by Mark Eller
* * * *
In the dark hours of the night Ludwig dreamed of Meliandra’s pale form, body dressed only in moonlight, leaning over him. She stroked the long fingers of one hand down her body, pausing momentarily at strategically interesting areas, and then leaned lower until her face lay against his chest. Hair gently framing her face, she wiggled lower until her lips kissed his belly and moved lower still. Her eyes, wild with promise, fastened hungrily on his. Smiling seductively, she opened her mouth wide, wider still— and then she screamed.
Ludwig woke to discover hers was only one scream among many. A man’s form leaned over him.
“Hurry,” Charle whispered in his right ear.
“Whaa?”
“Brigands,” Harlo snapped. “Hurry, your beasts are loaded.”
Grumbling, Ludwig drew on his shoes, crawled out of his shared tent, and rose. Multihued lightning flashed, flared, and flamed in the sky.
“Califrey?” he asked.
“Is one of them. We must go!”
Ludwig tried to hurry. He stumbled as he was jerked erect by Charle‘s tug on his arm. After straightening his clothes and fastening his sword belt around his waist, he barked his knuckles on a tree while pulling his belt tighter. “May your roots wither and die,” he cursed. “May the worms burrow into you, and may your wood turn soft and rot.”
“No time for that,” Charle snapped.
The colored lightning stopped. The screams quieted, fading one by one until only two voices remained. Nighttime winds carried the clang of crashing swords. Men began yelling anew. Feeling confused, Ludwig stumbled after Charle.
Before long they reached a group of already loaded arvids. Jorge handed Ludwig the reins to Perciad and Lacking. Mewing affectionately, Lacking stamped on Ludwig’s foot. Perciad stuck a tongue in his ear.
“Can’t I take a different pair,” Ludwig protested. “These two will be no loss.” He brushed irritably at his ear, wiping saliva away as best he could.
“They know you,” Harlo explained, “and they carry the amber.” He looked to Charle. “Hurry it up.” Grabbing the reins of his two beasts, he jogged into the dark.
“I never signed on for this,” Ludwig muttered while tugging on his arvid’s reins. “Move it or I’ll cut your pizzors off and use them as whips.”
Running footsteps sounded behind him. Shooting a look over his shoulder, Ludwig released a bitter laugh when he saw Yezman’s dark figure emerge from the trees. Dropping the reins, he turned and drew his thin sword.
“I should have known you’d be involved in this,” he told the man.
“Ludwig,” Jorge warned, “you don’t want to make Harlo mad.”
With an imperious wave, Ludwig silenced the drover. “We’ll leave in just a few moments.”
“Yer going nowhere, gent,” Yezman growled. “Drop the sword.” He studied Ludwig’s thin blade with contempt as he raised his thick chopper.
“I have a better idea,” Ludwig said and lunged.
Yezman’s sideways swing would have worked excellently against a stationary tree. Unfortunately for him, Ludwig was not a tree. Ludwig ducked, dodged, and then ran his thin dueling blade straight through Yezman’s heart. Surprised shock spreading across his face, Yezman’s heavy weapon fell from his hand. Gently smiling, Ludwig stepped back and patiently waited for the man to fall. Yezman took a stumbling step forward, another. His knees folded, and he fell face forward in the grass.
“Took you long enough,” Ludwig complained to the dead man.
“Are you coming or not?” Charle snapped. “Harlo already left, and I’m not waiting any longer.”
“Coming,” Ludwig told him. He cleaned his sword on his pant leg, sheathed it, and walked to his arvids. Grabbing their cursed reins, he vowed once this trip was over he would eat nothing but roast arvid for a year.
