Roland turned to Zeb. “Ha! Go figure. Not a cloud in the sky but it must be like this fellow says, a lightning strike.”
“Yep, lightning strike,” Zeb said. He seemed to just repeat what the skinny guy said, which Duncan thought was sort of odd.
Duncan knew nothing about Triad. He didn’t really know much about Overlap past his own village except what he’d heard the sailors say, but he had to go somewhere, didn’t he? “Could I maybe hitch a ride with you fellows as far as the next town?”
“The next town?” the thin guy said. The two looked at each other and smiled. “Be happy to.”
“Happy to.” Zeb chuckled.
Duncan grabbed his pack, took his sword and scabbard off, and started to crawl up front with the driver and his friend.
“Sorry, bud, no room up front. You’ll have to ride on the back.”
Duncan nodded and walked to the back of the wagon. There, he found himself sitting on about six inches of wood holding his pack and sword on what little lap he had in front of him. Every time the wagon hit any sort of rut he was thrown about six inches in the air and the bales shifted and threatened to push him off. Trying to keep his seat he nearly lost everything in his hands. And the wagon wheels seemed to go out of their way to make dust to choke him.
The fellows driving the wagon kept laughing, and it put a lump in his throat. He’d never really had a friend or anyone that he laughed and joked so easily with. So recently shunned, Duncan tried not to get in a funk. It was hard, what with eating dust and bouncing around on the back of that wagon while he hung on for dear life to the small bag that held everything he had.
He was alone in the world without a friend or home to call his own and no idea at all where to go or what to do. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time.
He fell off the back of the wagon at one point, and had to run to catch up. He barely got back on without losing his stuff. Duncan thought about trying to crawl on top of the hay but the bales were stacked six high, too high even for him to climb, and… Well, if he was bounced off from up there, it was a lot further to fall.
At one point his butt hurt so bad he thought about jumping off and walking again, but considering how hard it had been to catch up with the wagon, he realized he was making a lot better time this way.
He thought of his night alone in the woods and shuddered. He hadn’t been thrilled before he’d burned up a huge part of the forest and these guys’ hay field but now… Well it really wasn’t safe for anyone for Duncan to be alone in the woods.
As he thought of the woods—the burned and unburned ones—they drove out of them into a sparse land. The earth was so dark it was almost purple. The few plants that dotted the landscape were dark green, magenta, or yellow. In the distance he could make out the river and could see that the road was following it. The wagon stopped bouncing so hard, and when he looked down he saw that the dirt road had changed to a smooth, black surface. He was suddenly filled with excitement because, though he had known all his life that Overlap was made up of many different towns and he had on occasion seen peddlers and entertainers of different species in his village, Duncan had never actually seen anything but woods, hills and valleys, the river, the lake, pastures, and fields. This place was completely different.
Night was falling quickly but since he was riding on the back of the wagon and would be in a city soon he wasn’t worried in the slightest. Besides, here in the open, the night wasn’t as dark as in the woods. In fact, the moonlight made it possible to see the alien landscape for several feet in any direction.
The ride was smoother and there was no dust and soon he’d be in a city he’d never been to before. Duncan took in a deep breath and let it out. He was on an adventure. All that lay ahead of him was a bright and brilliant future filled with new things and new places and people like these two men who were only too happy to help a stranger.
His tranquility didn’t last long.
The few animals he saw were reptilian, brightly colored, in different sizes and shapes. He saw three that looked like a cross between a lizard and a house cat that had little green spikes on their purple and turquoise-striped bodies. They were sort of cute. They just ran away afraid of the wagon and the humans no doubt. But then there was another creature about the size of a dog that was red and orange and bright-yellow spotted. It hissed and snarled and chased the wagon, its long, thin tail whipping the air behind it with an ominous sound. The thing had a mouth full of sharp yellow teeth and its breath—which easily reached the young Romancer on his perch—smelled like death.
All six-feet-four-inch, two-hundred-fifty pounds of Duncan managed to drag his feet up and sit sideways in the six inches at the back of that wagon. He hung on for dear life to the wire on a bale with one hand, and swung wildly at the animal with his pack and sword with the other.
All his attempts at self preservation seemed to make the animal more determined and aggressive. It wasn’t until his pack actually connected with the creature’s head and sent it head-over-tail into the ditch that it stopped chasing them.
Even when the creature was gone from sight Duncan stayed perched with one butt cheek on the wagon. There was no way he was going to let his legs dangle over the edge where something might chew them off.
He started to rethink the adventure thing.
The moon went behind a cloud and it was suddenly much darker and three times as cold. He wanted to dig his cloak out of his pack, but there was no way he could do it and stay on the wagon. Just then, the last thing he wanted was to be on foot in the dark in this strange place filled with Duncan-eating monsters.
No he’d deal with the cold and cling for dear life with one hand to his things and with the other to the baling wire. He’d thought only for a moment about what might happen if the wire broke or worse yet the bale it was attached to came loose and fell.
Just as he was sure that he would freeze to death at any moment, the wagon stopped suddenly. It was all he could do to peel his fingers off the wire. He had to open his fingers with his other hand before he could let go and get off the wagon.
“Town is about a fifteen minute walk that way,” Roland said. Zeb was now driving the wagon. Duncan’s eyes were drawn to the wagon’s lights. He had assumed they were oil but could now see that they must run on some sort of generator system from the wheels because they were dimming as the wagon just sat there.
“Fifteen minutes that way,” Zeb said, and pointed in again a much more elaborate hand gesture than what he’d said needed.
Duncan’s teeth were chattering so hard he could barely speak. “Aren’t you going?”
“We’re going to Triad. This is the first town we’ve come to. You could ride on with us if you’d like,” Roland said. “But I have to tell you the road’s about to get a lot rougher and Zeb’s driving. He’s not a real careful driver.”
“I like to go up,” Zeb said laughing.
Duncan thought about being folded on the six-inch platform on the back of that wagon bed, freezing as he was tossed up and down. He then weighed it against a bunch of those lizard-dog things attacking him somewhere between here and the town, the lights of which he could make out in the distance. It wasn’t far. They were right. Maybe a fifteen minute walk—tops.
“I’ll stay here, thanks.”
Both men laughed then and Roland said, “I bet next time you make a fire you’ll be damn sure it doesn’t get away from ya, Romancer.”
With that, Zeb whipped the horses and moved away fast, taking the light which grew in intensity with their speed with them. Both men were laughing loudly.
Duncan drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. So…they’d known all along he’d caused the fire. Probably because they’d seen his camp in the middle of the burned area. Then he was the only one on the road and he was eating scorched meat out of his smoke-stained tabard but said he hadn’t seen any fire.
In retrospect he probably should have played that a little differently.
Then he
frowned. So they’d purposely perched him on the edge of hell and then proceeded to give him the roughest ride ever.
It didn’t matter. He guessed he deserved some form of punishment for burning up their hay crop. Besides, he could see the lights of the town clearly, and his butt would stop hurting eventually. He was still better off than he had been before he’d hitched a ride with them.
He’d go and see if he could find a warm place to sleep for the night. Maybe he had enough money to buy something to eat. Then in the morning he’d look for work. It didn’t have to be a good job just something to pay for room and board till he could finish his invention and find fame and fortune.
It was still freezing cold so he opened his pack and feeling his way through the contents, pulled out his extra shirt, the cloak, and even the tabard that still smelled of cooked meat and made his mouth water. He carefully made sure he still had everything then tied the pack up tight and slung it and his sword over his shoulder.
“It’s black as pitch,” he mumbled to himself. “Still how hard could it be? All I have to do is go towards the lights.” He found the road under his feet and started walking. It was even easier than he had thought it would be. He was in a straight line with the town and any time he stepped off the paved surface he could immediately feel the difference. “The joke’s on those guys. I’m close to town, and now that I’ve got all my clothes on and I’m walking I’m even warm again.”
No sooner had he said it than he heard something growling at his back. He doubled his pace, but so did the growling whatever-it-was. When he heard the whipping noise the tail of the lizard dog had made—only times three—he started running as fast as his legs would carry him towards the town.
He had hoped that the things wouldn’t come into town but there was no such luck. Duncan kept running looking for somewhere to run to. The town was filled with large, well-kept, one-story wooden buildings. There were big signs that glowed in the darkness in bright greens and blues in a language he didn’t know. He was starting to run out of steam without seeing any place he could escape from the merciless beasts when he saw the one place that looked more or less the same no matter where you were. After all a bar is always a bar.
Whatever was after him was nipping at his heels even as he ran in the tavern door and slammed it quickly behind him. The bar wasn’t well lit—bars never were—but after total darkness the lights seemed blinding to him and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. In fact, he still couldn’t really make out the room or anyone in it when he heard a deep voice say, “Well would you all looky what we got here?”
Another voice, just as deep added, “It’s a Romancer, ain’t no doubt. Look at that tabard.”
“And covered with the soot and blood of the recent battle.”
“Come to avenge your kind, little man?”
And that was when Duncan could plainly make out the pin-up girl on the huge poster hanging over the bar. Up front all woman—from the waist down all horse. Duncan looked around at the tavern full of Centaurs. That’s right. He was in a Centaur bar, in a Centaur village, wearing a Romancer’s tabard less than two days after a war.
The blue and green lights should have been his first clue. Blue and Green were Centaur battle colors.
Now Roland and Zeb’s laughter made sense. The rough ride had just been the beginning. Their real revenge was to dump him in a village full of the enemies of his people.
Duncan smiled nervously. “It’s really a funny story.”
“Really?” A big Centaur with a red coat and beard, wearing the blue fighting tabard of the Centaurs, turned to face him. “Let’s just hear this funny story.”
“I, ah, well, I didn’t fight in the war. That’s why I’m here…”
“Come to slay us in our own home?! To break all the rules of our war,” the red Centaur roared and his fellows gathered around him.
“No, not at all. I was thrown out of my home because I wouldn’t fight in the war. See I don’t like the war,” Duncan said quickly. “I think it’s stupid.”
“The war is stupid!” all the Centaurs thundered as a single voice.
“Ah…I mean to say… It’s your river.”
“Yes, because we won the war yesterday.” They cheered, so it was worse than he thought. He wasn’t just in just any Centaur bar. No, he was in a bar full of warrior Centaurs celebrating their victory.
“As far as I’m concerned you can just have it all the time. I’m not a fighter. I’m just dirty. Seriously, I would like you to just keep the river.”
The Centaurs looked confused and the red one said. “You mean…you would give us the river without a war?”
“That’s right. It’s stupid to fight over it,” the terrified young Romancer said.
“Did you hear that?” the red Centaur said in a rage. “We’re stupid.”
“No! Ah, no, I didn’t mean you’re stupid. Just that the whole thing is stupid,” Duncan said quickly.
“So, what you’re saying is that all of our people who have died fighting the war died for nothing?”
“No, no,” Duncan said, remembering how mad it had made his father the major. “I’m just saying that no one has to die. You can just have the river.”
“This man has no honor!” the red Centaur shouted out. Duncan heard several swords clear leather. Realizing he was talking himself into an ever-widening chasm, he turned and ran back out the door he’d come in.
Straight into the three lizard dogs that had been chasing him. To his surprise, all of them sank their teeth into his tabard, and started trying to rip it apart.
As the angry Centaurs boiled out of the bar, Duncan took off running with the lizard-dog things hanging all over him.
Fortunately Duncan had learned two things from his warrior training his tutors hadn’t intended to teach him. No one could run or hide as well as he could. Of course it was hard to do either of those things with a pack of hungry lizard dogs attached to his chest. He ran down a dark alley and slung himself into a large, square box that—from the smell of it—was filled with garbage…and something worse. Making a face he realized that what he was standing ankle-deep in and was totally disgusted.
The lizard things now seemed content to just hang on his tabard and snarl at each other as if they were fighting over a bone. Duncan realized they hadn’t actually been after him at all. They smelled food, no doubt they scavenged around the town, so they were used to eating scraps. He smelled like scraps. Carefully he took off his pack, sword, and cloak, dropping them into the mess at his feet. Then he removed his fighting tabard with its attached lizard dogs. He was about to place it carefully on the ground outside the container he was in when a Centaur screamed out from the end of the alley, “There he is!”
Too late Duncan realized that when he stood up he was no longer hidden.
Duncan quickly changed plans and slung the tunic and its attached lizard dogs in the direction of the coming Centaur army. He slung his pack and sword back on and jumped out of the garbage bin. He headed for the end of the alley slinging trash, crap and gods alone knew what else behind him.
He thought for a minute of drawing his weapon, then remembered he wasn’t very good with it even against cloth dummies. The reluctant warrior decided to live to not fight another day. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. When he saw the end of the alley and the fence that blocked it he started to despair because the Centaurs were close behind him—and gaining.
Then he remembered one of the lessons he’d only half listened to. Centaurs couldn’t climb. He doubled his pace, hit the fence hard, and climbed over it easily—the speed and agility of his climb no doubt motivated by the impending death at his heels.
When his feet hit the ground on the other side, there was nothing but darkness to greet him, and he ran into the night. He was still running long after the last of the Centaurs had no doubt gone back to their bar to finish their beers and laugh about how scared the Romancer had been.
Finally he stopped, vaguely s
urprised that he hadn’t tripped over anything. When he felt around with his foot there was nothing but sand under his boots. And when he started to walk again, he immediately tripped over something that put stickers in his leg. As he was dancing around he tripped over something else and landed on his butt.
Sighing heavily, he rolled over on all fours, looking for a clear area where there was nothing but sand. He was a little surprised to find that the sand was as warm as the air wasn’t in this strange place. Another night alone in the dark but this time with no fire, still, all things considered, maybe that was for the best.
Chapter Two
Duncan was showing a beautiful woman just how his pastry-filling machine worked when she suddenly bent over to get a better look—and he did, too.
Then she was running her finger across his lip and it was tickling him.
“Quit.” He grinned and giggled and then to his dismay he woke up. Though the sand had kept him warm through the night, sleeping on it had put sand in unthinkable places. He opened his eyes slowly and saw a small purple lizard crawling across his face. “Hey you.” He laughed. “Find your own bed.”
Still grinning, he pulled back his blanket and froze. He was covered with more than sand. Hundreds of lizards and snakes in a multitude of colors and sizes had slithered in around him during the night. For a moment he stayed very still, trying to think of what he should do. Then before he could form a rational thought—much less think of a plan—he jumped up in one fluid motion and ran screaming across the desert. He left a trail of sleepy, disgruntled reptiles in his wake.
When he was several feet from the last lizard to drop off, he shuddered and said a loud, “Yuk!” It echoed across the otherwise vacant valley. He turned around in a big circle, and in the distance he could just make out the town he’d been chased out of the night before. Behind that he could make out a tree line that could only be the Sliding River. Back in the direction he had just run from his stuff was scattered on the ground. He could still make out several lumpy reptilian bodies slithering around over there.
The Adventures of Duncan & Mallory: The Beginning Page 3
