea.
"Relinquish the weapon now, or I will be forced to arrest you!" he yelled, this time loud enough for the other's to hear. He placed his hand on the hilt of his own sword.
When I came to Teletha, I tried my hardest to find a way back home. Two months yielded no results at all. I soon found that the only thing separating the average peasant and me was my M4. I wasn't a lord, held no land, and had very few connections. I had a little prestige for being the warrior that killed the Archmage, but that prestige and a clack will get you an ale.
My M4 was everything. So I wasn't going to let anyone get their hands on it. I needed to de-escalate the situation.
"I am the warrior! I slayed," I said, pausing a moment, was it slew? "The Archmage! I will relinquish knives and swords, but it will be a cold day in hell before I give up my carbine!"
One of the unigals whispered to his comrade, "Five thousand clacks isn't worth nothin' if we dead."
The pentagal glared at his subordinate.
The unigal rebuffed, took a step back and tightened the grip on his spear.
There were seven guards in total. They were set up for a standard patrol, four spears, two axes, and one sword. The pentagal was the only one mounted, and as such, was the greatest danger, although all of them posed a threat. A spear could kill me just as easily as a bullet if I got hit with it.
Seven to one is not good odds, especially at the range we were. I didn't want to get in a melee, and I sure as hell didn't want to shoot any more bullets.
"Pentagal, I will give you and your men an opportunity to live this day," I said, trying to sound gracious."Leave, and pretend like you didn't see me, and I will move on and tell no one of this encounter, but I swear by my pretty floral bonnet if your sword is drawn, I will end you."
A little look of confusion hit his face, as there was no obvious floral bonnet.
Let me explain, one of my guilty pleasures is a show that is revered by people who can't get laid, called Firefly. It's cowboys in space, and I love it. Don't judge; I'm not some fucking nerd.
I'm not going to lie; I gave myself a one percent chance of that working. I honestly thought I was going to have to kill a bunch of guards. Lucky for me, they were intimidated.
"Bigals, take your men in standard formation and head out," the pentagal said, staring daggers at me.
I let out a silent but heartfelt sigh of relief.
I kept my eye on the patrol as they started heading back towards Teletha. Once they were over a hill, I moved the carriage closer to the road.
I found Cloy, a bow in her hand with an arrow knocked.
"I thought for sure they would try to arrest you," she said, concerned.
"Hashtag me too," I said.
She looked at me funny, and then her eyes swept my new ride.
"The oraks had that?" she asked half-rhetorically.
"Sure did," I replied, and then took my ACH off and jumped down. "Gave me a great deal on it too. Twenty-five percent APR, and all I had to show them was my LES. Gave me a hundred dollar military discount!"
She ignored my statement, as she was getting used to my apparent nonsensical banter.
"I see no markings," she said, walking around the coach. Her hands delicately rubbed against the black lacquered wood. "I've never seen such a magnificent carriage."
As she made her way towards the back, I heard a loud exclamation, "Donker's dick!" Cloy screamed.
I ran back, my weapon raised. I thought maybe a guard had snuck around, or perhaps I missed an orak.
Cloy just stood there smiling a smile that didn't touch her eyes. The fake grin was perfectly juxtaposed against extremely angry eyes.
"What?" I asked in pure bewilderment. I had heard Cloy curse, but never in such a way, and never using one of my profane outbursts.
"Hmm?" she asked, walking towards the front.
"What happened?" I asked again.
"What do you mean?" she said, walking briskly towards me.
I turned to follow her, "You cursed?" I explained.
"No, I didn't," she said.
I knew she was lying but had no idea as to why.
"Yes, you did," I said, not wanting to drop the subject. If there was an issue, I needed to know about it.
"Perhaps it was the wind," she mused, climbing up to the seat.
I shook my head and let it go. I followed her up and hit the reins so Rover would head down the road.
Rover, for his part, looked back at me with frustration.
"Do you see other horses?" I asked while gesturing to the surrounding area.
He neighed loudly in disgust.
"Look, dude, I wish I had some horses to relieve you, but you're stuck pulling the wagon until we can find something," I explained.
As if the day couldn't get any worse, I heard the unmistakable battle cry of two oraks charging from the direction of the camp.
The pig men were assaulting fast on two of the largest horses I had ever seen. Both oraks carried long spears that I knew they used as lances. They were obviously not friendly and were probably on their way to reclaim the carriage and settle the debt of blood.
Unlucky for them, they started their warcry at least two hundred meters out, and I guessed I had about ten seconds before they were on top of us.
I raised my M4 and tucked the stock firmly into my shoulder. Using the top of the carriage to support the front of my weapon, I took aim at the left raider. Rotating the selector to semi, I let out my breath. At the natural pause between the exhale and inhale, I pulled the trigger.
The first orak slumped and then fell from his horse. The round had penetrated his neck, and I guessed it severed his spine.
The second orak was considerably closer as I picked up his image in my ACOG.
Once again, going through the slow-motion of basic marksmanship, I aimed right at the center of mass. My weapon was zeroed at two hundred meters, which meant that aiming center of mass at a target at one hundred meters would put the round somewhere above his chest, but still beneath his head.
Squeezing the trigger, the round flew violently from the barrel.
The orak on top of the galloping horse was on the bottom of the little hops that horses make when they run.
The round hit the orak straight in the mouth and sprayed a nice red mist behind the horse, painting the grass with his blood.
I put the carbine back on semi and switched magazines.
I collected my brass and then looked at Cloy. "How cool is that!" I said happily.
The horses were still charging towards us when their riders fell, but they stopped short of the wagon and began to eat the grass.
Cloy, for some reason, just seemed angry and concerned but said nothing.
"This explains why they had a carriage and no horses. These dumbasses were probably out riding," I said, walking towards the first one.
Cloy sat and pouted? Brooded? I gotta be honest; I just don't understand women at all.
The horses had no saddles and no tack. In fact, they had no markings at all.
"Shouldn't there be a brand or something? Like a mark to show what royalty or merchant this thing belonged to?" I asked Cloy.
She finally spoke up, "They won't have a brand," she said tersely.
I put my hands up and gestured, "Well, excuse the fuck out of me," I whispered under my breath.
She didn't get down to assist me, and I didn't ask. Within ten minutes, I had the horses attached to the carriage, and Rover detached and saddled.
"See," I whispered to him, "I told you I would get
you out of that."
He nuzzled me and had the look of pure innocence as if he hadn't been an asshole just a few moments before.
I kissed him on his nose and then made my way back up to the top of the carriage.
Cloy still had a pissed off look on her face.
"What?" I asked.
She just turned her head from me and looked out at the landscape.
Not wanting to miss an opportunity to show how much of a bitch she was being, I asked, "Would thou highness care to take her trip in the compartment?"
She looked back at me, glared daggers.
Realizing I was making the situation worse for myself, I looked straight ahead; eyes intently focused on the road.
Channeling my inner cowboy, I hit the reigns and yelled, "Get along, little doggie!"
The carriage lurched, and we started down the road before I pulled the reins hard and brought the wagon to a stop.
Cloy looked over at me in curiosity.
"Where are the women we rescued?" I asked, suddenly realizing I hadn't seen them?
"I gave them forty clacks and bid them head towards Teletha. They will find another cohort around the city, and start a new life," she said as if it were a perfectly normal thing.
"Are they going to be OK? I mean, their entire family just…" I let the sentence hang, not wanting to reopen wounds or breathe life into the pain.
"This thing happens more often than it should, but the Telenathi are strong. They will survive," she said, a tinge of respect in her voice.
"One time is more often than it should!" I exclaimed.
A hint of a smile briefly visited her lips, "Don't think about them, and focus on your path. The best way to help them is to help yourself," she said with grandmotherly wisdom.
Have I mentioned how fucking confusing Cloy was? She was needy, then immature, then mature, then reckless, then wise. I could not get a read on her.
Shaking my head slightly, I hit the reins again and started down the road towards gnomeland.
Chapter 15
The night was calm and surprisingly warm. Wisps of clouds could be traced underneath the bright starlight.
The camp was made, with a small fire in a pit a couple of feet underneath the surface. All three horses were grazing, and Rover seemed to accept the other large animals into his herd. It didn't hurt that the other two were female.
Dinner was finished, and Cloy and I were sitting against a log by ourselves, looking at the flickering fire in the hole.
She seemed to finally be cheering up a little, and not wanting to ruin the mood, I pulled out one of the waterskins that were transformed into a mini-keg.
"You about ready to be amazed?" I asked.
The waterskin was surprisingly cold to the touch I noticed, as I handed it to her.
"Water is amazing?" she asked, taking the skin.
"It's ale!" I exclaimed, but not too loudly.
She took a sip, and her face brightened noticeably, "It's still cold."
"No bullshit," I started, "It was literally pouring from a tree in the center of the orak camp."
She handed the skin back to me, with a look of disgust on her face.
Not sure how the fuck I offended her this time, I got defensive, "What the hell is your problem, Cloy?"
Anger turned to frustration and then remorse. "I'm sorry, I truly am," she apologized.
I was never around women as an adult, and I had heard that the finer of the species could exhibit some severe mood changes based on lunar cycles. I was told by my numerous married counterparts that the best method for dealing with such events is to touch them, but don't touch them too much. Talk to them and tell them they are appreciated unless they don't want to talk. Make them dinner, but make sure it's something they want. And as a final act of desperation, throw chocolate and wine at them and run.
I had no chocolate, but I had ale. She apparently didn't want the ale. We already ate dinner. I was close enough to speak with her and touch her should she desire, but not so close as to be violating her space.
I let out a long sigh and upended the skin. After four gulps, and half the skin was gone, I took a deep breath and let out a long and not very quiet belch.
I was over it.
I was polite but received no respect in return. I was only to being favored with ingratitude.
"That was well brought up, too bad you weren't," Cloy said playfully.
I looked at her with amazement.
"You just quoted," I stopped myself. The thought was absurd.
She reached over and snatched the skin from my hands, and finished the rest of it in one long shot.
I stared at her in faux disbelief.
She placed a fist over her mouth and let out the quietest and most polite feminine belch imaginable.
"That is how a proper person does it," she said with a fake snooty accent.
Finally, getting some playfulness from my companion, I decided to join in the charade, "Yes, brava, my lady brava," I commented, trying to make my best impression of Winston Churchill.
We both laughed a little, and a moment later, I realized her hand was surreptitiously on my wrist.
I pretended not to notice. I'm not going to lie, Cloy was pretty, and I was lonely, but I did not want to have an awkward trip to gnomeland, or worse, her to leave. I treasured her companionship, more than I treasured the idea of getting laid.
Still in my right mind, and not letting the alcohol control my movements, I decided if there was to be the first move, it would be done by her, not me.
I sat back against the log and let the laughter die naturally.
She leaned back too, and we both let a long moment pass between us, before she finally spoke, "Tell me about your lands," she said.
She was not the first person to ask me, nor would she be last, I wagered. I had once tried to talk up a busty barmaid by boasting about all the wondrous technologies and inventions from Earth, but she thought I was just making shit up. Since then, I pretty much kept to myself. I decided that Cloy had earned a little trust and respect, and therefore I would tell her. Also, the beer had lubricated my brain enough.
I went into a long explanation of the wonders of modern society. Cars, airplanes, and the internet were just a few examples I touched on.
Cloy sat with a wide-eyed admiration and beckoned me to continue and didn't interrupt until I spoke about society.
"So, there is no crime?" she asked.
"Huh?" I asked back, "Why would you think that?"
"You said everyone has food and a home," she said.
"Yeah, everyone in my country has that," I said and then added, "Most everyone. There are homeless people, but they are usually drug addicts or have mental issues. It's very rare for someone to be homeless for a long time who doesn't want to be," I explained.
"So only a little crime," she said.
"No, actually, a lot of places have some pretty bad crime," I told her.
"I see," she said, "The homeless and the hungry live in those places."
"Actually there isn't too much crime from those people. It's usually just inner-city or meth counties," I said.
She cocked her head at me, "Why?"
I only had half an understanding of why people who had a roof over their heads or food in their mouths committed a crime. I want to reiterate that what Cloy meant about crime was your basic stuff, like murder, rape, and robbery, not your bullshit ones like downloading movies from Piratebay or whatever the kids are doing these days.
"I really don't know," I said, "I think the biggest motivator is envy."
"Envy," she repeated.
"Sure, someone has something you want, so instead of working to get it, or you know, just accepting that you can't have it, you just take it," I said.
She nodded in understanding, and then asked, "How would you change it if you could?"
I shrugged. America had its ups and downs, but it was better than any country I had visited. That included Japan, Ireland, and Swit
zerland.
"I don't know, maybe a VAT instead of income tax?" I guessed.
She looked at me, weirdly.
I didn't want to explain the difference between the two, especially when Telethan's only paid taxes on their establishments and trade. You paid taxes at the gates, and taxes at your bar, but if you didn't have a building and weren't moving stuff in and out of the city, you kept all your coin.
"What about Teletha?" she asked.
Teletha was a shithole, and worse yet, it was unfair. I had so many ideas on Teletha, but no way to implement them.
"First things first, that racism bullshit has got to go. Gnomes paying extra taxes, halflings not allowed in certain bars, oraks have to be unarmed," I paused for a moment realizing the fights I had just been in, "All that shit has to go."
I was on a roll, "People get to worship whoever the fuck they please. Don't like Donker, don't worship him. Wanna worship a magical unicorn who farts rainbows; I give a fuck."
"I'd also get some sewers going, cause Teletha fucking stinks. It smells like shit and piss twenty-four-seven," I said, getting into my rant properly.
"Nobility," I said, jumping to a different problem, "gone. No more being born into a different set of rules. One set of rules for everyone. Equal protection under the law!" I said, feeling a bit of patriotism well up in me.
"Innocent until proven guilty by a jury of your peers!" I exclaimed, reciting justice catchphrases.
The alcohol was taking effect hard again somehow because I was starting to pour my heart out.
"Women, men, human, elf; doesn't fucking matter! Equality! Freedom of speech! Right to bear arms. Something about housing soldiers!" I said, listing off the Bill of Rights.
"You are a true warrior for society and justice," she said softly, and then amended, "A social justice warrior!"
I came down hard and deflated, "Nope, no, no, no, no, no," I said, wagging a finger in front of her, "Do not call me that!"
She looked perplexed.
"A warrior for society and justice is fine, just not the other thing," I said sternly.
"But are you not a," she started.
I promptly put my finger to her lips and gave her a stern look, "Shhhh," I said.
She mumbled through my finger, "OK."
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