"But don't they just get food from the Shroomkin and silks from the Silfreig?" queried Fitz.
"No, cousin. I’m afraid it's not that simple. Farmers are the ones who grow the plants here, or milk the cows, or gets eggs from the chickens!" Sorn paused to give his sheepish cousins a stern look before continuing. "These farmers then sell their produce to the craftsmen. Sometimes the craftsmen give the farmer stuff he needs like shoes or clothes or wood or chairs, but often…"
"But, Sorn, where are we going to get enough shoes to feed ourselves?" asked a suddenly worried looking Lieberman.
"But often," continued a very exasperated crow, "in big cities and such, the medium of exchange is money: gold, silver, or copper coinage. What's more, you can trade valuables, like your fancy swords and mithril shirts which I know you did not ask for before you took them out of the armory!" He paused, once again giving his cousins a stern look, receiving only sheepish grins in return.
"In any case, you could trade valuables such as those which we won't, of course, because they are artifacts of our culture and not theirs, and might contaminate their thinking, to say nothing of pissing off our elders even more, if we ever get home! But in any case, we could trade other items that wouldn't affect their culture, such as jewelry, but which I am sure you didn't think to bring because that would have made things too easy for us. Oh no, we just have to take the difficult path! Anyway, one could go to a specialist shop, like an armorer or jeweler, and trade our valuables for silver and gold. And assuming that we could get a fair price for what we sell, it could well equal a lot of wealth that could buy us a dozen cows easily, if we had one little gem.
"And so you see, whereas the farmer might be pissed and hate us if we took one of his cows, which is not ours, since they are free people and not our servants, Fitz! Anyway, whereas he might be a bit peeved if we ate one of his cows, he would be more than happy to sell us a dozen of his cows! So now do you see? We don't take the cow and gain an enemy. Instead, we buy the cow and gain a friend!" Sorn concluded his lecture with a triumphant flourish of his wings, always pleased with himself when his insights and deductive abilities led him to what he considered brilliant reasoning, and all the happier when his cousins could actually understand what he was talking about.
"Absolutely!" replied Fitz
"Completely!" replied Hanz
"I'm sorry, what was that about the gems again?" Lieberman queried despite playful shoving from his amused siblings.
"Okay, guys," continued Sorn, "the whole point is, if we earn money from people by doing services for them, we will be able to buy all the cows, or hens, or pigs we want. And you goofballs can do all the experiments you want on said pigs, as they will be ours since we will have brought them. Just please be kind enough to put the poor pig asleep before you do so, okay? And I promise you, you won't find any eggs!"
"Anyway," he continued, "I've been thinking, what if we could do even more? Guys, listen!" Sorn’s voice became, if anything, even more animated than before, as he hopped excitedly from shoulder to shoulder while continuing his lecture.
"What if instead of buying a cow from the farmer, and you know we would all get hungry again sooner or later, what if we brought the farm? Think about it! If we brought the farm, we would have all the cows and chickens and eggs and pigs we want, and we wouldn't have to keep getting money to buy more livestock since, if we leave them alone, they will eventually make more of themselves, and we can just eat a few of them at a time! We don't even have to eat the chickens, we can just eat all their eggs! And we don't even have to eat any of the cows, we just hire someone to milk them, and we have an endless supply of milk!"
At the word milk, Sorn noted he had all of their attention. Milk was something of a tasty delicacy in their eyes, though they rarely had more than a cup in mortal form.
"Yes, guys, all the milk we can drink!" Sorn continued happily. "What we have to do is get up enough silver or gold to buy a really big farm, and we could keep the farmer on to run it and let him have some of the eggs and milk or some more gold, since he knows how to milk the cows and egg the chickens and whatever you do to pigs. Okay Fitz, stop giving me that look! Anyway, just think of it. A big farm of our own, and all we have to do is sit around, eat things and get big! And the great thing is that the people like us and get along with us. Best of all, everybody's happy! So, guys, what do you think? Sound like a plan to you?"
"An excellent idea!" Fitz happily commented.
"Yes, a wonderful plan!" agreed Lieberman.
"Are you sure we don't eat the horses?" queried Hanz. "I mean, all their books say we eat their horses. Maybe that's why their knights hate us."
And suddenly Sorn was caught between three curious sets of stares.
His reply was caustic. "The point is that THEY do not eat their horses, so neither will WE, so maybe that way we won't have any problems with their stupid knights, okay?"
"Yeah fine," said an embarrassed Hanz. "I was just checking."
2
Quiet descended over their group for a time as they proceeded to make their way through the beaten woodland path. Sorn couldn't help but make the analogy that the hard-packed flatness of the dirt road, wide as it was, with the thick canopy overhead shutting out most of the sunlight, was a lot like going through some of his favorite caves at home. In his mind's eye, he could see their beautiful veins of quartz reflecting light from high above bathing his skin in a warm multicolored hue much like the dappled streams of sunlight, rich with playful dust motes, breaking through the thick green canopy above them at that very moment. Sorn sighed. Though he was enjoying his adventure and the rich sights and scenery of this world, he already missed home.
Sorn's brooding thoughts were interrupted by the faintest whispers of sound ahead that immediately snapped him back into focus.
"Fitz, Hanz, Lieberman, stop a moment!" commanded the crow. "Not a word, Lieberman! Now use your ears and noses. Tell me, do you sense anything?"
At which point his cousins immediately halted their grumbling and switched focus, catching the scents ahead with senses of smell far closer to a tracking dog’s in acuity than a mortal man. Bodies poised with an almost inhuman stillness one would never expect from such exuberant youths, the triplets appeared in some subtle way transformed. They mirrored perfectly the poised, balanced, and utterly still stance of the hunting cat, coiled up power ready to spring the moment the prey revealed itself.
"Yes, Sorn," Hanz affirmed. "I catch a scent! Imperfectly cured cow leather, the tang of iron, horse sweat, and another scent, sour and pungent. Is that the scent of a man up ahead, do you think?"
"Could be, Hanz, could be," Sorn cawed softly. "The important point to keep in mind here is that we are not sure if they are good guys or bad, friend or foe, so we should be prepared. Now I want all three of you, and no arguments, please! To focus and cast basic warding spells around yourselves. Besides, it's good practice, and none of you have enough experience practicing sorcery in this form.
A bit surprisingly to Sorn, there was no argument. The three golden-haired youths were wrapped up in the excitement of the moment and eager to prepare for what was to come. Aided by the guttural utterances of an ancient eldritch tongue, Sorn could feel the crackling energy building around the three youths as they slowly opened themselves up to the arcane energies that were their birthright, and channeled the essences through themselves, weaving them into specific webs of power.
Sorn couldn’t help but note that despite their deep concentration, it took them considerably longer to cast those well-practiced spells than it normally would have. That was quite understandable, Sorn reflected, as the three not only had to find their focus and weave the webs of energies while highly excited, but far more difficult, channel said energies with finesse while in a form considerably different from their native one.
However coordinated his cousins were as golden-haired youths in a physical sense, arcane-wise, they had little experience with it at all. Fortunately, Sorn th
ought, as he too opened himself up to and channeled the arcane energies that were his own birthright, he had a lot more experience with weaving webs of power in forms that were not his own.
"Well, cousins, it appears you are indeed capable of casting the most basic of magics, bravo!" Sorn quipped. "Hopefully, that shielding will at least keep you safe from a mortal wound. Though truth to tell, I do believe it would be hard to do us much harm, as long as we're careful. Especially since some of us managed to acquire mithril mail before coming here!"
"Okay, Sorn," sighed an irritated Fitz. "We all know how skilled you think you are with magic. You don't have to keep 'crowing' about it!"
"Good point, Fitz!" Hanz snickered. "I always felt that too much study was 'for the birds.'”
"Are you all quite through?" Sorn's frosty voice spoke volumes. "Good! Now here is the plan. You three proceed as normal, and I shall scout ahead. Obviously, if I see something interesting, I'll head back and let you know." Sorn took off, flying right under the canopy high overhead to scout down the trail.
"Ah yes, adventure! Can't you just feel it?" Fitz's eyes glimmered with barely suppressed exuberance, excited as he was by the prospect of adventure ahead. It was a look that was, not surprisingly, mirrored perfectly by both his brothers.
"Yes, we can indeed, Fitz!" Hanz agreed.
"Oh, indeed we can!" Lieberman smiled. "You know, it occurs to me," he began, as by mutual accord their cautious step turned into a jog, "that our cousin is perhaps being a bit overcautious."
"Yes, I do believe you are right. Considerably overcautious." Fitz agreed, as their pace went from a jog to loping run.
"Indeed, it seems to me that if it were something in the nature of trouble ahead, say an evil wizard or an army of ogres or something, attacking some poor helpless princess or the equivalent, then they would need our aid as soon as possible, don't you think?" Lieberman speculated.
"Yes indeed, I think you have the right of it, one hundred percent!" Fitz chimed in as their pace picked up to a full out sprint. "In fact, I think we should be ready for battle at a moments notice! Swords out brothers, Charge!"
With that, all three made their pell-mell dash, swords drawn, faces an odd mixture of battle madness and joyful anticipation, past a bend in the wide dirt path to a small clearing before them.
Interestingly enough, the three youths found that their wild predictions of trouble ahead were not too far off the mark. For indeed there was a rather fancy stagecoach ahead, elegant lines and quality lacquer distinguishing it as a work of craftsmanship and the owner a man of wealth. Normally pulled at what was no doubt a good clip by the four large gray horses even now harnessed to said coach, it was motionless for the moment. This, of course, was easily explained by the thick rope tied around two large trees on either side of the dirt road.
The clearing, small as it was at this bend in the road, was of sufficient size, nonetheless, to allow for said coach to be surrounded by no less than eight men, two of which were wielding crossbows, said weapons being evidenced by both the crossbows themselves and the two men-at-arms who had fallen from the coach moments ago, one emitting agonized moans, the other, chillingly still.
"Well now, what do we have here?" smirked the owner of one of the crossbows as he finished reloading a second bolt. A large and imposing man, he wore a tattered collection of furs together with plates of boiled rawhide, and over it all a rusty shirt of chainmail. A puckered scar across his cheek turned his smirk into a nasty grimace, and the triplets' keen gaze could depict that the man was missing at least one ear through his locks of greasy hair.
"Fresh meat coming by to play!" The cruel looking figure favored the three lads with a mocking sneer. "Well, boys, it's our lucky day. Two for the price of one!" With that, the other men chuckled nastily. Two of the rough looking men were at that moment attempting to cut the horses free, while another started to try to force the carriage door open.
"Leave the carriage for now, Bronick," commanded the imposing crossbowman, who appeared to be the leader of the group, as yet another man moved to wedge something between the front wheels, no doubt to make sure that the carriage could not retreat while their attention was focused elsewhere.
"We took care of the real threat with the crossbows. Any guard in there will be shot the moment he leaves. For now, we have some fresh meat, don't we boys?” This elicited more cruel chuckles as Scarface turned to face the three youths who had so unexpectedly burst into the clearing.
“All right, lads, you've caught me in a good mood today." His voice was filled with a rough bonhomie, belied though it was by the cold calculating look in his eyes. "Tell you what, leave your fancy swords and silks right here, and I'll let you live to see another day."
At this point, the trio had the full attention of the bandits, having left off from the carriage to face this new threat or source of plunder. They were ugly men, foul in spirit and form both, twisted by bitterness, deprivation, and disease. Their faces were as often as not scarred by pox, hair oily and matted, each holding a sword of one type or another. Unlike the ragged men who wielded them, the blades looked well-cared for, recently oiled and sharp.
The leader then proceeded to raise his crossbow towards the youths. "Last warning kids. Drop your pretty blades, and just maybe I'll spare your pretty buttocks!" He smirked as his men jeered and catcalled.
"Well, Fitz, what do you think?" Hanz's eyes sparkled with a manic intensity, his lithe frame nearly bouncing with excitement. "Eight hard-bitten bandits, evil and vile and armed to the teeth, against three innocent youths striving to do justice and right wrongs in the world! This is the stuff good legends are made of, don't you agree?"
"Indeed I do, Hanz, indeed I do!" Fitz replied with equal excitement. "Though in all fairness you can only call it seven hard-bitten bandits, since the eighth is rather guarding the carriage with his crossbow, if you've noticed. On the other hand, the one whom I take for a leader is pointing a rather heavy looking crossbow in our own direction! Tell me, do you think it could pierce our admittedly modest magics, as well as our magic armor and natures? Rather exciting to wonder, don't you think?"
"Indeed you have the right of it, both of you!" agreed a nigh irrepressible Lieberman. "I know, let's just charge the bastards and see what happens!"
"I like that idea, yes I do!" Hanz said enthusiastically, "Okay boys, lets charge!"
At that moment the bandit leader was more than a little surprised to see the manic youths actually charge his men. Though he would never admit it, he found the almost inhuman expressions of glee on the countenances of such innocent looking youths to be more than a bit chilling. Truth be told, their expressions were closer to ravenous than anything else he could think of. As if they were charging their dinners. Yet Bront had seen all kinds in his years as a bandit, murderer, and general thug for hire. And so, with a sad sigh for sweet innocence he would have to forgo sampling, (as he was an exceedingly depraved bandit) he raised his crossbow to eye level, and carefully tried to get a bead on one of the madly dodging youths who were at least clever enough not to make his shot easy.
“Why can't anything ever be easy?” Bront murmured to himself as he finally got a bead on one of the mad youths. At which point, a crow dropped down and plucked his eye out.
"Aarrgh!" Bront shrieked, his voice going from powerful roar to a baby's screech as searing bolts of pain ripped through him. His crossbow misfired, hitting one of his own men in the arm, the bolt going cleanly through to puncture a tree some twenty yards away. The winged man, not surprisingly, dropped his own weapon, shrieking like nothing so much as a hundred pound turkey, and darted for the woods.
"Oh, quit bitching!" quipped the crow, deftly dodging Bront's wildly flailing hands. "It's not like I meant to swallow the darn thing, I just got caught up in the heat of the moment, and boy, eyeballs certainly don't taste like what I thought they would in this form!"
At which point, seeing that Bront appeared at least nominally crippled, squirming with pai
n as he was, Sorn felt it was safe to avoid having to go for the other eye. In truth, it was not a prospect that he would have looked forward to with any relish after the first experience. Pleased to find such a repeat maneuver unnecessary, he flew to a nearby branch to concentrate on some arcane accompaniment to his cousins’ manic bloody dance.
"Oh this is rather exhilarating, isn't it, brothers?" Fitz exclaimed breathlessly as his inhuman strength, mithril blade, and modest skill served nonetheless to rather effortlessly beat back yet another poorly executed sword swing by one who was, like most of these men, a rather inferior fencer, at least compared to Fitz's own people. And really, Fitz thought, there was no excuse. These bandits were bandits all the time! He followed up his parry with fluid grace, letting his parry turn to a twist and spin which managed to cleave the forearm clean off the now shrieking bandit, who had the poor taste to spray blood all over Fitz's nice, clean silks.
"Indeed it is, brother, indeed it is!" Hanz happily concurred, as his own mithril blade and inhuman strength managed to not only shatter his opponent’s sword at the hilt, but to nearly decapitate his opponent with his follow up stroke. Needless to say, his silken finery was also rather messily soaked by the resulting spray.
"Nice blow!" Lieberman complimented. "But have a care not to over commit! Remember, as Sorn always lectures, balance is all important!" With a manic laugh, Lieberman neatly dodged his opponent's blows, his foe screaming as Lieberman sent blade and fingers flying free with a wicked blow to the hand before punching out with the hilt of his blade, a blow that sent the rogue flying into his companions with an audible crack.
The stumbling bandits thus had a moment's respite to fully appreciate these mad apparitions that they found themselves up against. Flippant quips and cheerful expressions served as a most chilling counterpoint to the blood-drenched silks, manic expressions, and hungry looking eyes possessed by the three youths before them.
Gold & Glory Page 2
