[Epik Fantasy 01.0] Hero in a Halfling

by William Tyler Davis

  9

  Guards! Guards?

  Sergeant Todder was vaguely aware of his superiors. That is, he knew he had them. He was aware that they had names, and he was sure they were fine names, like Jared or Travis or Blake. He’d just never been keen on learning them. Superiors changed as often as Todder changed his underwear. About every two months.

  The Watch reported to a lowly officer in the Palace Guard, who reported to a less lowly officer in the king’s Army, and so on and so forth, and he was sure the king sat at the top of that chain. Todder’s former commanders had gone off to battle, or been promoted and sent off to combat, or at worst, drunkenly embarrassed themselves and found themselves off to battle.

  The notebook he carried wasn’t for them, it was more a personal journal. A diary that happened to keep a historical record of the city, it described each day of Sergeant Todder’s career. But also, and with meticulous detail, the goings and comings of Dune All-En.

  Yesterday’s marks weren’t like the others. Todder had filled almost two pages in the Going section.

  But today had started better than the last. And the new boy, Brendan, hadn’t shown. It was back to being his gate. His Wall. He sat back down in his chair, smiling smugly.

  But then, the sound of boots crunching against gravel came up from behind him. Todder knew that sound.

  He turned; Brendan looked at him wearily, his brown cheeks a bit flushed from running. Brendan’s smooth black hair was caked and stuck up uneven. His eyes were red and cracked like he hadn’t had a wink of sleep the previous night.

  “Good morning,” Todder said without meaning it.

  “Sarge,” Brendan said. “Captain Snyder needs to have a word.”

  “Snyder?” Todder questioned. “He the one with the straw-colored hair and the chin like this?” Todder stuck his hand about three inches from his own chin, squaring the fingers.

  “No, Sarge,” the boy shook his head, “that was Captain Rhymes, I believe. He died in battle about six months ago.”

  “Ah,” the sergeant nodded. “Shame. Who’s Snyder then?”

  “Black mop top,” Brendan said. “Nose like an eagle.”

  “Right.”

  “You know we’re supposed to check in at the end of our shift?” Brendan asked wearily. “The captain wanted to speak to you last night. He already spoke with me.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Oh,” Brendan said through a yawn. “Not much. Just assigned me a new shift.”

  “Wonderful!” Todder smiled. This was shaping up to be a better day indeed.

  “The captain, he did say, it was urgent,” Brendan said.

  “Right oh!”

  Todder followed Brendan back into the city. They walked from one end of the city to the other, to Kings. All of the guard posts and even the Watch housing, where the new recruits lived, were beside the castle. Todder felt the beginnings of a blister forming on his big toe; this was more walking than he’d done in ages. He might have had trouble keeping up with the boy if Todder’s strides weren’t twice the average size.

  The guard post on the east side of the castle wall overlooked the cliff and the sea. The captain sat in a small makeshift office at the top of it, above the weapons stores and kitchen. His desk, too, was makeshift; no one had sat at it for long enough to have the right to complain.

  Snyder shuffled some papers and made the sergeant wait several minutes before allowing him inside.

  “Sarge,” the man said, smiling. “It’s been ages! How’ve you been?”

  “Fine, um, sir.” Todder smiled back reluctantly, struggling to remember the beak-nosed boy—a squire perhaps—now his outranking officer. Finally, it clicked. “Harry, is that you?”

  “Henry,” Captain Henry Snyder said, then corrected the sergeant, “you can call me Captain.”

  “You can call me Al,” Sergeant Todder said.

  Captain Snyder frowned. “Well,” he said, “I guess we’ll just get down to business. I’ve been asked to double the Watch at the Eastern Ramparts—the erm night watch.”

  “The night watch, sir?”

  “Consider it a promotion,” Snyder said.

  “A promotion?”

  “I can even arrange an adjustment in pay? Another three dollars a week sound good?”

  “But night watch?” Todder said. “I’ve never been too keen on werkin’ nights.”

  “That’s why we’re calling it a promotion,” the captain said with insistence in his voice.

  “I’d love to call it an imposition,” Todder groused. The captain grinned wryly, allowing the sergeant one snide remark. “But,” Todder hesitated, “what about the gate?”

  “Yes, the gate,” Captain Snyder managed. “I hardly see the point, but tell you what, you can close the gates at the beginning of your shift and open them at the end. Sound fair? Right? Gives you all day to sleep. All day tomorrow. We need you at the ramparts tonight.”

  “But who will guard it, sir?” Sergeant Todder hand found its way into his pocket and gripped the half of his pencil tightly. The only sword he’d ever needed. Until now.

  “Guard it?” Snyder laughed. “Would you say you guard it? Listen, the gate will sort itself out. It’s a night watch we need.” The captain lowered his voice to a whisper. “You know it’s been ten years, don’t you? The king expects an attack. It’s the reason he’s sent all the magicians out of the city. Personally, I’d rather have a nice cold pint and wait for all of this to blow over. But we have a job to do, don’t we? We have to make some attempt at protecting the city, no matter how fruitless we think it is.”

  Sergeant Todder’s jaw tightened. If the king expected an attack, why hadn’t he rebuilt the damn wall? If he expected an attack, why hadn’t he recalled the Army? Todder had heard they were off protecting the realm, guarding the city from afar. But it all sounded like a load of hogwash to him.

  “Where will you be, then?” Todder asked. “Will you be joining us at the Wall?”

  “Me?” Snyder said, incredulous. “No, I’ll be at the Remington, like I said, having a pint. You know they turned the Winchester into flats? It’s a shame.” The captain shuffled more paper on his desk, in another fruitless attempt to look busy. “We good then?”

  “Yes… Sir.” Todder’s throat tightened.

  “Good! Dismissed.”

  Todder stepped awkwardly out of the office, bobbing his head below the doorway. He rested a hand on the rusty hilt of the blade at his waist, failing to remember the last time he’d put hands on it. It was not on the sergeant’s agenda to die. It was not on his agenda to get blown up. Ten years before, it was the night watch and a regiment of the old army, rooted to their spots along the rampart, which took the brunt of King Simmons’ explosives.

  Todder’s apartment, less than a mile away, had shook from the explosion, and it had broken his damn mirror. But how could he complain? The day watch was easy. Nothing ever happened in the day. It was the night that worried him.

  10

  Wizards, Wine, and Wily Men

  “So, what do you think of the city so far?” Gerdy asked. She was leaning on the counter, but also close enough to Epik so that he could smell her underarm. Oddly, it wasn’t as unpleasant as he would have imagined. It smelled sweet, yet it had a bit of a bite to it, not unlike his own piney smell.

  He frowned.

  “Well, it isn't really what I expected. Like I said, we, I mean, I’ve always been kind of keen on wizards and magic. I show up, and the king outlaws it. And all of the magicians have left.”

  “Not all of them,” Gerdy said. “I saw a few in the bar only this afternoon. Drinking their sorrows, I suppose. But you aren’t missing much, if I do say so. I know you won’t believe me, but it’s just a bunch of tricks, isn’t it? I don’t think there’s much real magic anymore.”

  “No?” Epik said. “But I’ve seen real magic—when I was a boy.” Soap suds sloshed out of the mugs as he washed them; they made soapy ringlets around his forearms. He w
iped them away on his apron before scooting away from Gertrude and truly investing in their conversation.

  “Well sure,” Gerdy said. “There’s a firework here and there, and every now and again a bratty kid gets turned into a toad. Sometimes they’ll even turn him back. Piddly stuff though, when you think about it.”

  “Getting turned into a toad? That doesn’t sound so piddly to me. I could have used a bit of that this morning. I would’ve turned about fifty kids into a knot of ‘em.”

  “What?” Gerdy said amused. “Why would you turn fifty kids into toads? Were you down getting the food stamps or something?”

  Epik looked away coyly. “Well, I didn’t know that’s where I was, did I?”

  He found a new mug and tried to rub both its grime and his guilt away.

  “You idiot halfling,” she said in both an accusatory and playful way. She put her hand on her hip, scolding him with the look of her brown eyes. It looked more like his mother’s stare than Epik would like to admit. “Everyone knows not to set foot between children and their food—especially if it’s free.”

  “Why does it matter if it’s free?”

  “They don’t eat it otherwise, or so I’ve heard. You could have got your throat cut or worse. Tell you what, tomorrow morning I’m showing you the city—the good parts.”

  “The good parts?” Epik said.

  “Okay, not the good parts. But the parts you’re less likely to get bludgeoned by children.”

  “Deal.” Epik smiled, despite himself. Gerdy was starting to grow on him.

  “And what do halflings do for fun?” she asked. “You know when they’re not slaving away, washing dishes.”

  “Sit around in pubs. Drink ale. Smoke pipes.”

  Gerdy rolled her brown eyes.

  “We play word games too,” Epik said.

  “Word games?” She snorted. “Like drinking word games?”

  “There’s always drinking,” Epik said.

  “Tell me more about these word games,” she said, smirking.

  “Well, there's a game where you make up a word, something like ‘cribbage,’ and you have to use it in a story. But don't tell anyone the word, of course, just the story. Then if someone else uses the made up word again, you drink.”

  “You have to drink?”

  “Well, yeah, the drinking’s the best part.”

  “And halflings actually play this game?” she asked incredulously.

  “Well, no, it's a sort of thing I made up,” Epik said. “Once Fatty Cheapskate used six of my made up words in a sentence.

  Gerdy laughed. “Well, here we mostly play games to make others drink.”

  “Not sure I’d like that,” Epik said.

  Gerdy took a step closer to him.

  “And did you go on dates, in the Bog?”

  Now she was getting at the heart of the matter. Epik felt the back of his neck get hot—and not from the fire in the oven. “Your friend,” he said, going back to the dishes, “Myra. Does she come here often?”

  “So even half men are like all men?” Gerdy said derisively, but again she put a bit of playfulness in her voice like she was used to half joking and half honesty. “Mye goes around about anywhere she can get a free drink. She’s in here most nights if you’re into that.”

  “And what about the ranger?” Epik asked. “Is he in here most nights too?”

  “He is. But there’s nothing to worry about there. His barks worse than his bite… well, unless you’re a mountain cat. He just likes to come off all sinister, especially to little folks. Just steer clear of him.”

  “Right,” Epik said, knowing the impossibility of those words—that’s not how bullies work, they come to you.

  Jed cleared his throat from the curtained entry to the kitchen; he looked cross and dangerous like a venomous spider. Epik wasn’t sure if it was directed at him; the dwarf was hard to read. Like most fathers of daughters, he could be equal parts charming and scary. The brunt of his current irritation was directed to Gerdy. “Don’t you have a job to do, miss?” he said.

  “I guess so.” Like most daughters of stern fathers, Gerdy said it without any trepidation in her voice. She jumped down from the counter and exited, nudging her father into the doorframe with her superior size.

  “Ah lad,” Jed motioned to him, recovering with a smile, “there’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”

  A cleanly shaven man sat at a table off to the side of the main room, a comfortable distance from the bustle of the rest of the bar. He wore a tidy satin shirt, his leather pants tucked into polished boots. Round spectacles sat on the tip of his long nose. His hair was bushy, salt and peppered, more black than gray.

  Myra sat across from him. What Epik thought was his heart skipped a beat. But love and halflings have deep roots in their stomachs. And this was merely a grumble of his tummy that rumbled up his chest.

  Gerdy was within speaking distance of the table. She gave Epik a sarcastic smirk that said many things, mostly ‘see your true love is here like I said she would be.’ Epik also noticed the ranger skulking in the room at the back.

  “This is a business associate of mine,” Jed said, “Monsieur Epiman.”

  “And me dad,” Myra said, smiling. It was a good smile, Epik thought.

  “Oh, Mister Epiman will do fine,” the man said thickly. “How do you do?” He gave the halfling a once over.

  “Fine, sir,” Epik managed. There was something uncomfortable about the man’s stare. Penetrating wasn’t the right word, but it would do.

  “Didn’t think there were many halflings in the city,” Epiman said coolly.

  “Epik,” Epik said.

  Jed took the empty seat between Myra and Epiman, leaving Epik on his feet, even with the table. The bespectacled man turned to Jed and took a sip from a tall glass of wine.

  “We gets ‘em in from time to time,” Jed said casually before turning back to Epik. “Epiman here is a businessman. Helped me get my start. Does things all over the city, prolly not a storefront in the land that doesn’t owe him some bit o’ pittance.” Jed laughed hardily.

  “You do?” Epik said. “You get more halflings around the city?”

  Jed nodded. “Sometimes. Only last week—“

  “Lad,” Epiman interrupted. “Do you mind getting me some more wine?” He looked over to Jed. “We have some business to discuss.”

  “Ah,” Jed grunted, “well while yer at it, could ya go and get me an ale? Expect ya know yer way by now.”

  “But—“

  Myra smiled and rolled her eyes. “Don’t know if you’ll get another word in now with these two,” she said. “It’s Myra—if ya remember from yesterday.” She winked knowingly like any man would be crazy to forget her. Epik tended to agree. “And I’ll take wine too,” she said.

  It could’ve been a reflection of the last bit of the sunlight creeping in through the crack in the door as Snow came back from an errand, but Epik could swear he saw a twinkle in Myra’s eyes.

  And so, Epik began bartending at the Rotten Apple in earnest.

  The bar’s patrons turned from food to drink, from talk to song; they ordered more ale in those few hours than the Hog’s Toot would see in weeks. Jed left Epik to tend bar, sitting a while longer at Epiman’s table, lounging there with the businessman and Myra. Then, when Epiman left, Jed walked Snow home, leaving Myra alone at the table. Though not for long. Plenty of men and a couple of dwarves sent drinks and conversation her way. A bead of jealousy bubbled into Epik’s gut.

  But this wasn’t the halfling way, so he suppressed it like he did most things that bothered him. He put on a false smile and flashed it at Gertrude as she sat beside the door.

  Gerdy chatted with Myra between suitors, broke up a couple of bar fights, and as Epik made circles around the rooms, bussing tables and refilling pints, Gerdy made small talk with the men at the bar.

  A gray bearded wizard had come in shortly after Mister Epiman left; he sat down on a stool beside Sergeant Tod
der. The wizard nursed a glass of wine. And then a bit more. Gerdy seemed familiar enough with him, chit chatting as she poured him another drink.

  Epik busied himself, but avoided the game room. No, avoided wasn’t the right word. He’d skirted it, dodged it even.

  “Oy,” Collus’ friend, the one who’d got a dart stuck in his hand, motioned to Epik. “How ‘bout some refills in here little man.”

  “Okay,” Epik said a bit more reluctantly than he’d have liked it to sound. He made them drinks. And he readied himself for the ranger’s grief.

  “Do you drink little half man?” Coe asked.

  “I do,” Epik told him.

  “How many thimbles full does it take for you to get a buzz?”

  The man, who dressed similarly to Coe and who Epik was beginning to think may be a ranger also, laughed with delight. The dwarves joined in, chortling hoarsely.

  “Is it more than this?” One of the dwarves held up a hand, one with only three fingers.

  Epik knew all too well how these things went. It was pointless to fight back—at first. The bully would like that. Even rise to it. Epik needed to wait it out, to find an opportunity, one to humiliate the ranger and maybe his friends. There always was one. Epik had missed two such occasions back in the Bog with Frank Biggle. And he’d sworn to himself never to let it happen again.

  “What’s a thimble?” Epik said without showing his cards.

  “They’s these little metal things,” Coe’s bandaged up friend butted in, putting his thumb and bandaged fingers a centimeter apart. “Me mum uses ‘em when she’s sewing.”

  “No one cares about your mum, Rotrick.” Collus gave the man a hard look. “They’re what he said.” Coe narrowed his eyes, gauging Epik’s reaction.

  “Oh, those things,” Epik said. “I reckon it’d take about a hundred or two.”

  The matter-of-factness of the answer put a scowl on the ranger’s face. But this wasn’t the fight Epik need to win. He was back behind the bar before the ranger had a chance to think. He would take a small victory, knowing there was possibly a war to come.