by Pete Prown
* * *
The first few days in the cave of the Bones ‘n’ Blood clan were among the very darkest of Dorro’s life.
Among other things, the work was backbreaking and revolting. Using a rusty knife, the bookmaster had to roughly chop up poor, dead animals—stoats, squirrels, rats, and more—and cook them in pots of boiling water or spit them over an open, sooty fire. The smells were enough to make him sick and there was no place to wash himself.
For a tidy fellow like Dorro, this was a living nightmare. Soon enough, he followed what the others did and tried to survive.
Otis Jones was a hard worker and became his role model. Coming from the rank neighborhood of Fell’s Corner, Otis already knew life could be brutal, but Dorro was from gentler stock and this was a shock to his system. He even thought about stepping off the edge of a chasm, but realized that wasn’t the Winderiver way. His life had taken a harsh turn, but it was incumbent upon him to find a solution—or an escape route. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long.
It turned out that Otis also knew Amos Pinchbottle from Fell’s Corner and the rogues found solace in each other’s company.
“Oy, ain’t it grand that ol’ Jonesy is ‘ere with us, Mr. Windy,” giggled Amos, the same dashed fool he ever was. “Sure, this ain’t the posh life, but me ‘n’ Otis will figger a way out. Just you wait an’ see.”
“I wish I could share your optimism, Amos. I have a bleaker view.”
The Thimble Downer knitted his bushy eyebrows and looked at Dorro with confusion, but then laughed in his typical manner.
“I don’t ‘zactly know what this here ‘optimism’ is, but sure as sheep, if I had any, I’d share it wit’ ya, Windy—us being great pals ‘n’ all.”
For the first time in days, the bookmaster actually smiled. The scofflaw from Fell’s Corner may be a fool and a deadbeat, but his uncannily happy outlook on life brightened the moment, even inadvertently.
He put his hand on Amos’ shoulder and added, “I know you’d share it if you could. You’ve a good heart, Amos Pinchbottle.”
“Y’know, me mum always said the same thing—at least, after she smacked me on the head, which was about every other day!”
The fellow laughed again and walked off to get some fresh kill to prepare for the goblins.
After weeks of cooking for the goblins, day in ‘n’ day out, the Halflings heard a disturbance outside their private cavern—screams and shouts of terrified goblins. One of the orkus ran to the mouth of their cavern and whispered: “They’re back—the fell creatures of the forest. And it’s all yer faults! They kill us so they can make you their own slaves. But not if I kills ya first ….”
The goblin stooped as he entered and the Halflings saw a glint of metal. The monster was coming to slay them and they had no way to defend themselves. Dorro saw his opportunity—he’d fought orkus before and wasn’t afraid of them, not one bit (well, maybe a little, if truth be told). If this was his moment to die, it would be more than prudent, he figured, to make it quick.
“For Thimble Down!” he bellowed as he flew at the goblin, who was shocked that any of the subservient Halflings would do anything but lie down and let him drain their lifeblood.
Dorro tackled the creature in the midriff and the two tumbled into the main chamber, tussling and rolling.
“Little maggot—you’ll be the first to die!” screamed the goblin, striking Dorro in the face with his scaly fist and sending him sprawling.
The bookmaster looked up and saw the monster coming at him slowly, warily, knowing that this was a fierce little Halfling unlike the others. This one pulled a knife from his belt and crept closer while Dorro squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the death blow.
Thud!
The bookmaster blinked his eyes a few times and looked up. Without reason, he saw the goblin crumpled on the ground, a mass of twisted limbs and evidently stone dead.
“Wait, what, who?...”
Before Dorro Fox Winderiver could fully form a thought in the midst of the battle and mayhem all around him, a rough canvas bag was dropped over his head, enveloping him in blackness. He vaguely remembered being carried off in the dark, captive of yet some new strange master.
Then consciousness left him altogether.
A House in the Woods
For the fourth time in less than a week, Dorro Fox Winderiver found himself in a strange, uncomfortable place.
There had been the Long Ride—the cold, lonely journey to penal servitude—followed by weeks in Fog Vale, a place of cruelty and injustice. Dorro was beginning to find a place in the dreadful camp when he was kidnapped by goblins and taken to their caves in the Grey Mountains, now a prisoner of a new kind.
Yet again, Dorro’s world was flipped askew when something attacked the orkus and he was kidnapped.
Two legs, yes. Two arms still attached? No major injuries? His head fuzzy, Dorro awoke on a straw bed and stretched out. Moreover, he was clean—he had been bathed while asleep.
Good! Now where am I?
The bookmaster opened his eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings. He was in a cavern of some sort, but a rather homey one. There were nicely appointed touches like rugs and tables and such, but on a terrific scale.
Am I in the home of Men-folk? he wondered. If so, they are extremely large ones. Good gracious!
He swung his feet off the bed—really a pile of straw—and wriggled his way to the floor. Dorro felt he was walking in a dream.
Or maybe I’m dead? That would make some sense. Is this what happens when we die … we go to a world of large Men?
He looked about and saw something more perplexing.
Look at those books! They’re enormous!
Indeed there was a shelf of fine leather-bound volumes, ones with titles he’d never heard of, such as The Ancient Philosophies of Mildred Pilsnoy the Younger, and another titled Talons & Claws: A Scientific Treatise Concerning Birds that Kill.
Dorro was fascinated and knew that whoever lived here was intelligent and possessed the power of reason—something in short supply even within Thimble Down.
Walking throughout the cavernous space, the bookmaster discovered adjoining chambers that were equally massive and filled with large artifacts and furnishings, including a wall map of the Grey Mountains and what appeared to be huge beds or divans.
He grew hungry after a spell and was beginning to feel faint when he returned to the first chamber and found a plate of edibles on the floor, quite near his straw bed; he must have walked right past it.
Dorro devoured a few odd bits of strong cheese, apples, and nuts—he was even more delighted to find a large vessel filled with dark, garnet-colored wine. He figured it was merely a thimble to the large creatures, but to him it was a vast tureen … and quite delicious, even by his own discerning palate.
Sated and perhaps a little tipsy, the Halfling climbed back on the straw bedding and fell back to slumber, happier than he’d felt in weeks.
Dorro’s sleep was sweet and dreamless.
