* * * * *
Even after a good night’s sleep in a soft bed Liam awoke sleepy eyed and fuzzy headed. He staggered downstairs to find the grizzled old innkeeper standing behind the counter. “Yur friends are awaiting fur ya outside.”
Liam nodded sleepily and reached for his pouch to pay for the room.
“No need fur coin. Yur friends have already settled the bill.” The innkeeper reached behind the counter and handed Liam a small white bundle. “Yur friends have already had breakfast so I wrapped this fur ya.” Liam stuttered out a surprised reply as he took the bundle. “Why, thank you.”
“No need fur thanks,” said the innkeeper. “We sort of got off on the wrong foot when we first met. Took you and yur friend for penniless drifters. Thought ya might be the type ta be causin' trouble. Guess I was wrong ta judge the book by jus lookin’ at the cover.”
Liam felt a little guilty. His first impression of the innkeeper hadn’t been too nice either. Raising the bundle in farewell, he nodded as he passed through the door. “I’ll be sure to spread the word about your inn.”
Willow and Mica were waiting for him, Little Smoky already hitched to the cart.
“Good Morning to you,” Willow said with a smile.
“’Bout time,” growled Mica, but Liam could tell he really wasn’t mad.
Liam just nodded and mumbled a good morning and crawled into the back. By the time the other two had climbed onto the cart he was already snuggled deep into the straw. The cart jerked as Mica lightly snapped the reins and Little Smoky started off, her hooves making a pleasant clippity clop.
The trip home was uneventful for Liam. This suited him quite nicely and he spent much of the time sleeping in the back of the cart. They stopped occasionally, and he was vaguely aware of Mica and Willow getting down to search for signs of goblins. From their quiet conversation and a word here and there, he could tell they didn’t find anything.
The rest of the time Willow and Mica seem to enjoy sharing the narrow little cart seat, chatting happily for hours. Their voices drove away dark thoughts and lulled him to sleep as they bumped down the road. By the time they arrived on the outskirts of Three Oak Dale, Liam was well rested.
He was just waking up from another of his long naps when Mica turned off the main road onto a narrow lane. Trees crowded in on both sides blocking out the sun. Curiosity chased away the last bits of sleep. With one last yawn he sat up. Looking around Mica he caught sight of a well kept farm. He leaned far over the side to get a better view. The cart wheel struck a rut, bouncing him heavily into the side of the cart.
“Oof,” exclaimed Liam. He slumped back onto the straw rubbing his ribs.
“Finally awake are we?” called Mica over his shoulder.
Willow turned around. “You are hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.” To prove it he stopped rubbing his ribs. “Where are we anyway?”
Mica pulled up next to the barn. “Almost home,” he said, “or at least Lit' Smoky is. This is the farm where the Doormaster hired Lit' Smoky. The farmer will store the cart until the Doormaster needs it again. From here we walk.” Mica jumped down. On a whim he reached up to take Willow’s hand to steady her.
Willow looked at Mica’s outstretched hand in disbelief. Giggling slightly, she placed her hand in his. Then she leaped high into the air her pointed green boots tracing a graceful cartwheel high over her head. With a slight twist she landed lightly on her toes in front of Mica, her nose almost touching his.
Liam could see Willow’s shoulders twitching as she struggled to control her laughter at the look on Mica’s face.
Mica’s look of shock darkened and threatened to become a scowl, but Willow’s merriment flowed over him and the moment quickly passed. Together they burst into laughter.
“I must have looked quite the fool,” admitted Mica, “offering to help an elf jump down from a cart.”
“Ah, but you make such a handsome fool,” she said wistfully and brushed his face with the back of her hand. She spun lightly on her toes and danced over to Little Smoky. “And now that you have helped me down,” she said her voice light and airy, “I will help you. Let us unhitch this fair beast and get her fed.”
Liam smiled to himself as he watched them lead Little Smoky into the barn. He busied himself gathering their belongings from the back of the cart, and thought about the last few days. Mica seemed to be softening under Willow’s influence.
He stored the things they wouldn’t want to carry under the cart seat where he could get them from the cupboard when they arrived at the Doormaster’s. They would have to carry the goblins magic sword. He didn’t want to take a chance on passing it through a magical door. Thinking about the goblins made him decide to leave Mica and Willow’s bows out too.
The two bows were as different as their owners. Mica’s longbow was heavy and straight. It was well cared for but unadorned. The arrows matched the bow's simplicity, long dark shafts fletched with banded turkey feathers.
Willow's short bone white bow was strung in a deep arch, the tips curving back in upon themselves. An intricate carving of a wild rose, complete with wicked looking thorns, flowed along the limbs. Her quiver bore the same wild rose design and held thin green arrows with unusual green fletching.
Liam heard the sound of voices, as his friends returned from the barn.
Mica gazed around the surrounding farm. “Everyone must still be in the fields. I’ll stop by next time I pass and let them know what a fine job Lit' Smoky did.” He looked down at the weapons in the back of the cart. “Everything else stowed?” he asked Liam as he handed Willow her bow and quiver.
“Everything else is under the seat,” Liam answered.
Mica settled his quiver on his back and nodded at the goblin’s sword. “It looks like it’s up to you to tote back the trophy,” he said smiling at Liam. “You being the one that did the vanquishing and all.”
Liam looked at the sword remembering the chaos of the fight. “It’s just blind luck that I wasn’t the one vanquished.”
Willow scooped up the sword and placed it in Liam’s hands. Her green eyes trapped his gaze. “That is what all the heroes would say if they were honest. Slip this on your belt, you have earned it.”
Liam still wasn’t sure he had earned anything, but strapping on the sword seemed like the quickest way to end all this hero talk. While he adjusted his belt Mica explained that the shortest way home was to leave the road and cut through the fields.
“Excellent,” said Willow. “After bumping along in that cart for days it will give us a chance to stretch out our legs.”
They jumped the fence behind the barn and set off across the field. The late afternoon sun warmed Liam’s back, and long shadows stretched out in front of them leading the way. The short sword pulled on his belt. It drooped on one side and bumped against his leg. When he tightened it, the belt squeezed his middle.
He wouldn’t have guessed that wearing a sword was such a bother. But Willow had almost come out and said he was a hero. He straightened his back in an effort to live up to her estimation. Soon he was tightening his belt again.
Lucky for Liam the trip across the fields was truly a short cut. They arrived in the Doormaster’s back garden just before dark. He led the way, eager to get rid of the burdensome sword.
“Come on in,” Liam said swinging the kitchen door wide for them. He set out tall mugs and a pitcher of cider. “Help yourselves. I’ll let the Doormaster know we are back, and then I’ll find us something to eat.”
The Doormaster usually spent his time down in his spelling room until Hodekin called them up for dinner, so Liam headed down the back stair. As soon as he was out of sight he loosened his belt. The weight of the sword pulled down at an uncomfortable angle, but at least he could take a breath without it pinching his middle. Rather than struggle to get the scabbard off his belt in the narrow stairway he just drew the sword to lighten the pull.
As soon as Liam stepped into the spell room he knew someth
ing was wrong. It was dark. The hearth fire that powered the fire globes had been kicked apart. Hot glowing coals spread like a fan across the stone floor.
Feeble flickering from the globes only served to deepen the shadows. “Doormaster, are you here?” Liam called out.
“Liam! Watch Out!” yelled the Doormaster from across the room.
Liam caught a glimpse of movement and heard the horrible screech of the goblin’s war cry. He spun to his left. A large goblin charged out of the darkness with an evil looking curved dagger in each hand.
The goblin launched himself, hands and feet windmilling wildly, daggers slicing through the air. Liam jerked his hands up to fend off the blows. The poisoned sword skidded across the goblin’s ribs leaving a jagged wound and cutting short the war cry. The poison gripped the goblin. He crumpled in a heap, his daggers clattering uselessly across the floor.
Boot heels pounded down the stairs. Willow and Mica emerged with arrows notched and bows drawn.
Mica glanced at the goblin on the floor and nudged it with his foot. “Good job hero,” he said. His smile looked forced.
Willow only spared Liam a glance; her bow swept the shadows for targets. “Save any for us?” Her voice sounded as cool and calm as a tax collector.
“Da know,’ replied Liam. His legs shook like a newborn colt. He wasn’t sure he could walk. The bows are no use in this darkness he thought. He raised the sword but could hardly see beyond its point. Pressing his back against the wall he strained to see into the shadows. “Careful where you shoot,” he said, “the Doormaster is down here somewhere.”
Fear shot though Liam as a scuffle broke out on the other side of the room. He swung the sword toward the noise bracing for another goblin to come flying at him. A high pitched scream pierced the air, followed by a heavy thud. Everything was quiet again. Liam drew his breath to call out but held his tongue. The silence stretched. His imagination began to paint terrors in every shadow.
A heavy crash in the hearth sent a shower of sparks spilling into the room. In the brief glow a shadowed figure rolled under the spell table. Liam thought he recognized the Doormaster’s robe.
A thin tongue of flame curled up from the hearth embers. The room’s fire globes flickered. More tiny flames flared around the log and the globes echoed the soft glow.
Something skittered along the edge of the shadows.
Before he could cry out, Liam heard the gentle pulse of a harp string followed by a low quiet whistle and a meaty thwack. A yowl echoed eerily off the walls. Willow’s arrow had found its mark. Liam shivered and stepped deeper into the shadows. The goblins might have an archer too.
The flames now had a firm grip on the log giving more strength to the globes. The shadows were smaller, but one log was not enough to brighten the whole room. Soon the heavy twang of Mica’s bow joined the sweeter reverberations of Willow’s, but the goblins had learned to move only in the deepest shadows, offering only brief glimpses to the archers.
Movement under the spelling table caught Liam’s eye.
A bulky shape scrambled out and broke into a stumbling run towards the door.
“It’s the Doormaster,” exclaimed Liam. He pushed away from the wall. Sword held high, he rushed forward.
A tall black robbed figure leapt from hiding, sprinting across the room. Liam raced to reach his master first. A desperate sob tore from his throat. He couldn't reach him in time. The Doormaster’s own body shielded the attacker from Mica and Willow's arrows.
The Doormaster limped around a low table that blocked his path. Time slowed for Liam as if in a nightmare. Firelight glinted in an arc, reflecting from the long narrow blade aimed at his master’s unprotected back.
“Noooo!” he screamed.
The dark figure bounded after the Doormaster. The table shimmered and blurred, its leg tangling in the dark robes and sending the figure sprawling across the stone floor. The sword clattered and spun out of reach.
Quick as a snake the dark figure recovered, coiling and lunging at the Doormaster. Clawing hands dug at the old man’s back, dragging him down.
Pinning the Doormaster with one knee the figure uncoiled. In a smooth motion he freed a dagger from his boot.
A scream of rage ripped from Liam’s throat. Swinging his sword with both hands he slashed at the deadly shadow.
One long black arm struck Liam’s elbow, deflecting his blow. The other smashed the pommel of the dagger against his head. A galaxy of white hot stars exploded behind Liam's eyes. He crashed to the floor tasting blood.
Through a fog he could see his master struggling. He fought to clear his vision. A choking laugh erupted from deep within the evil black robes. Liam struggled to one knee. The black robe raised the dagger high above his head for a death blow.
Liam struggled to stand, but only managed to roll sideways. From behind came the song of twin bowstrings. A green fletched arrow glanced off the outstretched arm just below the dagger. The heavier dark shaft shattered against the armored chest pitching the figure backwards. Wood fragments stung Liam’s face.
The dark cowl whipped around to assess the new threat. With a terrible oath he sprang into the shadows. The bows sang again, but the arrows clattered off the walls.
Liam slipped an arm under his master. Leaning on each other they retreated part way up the stairs.
The Doormaster collapsed on the steps. “Let me rest a bit,” he said. “I need to catch my breath.”
Liam sank down beside him. The world was spinning faster. He struggled to keep from being sick.
From the spell room came three sharp blasts of a whistle followed by sharp barking commands from a goblin. They were going to attack. His friends were still at the bottom of the stair.
Wishing he had the sword, he forced himself to stand. The world tilted sideways and a wave of sickness buckled his knees. He used the wall to pull himself up. An explosion rocked the stair. He tumbled forward. Darkness swam up to close off his vision.
The Doormaster's Apprentice Page 9