Tarah Woodblade

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Tarah Woodblade doesn’t shiver, said Grampa Rolf.

  “Shut up,” she mumbled.

  “You said we were close,” Djeri reminded her. The dwarf wasn’t shivering anymore, but he swung his arms about constantly as he walked, clenching and unclenching his fingers to keep his blood flowing. “How much further?”

  “It’s just over the next hill,” she lied. It was a common guidesman trick. As long as the client thought they were near the destination, she could keep them going twice as long.

  “Yeah, right. How far is it really?” the dwarf asked. Tarah looked back to see he had one eyebrow raised. “Come on. This isn’t my first journey. How long until we reach the camp?”

  She berated herself. He was an academy veteran. Of course he’d know the tricks. “A half mile. There’s actually about three more rises to go.”

  “Then let’s pick up the pace,” he said. “The light’s almost gone and if you’re right about the chill, you’re going to need a fire soon.”

  He was right and if her mind hadn’t been so numbed, she would have recognized it. Dwarves were tough by nature, part of the magic in their blood. He could probably go on for miles. She was the one fading fast. Tarah forced her numb legs into a light jog.

  That half mile felt like five miles. Tarah found it hard to keep her balance and her breaths came short and fast. Her vision swam and as she topped the second rise, one of her boots caught on a tree root. She nearly crashed to the ground, but somehow Djeri was at her side, steadying her. He said something to her about getting on the mule, but she shook her head and kept on.

  Climbing that last rise felt like the most difficult thing she had ever done. Every step was torturous. A sigh escaped her lips as she arrived. Tarah pushed through the thick pine boughs on the side of the trail and stepped into the small clearing she had been heading for.

  The campsite was surrounded by thick pine trees that protected it from the wind and did a good job of hiding the light of a fire. The lean-to she and her papa had made there so many years ago still stood, taking up a good portion of the clearing. A ring of blackened stones sat in front of it, ready to be used.

  Tarah smiled in relief. Just standing in the place helped bring vigor back into her limbs. She immediately began pulling at the laces of her armor, eager to get the icy clothing off.

  There was a grumble behind her as Djeri shoved his way through the trees, pulling the mule behind him. He paused, the frown fading from his face as he looked around the campsite. He nodded approvingly. “This could work.”

  “Hurry and get a fire going,” Tarah instructed. The laces were hard to undo with her numb fingers, but at least her mind was working again. “I left some dry wood stacked under the lean-to last time I was here.”

  “Right,” Djeri said. He began hauling dry branches and logs out from under the shelter. He cursed. “Uh, there’s a big hornet’s nest in here.”

  “It’s too cold for ‘em to stir. Just clear it out of there. Toss it in the fire if you want,” she said, sighing as she was finally able to pull the heavy soaked armor off over her head. She began pulling off her boots.

  “I hope you’re right,” Djeri said. After a worried grunt, he tossed a large paper nest into the center of the rock ring and began laying firewood over the top of it. He chuckled. “What am I worried about? I don’t know if I’d even feel a sting right now, I’m so numb all over. I . . . Uh . . . Tarah?”

  “What?” she said, laying her underclothes on the dry ground beside her. Even the cold air felt warm on her skin after those wet clothes.

  “Uh . . .” He averted his eyes, his cheeks flushed red. “You’re naked.”

  She frowned. Why should that concern him? “Wet clothes will kill you in this weather. Come on. Get that fire started. Where’s that academy training of yours?”

  “R-right.” He walked to the mule and opened his pack, then began searching for his fire kit.

  He was taking too long. Tarah rolled her eyes and by the time Djeri finally found his kit and pulled it out, light flared behind him. He turned in surprise to find Tarah, still naked, crouched by the lit fire shivering. The wasp’s nest had gone up quickly.

  “You were moving too slow,” she explained as she rose and walked to the mule. She began untying her pack from Neddy’s saddle. Djeri was standing next to her, blinking stupidly, the fire kit still in his hand. That cold must be affecting him more than she’d thought. “Go on, dwarf. Get that armor off.”

  Djeri cleared his throat and turned his face away from her. “How did you get that fire started so fast?”

  “I left some flint and steel next to the wood pile just in case.” Tarah replied. She briefly considered putting on the filthy set of underclothes remaining in the pack, but instead just took a dry shirt out and pulled it on. She glanced back at the dwarf and saw that he had turned his back to her, but he still hadn’t worked on that armor. “Hey, you okay? Snap out of it and take that armor off!”

  “I’m not taking this armor off,” he said. “I told you. I’m a dwarf. I’ll be fine.”

  “Go stand by the fire at least,” she commanded. He did so without a word and she pulled on a pair of pants and stockings. Each new piece of clothing helped, but she knew it wasn’t enough. She was still shivering violently and the temperature was dropping by the moment. She pulled a wool blanket from the mule’s back and wrapped it around her shoulders. She would feel much better if she had her winter cloak. Hopefully Djeri wouldn’t mind stopping by her house on the way.

  Tarah returned to the fire and stood opposite the dwarf, watching him add a few branches to the burning pile. Water still seeped from the padding under his armored plates. She shook her head. There was no way he was getting any warmth through that.

  “Why’re you being so stubborn? Even dwarfs can die from cold.” Tarah was pretty sure that was true.

  “I’m in the Defense Guild. We don’t take off our armor,” he said, his eyes not leaving the fire.

  “Come on now. I know about your guild’s ‘rules’,” she replied holding her hands out over the flames. She wished she could hold her whole body out over the flames, like on a spit. “My papa told me all about ‘em. He said you only had to keep your armor on during training.”

  “I’m on a mission, girl,” he said. “I will not remove my armor.”

  “Hey!” Tarah scowled at him, “What did I tell you about calling me ‘girl’? I’ve been trying to use your name right.”

  He gave a short sigh. “I apologize.”

  “And what does your academy training say about falling in freezing water? What are you supposed to do then?” she pressed.

  “I told you I’ll be fine,” he said, raising his voice. “Just leave me be!”

  “I ain’t gonna!” Her voice rose to match his. “Tarah Woodblade don’t take no guff from a client! When I’m guiding you, you run by my rules!”

  “You’re not the boss on this mission!” Djeri shouted.

  Tarah wasn’t having it. “You get that armor dried out, Djeri the Looker! Stout Harley himself would tell you the same. We ain’t in a battle. The mother of the moonrats is dead. There’s nothin’ nearby for you to fight!”

  As if in response, a moonrat moan rose from the forest behind them.

  “Oh really?” Djeri said. “Did you hear that?”

  Tarah lowered her voice. “That moonrat is far off to the south. It won’t be any trouble to us.” The dwarf gave her a wry look and she added, “What? You telling me that you, a guard captain, couldn’t fight off a single moonrat without your armor on? ‘Cause if that’s the case, let me know and I can protect you.”

  “Blast it, Tarah, it’s not that!” he said.

  “Then what’s your problem?”

  His lips worked in frustration until he finally said, “I . . . I’m just not comfortable undressing in front of you.”

  A laugh escaped her lips. “Really? That’s what this is about? Look, I was raised by men. You ain’t got nothing I ain’t se
en before. Besides, you’re a dwarf.” She paused. “Wait. Dwarf parts ain’t different are they?”

  “No!” he said, his face red. “That’s not the point. I’m just saying I don’t feel comfortable.”

  “Okay. I promise not to look!” Tarah said, her hands raised defensively. She laughed again. “Sheesh, go over there and change into something dry. You do have something dry, don’t you?”

  “Just some long underwear,” he admitted.

  “That’s all you brought?”

  Djeri noted her smirk. “Look, that’s what I wear under my armor and I wasn’t planning on changing out the padding unless the weather turned really cold.”

  “Then what’s taking up all the space in your pack over there?” Tarah asked. “It’s swollen like a tick.”

  The dwarf sighed. “Fine. I’ll go over there and change. You . . . keep your eyes on the fire.”

  While Djeri grumbled and walked over to the mule, Tarah took some rope from her pack. She had never before met a male that was so self-conscious. What was the dwarf so worried about? Did he have some kind of deformity or nasty scarring? Now that her curiosity was piqued, she wanted to look.

  She resisted the urge and began stringing the rope between the trees, setting up lines as close to the fire as she dared. Then she wrung as much water as she could from her wet clothes and hung them to dry. Her leather armor was so heavy it bowed the rope until it nearly dragged on the ground. She sighed. There was no way it would dry overnight. She wasn’t looking forward to putting the damp armor back on in the morning. As it was, she barely felt as if she had warmed up at all.

  Djeri eventually finished changing and slung his own dripping underclothes over the line. He had dressed in a fresh set of long underwear and had a blanket wrapped around him. Saying nothing to Tarah, he dragged his bulging pack over to the fire. Then he pulled his armor next to him and sat cross-legged working on it.

  Tarah found his appearance surprising. With his neatly trimmed beard and without his bulky armor, she could have mistaken him for a short human man. He was perhaps a bit overly wide and burly for a human, but he didn’t look very dwarf-like to her eyes. She watched him take his armor piece-by-piece and remove the soaked padding attached to it. Soon he had a rather large and spongy pile.

  “What’re you doing?” she asked, concerned that he might decide to wear it without any padding. That armor would make a racket.

  “I’m changing out the pads,” he said, then gave her an assessing glance. “How are you warming up?”

  “Slowly,” she said. It truly did seem as if the firelight was bouncing off of her instead of infusing her with its heat. She still felt chilled to the bone.

  A moonrat moan echoed through the night once again. Tarah listened intently and a few seconds later heard an answering moan, though this one was much softer.

  “They still sound far away to me,” Djeri said.

  “Still far to the south,” Tarah agreed. “The second one was even further away, perhaps on the far side of the wizard’s road. Those were mating calls, though. Not hunting calls.” She stared into the fire. “It’s strange just hearing two moans. The forest hasn’t been this quiet since I was a little girl.”

  “Yeah, well most of the moonrats are dead now. And without the witch leading them, they’re just animals like any other.” Djeri pulled the last piece of wet padding off of his armor and began rummaging through his pack, pulling out large wads of white fur.

  “Were you there?” Tarah asked. “When the moonrat mother was killed?”

  “No, but my uncle told me all about it. When the great Wizardess Darlan ignited her spell, it wiped out most of the dark forest, killing all the orange-eyed rats in the process.” He shook his head and threaded a long curved needle with some kind of metal thread. He started attaching the white fur to the underside of the armored plates. “I was part of the clean-up afterwards, though. We marched through the elf forest, killing any moonrats or trolls we found. They really weren’t much trouble.”

  “Then the elves got their homeland back,” Tarah said, relieved.

  “You know the elves?” he asked, his voice surprised.

  “Well. I can’t exactly say I’m friends with ‘em, but we got a healthy respect for each other,” Tarah replied. “I’ve always done my best to warn folks away from their land and every once in a while they’ve helped me out when I needed it.”

  “Huh,” The dwarf said, sounding impressed. “Well, the witch had made quite a mess of their place. All the green trees were scratched up and gnawed on and much of the soil had been dug up and strewn about. Also there was something wrong about the dead moonrats. Where they rotted, the plants died. Even their turds were toxic. We had to gather them all up in a pile and burn them.”

  “Yeah,” Tarah had first hand experience with the foulness of moonrats. “Tell me about it. We had a hell of a time making my armor. Their leather kept rotting away the binding straps. Finally we had to use moonrat intestine to tie it all together.”

  Tarah looked at the dwarf’s new padding. She couldn’t quite place the origin of the fur. It looked soft, somewhat like rabbit, but was too long and stringy. “Say, what’s that new padding of yours made of?”

  “Snow fox,” he said, laying one completed leg piece aside and picking up another. “It’s a family secret on my mother’s side. Does a great job of keeping the heat in. I was going to wait and put it on in the dead of winter, but I guess my hand has been forced.”

  “Why wait?” Tarah asked.

  “The stuff works too good,” Djeri explained. “On even a slightly warm day I’ll be sweating barrels.” He shrugged. “Oh well. I guess I’ll just have to deal with it.”

  Tarah nodded and watched him for a few minutes longer. Suddenly her body broke out in a fresh round of shivers. Tarah’s teeth chattered. Why didn’t she feel any warmer yet? She had always prided herself on her cold resistance. While other women were shivering, she was usually quite comfortable. It was one advantage that came from being big-boned, a legacy from her father.

  Eat, Tarah, her papa said. Your body needs fuel to stay warm.

  You always forget to eat, Grampa Rolf agreed.

  They were right. Maybe food is what she needed. “I guess it’s dinner time. You hungry, dwarf?”

  “I am,” he said without much enthusiasm. “I wish we had some meat to cook, though.”

  “Me too,” Tarah said. A sizzling spit of anything sounded good right then. Unfortunately, she still needed to replace her bow and she was too cold to hunt in the dark anyway. “So what’s in your academy supplies?”

  “Ugh. Some bread, hard cheese, dried fruit. Maybe even some peppered beef.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve got some spices and stuff too, but we’d need to get some water boiling and I’m not heading back to the river.”

  “Bread and cheese it is, then,” she said, heading to the mule’s side. He was just standing there looking miserable, his eyes glimmering in the firelight. She ran an arm down his front leg, concerned that he was still chilled from the river, but his skin felt quite warm to her cold hands. “What is it, Neddy? You hungry too?”

  “There’s some grain and a feed bag on his saddle,” Djeri said. “Just go easy. We don’t know how long this trip is going to take.”

  Tarah poured some feed into the bag. Then she realized that she hadn’t given the mule that treat she’d promised and tossed in a handful of dried fruit as well. She mixed it together and put the feed bag over his mouth, then rubbed his ears. “Sorry, guy. I know it’s not much. I’ll get you something better tomorrow.”

  She handed the dwarf some food and sat back down at the fire to eat her own. It may have been standard trail rations, but to her it tasted quite good. The bread was tough, but flavorful and the cheese had a perfect blend of saltiness and sourness. The food must have come from the Mage School stores because she immediately felt it flooding her body with energy.

  “You still cold?” Djeri asked, his brow fur
rowed in concern.

  Tarah realized that she was still shivering despite the magic in the food. “I don’t know why.”

  He put down the piece of platemail he was working on and reached out his arm. “Give me your hand.”

  Tarah frowned a bit, but scooted closer to him and held out her hand. When he grasped her fingers, she nearly gasped. His hands were hot. That dwarven constitution was truly remarkable.

  “You’re not recovering fast enough,” he said. Then his cheeks colored and he released her hand. “I-uh have something here that might help.” He dug into his bag and brought out a bottle filled with clear liquid. “This is pepperbean wine. It should warm you up.”

  “Drinking when you’re this cold don’t really help,” Tarah said, shaking her head. “You may think it makes you warmer, but really it makes things worse.”

  “This stuff is different,” Djeri insisted. “It’s a special recipe. The elves call it ‘firewater’ and it will definitely banish the cold. This is how I was planning to make it through the night before you made me change out of my armor.”

  Don’t let men get you drinking, her papa reminded. You never know their intentions.

  “I’m not one for getting drunk,” Tarah said.

  “Neither am I,” Djeri said, looking slightly offended. “I didn’t bring this for getting drunk on. It’s too precious for that. I use it for medicine. One swallow only. That’s all it’ll take. Trust me.”

  Tarah cocked her head. She looked into his eyes and saw only earnestness, but how well did she really know him? To her surprise, she found herself saying, “I trust you, Djeri.”

  She took the bottle and pulled out the stopper. She raised it to her lips.

  “Wait!” he said. “You should know that it’s not just called firewater because it makes you warm. Pepperbeans are hot. I mean spicy hot. It’ll burn going down. More so if you aren’t used to it.”

  She snorted. Her father had kept a small pepper garden and she had eaten a lot of spicy food growing up. “Tarah Woodblade ain’t afraid of hot.”

  She was wrong.