There was muted laughter. Snorts.
‘At least three of them, possibly four.’ Donalt thought.
‘Well you know what, we might be taking you up on that, mate,’ the voice growled with sarcasm and hostility, ‘but first of all we’ll be takin a look in your packs and seein what treasures you’ve been filchin.’
‘I’m not a…’ Donalt began, but ‘not a thief’ never made it past his lips as a blow struck the back of his head and forced him to his knees.
He managed to keep his wits about him as he had been fully prepared for such a move. Despite the shock and the dizziness, he made sure not to drop the roots and instead squeezed them with an even tighter grip.
‘Tie this bastard up.’ The gruff voice shouted. ‘Search his packs.’
Donalt feigned confusion and sickness, rolling his head from side to side, a simple ploy, the spreading bruising on his neck was only an inconvenience. What he needed to do was gauge the number and strength of his attackers.
‘He ain’t got much.’ One of the men complained in a nasal voice. ‘Just the usual thief shit.’
‘I’m not a…’ Donalt started, but a boot into his side cut his protest short. ‘Oof.’
‘At least he’s got a cow. Which means we’ve got grub. Maybe he’s a just a farmer.’ Another said.
‘He’s no farmer.’ The gruff voice snarled. This one was definitely The Boss of the group, ‘he’s a fucking thief and he’s got to have some gems, or coin somewhere.’
A hand grabbed Donalt roughly by his jerkin at the back of his neck and hauled him to a seated position, facing the fire.
A debate followed. Having searched the packs, the men decided that they had clearly caught the thief after he had buried his swag. Donalt stopped trying to protest at their accusations. He was a Rogue, not a thief, there was not only a world of difference in his CV to that of a thief they also had completely different guilds.
He didn’t blame them for having a go. He would have stolen the gold from their teeth as they slept if he needed the coin, but they were about to do something that wasn’t going to be well received at all.
At present they thought there was only him at the camp. This made sense. Francis had no saddle as its thick woolly hide was very comfortable for Andreton, and he had taken his only weapon with him, plus he never carried a pack. He was too lazy. So, there was nothing to suggest a second person unless you had seen him. These lads were victims of timing.
‘Fellas.’ Donalt said, bracing for a further kick. None came, and he appeared to have their attention. ‘Listen I know what you are thinking of doing to Fra… to the cow, but honestly, if I were you, I wouldn’t.’
‘What’s that?’ One of the men said, he came quickly over to Donalt and peered down at him. ‘You pissed that we’re going to eat your stolen cow, thief?’
Donalt did not look directly at the man so as to pretend at least some level of fear. Meanwhile his hands slowly worked their way out of the leather bonds securing his wrists. The oil of the Ladies Lace roots smothering his skin and easing the process.
‘The thing is right,’ Donalt said, ‘that animal is more of a family pet. He’s much loved and if you hurt him, you’ll probably regret it.’
There was silence for a moment, and then the men burst out laughing. One of them approached Donalt, flourishing a large knife with a wicked edge.
‘Tell ye what, thief, you better have a good think about where you’ve stashed your swag.’ He leaned down with the knife pointed towards Donalt’s nose.
‘Cos when we’ve had ourselves a decent steak dinner we’re going to be talking to you a little more… pointedly.’
The man smiled, delighted with himself at his wit. He looked back to his companions to see if they had heard his wonderful banter. He grimaced. They hadn’t. All of their attention was on the Steppe-beast. They weren’t sure how to kill it.
‘It’ll take a week to cut through this hide.’ The Boss said, prodding the beast’s flank.
One of the gang stepped forward, pulled a dagger from his waist, brought it up high and then plunged it down into the Steppe-beasts neck. Francis shuffled a little. The gang member, a small rat-like man whose name was Big Barry because ironic names were a thing with many gangs, stared at his dagger. It hadn’t pierced the things skin. He looked closely where he had struck. Not even a scratch.
‘Fucking hell. What’s it made of. My old mam’s callouses weren’t that tough.’
The Boss pushed him aside, ‘You din’t have a mum Barry, you was dropped out of a rat’s arse.’
The men all laughed. The Boss delivered top banter.
Big Barry frowned, then shuffled away.
‘We’ll just tie its legs and build a fire under it. Barbecue.’ The Boss said. We’ll need a big pile, so get cracking.
The men murmured in agreement. The Boss was top at on-the-road cuisine.
‘Parsley! Leave that wanker alone, get kindling.’ The man who had threatened Donalt gave him a filthy look.
‘I’ll be having a word with you shortly, thief.’ He said, then sloped off, shoulders slumped.
‘Bazzer, grab some rope and get this thing trussed up. No way we’re fucking moving it so we’ll torch it where it’s standing.’
‘Right Boss.’
Donalt watched them all get busy with their tasks and maintained a neutral expression. It was amazing to him that bands like this, of pillaging, murdering, cut-throats were so disdainful of thievery as a profession, not that he was a thief but
because they were all rough-tough lads, born on the streets, former soldiers or mercenaries and called themselves Bandits, or Rough Riders or Marauders, they could look down on ‘common thieves.’
He had looked up the word Bandit in the Great Dictionary of Trestfall, it had read:
‘a thief with a weapon, especially one belonging to a group that attacks people travelling through the countryside.’
Which had seemed odd. Because a thief without a weapon was usually called an accountant. His bonds slipped from him. The oil from the Ladies Lace having eased their passage over his hands. He flexed his fingers, made fists behind his back to make sure the circulation into his wrists and hands was back on form. He had already heard Andreton approach.
The big man had moved when the men had begun to laugh. Despite his size the Steppe-lander could move with the stealth of a cat and it took ears attenuated to hearing the scuffs and crackles of brushed leaves and broken twigs to anticipate his arrival.
‘Right now,’ Donalt thought, ‘Andy’s going to be annoyed, and pretty soon he’s going to be engulfed in an all-encompassing red-mist of berserk violence. Probably best if I make my move as soon as he makes his.’
When it happened, it would happen fast. Donalt risked a glance behind him. He saw a shadow with too many curves to be the outline of a swaying tree flit to the side. Yes. It was time to leave.
‘Er… gents.’ He called out to the gang as they went about their tasks. ‘Gentlemen!’
The Boss half-turned, his hands were on his hips as he watched the kindling being piled under Francis. Some of the others looked around too.
‘Pipe down thief. I’ve scheduled you in for a meeting after supper.’
The men laughed again. The Boss really rocked the Bants.
‘Sorry, yes. But the thing is I’m going to have to leave in a second. It took me ages to get all the soot out of my clothes and to be perfectly honest I still smell a bit… smokey… I’m sure you can all appreciate that the last thing I want to is get soaked in your blood and gore, and brains, although with you lot I shouldn’t think the latter will cause to much of a problem.’
The men stared hard at Donalt. It took them a while to work through his statement. The Boss only ever spoke one sentence at a time so it was easy to follow. Parsley narrowed his eyes and his mouth opened as he unconsciously repeated the last few of Donalt’s words, his brain tussling with the concept of sarcasm when delivered from a victim.
‘
Heyyy,’ he said, pointing at Donalt and wagging his finger, the light dawning across the dull morning of his wit. ‘He’s takin the piss!’
‘Is he?’ The Boss asked cautiously, not used to ‘Banter’ working both ways.
‘Yeah! He’s sayin that when… er… yeah, when our eds explode that we er…’ Parsley thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he had this bit right. He ran through it and it felt on target, ‘Yeah. When our eds explode we, avin only tiny brains, wouldn’t make much of a mess, compared with our general blood and… you know, body stuff, which would be a more standard mess, I think.’
The Boss raised his eyebrows, and there was low mutter through the gang as they took this on-board.
‘Right.’ The Boss said. He looked at his men, they were all expecting a decent counter-bant from him. This was a big deal. He puffed out his chest and took a threatening step towards Donalt. ‘Yeah well, you… you… you can…’ he thought hard, then pointed, ‘you can fuck off…’ There was silence from the gang. Thinking quickly, he added, ‘Twat!’
The gang cheered.
The Boss was truly the King of Banter.
Andreton’s axe flew from the tree-line with such power that no arc was required, it was a straight-line trajectory of spinning death. It hit the Boss in his chest, lifted him from his feet and carried him over Francis and pinned him into the side of the hill’s rough dirt wall.
The gang turned their heads as one following the Bosses flight. Then, what could only be a giant, furless bear roared from the trees.
Stunned, the men could only gape at the oncoming figure. Inactivity breaking out like wildfire.
Then Parsley yelled, ‘Fuckin ell!’
Kindling was dropped and swords were scooped up from the floor. Donalt rolled backwards, rose to his feet, and looked for somewhere suitable, preferably on a higher level to watch the show.
Dorian and Felicity and Spyra
Dorian led Felicity through the forest to where his horse waited patiently chewing on the succulent grass carpeting the ground. She had listened to him ramble on for the whole journey. He had talked to her about the beauty of nature, of the harmony of the forest, the joy of sunrise and of contemplating the fading light of a sunset. She had asked him about Spyra of course, but the Blink Dog had been elusive, appearing for a moment just three or four feet away, and then vanishing in an instant.
He decided to describe to her how he had first encountered the little animal as the trek through the forest would be long and the horse couldn’t be galloped through it. He hoped that entertaining her with his tale might set her at ease after her terrible experience. He began as good story-tellers throughout the five realms always did, in italics.
He was eight years old. Fighting with his brothers in the glade, swinging at each other with their practice swords, fragile things made from the panels of fish crates and bound with string. It was his big brother Destain who had seen it first, he always had a keen eye no matter how occupied he was.
Destain had thought it was just a small Dog or a fox at first, as so many did when they caught a glimpse of the creature, but when he pointed it out to his brothers it was Dorian who recognised it.
‘It’s a Tyr-Wolf!’ Dorian had gasped. ‘They call them Blink Dogs in Tresfall.’
At this, and without hesitation Destain stepped forward to ensure he was between his siblings and the animal. His knowledge of Blink Dogs was the same as most others, that they were fast, smart and dangerous. He brought up his wooden sword and pointed it towards the approaching animal.
‘Back off Dog!’ He snarled.
Even though only twelve years old, Destain’s voice carried a strength and command that would only improve as he grew older.
The Dog had paused in its steady pace at this warning allowing the boys to get a good look at it. Its fur was thick but short and a subtle mix of a golden brown and white. Ears that seemed slightly too large for its head were pricked up and forward, and they twitched independently of each other, listening for anything that might attempt to take it by surprise.
Despite his awe at seeing one so close and knowing full well of the reputation of Tyr-Wolves Dorian couldn’t help but think that it looked tired and thin. Its tongue lolled to the side and saliva dripped from its maw that hanging open slackly.
Destain turned his head slightly but didn’t take his eyes off the beast.
‘Move back, slowly.’ He said to his brothers. ‘When you reach the tree-line run for home.’
Marius, younger than Dorian by a year, immediately began to step backwards at his brother’s order. He took cautious steps so that he wouldn’t trip. But Dorian didn’t move. Something compelled him to stay. He couldn’t take his eyes of the Dog and he was certain that the creature was equally compelled to observe him.
‘Dorian! Move back!’ Destain whispered harshly. And in a proverbial blink the Tyr-Wolf was gone.
‘Oh hell!’ Destain uttered.
He turned on the spot looking for a sign of the animal but could see nothing. He couldn’t imagine how any creature could be so fast.
‘Do you see it?’ He asked Dorian who had also begun to turn, sweeping the glade with wide eyes but he could also see nothing of the Dog.
‘No.’ He replied. ‘Perhaps it has gone?’
The boys could see that Marius was almost at the tree-line and the younger brother looked towards Destain to gain confirmation that he should still run for home, but Destain shook his head. It was too dangerous to run from view while they didn’t know where the Tyr-Wolf was. For all Destain knew it could now be waiting beyond the line of firs, waiting for his younger brother to run inside.
Dorian had thought this too, but he also considered another possibility. Something about the Dog and its approach had fired something in his mind. Emotions had tumbled inside him. Feelings of pain and fear, of loneliness and something a little like... recognition.
This had happened before. It had happened whenever he had encountered an animal with which he would ultimately form a bond.
‘Drop your sword Destain’ Dorian said, as he placed his own upon the ground.
‘What are you doing? Are you mad?’ Destain exclaimed.
‘Do it!’ Dorian hissed.
Destain was taken aback at the tone of his little brother, opening his mouth to retort, but had no words.
‘What use do you think that is anyway?’ Dorian asked him, pointing at his homemade sword. ‘Every other swing we have to fasten them back together.’
‘Little brother,’ Destain growled, ‘anything in my hand is a weapon.’
There was no arguing against this, Destain skill with even a wooden sword would put even a veteran fighter to shame.
‘Please Destain, put it down. Trust me.’ Dorian urged.
Destain looked about him. Marius still stood, pale faced at the edge of the glade. Dorian stood defiantly in front of him, empty handed. His brother was good with animals. Dorian had a gift, a talent almost, for engaging with all manner of creatures. His hawks, Cloud and Frost, were utterly devoted to him. The family had three Dogs, and whilst they were the guardians of the keep they were almost always to be found at the feet of Dorian when he was in the castle. Could he know the mind of this Abyssal creature?
As was always the case with the brothers they put their faith in each other. Destain let his wooden sword drop to the floor and couldn’t help but grimace when it hit the ground and the binding came undone. It was now simply two pieces of fish crate once again.
‘I hope you know what you are doing little brother.’ Destain said, quietly.
‘Trust me. So do I.’ Dorian muttered as he turned away and saw the Blink-Dog sat on its haunches only five feet away from him.
The Dog sat and observed Dorian as the boy slowly inched towards him. His tongue still hung loosely from its jaws and Dorian could also see that there were flecks of foam around it. He could almost feel the tension in his brother as he stood, taut like a bow string behind him. He knew, without a dou
bt, if the Dog made a move towards him Destain would hurl himself between them if he could. Dorian doubted that he would have anywhere near the agility to achieve such a move, but it would not be for lack of trying.
‘Hey!’ Dorian called out gently to the Dog. ‘You don’t look well, is it something you ate?’
He wondered if the Dog had picked at a rotten carcass or even taken in berries that it didn’t recognise as poisonous. What he could even do if it had, would it let him help? He inched forward.
Before he realised it he was within just a couple of feet of the Dog. It looked up at him with bright eyes. Dorian was certain that he could see no danger for him in that look, but its gaze was penetrating and seemed to reach into the back of his mind. Cautiously, got down to his knees and showed the palms of his hands. At the glade’s edge and behind him his brothers were immobile, holding their breath.
‘I’m not really sure what to do now.’ Dorian said. ‘This is as far as I had thought it through.’ He chewed his lip for a moment and then said in his friendliest voice, ‘My name is Dorian... of the Deep Valley.’
He smiled at the Dog hoping that there would be some kind of acknowledgement from it but the Blink-Dog continued to sit and pant as though it too was considering its options. Then, it slowly moved to all fours.
It took a few steps towards Dorian, its head was hung low and it continued to look up at him with its bright, engaging eyes. Dorian stretched a hand out and the Dog eased forwards until it could rub its head against his palm.
‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ Destain gasped.
‘So, it was poorly, you fixed him up and became life-long friends I suppose.’ Felicity said, smiling.
‘Uhm, well yes… that’s right.’
‘Do you have any other pets?’ She asked.
‘Oh, Spyra’s not a pet. He’s a companion. We travel together because we’re friends.’ Dorian said, ‘That probably sounds strange but, it’s true. Spyra comes and goes as he pleases.’
‘Alright,’ Felicity said, ‘do you have any other companions?’
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