by Andi Adams
"I… I highly doubt it," Sib said. "Who would want to set a trap for us? What could we possibly have that they'd want?" He tried to assert a level of calmness through his wavering voice.
"We look ridiculous," Eron said, relaxing his combative pose. "There's no one here. If there was, they'd have attacked by now. Let's just chalk it up to a bit of woodsy-weirdness and head home. I'm starving."
Tyne reached down to the pile of apples where Sib had set them and tossed one to Eron. "Here, if you're so hungry."
"Eh, I wouldn't," said Sib. "You never know." He led the pack toward the trail home. But before they'd made it even five feet, a whooshing sound whipped through the silence and ended in a thunk.
"OW! What the…!?!"
The brothers, poised to fight, reeled around while Eron rubbed the newly formed knot on his head. They saw Genevieve standing between two thick oak trees."And where did you think you were going?" she said casually, one hand resting upon her cocked hip, an apple in the other, and a mischievous smirk upon her dirty face. She wore an ivory dress begrimed with mud and grass stains up to her knees, though it was still much nicer than the mis-fashioned bed sheets they were used to seeing her in.
The clearing erupted in jubilant cheers. All at once, the brothers bombarded her with questions and affection.
"Where have you been?"
"How are you alive?"
"God, we've missed you!"
"What happened to you?"
"So happy to have you back!"
"Why are you covered in muck?”
The remarks and inquiries came like rapid fire and it was difficult to decipher who was speaking. Even Flic communicated his excitement by winding himself around Genevieve’s waist and grinning from ear to ear. She tried to calm their excitement with a shhhh, but she too was tearing up. She knelt down to them, contented to be home at last.
"I've missed you all so much, but we don't have much time. We are all in great danger, and I need your help."
28
In the clearing after their reunion, Genevieve sat her brothers down and explained to them everything she knew about the day of Grog's death and all of her theories about her deathlike sleep. Of course, they had questions, most of which she could not answer. But now, the brothers knew, at least conceptually, what they were up against: a ruthless, egotistical, power-hungry bastard. The bastard who murdered their beloved Grog.
She had spent the better part of her trek home from Heiglet considering her options. She knew Alaricus was going to be relentless; he wouldn't just sacrifice his Queen, his beautiful prize. Not with his pride and ego on the line. And certainly not with his power compromised by her disappearance.
Genevieve's situation seemed hopeless. What chance did they, a band of dwarves and a woman, have against a virile new king and his entourage?
"I should have run far from here. I… I just needed to see you all, to explain what happened to Grog. To ease your fears about what happened to me. But it isn't safe for me to stay here with you. My selfish desire to see you triumphed over reason, but now that you know what happened, and I know you're safe, I have to run far away from here."
"Don't even think such a thing,” Eron said.
"We already lost you once," said Tyne. "We couldn't stand to lose you again."
"Where would you even go?" Eron asked.
"Well, I must say, I do see the logic in your suggestion," Sib said. "It does seem to make the most sense."
The other brothers shot him a fearsome glare.
"What are you even saying?!" asked Eron.
"Take it back, Sib," Tyne said, anger in his voice. "You want her to leave?"
"What about her safety?" asked Eron.
"Do you not care about her?" continued Tyne.
Even Genevieve had been surprised by Sib's concurrence. Though she knew it was the right thing to do, it still hurt her to hear him agree.
Maybe he blames me for Grog's death.
Maybe he can't stand to look at me because I remind him....
She repositioned herself on the mossy spot where she sat so as to avert the attention from the tears brimming in her eyes. She swiped them away before her brothers could see. She wanted to show the others that she and Sib agreed in the necessity of this plan, so they too would see its logic and concede.
Eron looked back and forth between Sib and Genevieve and stuck a pudgy finger defiantly in the air. "Now wait a hot-tootin' minute—"
"Gentlemen," Sib said, "you didn't allow me to finish. Let's reserve the hostility and excitement for later. What I was going to say was, yes, it's true, having Snow leave would be the safest idea for all of us. Sure, we love her and want to protect her, but we need to be realistic and admit there is no guarantee we are going to be able do that. Us going up against the king and his guardsmen? The odds are ludicrous, which is why," Sib looked straight at Genevieve and smiled, "we can't let her go."
Genevieve breathed a sigh of relief and couldn't help but grin. She loved her brothers with all of her heart, but displayed in this small gesture, she knew beyond a doubt, they loved her too. They were willing to risk their house and their lives for her. Her heart swelled with gratitude. "Really?" she asked, just to be certain she didn't misunderstand.
"Really." Sib took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You can't leave us. We are in this together. That whoreson villain, please excuse my vulgarity, took our brother, kidnapped you, and took away your freedom until you were able to escape. It is intolerable. Just because he has power does not make us weak. We are not cowards and we will not be made to lie down and accept this injustice. We will stand together, fight together, and we will make him pay for what he's done. We owe it to Grog.”
Her eyes again welled up with tears, but this time she did not turn to hide her face. "I am truly grateful. To all of you. For your support, your kindness, your love — it's more than any girl could ask for. But I am scared for you. I couldn't take it if anything bad happened to you on account of me. I would be responsible, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I already feel so guilty for ... for what happened to Grog. If he hadn't been watching over me… if I hadn't been so naïve to trust that old woman… if only I would have listened to you and heeded your warnings…." She wiped her tear-streaked face and tucked her hair behind her ears in one smooth motion.
Sib continued to hold her other hand, "Don't you do that, Snow. You are not responsible for what happened to Grog. We all make mistakes, and I know you made the ones you did because you see the best in people. That isn't a fault, it's a gift. You were taken advantage of, and that's not on you, that's on them. And when you were umm… dead, well, clearly you were too incapacitated to have done anything at all. Grog's death is Alaricus' fault and his fault only." Sib paused for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts before continuing. "I have struggled with guilt since the day we found Grog's body abandoned by your tomb. We all did. We felt like we should have been there with him and maybe we could have stopped it.
"We didn't have any answers before you came back, only questions. But now that we know what really happened, we have to be released of our guilt. There is nothing we could have done, and Grog died a brave and valiant death. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way."
All of the brothers' eyes were reddened from crying. Silent tears for the absolution they thought they'd never find.
"We will remember him," Sib said. "We will love him forever. And we will honor him by defending his name."
With new resolve, she wiped her face dry with her filthy sleeve and cleared her throat. "Then honor him we shall. So, what's the plan? Does anyone have any ideas?" Genevieve leaned forward and surveyed the group, her brows furrowed together upon her still flushed face.
"Well, they came to find you almost two days ago," Sib said. "They arrived, and without explanation, tore apart the cottage. They set up a camp on the property once they had ransacked the house."
Tyne continued, "We had no idea what they wanted. The king's head guard jus
t asked where we were keeping 'the girl.' They said they were searching for a prisoner who had escaped. We certainly didn't assume they meant you. For all we knew, you were dead."
"So we know where they are?" Genevieve said. "That could be helpful."
Eron leapt to his feet. "We could ambush them. We'll prepare ourselves with whatever weapons we can muster and surprise attack. We have the advantage of them not anticipating it."
Tyne made a skeptical face. Genevieve watched him survey their group before turning back to Eron to shake his head "no" emphatically.
Sib stood up from the rock upon which he sat and positioned himself next to Eron in front of the others. "Eron, though your plan has potential, we need to play to our strengths. We can all agree we are few in number, we aren't very strong comparably, and are, umm… vertically challenged. We are only five people up against almost a dozen of Heiglet's most formidable men. So think. What are our strengths?"
Sib paced around considering his own question. Genevieve and the others watched him, wondering what thoughts were churning through his mind. They were hopeful Sib would conceive a plan that wouldn't require them to fight physically, but the longer he paced and the longer they sat in silence, the more hopeless it seemed.
Finally, Sib stopped pacing.
"Well?" asked Eron.
"I think I know how we can defeat Alaricus and his men."
29
Sib watched little rivers of rain run down the windowpanes and listened to a rhythmic pattern beat down upon the roof. The weather turned cold, even colder than it had been, and the rain was just making it worse. He worried about Genevieve. He thought of her huddled against a tree for warmth, covering herself in foliage and whatnot to keep warm. There was no way she'd be able to maintain a fire, not with this kind of rain. And even if it wasn’t raining, Sib knew she wouldn't risk being found by Alaricus by sparking a blaze in the dark.
She was tough. She'd been through a lot. And he knew that, though he worried about her, she'd be all right. He continued to bustle around the kitchen, the stove piping with a bubbly brew burbling in a cast iron pot. The aroma was musty, and a bit acerbic, but he continued to stir, trusting that Tyne knew what he was doing.
"They've been out there for almost four days," Eron said to no one in particular, his hands set on his hips as he stared out the window. From his vantage, he could see the king's camp, twelve men in all, had been set up around their cottage. Sheets fashioned into tents sagged under the weight of the relentless precipitation. "It actually makes me smile a little to think they are miserable and soggy."
"How long do you think they'll stay?" Tyne said. "Maybe if the weather continues like this, we won't have to worry about the plan, and they'll leave on their own accord."
"They're not going anywhere," Sib said. "Not without her." He knew they needed to go through with the plan, no matter how uncertain they were that it would work. It was the only way. "Tyne, look in the pot. Is it ready? I don't think we can wait much longer. Think of Snow waiting out there without protection from the cold. She's gonna get sick. We need to act now."
Tyne picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the contents of the pot. It had thickened nicely, and it looked somewhat appetizing, in spite of its smell. The viscous liquid was a mossy shade of green, which they could pass off as some sort of herb soup. Alaricus and his men would only need to drink a little.
"I think it's ready," Tyne said. "It probably could use a few more hours, but if we're running out of time, I think it'll do." He tapped the spoon against the side of the pot and rested it on the counter, leaving behind a puddle of green goop.
"All right then, are we ready?" asked Sib, scanning the room and inspecting each brother's face. They looked as ready as they were going to get. Sib fixed a hat upon his head, started for the door, and strode out into the rain.
He took a few steps and listened to his heartbeat ring in his ears. He couldn't decide which was louder — the sound of his racing heart or the steady pounding of the rain on the saturated ground. The camp was set up in such a fashion that Sib knew exactly which tent belonged to the king. He was, without doubt, the one in the center of the circle, fully encompassed by the protection of his guards. That, and the fact his tent was also at least three times bigger than any of the others.
Sib recalled the day he first met the king; it was two days before they had returned home from meeting Snow in the clearing. They had been waiting at the cottage for them to arrive home. From the looks on their faces, the group had been waiting quite a long time. Their reddened cheeks and annoyed stares indicated they were less than pleased to have been kept waiting. When the brothers arrived home, they were greeted by drawn swords and aggressive demands.
Where's the girl? Where are you hiding her? Hand her over or it'll be death for all of you.
But their threats were useless because it was not a lie — no one was there. Sib, only now, found a sliver of amazement in realizing they were searching for Genevieve the whole time without his knowing it.
The tents sunk in the wet sod. Sib could only imagine they were sleeping in puddles at this point and they would hopefully jump at the opportunity for some refuge. He approached the king's tent, but before he could get too close, he was seized by two guards and was hoisted into the air, his short legs dangling above the mushy ground.
"Halt, sir, by order of the King of Heiglet," announced one of the captors loudly, signaling to the king his achievement, more than addressing the dwarf who was already in custody.
Alaricus peeked his head out of his tent, but not too far, so as to keep his hair dry. When he saw the small man apprehended, he growled in frustration at having to address the situation and compromise his fabulously coiffed hair. The king climbed out of the tent and tried hard to keep himself as clean as possible as he struggled for balance on the soft ground.
When he finally righted himself, he positioned himself in front of his captive. "What do you want?" asked Alaricus, who looked Sib in the eye, now that he’d been lifted to his level.
"Umm, excuse me, Your Highness. I have come to offer you some hospitality to escape this brutal weather. Though I must admit, I didn't expect to be handled so brusquely." Sib eyed the two men who were still holding him up by his underarms.
"Put him down," ordered Alaricus. The men responded so quickly that Sib almost slipped under his own weight. "Go on, your offer. Explain." Alaricus wiped a meaty palm across his forehead and flicked away the moisture.
"Though our cottage is humble and petite for men of…regular size, and though we may not have enough space for all of you to rest comfortably, we want to offer you some refuge from the rain, at least until it passes. We also prepared some warm soup to take the chill from your bones. It'll be tight, I'm sure, but we'll do the best we can. Are you interested?"
Alaricus raised his eyebrows. "And what do you want in exchange? No one offers something for nothing. If you're thinking we will call off the search for the maiden, you are sorely mistaken. No amount of soup or shelter will save her from my pursuit."
"No, sire. We ask for nothing. Of course, we would hope if our sister were to return, you would leave her to our company, but I know that would be too much to ask. Our offer then is not an exchange of one service for another. Just an act of humanitarianism. The gods are always watching, you know."
As if on cue, a clap of thunder shook the tents and rang through the woods.
"Then yes, we accept your offer. C'mon men, inside." Alaricus gestured to the men to follow him as he led the way, in front of Sib, toward the cottage.
Sib ushered the men in, while Eron stoked the fire and Flic scurried about to bring in more timber from their stock out back. Thankfully, they kept a supply of wood covered in case of rain, but their stockpile was dwindling fast. The guardsmen made themselves comfortable, dripping their wet clothes and tracking their muddy boots about the cottage. Some men took up residence in the brothers' beds, others on the floor wrapped in blankets and waited for the brot
hers to serve them.
While Sib bustled about, he overheard a guard speaking with Alaricus.
"She wouldn't come in. Do you trust her out there alone? With all of our belongings? Unguarded?" The guard's deep voice sifted through his thick mustache and wiry beard. He slumped his shoulder forward to speak, as he stood several inches taller than the already tall king.
"Denther, she's old. Really old. What exactly do you think she'll do? Pack the camp, throw our goods upon her hunchback, and take off running?" Alaricus smirked at his own sarcasm. Denther did not seem amused. "Don't worry, she's harmless, and even more so now that she's soaking wet. If she's going to be stubborn and not come in, that's her problem. So now she'll be old, weak, soaked, and starving. And on top of that, she'd have to be a complete fool to steal from a king. She knows she wouldn't get far before she'd be captured and put to death for treason. Too many reasons, Denther, to not worry ourselves about her."
Sib continued to busy himself, but allured by his curiosity, he tried to minimize the noise he was making so he could carry on listening.
"Yes, sire, but I don't understand, why is she still here with us at camp? She is a safety concern. What if she keels over dead? Then what are we to do?" Denther scratched at his beard and surveyed Alaricus. It was clear, even though Denther's stature was far larger than Alaricus', he was still fearful of saying the wrong thing and enraging the king. He shifted uncomfortably, looking ready to concede and not push the argument any further.
Alaricus remained calm. "I thank you for your council, but her purpose is none of your concern. Your job is to protect me and to do any bidding I see fit. Leave her to me." Alaricus turned his back to Denther, indicating the end of the conversation. He moved across the living room in only three strides and shooed several guardsmen off the couch so he could sprawl out and kick his feet up, his boots dripping down the sides of the fabric.
