by RG Long
Their torches lit barely ten paces ahead of them. Shadows cast by the tall sentinels of the forest jumped and flickered with the light. No stars were visible through the canopy above. And, to make matters worse, only Lote was able to walk without crunching leaves or snapping twigs every other step. The party was all too aware how much noise they made as they walked through the forest, Tory's own struggles notwithstanding. And though the torches clearly gave away their location, no one suggested they be put out and walk in total darkness.
A breeze blew gently through the trees, casting the flames around their torches and sending chills up Ealrin's spine. The gentle howl of the breeze would have been welcomed during their morning jog. Now its low sound did little to quiet Ealrin's imagination. He was sure the rest of the group felt the same fear coursing through them. Well, all except Lote and Gaflion. When the rest of them turned at every snap of a fallen twig, they kept their eyes forward. Whether it was from nerves that felt no need to panic or a practiced self-control, Ealrin wasn't sure.
After nearly an hour of marching, following the path's twists and turns and Lote's instructions, the party finally came to a clearing. The moon above signaled the middle of the night and the stars twinkled merrily, as if they had little concern for haunted forests and missing dwarves. The light of their torches showed only the bark of the trees nearest to them. The rest were lost to the darkness. A path was clearly visible along the ground, though it had signs of being seldom traveled. It entered the clearing from the south where the party came from, and exited again going west. A few large stones jutted out from the ground.
The elf paused a moment, bent close to the ground and felt the earth between her fingers.
“Strange,” she said. “Gorplin's tracks end here.”
Tory let down the dwarf's pack with a clatter and sat on a rock.
“Unless he's learned to fly, there have to be tracks somewhere, Lote,” he said as he massaged one of his feet. Ealrin had heard him curse a while back when he tripped on an unseen root.
Lote's eyes narrowed and her mouth opened to give a retort, but instead of the sound of her voice, a low howl hung in the air. One that did not sound anything like a breeze.
Tory quickly stood and drew his sword. Lote notched an arrow to her bow and the rest of the company made their weapons ready and dropped their packs.
“What animal on Ruyn makes a noise like that?” Bertrom asked as he positioned himself next to Ealrin. The group was forming a circle, facing out of the clearing.
“None I am familiar with,” Gaflion said in his deep tone.
Again the low howl issued out from the woods. It seemed to be coming from many directions at once. A shadow jumped between two tree trunks and Ealrin shouted out.
“There!”
An arrow thudded soundly in the bark of tree where the shadow had gone.
Lote cursed. Ealrin knew she was not accustomed to missing.
Ghosts don't cast shadows, she said as she strung another arrow on her bow.
“I thought she said she didn't believe in ghosts,” Bertrom said.
Ealrin did not have time to respond.
A dozen clothed figures sprung from the trees and ran towards them. In their hands they brandished weapons made from wood and stone. One of them charged at Ealrin. Though most of its body was covered in rags and other scraps of cloth, by the light of his torch, he could see a grotesque face staring up at him from the level of his chest.
As it lifted its club to strike at him, he sprung at it with sword and torch in front of him. Though the thing attempted to dodge out of the way, Ealrin had reacted too quickly for it to dodge completely.
The two hit the ground in a tangle of rags.
As they rolled in the grass, Ealrin became quite sure that whatever it was he was wrestling was not a ghost. Having lost his torch in the scuffle, he used his free hand to punch at the face of his adversary. At the same time he realized his knuckles had hit wood instead of flesh; he heard a yelp from behind the mask.
"Ow! That was my nose!" whatever it was behind the mask yelled.
Ealrin scrambled to his feet. He took his sword and pointed it at the throat of the thing still lying on the ground. He glanced around to see an odd scene unfolding around him.
None of the cloth clad attackers lay slain. Most of his own party was either wrestling with a cloaked figure or just trying to keep them at bay. One was clutching its arm and howling as an arrow protruded from it. But, to Ealrin's surprise, Lote was actually inspecting the wound and talking gently to the masked figure, now lying on the ground.
Turning his gaze back to the thing at his feet, he took the very tip of his sword and unmasked it.
Sprawled out on the ground was a person in miniature form. From the looks of it, he was male with a slightly broken nose. Were his hands not covering his face, Ealrin could have seen more of his features. He had sandy brown hair, stubby hands, and a voice that was loud and boisterous.
"I ought to kick you in the shins for that!" he said through clenched teeth.
"Halflings!" Lote called out to Ealrin, who still had his sword pointed at the one lying on the ground below him. "They won't harm us."
"Funny method of not trying to harm us," Bertrom said under his breath as he put his own sword back into its sheath.
Ealrin kneeled beside the broken-nosed halfling.
"You are lucky you aren't dead," he said as he helped him sit up.
"Ugh," the halfling said grabbing his head as he sat up straight. "Headache!"
Ealrin smiled despite himself and stood.
"Halflings?" he asked curiously to no one in particular.
All around him, both males and females removed their masks and cloaks. They wore simple clothes with very few adornments. They looked more like farmers than soldiers. Their hands were soiled and their fingernails were caked with dirt. Most looked plain. Not one of their heads stood higher than Ealrin's chest. In all respects, they looked like miniature humans. Like children who never grew taller, just older.
Tory spoke up.
"I've heard of halflings on Ruyn before, but I thought they were just fairy tales."
"Much like ghosts, eh?" said Gorplin as he walked out from behind the trees, a big smile on his face.
He never had time to run as Tory went after him with his fists.
"Why you half-witted, stunted, wrinkled, iron-brained dolt!"
"Do you think Tory's upset?" Bertrom asked Ealrin, who tried not to chuckle too loudly. "I'm just glad they aren't real ghosts," he continued, taking a deep breath.
Lote stood up, finished with bandaging the moaning halfling, and spoke to the company.
"We are traveling from Thoran to Beaton. We mean you no further harm if you let us pass unimpeded."
Turning to Gorplin and Tory, she said, "That'll do."
Tory relented and Gorplin, who looked none the worse for the wear, shoved him aside.
"You'll thank me in just a moment!" he said loudly. "These halflings have beds and some advice about the road to Beaton!"
Ealrin could see the look of annoyance on Lote's face turn slightly.
"I plan to spend the entirety of my travels north to the elves complaining of the foolishness of dwarves," she said as she shouldered her bow.
Tory stared daggers at Gorplin, knowing who would be the one listening to her constant ranting.
THEY WOKE THE NEXT morning feeling well rested. The halflings had been more than hospitable to them and had offered one of their vacant dwellings for them to stay in for the night.
Gorplin had recounted his journey into the woods as they walked from the clearing to the halfling village that lay only two miles away.
He had seen something moving quietly through the forest while the group sat and talked. In truth, he had meant to inform them that he had seen something, but he was still fuming over no one believing his ghost stories.
But as he had gone to investigate, he found himself surrounded by the low howling noises and
had lost his way. The halflings had crafted small flute-like instruments that produced the ghostly sounds. The clearing was actually one of the spots the halflings try to lure their victims to. They never intend to harm anyone, just ensure that greedy travelers and curious goblins are kept away from their village. When they saw that Gorplin was not a threat, they agreed to take part in his little prank.
The only ones who regretted that decision were Jurgon, whose nose Ealrin had broken, and Jurrin, whom Lote had shot.
No one could convince him that the prank was in ill taste and that the halflings could have come to serious harm.
"Bah," he said when Lote had berated him. "They are so small and swift you'd find it hard to land a blow on any of them!"
Jurgon gave a loud moan, as if to remind the dwarf of his injury.
That morning over breakfast, which consisted of freshly baked bread, venison, and various cooked vegetables, he had tried to reason that he had been right all along.
"So there really were ghosts in the forest. Just not the ones that I had expected."
Tory was not convinced.
"But if these halflings were only pretending to be ghosts, then there are no real ghosts, dimwit."
"Bah," was Gorplin's only reply.
His spirits are much improved over the hearty meal, and everyone was relieved that it was finally daylight in the forest.
The halfling village consisted of twenty or so small dwellings. Most of them appeared to be half a house because the bottom of each was actually a hole dug in the ground. The top half of the house was constructed out of logs laid on top of one another and a thatched roof. Any windows, which were only squares cut out of the logs, were ground level and covered with cloth. Inside the bottom half of the houses were lined with stones and the floors were rough-hewn boards. The house they had stayed in last night was sparsely furnished with simple wooden chairs, a table, and beds with straw mattresses. Though they appeared to be primitive, on the inside it was more than cozy enough for travelers who had slept on the ground for the last week.
None of the houses were really built for “big people,” as the halfling residents called the entire group, save for Gorplin. As no one table or living space could suit them for a proper meal, many tables were brought out in the garden of the house they slept in last night.
They were joined by a few of the natives at their table. Jurgon and Jurrin were there, though neither sat close to Gorplin. Another male, named Allet, had two other halflings who walked at his side and introduced himself as the mayor of the halflings. He welcomed the group to Big Tree, which was the name of the village in which they ate, and sat at the head of the table. At this point, Allet began a long protracted speech about Big Tree and its neighbors and the history of the halflings in Ruyn.
“It's been some time since any of the big folk ate the fare of our village. We mostly try to keep any who wander too close away. It's not because we don't like them. Peace has always been our first and most important virtue. Many outsiders use to come here for the food and skill of our people in the making of ale and the telling of fine tales.”
Gorplin sat up a little straighter in his chair at the mention of ale and began to check the mugs he had already been drinking out of. Ealrin wondered if he hoped to find their contents different than the last time he drank from them. Allet continued.
“But with them they brought war, strife, and hardship. It was too much for us to bear! So for many years, we've simply kept up our little game of scaring off any travelers who come through the woods. Why, it was my great-great-great-grandfather who first used the ghost disguise...”
Ealrin began to look about the table, pondering the mayor's words.
Many more dishes were brought out in the mayor's presence. More vegetables cooked in different ways: roasted and boiled, chopped and whole. With these came soups and meats other than deer. Ealrin was wondering what time it was and if there was going to be any respite from eating in-between breakfast and lunch. He shrugged and continued to eat his fill.
Looking around the table, he saw his fellow travelers either putting away as much food as he was, or more. Gorplin was no exception. Though he was the shortest among them, he was also the one eating the most food in the most uncivilized manner.
Lote, however, was engaging the Mayor in conversation.
“I have served Thoran for nearly one hundred years, yet I have never heard of your settlement,” she said in what could have been an accusatory manner.
Allet took no offense, but rather Ealrin thought he looked quite pleased with himself.
“Ah! Even the gifted elves aren't able to find us! See how we keep the peace here? If no big folk are able to find the halflings, we are safe.”
It was Lote's turn to be offended, and Ealrin could tell that she was no longer thinking well of the little ones.
“I said I haven't heard of you. I did not say you were unable to be found,” she said in a measured tone.
Allet took out a small wooden stick and, to Ealrin's great surprise, showed that on the tip of it rested a small bit of Rimstone!
“Even if you had come looking for us, elf of Thoran, you would have found your way blocked by brambles that appeared at what would have looked like a well traveled path. We halflings are able to do more than just wear a costume and make scary noises.”
Even as he spoke, a vine crept up Lote's chair and began to entwine her arm. She quickly grabbed a dagger with her free hand and cut her arm free of vine.
Allet let out a boisterous laugh.
“Weren't expecting that, eh, elf?”
He looked at his companions, who let their big smiles tell the company they thought the joke was in good taste.
Bertrom spoke up.
“So you're able to Speak through Rimstone. You showed us in the woods that you're willing to fight to protect your home, even if it was a poor joke.”
Tory gave Gorplin a kick under the table and the dwarf let out a string of what must have been dwarvish curses.
“Why not come to help Thoran? Surely you know that if war comes north you can't hide forever.”
Allet's smile left his chubby face, He looked hard at Bertrom.
“And what does a monarch offer to halflings, hmm? Forced labor? Taxes and contributions of goods? We have everything we need here, without the supposed help of a king. We've had one hundred years of peace and no army to thank for it, thank you very much.”
Bertrom sat back to think on what Allet had said. Tory needed no time to think to reply.
“But all of Ruyn has seen the same peace. It's been mostly quiet on the entire continent. What happens when a threat does come? Having an army doesn't mean you're war hungry. It means you're willing to protect those who are helpless to protect themselves. That's why we...”
Tory stopped and cleared his throat. Ealrin could guess what he was thinking about. His brother, now a traitor to the country, and his best friend who died the day Ealrin met Tory.
“That's why I joined the army,” he continued. “To protect those who can't fight for themselves. Disguises and magic and hiding won't keep out your enemies forever. You have to be willing to face evil and resist it if you want peace.”
“We've no need of an army, or a king's army for that matter, if we are never found,” Allet repeated. His two friends nodded aggressively. Ealrin noticed, however, that Jurrin and Jurgon did not nod as enthusiastically as the other halflings listening to the conversation that was unfolding.
“Suppose the forest is put to flame, Mayor Allet?” Gaflion asked in his deep voice. “What if it’s burned to the ground by the whim of a madman who seeks to purge all of Ruyn's races save that of man? What then?”
Allet launched into a tirade of how the halflings would conceal themselves even further. He then continued to describe how Big Tree had become self-sufficient and needed no outside help. Not even an army to protect it.
Ealrin looked around to see that several locals had come to see the travelers. Some o
nly cast glances in their direction as they went about their normal activities. Others, who were less polite, just stopped and stared at them as they ate their breakfast and discussed the outside. No amount of rudeness, however, could stop Ealrin's appetite. A fearful march through the dark had given him quite a hunger. As he ate, he had time to admire the quaintness of the village amongst the trees.
The entire village was situated around a large square with an enormous tree planted right in the middle. All the other trees had long been cleared to make way for houses, farms, and even a few small shops. In every direction the forest surrounded them. No signs of goblins, wars, conflict or strife were here. Only peaceful little people going about their business without a care.
“It won't last,” Ealrin said out loud, breaking his silent observation.
“Eh?” Gorplin said through half a mouthful of roasted deer.
Half of the party looked at Ealrin, and he realized that he had been silent this whole morning. His first words had interrupted their host and, he was sure, caused his traveling companions to question his meaning.
Allet had just begun explaining the process of making Big Tree's most famous ale: Troll Foot. He appeared put out that the attention he had enjoyed for so long had been broken.
“We can't stay here any longer than necessary,” Ealrin said, loud enough for all gathered to hear. “We have to get to Beaton and beyond, quickly.”
Allet attempted to get back the attention of the crowd.
“But you've only just arrived!” he countered. “And you've much to see and experience here in Big Tree! Stay! Be at peace!”
His jovial invitation only reminded Ealrin of the dire need of their quest.
“I'm sorry, Mayor Allet, but we must be going.”
He stood and spread his arms, hoping to bring attention to the things around him.
“You speak of peace and of living comfortably here in the woods. You've treated us very kindly, especially after we shot one of your own.”