Hunter lowered his bow, “Come down from there,” he said gently. “You’re quite safe. But I have no cake,” he added with a smile.
“Oh, alright then,” sighed the nemilar. “Well, sorry to trouble you. You’d best be on your way afore them wolves come back.”
“The wolves will not be a problem, friend. Come down. I’ll take you to the village where we can get you cleaned and fed.”
“I’s fine where I are, thank you. I don’t want to be no trouble. Now you get off out of harm’s way, young fella. I don’t want you getting hurt for the likes of me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” exclaimed Hunter. “I’m not leaving without you, so I suggest you come down. Or should I remain here until the wolves return? Is that what you want?”
The nemilar shook his head, “Of course not,” he said quietly. “Problem is, I don’t think I can get down! My legs is weak and if I let go, I’ll probably fall to my death.”
“Do it then,” Hunter urged him. “Let go, I mean. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”
“No, I can’t do that!” replied the nemilar, his voice rising until it was virtually a squeak. “You might get hurt. Nice young fella like you getting hurt to save me, it wouldn’t be right.”
“Well how’s this for an idea then? I shoot you in the leg, you fall out of the tree anyway, and I still catch you.”
The nemilar laughed at Hunter’s plan, “You is not going to leave is you, whatever I says?”
“I’ve always been a little stubborn,” sighed Hunter. “What’s it going to be then, the first plan or the second?”
“Well I don’t fancy you sticking an arrow in my leg, so I suppose I’d better just let go and hope you’re strong enough to not get hurt.”
Hunter moved closer to the tree, “Don’t worry about me,” he said, reassuringly, “I’m a lot stronger than I look.”
The weary nemilar gave Hunter a dubious look, “Alright then,” he warned, “Here I come. Brace yourself!”
***
Ballorn was so engrossed working on his brace that he did not notice Hunter as he approached. Stitch of course could see nothing at all as he cowered behind the hatch in the forge.
“How’s it coming?” called Hunter.
Ballorn glanced up, and his mouth fell open, “Oh, no!” he groaned. “No. It’s not possible. Why? Why him? Of all the nemilar you could have discovered, you had to find him!”
The exhausted nemilar smiled at the blacksmith, “Hello, Ballorn,” he said quietly.
Stitch recognised the stranger’s voice and leapt up from behind the counter, “Dannard!” he cried with glee. “It’s you, you’re alright. I thought you had been roasted or gobbled up by that monster, but you’re here!”
The smile on Dannard’s lips widened as he saw Stitch, “I’ve been better, I has to say,” he replied. “But yes, somehow I was lucky enough to escape the beast.”
“Typical!” moaned Ballorn. “Absolutely typical! As usual, someone else gets all the good luck and I get all the bad!”
Hunter eyed him with confusion, “I take it you all know each other?”
“Oh yes,” groaned Ballorn, resuming his hammering. “Well done! You’ve rescued the most miserly, tight-fisted skinflint in the whole village, Dannard the cooper!”
“What was I supposed to do, Ballorn, leave him in the forest to die of starvation? Or would you have preferred he fell from the tree in which he was hiding, to be devoured by wolves?”
Ballorn slammed his hammer onto the anvil beside him. “Do me a favour would you, Hunter? Stop saving people! Honestly… this mission is…” His voice tailed off.
Hunter stared at him for a moment. “Stop saving people? You mean the way I saved you?” He paused, “What… mission?” he asked slowly.
Ballorn suddenly looked uncomfortable, “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly as he turned to his forge. “I’ll go alone when I’m ready. You can stay here and take care of these two.”
“To Lonny’s farm?” asked Hunter. “You’re going to travel there by yourself, with a broken…”
“He’s not a skinflint!” Stitch suddenly blurted out, interrupting Hunter. “He’s one of the kindest, most generous nemilar I’ve ever known!”
Dannard waved his hand frantically at Stitch, “Shush up, Stitch,” he urged. “Be quiet, that’s quite enough.”
“Generous!” roared Ballorn, beginning to laugh. “He’d want a discount on something if it was free!”
“That’s because he needs the coin to pay for other things!” protested Stitch. “If it wasn’t for him, those people…”
“Enough, Stitch!” shouted Dannard. “None of that matters now! We must be dealing with the bother what we is in now. Ballorn’s not interested in what happened before!”
But, to the contrary, Ballorn was most intrigued by Stitch’s outburst. “What people?” he asked.
“There’s them little orphans for a start,” Stitch said quickly. “And the old lady who lost her husband in that accident, and the chap who lost his arm when he was chopping lumber in the forest. If it weren’t for Dannard, they’d have all gone hungry and been without a roof over…”
“Stitch!” cried Dannard. “Will you please stick a sock in it? My business affairs is not summat you go spouting off about to people what ain’t involved. Now shut your gob!”
Hunter intervened, “Let’s get you something to eat, Dannard,” he said. “You need feeding up. I could almost lift you with one arm.”
Dannard frowned, “I does not need feeding up,” he mumbled. “I’ve always kept myself fit and slim. We’re not all like him you know,” he added, gesturing to Ballorn. “And afore you start thinking that’s an insult, Ballorn, it ain’t. I don’t mean you is a fatty, but look at you. You isn’t the normalist nemilar is you? You has got to be over five feet tall and you has a chest bigger than one of my barrels.”
“It’s true,” agreed Stitch. “You are freakishly tall, and then there’s your muscles. Arms like tree trunks, legs thicker than…”
“Have you quite finished?” growled Ballorn, glaring at them both.
“Oh, Ballorn, do lighten up a little,” sniggered Hunter. “Let them feast their eyes upon the nemilar mountain! They’ll be the founder members of your fan club before you know it.”
CHAPTER 6
The following day, Ballorn rose at dawn. His brace strapped tightly around his leg, he began to pace gingerly around his forge. Initially there was the occasional sharp intake of breath and a good deal of muttering as he cursed his misfortune, but after a while he resigned himself to the fact that he there was no way he would be completely comfortable. Reaching under his counter, he took hold of a small sack and began placing a few scraps of food in it that were left from the previous night.
“You were serious then?”
Ballorn glanced up at Hunter, “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
“And you were going to leave without telling anyone?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” asked Ballorn, frowning. “Dannard’s too weak to travel, Stitch is an idiot and they’re both scared of their own shadows! As for you, well, you just want to mother ‘em. So yes, I was going to leave without telling anyone.”
“Is we all ready to go then?”
Ballorn hadn’t seen Dannard behind Hunter, or Stitch for that matter. For the briefest of moments Ballorn wondered if they had heard him insulting them. Not that he really cared. After all, it was the truth.
“Almost,” replied Hunter. “Just waiting for Ballorn to get himself sorted.”
“Just out of interest,” asked Dannard, “where is we going, and what is we doing when we gets there?”
Ballorn limped past them as he headed toward the edge of the village. “I’m going to Lonny’s farm, and what I’m doing is none of your business,” he replied gruffly.
“You are right of course,” said Stitch, who had hurried to be by Ballorn’s side, “I am scared of just about everything, that’s why I’m not staying in
the village alone. The safest place to be, for now at least, is with you and Hunter.”
“You wasn’t going to be alone, Stitch. I would have stayed with you if Ballorn told us we wasn’t to go with him.”
Stitch smiled at Dannard, “I know you would have my friend. Let’s face it though, neither of us is what you’d call aggressive. We aren’t giants like Ballorn, or hunters like him. No, folk like us are meant to be looked after by others, let them do the fighting and the dangerous stuff.”
***
Their pace was slow. Ballorn’s breathing was laboured and the sweat soon poured off his brow as the pain grew worse. Despite pleas from the others, he would not stop. His stubbornness and determination drove him on. Many times he stumbled, too proud to accept help from anyone who tried to assist him. As the light began to fail they had only covered half the distance to where the stream was located.
Hunter called them to a halt, “We’ll make camp here,” he said. “We cannot travel at night, it would be far too dangerous.” He lit a fire and they sat close to it, more for protection than warmth. Ballorn lay flat on his back with his eyes closed, glad to finally rest his leg. Although he would never have admitted it.
“Here,” said Hunter, “take these.”
Ballorn opened his eyes to see Hunter offering him a few of the familiar pollum pods. “No thanks,” he snorted, “I remember what happened the last time you gave me some of those. I’ve things to do, no time for sleeping for days on end!”
“If you don’t swallow them, you’ll be fine. Just chew them, it’ll take the edge off the pain.”
Ballorn stared at Hunter defiantly.
“Go on, stupid. If you don’t, we is going to be out here for weeks. Take the nice pods, whatever they is, and have a bit of a kip. It’ll do you good,” Dannard urged.
“I’m sensing that whatever it is you intend to do is important to you, Ballorn. Therefore, there must also be an urgency that drives you to suffer such pain,” whispered Hunter, offering the pollum once more. “Take them, you can thank me later.”
“I is starving hungry. Has we got any grub? Did anyone bring some cake?”
Hunter laughed, “No, Dannard, we are still without cake. There are edible plants and roots out here in the forest, I’ll see what I can find.” Tapping his bow, he leaned down to the two gentle nemilar. “You never know, we may even be luckier still.”
Before long, Hunter returned carrying three tondy (a large breed of rodent), and two gebblar (a flightless bird slightly larger than a chicken). He gutted the tondy and wrapped them in mud before placing them into the flames. The gebblar were then plucked and placed on a skewer above them. The nemilar watched in fascination as Hunter placed leaf-wrapped roots and bulbs at the edge of the fire.
“You is really good at this cooking lark, Hunter,” said Dannard in admiration. “You is good at catching and digging up things too. My belly is grumblatin’ something rotten I is so hungry.”
“Well I hope you enjoy it, Dannard,” replied Hunter grinning. “Sorry, still no cake I’m afraid.”
“Not wanting to pick fault or anything, Hunter, but why are you cooking so much?” asked Stitch. “There’s only four of us and there’s enough there for double that at least.”
Hunter nodded toward the snoozing Ballorn, “He’ll eat at least one of the tondy and a gebblar by himself,” he replied. “Those pollum pods do give one an appetite. Any less than this and we three would have to stay hungry.”
“Ah, you is saying he’s a greedy guts!” said Dannard, nodding.
Hunter laughed, “No, that’s not what I’m saying, but he’s had a much harder day than any of us. He’ll need his strength if he’s going to survive tomorrow.”
A look of dread swept across Stitch’s face, “Why, what’s happening tomorrow?” he asked, nervously.
“Nothing,” replied Hunter, reassuringly. “I simply meant that the route we shall follow is more difficult. Today we were mostly on level ground, but tomorrow is mostly uphill.”
“What!” exclaimed Dannard. “We isn’t going up no mountains is we? I’s had enough of being up in the air. I was stuck in that tree…”
“No, Dannard, no mountains,” Hunter assured him. “Just a slope. Easy enough for us, but not for someone with a broken leg.”
Hunter was correct when he had suggested that Ballorn may have an appetite when he awoke. They watched in disbelief as he devoured his food. He scoffed it down as if he hadn’t eaten for a week, before turning to them, “You going to finish that?” he asked, expectantly.
The two smaller nemilar did not have the nerve to refuse and handed him what was left of their meals. They too disappeared as quickly as his own.
Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Ballorn promptly lay back and immediately fell asleep.
Hunter produced the rest of the food he had hidden from Ballorn. Sharing it equally between Dannard and Stitch, he winked, “I think you were right, Dannard,” he whispered, “he is a bit of a greedy guts.”
***
The following day was much easier for them all. Ballorn, chewing gratefully on the pollum pods, marched on almost as if his leg was perfectly fine. This left the others to concentrate on their own footing, relieved to not have to watch Ballorn in fear that he may take a tumble from which he would not recover.
“Does you hear that?” asked Dannard, tilting his head. “That tricklatin’ noise? We’s near water we is.”
“There’s a stream up ahead,” Hunter informed him. “We should be at the farm before nightfall.”
“You mean, where the farm was?” Ballorn’s expression changed to one of deep concern. “Hunter…” he asked slowly, “… when you found me at the foot of that tree, was that the first time our paths had crossed?”
“Well, as I said…” began Hunter, “… I had seen you in the village, but we had never been formally introduced. Why do you ask?”
Ballorn shook his head, “No reason… just wondering,” he said dismissively. “My memory, it’s not what it used to be.” But there was nothing wrong with his memory, nothing at all. He was remembering the voice that had spoken to him the last time he had visited Lonny’s farm, remembering the warning it had given him regarding the dangers that may surround him. Would the stranger still be there and, if he was, would he reveal himself now that Ballorn had company? Only time would tell.
They halted briefly at the stream, filling their water skins and washing their faces in the crystal-clear water. Well, three of them did.
“We isn’t supposed to be all wet. I isn’t no fish! Water is bad for my skin, makes it all wrinklified and stuff. I doesn’t mind drinking a bit of it, but it’s only good inside a nemilar like what I is, it spoils my outsides something rotten.”
“Good choice of words!” exclaimed Hunter. “I was trying to think of a good term for your fragrance… ‘something rotten’ sums it up perfectly.”
Dannard wasn’t offended, in fact he seemed quite proud of his pungent, stale odour. “Good honest sweat that is,” he announced. “Comes from hard work, something most folks ain’t got no clue about.”
“Well, to be fair,” said Stitch, quietly, “you can’t count any of us amongst the work-shy, and we all find time to bathe.”
“You isn’t like me though is you? My skin is delicate, I isn’t going to wash away the natural oils what’s in it just to keep you happy.”
“Delicate or not,” began Ballorn with a sinister tone, “get that coat and shirt off and clean yourself up. If you don’t, I’ll give you a bath myself. Or should I say a dunking? The biggest question you should ask yourself is would I be kind enough to pull you back up once your head’s underwater?”
“That’s nice!” squeaked Dannard, “I come out into the dangerous woods to help you and what does you do? You threatens me, that’s what! What has I ever done to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know! Perhaps it’s the fact that you’ve picked fault with every bit of work I’ve done for you for the last five years, and by
the way it wasn’t a threat, more a premonition,” said Ballorn as he glared at the cooper.
Dannard hurriedly began pulling at his coat, trying his best to remove it before Ballorn could follow up on his promise. “I’s doing it, I’s doing it,” he said, nervously.
To be fair, Ballorn really didn’t care whether Dannard smelt of roses or dung, but he hadn’t been able to resist the chance to wind him up when that chance had presented itself so perfectly. He turned away, smiling to himself as he listened to the panic-stricken babbling of Dannard behind him. The smile left his face quickly as he eyed up the trail ahead of them. “Five minutes,” he announced. “Then we need to push on, and make sure he cleans behind his ears.”
***
“Stay right here,” urged Hunter as he steered Dannard and Stitch behind a tree. “We’ll come back for you shortly but don’t come out until we return.” Glancing up, he grabbed hold of the lowest branch and began to climb.
“Why’s he stuck us in here?” whispered Dannard.
“To keep us safe,” replied Stitch, quietly.
“Keep us safe from what?”
Stitch shuddered, “I don’t know,” he said. “In fact, I’d rather not know.”
Hunter travelled swiftly through the trees above them until he was above Ballorn. They nodded at each other and Ballorn walked on. They had come to the scorched ground and, strangely enough, it was Ballorn himself who had suggested that the others be hidden.
It was not long before he heard the familiar voice, “You came back,” it said with faint surprise. “Either you are very brave, or very stupid. Which one is it, my little friend?”
Ballorn glanced around. The stranger had chosen, yet again, to remain hidden. “Where I go is none of your concern,” he replied politely. “Who are you?” asked Ballorn. “There’s very few in these lands who would refer to me as little.”
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 5
