Heroes And Fools
( Tales of the Fifth Age - 2 )
Margaret Weis
Janet Pack
Miranda Horner
Giles Custer
Jeff Grubb
Jean Rabe
Douglas Niles
Heroes And Fools
Margaret Weis,Janet Pack,Miranda Horner,Giles Custer,Tod Fahnestock,Jeff Grubb, Nancy Varian Berberick,Paul B. Thompson,Kevin James Kage, Nick O’Donohoe, Linda P. Baker, Richard A. Knaak, Jean Rabe,Douglas Niles,Roger E. Moore,Don Perrin
“Boojum, Boojum”
Janet Pack
The proprietor of the Crossroads Inn looked nervous. He had good reason. Besides his regular noon patrons and the usual handful of strangers in his establishment, there were also eight Dark Knights and a kender. The regulars and guests sat to the left in loose knots around small tables, whispering to each other and throwing furtive glances toward the dark forces; the Knights lounged around a trestle board to the right, intently listening to their leaders; and the kender roamed the bar, occasionally bursting forth in song in a voice rendered seventeen times louder than normal by the amount of dwarven spirits he’d imbibed.
The innkeeper shook his balding head. Not an auspicious day, although the ale the Knights were drinking had lent an extra jingle to his money drawer. He wiped down the bar with a damp rag, making a detour around the kender who had finally fallen asleep with head curled on his arms. He tried not to listen to scraps of conversation, especially those coming from Takhisis’s troop.
“We need to post notices for maps of this area,” Khedriss Mennarling, commander of the strike force of Dark Knights, was saying. “A good target is rumored nearby. If these rumors prove to be true, then we will have the test we require.”
The kender stirred groggily. “Mapsh?” he muttered into the bar, his pronunciation still under the influence of dwarven spirits.
“The reconnaissance will take time,” continued Thrane Gunnar, burly second-in-command of the troop. “So we’ll need to be patient. Luck will be as important as a good map. Maps with information this specific are not common.” The big man’s eyes glittered maliciously as he happened to connect looks with the merchant seated nearest him. His rusty-hinge voice rattled the windows. “You have an interest in our business?”
Everyone in the room tensed. The merchant looked away immediately, shaking his balding head. “No. No interest,” he squeaked.
“Good,” replied Gunnar. “Make sure it stays that way.” He surveyed the rest of the patrons for a challenge. No one met his eyes.
“I got mapsh.” Suddenly motivated, the kender swung up onto the bar and danced across it singing:
I know of the boojum, boojum, monster of the glade.
It swings a club made of a tree, and is silent on its raid.
It has a treasure ages old laid up within its cave.
And it laughs a great and rumbly laugh as it guides you to your grave. . ulp!
Thanks to Gunnar’s swift muscular reach, the small being found himself suddenly sitting in the middle of the Dark Knights’ table, surrounded by eight calculating glares.
“Let’s find out what he knows,” said Mennarling. “Hold him, Drethon.”
Firm hands closed about the kender’s upper arms. He squinted at the fingers, but couldn’t believe that pale sausages possessed such strength.
“Even if he knows nothing, we can have some fun with him,” growled Gunnar, slapping the captive hard enough to make his ears ring. “He’s probably not worth our time. Kender only take up space that can be occupied by better people.” He leaned toward the short creature, threatening. “What’s this boojum you’re singing about, and where does it live?”
“Hi, my name’s Thistleknot Tangletoe.” With his eyes slightly crossed, the kender thought the Dark Knights looked truly peculiar. Thistleknot tried to fix his sight by pulling at the corners of his eyes, but it didn’t work.
“What? Oh, yesh, the boojum. Well, it’s huge and furry, and very fierce. Everybody knows that.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “An’ everybody knows its favorite dessert ish kender. More’s the compliment!”
One of Mennarling’s eyebrows cocked. “Where is this legendary beast?”
“Oh, you’re close, it’s right around thish area. Thash why the trade route changed. There washn’t much left of a certain caravan after the last boojum raid, so they moved the road south. The old way runs deep in the forest. No one ‘ardly goes there anymore.”
Gunnar rumbled, “Do you happen to have a map?”
“I thought you’d never askh!” caroled Thistleknot, reaching for a bulging pouch and spreading out a beautifully detailed parchment. “We’re right here, at the Crossroadsh Inn.” His finger wobbled. “The boojum haunts thish vicinity.” They could see it was not far away, labeled simply “Boojum” in red, underlined twice. “The ‘X’ marks its cave. An’ you gotta be careful when you get there.” He brought his fingers to his lips and whispered. Mennarling leaned forward slightly to hear and to examine the tiny but precise printing. “There are lots and lots of trapsh!”
Mennarling looked at Gunnar. “Can we trust him?”
“Kender maps are some of the best on Krynn.”
“Is the monster real, or just a legend, though? You come from this area, Relthas. What say you?”
The woman warrior considered. “As I told you, I’ve heard of this boojum all my life, sir. It may be legend, but things have happened to livestock and people that have never been thoroughly explained. Piles of bones have been found next to trails. Persons have disappeared. Sometimes the bodies are found with expressions suggesting they died of fright. I’ve never seen it,” she said slowly, “but I, for one, believe the boojum does exist.”
Tangletoe danced next to the map. “I know of the boo-jum, boojum-” he started to sing. Drethon silenced him with a cuff to the ear.
Mennarling nodded, satisfied, and rose. “Then it is decided. This boojum will become the test subject for Her Dark Majesty’s new death machine. We’ve saved a lot of time by discovering this kender and his map.” He threw a few coins on the table, grabbed up the chart, turned toward the door, and added, “If boojums like kender so much, bring this one along for bait.”
“Heeeyyyyyyy!” Thistleknot howled as Drethan hauled him backward off the table by collar and belt. When the Dark Knight shifted his grip, however, Tangletoe scooted for the portal, leaving a ragged piece of collar in Drethan’s hand.
“Stop him!” boomed Gunnar.
Thistleknot managed to dodge the only Dark Knight between him and the outside. He skidded across the porch and raced toward a hand-drawn cart with a big closely swathed burden, the only refuge in sight despite being guarded by three-no, four-humans.
Tangletoe dove beneath the canvas, instantly intrigued by his whereabouts. He worked his hands beneath the ropes at the largest end. “Metal,” he muttered. “Heavy. It’sh bigger’n me. Wonder if it’s hollow. Whatsh thish, writing? Too dark. Wunnder what it shays? Yeoww!”
One of the guards had him by his heels and dragged him out. “We’ve got him,” he announced to the rest of the Dark Knights as they charged from the inn.
Gunnar grinned through large, square teeth. Mennarling nodded. Tangletoe tried to duck but was too slow. Gunnar’s fist slammed into his chin, and the kender saw multicolored stars.
“Boootiful,” he managed to say, and knew no more.
Tangletoe awoke abruptly, his sense of being in a different place than before tingling along his nerves. Blearily
he tried to think where he had been and where he was going. Certain clues presented themselves to his dwarven spirits-befuddled brain.
The first was that he dangled from a rope tied tightly around his middle affixed to a springy pole that bounced him up and down, up and down, in the darkening woods. The rope also caused him to spin around, which gave him only occasional glimpses of the trees looming suddenly before him, as well as a queasy stomach. Or was the latter an aftereffect of the dwarven spirits? He didn’t know, and at the moment, didn’t care.
The pole was held by Thrane Gunnar, who grinned wickedly after glancing upward and noticing the late afternoon light bouncing off of Tangletoe’s slitted eyes.
“Here boojum, boojum, boojum,” he called. The rest of the troop laughed, except for Khedriss Mennarling.
“Quiet,” the Dark Knight commander snapped. Behind him, the eight men and two women pulling the canvas-draped death machine on a small two-wheeled wooden cart hushed their catcalls. “According to the kender’s map we’re now well into boojum country. The monster could be anywhere. Be vigilant.”
“My m-m-map!” wailed Thistleknot mournfully from the rope end of the springy pole, his enunciation still beyond perfect control. “You owe me for th-that map. It’s my very besht one!”
Mennarling smiled without humor, his pale blue eyes resembling ice. He replied in a low voice that made the kender think of edged steel being pulled from a scabbard.
“You tried to steal our Queen’s experimental machine. I still wonder how, in your inebriated state and in such little time, you managed to work yourself under without loosening any of the ropes. But that’s a mystery I’ll save to ponder later. Meanwhile, you are making a valuable sacrifice toward the great goals of Her Dark Majesty. Remember that.”
“But. . but I wasn’t stheal-watch ou-oooofffff!”
A sudden shift of the pole in Gunnar’s hands brought the kender into unfriendly proximity with a tree. He tried to fend it off with his fists, but Gunnar jounced the pole and sent him whacking against the trunk not once, but twice. Tangletoe left some skin on its rough bark. His new abrasions stung. The pain helped his mind to clear a little.
“Ouch! Hey, I could help if I really wanted to. I know important information that could lead you right to-”
“Silence, kender,” Mennarling barked. “We have your precious map and all the meticulous notations you made on it. There’s only one more thing we require of you, and that’s to keep smelling like a kender. Bleed a little, and attract the boojum. . ”
Of course Tangletoe smelled like a kender, and mighty proud he was of it. But the bleeding he could do without. He used sore hands to fend off a branch trying to snag him.
“I don’t write everything down on my maps, you know. There isn’t always enough room, and-”
Without hesitation Gunnar whirled Thistleknot around and whacked him into the nearest large branch, temporarily stunning him. “Let’s try quiet bait,” he grinned.
“Don’t kill him. . yet,” one of the Dark Knights warned.
“If he dies, we could turn him into a kender projectile,” said Gunnar thoughtfully.
“I’ll consider that seriously,” Mennarling said softly, speaking mainly to Gunnar. “That would be an intriguing fallback.”
Gunnar momentarily spared a hand from grasping the pole to massage one ear. “He deserves all the punishment we can devise. My hearing will never be the same: his singing is worse than any screech owl.” His hand returned to the pole, and he gave the kender a harsh jolt.
“Ow! Hey! Who are you calling a screech owl?”
“Just making sure you’re still up there and on the job, boojum bait,” Gunnar chuckled.
“I worry that the fuel is not quite right,” Mennarling muttered, “and that the troop is not drilled well enough in the loading procedures.” Thistleknot strained to hear.
“You saw me train them,” Gunnar protested. “We trained for days. I ran them through the steps until it takes only moments to get ready. Every one of them can perform his or her duty. Even on a moonless night, I swear, they could do it backward if you ordered it. Nothing has been left to chance. All that remains is finding the boojum.”
“We may only have moments to react. By all reports, this boojum is fast for his size. And what if there are casualties among the operating squad?”
“You know these people,” stated Gunnar. “They’re among the best of the Dark Queen’s forces in Ansalon: loyal, quick, and dedicated. They’ll perform, and well.”
“But this is a weapon that has only been fired twice, and never during battle. . ”
That is when Mennarling’s hand in the air stopped the troop. He pulled Thistleknot’s map from the breast of his tunic and studied it before turning to them, his voice still pitched low. They leaned forward to hear every important word.
“According to the kender’s scribblings, we’ve reached the vicinity of this boojum’s lair. It is reputedly set with many traps. Be extra wary from now on. Anything can happen. I’m slowing the pace. We don’t want to lose Her Dark Majesty’s new death weapon to a pit trap.” He waited for the murmurs of assent to die down. “Right, then. Forward, carefully.”
They crept onward, picking their way gingerly down the path, stout sticks, bow ends, and spear butts waving like feelers on bugs. Dirt stirred into the air and coated them with pale dust sometimes festooned with long green tendrils of weed and fern.
Thistleknot was grinning from his overhead vantage. Preoccupied as they were, at least the pole held by Gunnar no longer slapped him against every tree they passed.
“Lieutenant.” A soft hail came from middle rank of the troop. Mennarling whirled, hand on the pommel of his sword, and sprinted back in that direction.
Relthas stood frozen with the wooden haft of her spear stuck deep into the dirt near the side of the path. With Mennarling watching, she pulled it up to show there was no resistance, and then stabbed around until she could trace the outline of a corner.
“Pit trap. Good work, Relthas. Proceed everyone, but be watchful.” The commander returned to the head of his troop as the others labored to maneuver the covered cart bearing the Dark Queen’s new death weapon safely past the hazard.
“Lieutenant.” Mennarling hurried to investigate again, this time finding an ingenious spring-snare covered with forest detritus. He peered upward into the arching trees, but couldn’t resolve anything sinister in the fading light.
“Lieutenant.” This time it was a partially hidden rope snaking off into the bracken. Mennarling didn’t investigate further. The soldiers gave it wide berth.
This boojum was wily. He would prove an excellent adversary, a perfect test target, if they could just lure him into sight.
“Looks like we got to the right place,” Gunnar said with a satisfied nod as Mennarling caught up to him again.
“Indeed. The map is excellent. I had expected traps, but not so many and so diverse.”
“You know, there’s a big outcropping of granite near the boojum’s cave,” Thistleknot said conversationally. “That’s how you know you’re getting really close.”
“Keep your mouth shut, kender. We’re busy,” snapped Gunnar. He’d almost forgotten the diminutive one. He gave the pole a whirl and a whack just for good measure.
Thistleknot grumbled, “Ow! I was just trying to be helpful.”
“We don’t need that kind of help from you,” replied Khedriss tartly. “What we need is the boojum.”
Now the soldiers wended their way in cautious silence. Late-day crickets fell silent, too, as did those little birds that normally chirped through anything save the fiercest thunderstorms and full darkness. The Dark Queen’s minions concentrated on avoiding the boojum’s traps and transporting their new weapon without dire incident.
Something, a peculiar clicking noise, made Thistleknot look up and to his right. His eyes widened at what he saw there, and he tried to clear his suddenly constricted throat. “Uh-”
“I told
you to shut up, kender,” Gunnar ordered.
“But there’s-”
“When I want information from you, I’ll beat it out of your ugly little body,” the second-in-command thundered, beginning to jostle the pole in preparation to flinging the kender against another tree.
Two huge hairy hands reached down. One grabbed the kender’s rope where it dangled from the pole, the other sliced it cleanly through with an overlarge knife.
“Whoaaaaa-uuulllpppppppp!” was all Thistleknot could manage as he vanished into the canopy.
“The boojum!” Gunnar cried.
“Ready the weapon!” shouted Mennarling at the same time.
The Dark Knights swirled with activity, ripping off the canvas shrouding their death machine. Then they rolled in a big round shape, poured liquid from skins down its throat, and tamped it all with a large padded stick. Two men stood at each wheel to turn the mechanism on orders from their commander. Relthas and her sister soldier stood waiting to ignite the wick with a torchlight. Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths.
“I think you confused them,” whispered Thistleknot to his companion. “Thanks for finally getting me off that rope. It hurt!” He gingerly rubbed his stomach.
“Shift your location, so that when they fire nothing will perish but leaves.” The big hairy thing beckoned. Thistleknot nimbly followed his rescuer along the branches-good thing, too. Moments after, several arrows flew into the foliage where they’d stood.
“Predictable,” whispered the tall costumed man. He stepped down to another branch, grabbed a bunch of bloody bones secreted there, and cut one of two cords holding them to a branch. They dropped among the Dark Knights with a muted thwap and left a sticky dark stain on Gunnar as one glanced off his leather armor. The big hairy thing stepped to a large cone-shaped contraption and spoke into the small end, sending his voice through the forest much amplified from its normal pleasant baritone.
Heroes And Fools totfa-2 Page 1
