by Bruce Leslie
The Lump stroked his beard. “So, tomorrow we head to the Peddler’s Pass.”
“No.” Meena’s mismatched eyes narrowed into blue and green slits. “We are headed to the Western Abbey.” She grinned across the table. “We’re going to get that book!”
17: The Western Woods
The Lump ducked to avoid hitting his head against the bough of a tree that hung low across the trail. The great oaks and smaller fruit trees were all around him as he rode his mule along the narrow passage through the forest. The crone had described the trail to him in great detail. She mentioned places where the trail branched, and told him of trees with marks cut into them to point the way. She also told him about a good camp location that offered a nice, hidden vantage point. The old lady assured him that the trail would allow the group to come up on the abbey undetected. She seemed to know the way well; he suspected she had taken it more than once.
There was no breeze moving through the leaves and branches, just still air hanging about that smelled like moss and old fruit. The terrain had become hilly for the first time since the journey commenced, and the mule seemed to breathe just a little bit harder with the rise and fall of the trail. Flynn and Meena followed close behind on Tracer, though at times the winding trail would form a sharp turn and briefly separate the group. Meena sat behind Flynn as always, but now she had her new walking staff placed across her waist as she rode. The forest and hills made traveling slower, but more pleasant.
The Lump turned his head and spoke. “That was a strange old crone.”
“I think the hard northern winters have taken their toll on the lady.” Flynn held his horse’s reins in one hand and the front of his saddle with the other.
“I quite admired her.” Meena pulled her thick, red braid forward over her shoulder. “Perhaps I could be as wise as her some day.”
“You’re well on your way to having her sour disposition.” The Lump turned his eyes back to the trail.
“I’ll ask you to mind your words!” Meena gripped the walking stick lying across her waist. “This staff she gave me is sturdy enough to crack your head!”
“Yes, it’s a fair sight more fearsome than Wendy’s spoon.” The Lump nodded his head. “I do have to say, it was a fine gift.”
Meena sat up straight on her perch at the rear of the horse. “It was her suggestion to procure the tome before facing the dragon.” She swept a strand of loose, red hair behind her ear. “She believes it may also contain information that is of interest to her.”
Flynn wrinkled his brow and tilted his head. “What sort of information?”
Meena lowered her chin. “That’s a private matter.” She closed her mouth and turned her head aside.
Flynn asked another question. “How do you suppose we’ll identify the proper tome when we get there?”
The Lump looked back at his companions. “It probably says the dragon book on it or whatnot.” He nodded his head.
Flynn leaned forward in his saddle. “Perhaps it has a picture of a dragon on it.” He smiled and leaned back. “It may even have lots of grand, dragon pictures inside.”
“No!” Meena looked at the tree branches overhead. “It won’t have any pictures on it.” She sighed and shook her head. “It’s not made for folk who can’t read. It will bear the book’s name.”
“So, it’ll say the dragon book or whatnot?” The Lump leaned forward on his mule as it began to climb a small incline.
Meena took a deep breath. “The name of the book is The Collected Knowledge of The Darklands.” She shifted the staff across her legs. “I actually listened to the man.” She waved the back of her hand at the two men. “It wouldn’t hurt if either of you two had listened a bit better.”
“Congratulations on remembering the name.” The Lump shifted on the mule’s back. “Just how, exactly, are you planning to see it?”
Meena’s freckled cheeks rose as she grinned. “We will sneak in.”
The Lump rubbed the back of his thick neck. “You may not be able to tell by looking…” He brought his hand across his cheek and rubbed his beard. “…but I’m not so good at sneaking.” He brought his hand down and rested it on his broad thigh.
“You won’t have to.” Meena looked up at the trees again.
The Lump smiled and leaned back. “I do believe that I like that part of the plan.”
“You best hold back your joy.” Meena brought her eyes down from the trees. “Your duty will be to distract whoever is watching the abbey.” She reached with one hand and pulled her cloak around her shoulders. “You will leave the sneaking to me.”
“I suppose you are the sneaky one.” The Lump nodded his head.
“And what is my role in this strategy you’ve devised?” Flynn placed a hand on his chest.
“You will help me.” Meena leaned to the side and continued. “There’s bound to be a window, you’ll lift me to it.” She sat straight again. “Once I am inside the abbey, I’ll creep around like a mouse until I find the tome.”
“What if I can’t keep attention outside?” the Lump asked.
“Then, I don’t know, shout something about bees.” Meena waved a hand in the air. “I’ll know to make my escape.”
The Lump rubbed the top of the leather cap on his head. “How am I supposed to distract everybody?”
Meena leaned to the side again and grinned. “That is simple, you will—“
“Dismount!” A shout came from the trees and two men dropped into the trail in front of them.
The men wore dark brown cloaks with hoods pulled over their heads and down low on their brows. Rags covered their noses and mouths, leaving only the narrow strip of face that contained their eyes exposed. “I said dismount!” Both men held crossbows that were aimed at the Lump.
The Lump tightened the muscles in his jaws and felt pressure rising in his chest. “You two best let us pass.” He balled up his fists and sat up high on Tilley’s back. “After you loose those stubby arrows on me, my friend back there will cut you to bits.” He pulled back his lips and showed his teeth. “I think we have you outnumbered.”
“Is that so?” The man who appeared to be the leader lowered his crossbow. “Perhaps you should look behind you.” He nodded his head and pointed.
The Lump turned his head and saw two more brigands descend onto the trail at their rear, also bearing crossbows.
The brigand leader raised his crossbow back up. “We can kill you from where we stand.” He took a small step forward. “Throw down your swords and dismount.”
“Yes, yes, don’t get hasty.” The Lump pulled his tiny sword from its loop and tossed it on the ground in front of him. He heard the heavy thud of Flynn’s sword hitting the ground behind him.
One of the brigands at the rear eyed Flynn’s sword. “Now that’s a fine piece of steel, almost too good to sell.” He showed a toothy smile. “I’ll find a way to part with it.”
“Now, dismount slowly.” The brigand leader kept his weapon fixed on the Lump.
The Lump slid off his mule’s back. His feet touched down on the dirt and he held his hands shoulder high.
Flynn pulled his leg over Tracer and hopped to the ground. He then helped Meena slide down from the horse. Flynn raised his own hands and Meena gripped her staff and leaned against it.
“Girl! Throw down your stick!” a brigand at the rear ordered.
Flynn stood between Meena and the brigands at the rear, his hands still in the air. “She is not well, she needs the staff to stand.”
The brigand leader nodded from the front. “Well enough, a little girl with a stick shouldn’t pose a threat.”
“It’s your bad luck to be robbing three people without coin.” The Lump kept his hands up as he spoke.
The brigand leader brought his crossbow down to his side and held it it one hand. “We’ll take your swords, your armor and your horses.” He ran his eyes up and down the Lump’s torso. “There’s enough boiled leather there for two of us.”
The Lu
mp pointed at Tilley. “Does that look like a horse to you?”
“Close enough,” the brigand leader answered, “I’ll take it, whatever it is. If I can’t sell it, I’ll use it for meat.” He laughed. “Maybe we’ll kill you for meat, big fellow.”
The Lump felt pressure growing behind his eyes. His shoulders tightened, but he remained still.
The brigand leader walked back and forth across the trail as he spoke. “What are you folks doing here?” He stopped pacing and raised a hand, the crossbow still held at his side in the other. “We were expecting to find a Solson, with a big, fat bag full of alms.” He dropped his hand and waited for a reply.
The Lump grimaced, his eyebrows pulled down low. “We’re on private business.”
“Important business!” Meena added defiantly.
The masked man chuckled and began pacing again. “Important business in our little nook in the forest?” He paused his pacing and shook his head. “That’s hard to believe. It looks to me that we’re the only ones conducting any business out here.”
One of the brigands at the rear spoke. “The girl would make good target practice.” He paused to release a sinister laugh. “We could tie her to a tree with a long rope, and make her run around while we launch bolts at her.”
“Or…” The brigand leader’s eyes narrowed. “…we might even be able to make her one of us.” He tilted his head. “Nobody would be suspicious of a pretty thing like her.”
“You watch your tongue!” The Lump pointed one of his big fingers at the man.
The brigand raised his crossbow and slammed the butt of it against the Lump’s head. “It’s your tongue that needs to be watched!”
The Lump rubbed his head. “My aunt hits harder than—” He felt the butt of the weapon slam into his head a second time.
“You can try to kill me, but you won’t take me captive!” Meena leaned against her staff with her mismatched eyes narrow. “I’ll never be a brigand.” She stomped her foot.
“Spirited! I like that.” The brigand leader’s eyes turned up as he smiled beneath his mask. “Oh, we will see about that.” He turned to the mule. “Now, to size up this beast.” He held his crossbow in one hand and grabbed Tilley’s rope with the other.
Tilley snorted and pulled against the rope with her teeth bared.
The brigand jerked down hard on the rope.
Tilley darted her head down at the man and bit into his arm. She didn’t let go as he screamed.
The Lump heard something whiz past his ear. The brigand standing next to the leader had loosed his bolt.
The Lump snatched the empty crossbow from the man’s hands and smashed the startled bandit’s head with it.
The previously silent brigand let out a yelp upon being struck. He stumbled for a moment and held his head, then fled into the trees with quick, clumsy steps. He left his leader behind, at the mercy of the mule.
Meena swung the bottom of her staff in a low arc. She hit one of the brigands in the back of his knee and he dropped to the ground. She brought the top of her staff down on the back of his head. His face plopped into the dirt, and he lay face down in the trail, motionless.
Flynn held his arms outstretched, and leapt at the other brigand at the rear. A bolt bounced off his breastplate with a clang. He wrestled the man to the ground.
The brigand kicked and scratched at Flynn until he wriggled free and fled into the woods. He left his crossbow lying on the trail.
The Lump buried his big fist into the belly of the man in Tilley’s grasp. “You idiot mule thief!”
The force of the blow caused the brigand leader to drop his own weapon. He gasped for air.
“Let go, Tilley,” the Lump ordered.
The mule released the grip her teeth held on the man’s arm. The brigand leader put a hand over his bleeding wound and darted off into the woods. Only the man Meena had knocked unconscious remained.
The Lump stomped on a crossbow and it broke into three pieces. He stomped on another and it did the same.
“Here are two more you can smash.” Flynn walked to the Lump with a crossbow in each hand, Meena was close behind him with her staff.
The Lump stomped on the weapons, one at a time. “I suppose the crone was right about brigands.” He picked his little sword up from the ground and placed it back on his hip. “I figure those three won’t bother us any more.”
“You were quite handy with that stick, Meena.” Flynn said, “That man is out cold.”
Meena lifted her stick a few inches off the ground. “I don’t really need it to walk, but the crone said it may be of use just the same.” She put the staff back on the ground. “So what do we do with him?”
The Lump pointed back down the trail. “I’d say we don’t have to do anything.”
The fourth brigand was gone, and so was Flynn’s sword.
18: The Western Abbey
The Lump hunkered down in the trees. The spot the crone had directed him to provided a good view of the abbey, indeed. The trip from Bleuderry had not been a long one, but due to the delay caused by the brigands, night had fallen before they arrived. They had camped the previous night without a fire, in order to avoid detection. It had been a cold night, and the three took equal turns at watch. The Lump had taken the second watch and was still feeling tired. The smell of salt and dead fish in the air conveyed the abbey’s proximity to the Wretched Water. Perhaps only a short walk away, the Wretched Water was the narrow strip of sea that separated the Great Egg from the Darklands. It makes sense that this is where they would gather knowledge of foul beasts.
Most abbeys looked very much like inns, built from a few stones, but with mostly wooden walls and thick, thatched roofs. The Western Abbey looked more like a stronghold than a place for study and religious rites. It was a lone tower built entirely of large, gray stones. Atop it sat a round parapet. There were windows wrapped around the tower at regular intervals, but they had iron bars affixed over them. These iron bars weren’t old and rusted, but instead made of new iron, and bolted to the outer wall rather than embedded within it. They were likely a recent addition, no doubt to deter the newly risen brigands eager to get their hands on the abbey’s silver. The bars weren’t the only new security measures added to the sacred tower. There were also four men-at-arms stationed at the abbey’s entrance. The guards wore silver chain-mail draped over quilted tunics, and had steel helmets atop the mail that hung about their heads. They were armed with spears that were as long as the men were tall. The tips of the spears were broad, hooked blades made of shiny steel with ornamental engraving.
The Lump rubbed his thighs nervously. “Those spears don’t look too inviting.”
“They are called glaives,” Flynn corrected. “You can throw a spear, one should never throw a glaive. They are far too costly.”
“I’m glad to see they spared no expense when it comes to killing me.” The Lump pulled off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. He put the cap back on his head and pointed at the bars affixed to the tower. “So, I guess you won’t be climbing through any windows.”
“No.” Meena spoke in a hushed voice. “We will have to sneak in through the front.”
The Lump asked, “Are you sure we can’t just ask nicely?”
“No.” Meena shook her head. “The crone said they would never let a woman in, she had a few other choice words as well.” She cast a freckled grin. “I won’t repeat those.”
“I should have strangled that crone.” The Lump put his hands around his throat.
“Now, be honest, Lump.” Flynn said, “You would never do something so dishonorable.”
“You’re right.” The Lump dropped his hands from his throat and shook his head. “But, I sure wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to do it.”
A Solson came out of the abbey’s entrance and walked to a nearby well. He wore the same blue robes as all Solsons, but he had a long, iron chain around his neck. Hanging from the chain was a round, golden amulet fashioned to look like the sun. T
he Solson lowered a pail attached to a rope deep into the well, then drew it up filled with water. He untied the rope from the pail’s handle and dropped it to the ground in front of the well.
“Do you think there is only a single Solson?” Flynn asked.
The Lump turned his head to Flynn. “I’d say they’ve pulled the rest to safer abbeys in the south. There’s probably just the one to look after the place.” He looked back out at the stone structure. “And his four guards.”
“You will need to turn in a fine performance to keep the men occupied.” Flynn put his hand on the Lump’s shoulder.
The Lump smiled a half-hearted smile. “The worst that could happen is they poke me full of holes with those spears.”
“Glaives,” Flynn corrected.
The Lump shook his head. “Call them what you like, they still look plenty gruesome.”
Meena tugged on the Lump’s sleeve. “You should go down now, while the Solson is still outside.”
“Be sure and bury my body in Windthorne.” The Lump stood and walked to his mule.
The Lump led Tilley down the hill to the abbey. He felt a stranger leading a mule would appear less threatening than a stranger riding one. He had also hidden his sword under a bush near the camp, there was no need to show up armed. He stepped out of the trees and into the small clearing around the tower with his mule beside him. “Ho there, Solson.” He waved his hand.
“Come no closer!” One of the men-at-arms lowered his glaive and shouted an order. “State your name and your business!”
The Lump stopped walking and held his empty hands up. “My apologies.” He bowed his head. “I’m Lump, I mean Oliver.” He thought his given name would serve him better at the moment. “I’ve been sent by a Solson named Birch.”
“I am Costello.” The man in the blue robes shuffled about and sat his pail of water next to the well. “I’m the Abbot here.” He bowed his head and quickly raised it. “I haven’t received any writ about a visitor.”
