We don’t want to go to war today.
But the Captain of the team says nay, nay, nay!
We’re gonna fight all day, all day, all day!
‘Cause where there’s a fight there’s th’ BeeBees, yeah!
Oh yeah
When there’s a fight, there’s th’ BeeBees, yeah!
Left! Right!
Left! Right!
Left! Right!
“What’s a Beebeesyeah?”
A banner popped above the top of a far-off hill, wobbling to and fro.” Its forward movement kept it perpendicular to the group. Only a fluttering of green could be seen as it moved in the distance.
“They seem unbalanced.” The youth pointed with his sword. “That’s a good thing, right?”
A moment later, the head of an Orc appeared, then another, and more until a group of fifteen or so were visible. They were jogging close together, elbows interlocked.
“What in the lands?”
“Maybe their tribe is called the Beebeesyeah,” suggested Bash. “Didn’t expect to be fightin’ Orcs today. I’d a’eaten a lighter breakfast.”
“What’s that lead Orc holding? Is that a doll?”
As the Orcs - which were still almost three hundred yards away- came closer, it appeared that the lead Orc was holding a largish doll in his hand that flopped back and forth as he ran. There seemed to be as many of them as there were townsfolk.
“Orcs? No one said anything about Orcs.”
“Hold on, I know that banner! It’s the Bek’Ham Benders. The Bee Bees!” Exclaimed Nulu. “That’s a relief.”
“What’s a Bek’Ham? And why do they bend them?
“Bek’Ham is a not very polite Orcish term for Elves.”
“So are they on our side?” Zoddious asked.
“I think he’s holding a Halfling,” someone in the crowd offered. “Bless its little heart.”
“Great; Orcs putting in with Halflings. So they have Ogres up at the wall, and Orcs here on the plains.”
“There weren’t no Ogres at the Anti-Ogre Wall,” said Bonk, as he turned to address the human.
“Of course there were. Why else would it be called that?”
“So politicians could trick people into givin’ them money then they built the thing at half the size and pocket the difference.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. Why would a politician lie?”
Bonk walked over and slapped the man on the head. “Not another word out of you.”
The man opened his mouth.
Bonk clenched his previously open hand. “Don’t do it.”
The man moved back into the group of townsfolk that he had come with. Upset and confused. And disillusioned.
The Orcs slowed as they approached. They appeared to wearing matching clothes. Even though they had been ostensibly jogging for much longer than the five minutes (or so) the townsfolk had been watching them as they approached, they were not out of breath. They all came to a stop in front of the townsfolk.
“We found dis. He yours?” The Orc held up the struggling Halfling.
“Not at all...Captain?” Tried Nulu.
“Yeah. Me Captain of Bek’Ham Benders.” The Orc grinned what should have been a proud grin. It came across as a deathly leer. “Misery is my playin’ name.”
The Orc holding their banner waved it back and forth. Violently. Several townsfolk moved back to give him room. They kept a close eye on the sharpened end of the banner in case he dipped it in their direction.
“He yours?” The Captain held up the squirming Halfling again. The Halfling ineffectually clawed at the Orc’s hand.
Nulu shook her head. “No that is not our Halfling. Were there more of them?”
“Dis only one we see. So we grab him up.” He gestured toward the Halfling. “We was going to pick up game over by old Aution and we find him.” The Halfling’s face was deep red, bordering on purple; he was still getting enough air to stay alive. But just barely. “You don’t want ‘im?”
“Nope. Not at all.” Said Nulu. “Sorry.”
“Hmmm...”
“Why don’t you just put him back where you found him?” Someone in the group behind Nulu suggested. “Got enough Halflings on their way without adding one more.”
Nods from most everyone showed their agreement.
The Orc shrugged. “I try.” The Halflings eyes got big. The Orc walked around his teammates (who had spread out and seemed to be stretching), and looked into the distance. “Hmmm” he said again. Without further consideration, he dropkicked the Halfling, grunting with the effort. The Halfling sailed -end over end- for almost two hundred yards. He flailed until he hit the ground with a fairly-audible crash. The flailing stopped as abruptly as his contact with the ground.
“Not go all the way.” The Orc looked over his shoulder back at Nulu. “Want me do over?”
“No, no. Once was enough, it seems.”
“We here to help,” said the Orc as he moved around his players back to Nulu. Now some were on the ground, stretching their hamstrings. One was doing deep knee bends. “Halfling say he coming to Big Julie school. Best games played at Big Julie school. Can’t let Halflings ruin rest of season. Bee Bees doing good this year.”
“Well, you are ahead in the points.”
“Right?! We win Rugby Cup dis time!”
Several Orcs nodded in agreement.
“This time? This group actually loses games?”
The Orc looked down at the Human. “Hey, it happen!” He said defensively. “Some team no play fair.”
“Now, now; it’s fair.” Nulu assured the Orc. She put her hand on his shoulder, “You can’t win them all you know.”
“This team?” Said a youth dressed in long flowing robes. He folded his hands in what he hoped was an Empathic manner. “Really?”
She looked at the human. “Apparently the word is the Dwarves have some sort of sneakery that allows them to avoid being tackled. Or so they say.”
”Not very sportsmanlike,” offered the team captain again.
“So, you’re here to help. That’s great!” Said Zoddious. “I’m a Warrior too.”
The Orc gave the youth a double take. Shrugged, then looked at Nulu. “Yeah. We here to scrum.”
“Fight.”
“Same difference.” The Captain shrugged as he put one leg out in front of the other. He bent his knee, reaching forward with his hand toward the ground.[14]
“No, you see the difference is...”
“Well, actually, Zod,” interrupted Nulu, “when they’re on the field, there really isn’t much difference.”
The Human frowned at the shortening of his name but with the size of the Trolless, he decided to let it pass.
The Orc gave another toothy grin. “Who we fight?” He looked around. “Who?”
“Halflings of course.”
The Orc squinted his eyes. “Me know that.” He clenched his fists. “Asking where they at.” His eyes got large. “They forfeit? Forfeit count as win!”
Several of the Orcs nodded in agreement.
Because it did.
“No, no; they’re just not here yet, Captain. You and your team are welcome to wait with us.”
“They is late for their own ass kicking.”
“Apparently so.”
“Want to scrimmage while we wait?” Several Orcs jumped to their feet and stretched their hands over their heads. Several grunted in anticipation. “To pass time.” The Captain waved a hand dismissively. “Friendly match.”
An Orc pulled an oblong, dark brown leather ball from a backpack. He tossed it into the air and caught it.
“Yes?”
“Just for fun? No worry about who wins?” The Empath wasn’t convinced. “No keeping score?”
“Sure keep score! If winning not important, why keep score? That Orc proverb,” said the Orc holding the banner. He waved it around for emphasis. Violently.
“You know, I think we’ll pass. That way we’re fresh whe
n the Halflings get here.”
“Suit youself. We go stretch. Hate to pull a Halfling” The Orc guffawed.
“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” admitted Nulu.
“Laugh at pun!”
Nulu obliged by laughing heartily at the terrible play on words. Not wanting to get the Orcs upset with them, the others joined in.
With a pleased nod, the Captain moved back among his players and joined in the stretching.
“Unbelievable. I think we have a fighting chance.”
Akita nodded at Drimblerod. “As long as there aren’t too many of them Halflings, I think we do too.”
“So what’s wrong with Grimbledung?”
Akita looked at the distance. “You know, I should make sure that everyone’s morale is up since we have a little time yet.”
“Akita...”
Akita loped off quickly.
“What’s wrong with Grimbledung?” Asked Nulu.
“That’s what I want to find out. I know he came back into town in a Pixie fueled craze and he’s sleeping it off at the shop of some mystic or witch or whatever she is, but that’s pretty much it.”
“Well, I haven’t seen him since he ran off into the rain. But I’m sure he’s fine. Otherwise, Akita would’ve told us.”
Drimblerod considered that for a moment. “I suppose.”
“Hey! Here dey come!” Said Misery. “Looks like good bunch Halflings!!” He pointed at a hill to their right. A large group of Halflings crested the hill then disappeared in the trough. There seemed to be a very large number of them.
“Gads. That looked like a hundred or so Halflings.” Drimblerod looked around. “We’ve got what...”
“Fifteen Humans. Four Gnolls. One Werewolf. Two Mimes. Fifteen Orcs. And the biggest, badest Trolless you’re going to see this side of Picistan.” Nulu shifted her grip on her please-stick. “We should give those poor Halflings a chance to surrender. Not that they’d accept it. They really don’t stand a chance.”
They did. They didn’t. And then, they didn’t.
When all was said and done, all but three Halflings were killed- Colossus being the last prisoner taken.
The group of youths even managed to collectively kill a Halfling. The Warrior threw up twice afterwards. When he recovered, he attributed their success to “a string of natural twenties.”[15]
All right. That’s enough bouncing back and forth...
CAUTION: Subplot merging ahead. At least for the next 27,538 words...
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Turtle Tracker Takes Trio To Town
Chéri looked to the top of the dune as they moved around it. “You’d think we’d know if we were near the end of this cursed desert.”
Semfeld shrugged. “It butts up against the southern reaches of the Foreboding Forest.” He paused. “But it’s called the Emerald Forest here though. That thing just starts up where it wants to.”
“How can a forest do anything?”
“I suppose no one told it otherwise?”
“Either way, I don’t care. I’m just glad to be getting into town.”
Semfeld leaned out and looked at Chéri, “What town?”
“Cool Springs. You said we were there.”
“No I didn’t.”
Chéri tightened her grip on the reins and yanked them back severely. The Shambler came to an abrupt halt. Liverioso veered left to avoid running into the back of them. “Yes, you did, you annoying Human.” She twisted in the saddle to face him.
“No. I said we were out of the desert. We’re not at Cool Springs yet.”
Chéri took a deep breath. “So where is town and your stupid guild then?”
“I dunno.”
Chéri let go of the reins. “I swear on the Lord High Priest I’m going to wring your scrawny neck if you don’t start being more helpful.” With a frown she turned around and snapped the reins. The Shambler dutifully began to move again. “If there isn’t a town on the other side of this dune...” She began.
The trio rounded the dune.
Chéri was NOT pleased when they rounded it. True to Semfeld’s word, the forest began abruptly- as if it had just been plopped down. Fine white sand ran right up to, but not past the edge of the forest. Cool shade beckoned them.
“Finally some shade.”
“I’m glad too partner. Then we’ll get those blathted Gnomths.”
They led the two Shamblers into the shade of the forest. Chéri once again turned to look at Semfeld. “So how far is your town? Do you have any idea?”
Semfeld nodded at the assassin as he slid off the Shambler’s back. “Now that we’re close, I can find out.” He drew Garibaldis’ wand. “Behold!” He tilted his hands back and forth to show they were empty.
Chéri rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages. I offer a feast.” He raised his hands in the air. “A feast for your eyes. Your very eyes!”
Liverioso leaned forward on his Shambler, an excited smile plastered on his face. “Ooohhh!”
“Homing pigeons? Pah” Semfeld waved his hand dismissively. “Mere child’s play. Amateur at best.” He looked around on the ground. A rock seemed to catch his eye, though he couldn’t think why. He pointed at it. “That’s a trick they teach to school children. No, ladies and gentlemen; I offer more.”
“More?”
Chéri looked up at the treetops. This same spiel accompanied most all tricks by Semfeld. Liverioso as well- except with more spittle.
“Yes, sir. More.” Semfeld assured.
“Take that rock. That very rock. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Huh!”
Chéri thought of using it to bash the magician’s head in. “I can think of something.” She knew that no matter what she said - and she had heard this numerous times- the show would go on. “Can I have that rock for just a moment?” She said anyway.
Semfeld pressed on. He pointed the wand at the rock.
Igneous. Sedimentary.
Metamorphic too
Transform into a homing turtle!
That’s what you will do!”
Bazaam!
He intoned.
The rock shuddered and twitched.
“Turtle?”
Stubby legs poked out from under the rock, lifting it slightly off the ground.
“A turtle. Really?”
As the rock moved, a head poked out of the ‘front’ of it. At least now it was the front. A tail followed on the other end. Its head craned back at Semfeld. It seemed to have a satisfied look on its face. Or at least as satisfied as a common box turtle could look.
“To the guild!” Commanded Semfeld.
The turtle - who with every passing moment, looked more like a box turtle and less like a rock- nodded at him , then turned its head around and started to walk. At a normal turtle pace.
“Honestly. A turtle? Why not a snail or a slug?” Chéri said angrily. She dropped the reins and put her hands on her hips. “Couldn’t you pick anything slower?”
Semfeld sheathed the wand with a flourish and took a bow.
Liverioso, as usual, clapped and ‘hooted’ at him once he had bowed. That meant the trick was over.
Chéri clambered off her mount. “A stinking turtle?”
“You doubt its abilities?”
“To find the guild? No.” Chéri crowded the Human. “Doubt its abilities to get there before next summer?” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. For a moment she considered crushing his throat with it. “Yes!”
“You wanted maybe a homing pigeon or crow, perhaps?” The trick was over but the show... went on.
“Well, they’re called that for a reason.” She glanced at Liverioso.
He stopped clapping and hooting.
“Can we ride as fast as they fly?” Semfeld crossed his arms.
“No.” Chéri dropped her finger.
Semfeld pointed to the turtle. It was a mere ten feet away. It was moving in a generally
straight line, ostensibly towards the Magician’s Guild. “The guild is that way. If it were a crow or pigeon, we’d have lost it by now.”
Chéri exhaled. “I will give you that.”
Semfeld grinned triumphantly. He took another small bow.
“But,” Chéri continued, “it will take that blasted thing a week to get anywhere.” She pointed at it. It was maybe another foot away. “I mean, just look at it.”
Semfeld looked at the turtle. It was moving slowly and steadily in what seemed to be a generally straight line. “Yep. Isn’t it grand?”
“But.”
Realization crept across Semfeld’s face. “Oh! No, you got it all wrong, Chéri.” He patted her on the shoulder as he laughed. “Oh, that’s rich.”
“Yeah. Rich. That’s the word I’m thinking of right now.”
Semfeld walked (now a full twelve feet) and picked up the turtle. “The guild is that way.” He pointed the direction the turtle was walking. “We ride that way for a while. If we think we’re off track, we just put the turtle down and see what he does.”
Chéri opened her mouth then closed it sourly. It was, apparently, an easily controlled and effective guide. She pursed her lips instead of saying so.
Semfeld took another bow anyway.
“Stop doing that. I’m warning you.” Chéri moved back to her Shambler. In a fluid motion she mounted it. “Let’s get going then.” She snapped the reins and the Shambler picked up its head- long tufts of grass hung from it. She snapped the reins again and it begrudgingly set off, chewing as it went.
“Wait for us!” Said Liverioso as he reached his hand down as he moved toward Semfeld.
Semfeld clambered onto the Shambler as Liverioso went by. “That woman.” He shook his head.
“Yeah,” agreed Liverioso. Dreamily. “That woman.”
Semfeld gave his partner a double-take. “I thought you were done with women.”
Liverioso shrugged, “Well, long term relationships, yeth. Short, passion filled ones? Those I’m still keeping an eye out for.”
“That female is liable to kill you.”
Liverioso smirked. “What a way to go.”
Here's Looking For You, Grim (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 3) Page 24
