by Lee Bezotte
That old mule is constantly getting me into trouble, she thought to herself. She needed to think it because she loved Earl and didn’t want to let him go. The pie that seemed only passable a few days ago was now the tastiest thing she’d ever put in her mouth, and she wanted more.
He’s so stubborn, and he never goes where I want him to go, she continued. The words in her head came easier now as she compared having the troublesome donkey to what she was going to get to enjoy inside of the tent. It would be best to let him go.
Suddenly, a familiar voice from behind interrupted her thinking. “Whatcha doin’?” Micah asked.
Maren looked back to see him holding a plate full of sweets. “He wants my mule,” she explained.
“That old thing? You’re better off without him,” he said as he stepped forward to stand beside her at the table.
Maren took her left ear and began massaging it. Now that her friend had confirmed that she should get rid of the animal, it made it easier to make her decision. She cleared her throat, held out her arm, and declared with a forced smile, “You can have him.”
“That’s a girl,” the man behind the table said as he tied the green ribbon around her wrist. “Now you go and have a wonderful time. I’ll take care of the mule.”
“I will,” she replied, and she spent the day marveling at the magician, filling up her belly, and forgetting about her faithful mule, Earl.
CHAPTER FIVE
A Business Transaction
Son swung the barn door open and shouted outside toward Maren, “Where is Earl?”
The girl was busy doing her chores while enthusiastically talking to herself and didn’t seem to notice him.
“Maren!” he called out her name as he jogged out to her.
The girl startled, then stood up straight. “Huh?” she replied as she immediately began pinching her ear.
“Where is Earl?” he asked again. “He’s not in the barn, and he’s not with you.”
The girl’s eyes darted back and forth as she continued working at her ear. Finally, she answered, “That stupid donkey ran off on me.”
“Ran off on you?” the boy said. He could hardly believe that the loyal beast would just run off. And if he did, he wouldn’t be difficult to catch up with.
“Uh huh. After the festivities yesterday, he was gone from his post,” she explained.
The boy thought for a moment. He knew the girl’s words couldn’t be completely true, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. She always seemed so attached to the mule, and he didn’t understand how she could let him go missing. “Do you think he was stolen?” he asked.
Maren looked upward in a thoughtful expression while she kept her hand on her ear. “Maybe,” she said unconvincingly.
“Do you think it might have been your friend Micah?” he continued to probe.
The girl’s thoughtful expression turned angry. “He’s not like that,” she answered. “He’s a nice boy.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s like me. He talks about pirates, and reads, and likes to draw,” she snapped.
Son could sense the tension rising in his young friend. He knew it would soon be difficult to continue the conversation if he didn’t find a way to settle her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure he’s a nice boy. I was just thinking through what could have happened to Earl.”
“I don’t know!” she shot back.
The boy paused to inhale deeply. “I was planning to go to the village tomorrow to sell toys. Instead, I’ll go later today so I can ask a few people if they’ve seen him. Hopefully, we can bring him back.”
Maren seemed to be jolted from her anger. She quickly scanned the field she was standing near and then swallowed hard. “Okay,” she said, and ran off to finish her chores.
As Son watched her rush about the garden, he mulled over his conversation with her. A strange sadness rested on him that he didn’t fully understand. As he turned to go back into the barn, he took one final glance at Maren and whispered a prayer.
Maren arrived in Laor tired, sweaty, and dirty from working in the garden. She had traveled at a near-running pace the entire way with a sword dangling from her waist, and it took longer than she had anticipated.
Once again, there was a tent encompassing most of the town’s square, and she could hear laughter and merriment going on inside. When she looked around, she noticed that the tables full of food and dessert were gone but the man with the long, gray hair was in his usual place, looking over papers that were scattered about the table. She swiftly approached him and asked, “Are all of the sweets gone?”
The man looked up from his papers with sudden wide eyes and a half-smile. “Oh hi, Maren,” he greeted. “No, the sweets aren’t all gone. We have moved them inside today.”
Maren wrinkled her forehead and pressed her lips together. “Why?”
“Because today is the grandest party of them all before we move on,” he answered.
The girl felt her chest tighten with excitement when she heard those words. Eager to get in, she said, “Well, I brought a sword to give you.” As she unsheathed it, she remembered how Faymia gave it to her before leaving for her hunting trip with Dulnear. It seemed special to her at the time, but now what mattered was not missing out on the festivities.
The man looked over the sword with interest before turning his eyes back toward Maren. “It really is a grand sword,” he said. “But I’m afraid the only way to take part in our final celebration is by joining our crew.”
Something about what the man said excited and worried the girl at the same time. After reading so many books about swashbucklers and adventurers, she wondered what it was like to be a part of a crew. “What do I have to do to join you?” she asked.
“Well, you promise to come with us, and you help out with different things,” he said.
That didn’t sound so bad to the young girl. She squinted, pushed out her lips, and asked, “Would I have to come with you for long?”
The gray-haired man cocked his head to the side curiously and answered, “Why, yes. But it’s a good life. There are lots of celebrations, new friends, and plenty of sweets.”
The thought of abundant sweets thrilled Maren, but she didn’t feel comfortable going off for an indefinite amount of time. As she pondered this, Micah appeared beside her, once again holding a tin plate filled with dessert.
“You made it!” he cheered.
The girl pushed her forehead into a pile of wrinkles and asked, “Made it to what?”
“To the best celebration of all,” he answered enthusiastically. “Today is a pirate adventure show!”
Maren’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?! I love pirates!”
“I know,” the boy replied. “I told them about that and they’re putting on the show especially for you.”
“But they want me to join their crew and go off with them,” Maren explained. “I don’t know if I should do that.”
“That’s okay,” Micah assured her. “I joined the crew and I know it’s going to be great!”
Maren began to squeeze her ear as she thought about the offer before her. The last several days had been wonderful for her. She had been entertained, made a friend, and ate whatever she wanted without Son pressing her to make better choices. She was tired of chores and responsibilities, and Faymia and Dulnear were hardly around anymore. Her eyes widened a bit, and she asked, “Will I get to see Earl?”
“Earl?” the gray-haired man asked.
“My donkey,” she answered, surprised he didn’t know that.
The man’s expression changed to a sardonic grin as he replied, “You mean our donkey.” He then relaxed and continued, “Of course you can see the beast. Maybe even get to ride him.”
“Well, then I suppose…” she began, before her attention was drawn to the man suddenly standing a few steps behind the table. She recognized him as Sevuss. His clothes were dark and fine, and his wiry hair was neatly combed back.
&nb
sp; “Did you come to enjoy the pirate show?” he asked her with a tobacco-stained smile.
The girl didn’t enjoy looking directly at the man because his appearance made her uneasy. There was something about his presence that made it difficult for her to look him in the eyes. “Yes,” she answered as she continued to massage her ear.
“Well,” he continued with a false kindness. “Since you’re so young, we’ll need to be gettin’ a signature from your mom or dad.”
A painful sensation turned in Maren’s chest as she heard those words. She had no parents to sign the man’s paper, so she answered plainly, “My mom and dad aren’t here.”
Looking put out, Sevuss replied, “Then I’m afraid you can’t join us today. Go on home.”
Struggling to get the words out, the young girl muttered, “Th-they’re dead.”
An edacious expression crawled across the man’s leathery face. He reached over his assistant and pushed the paper closer to Maren. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said insincerely. “Go ahead and make your mark here, and you can run off with Micah to the party.”
Dulnear stopped and looked across the landscape as the rocky crags and outcroppings to the west gave way to steep, rolling hills that gradually evened out as they moved closer to their destination. Though he was cool and confident in his demeanor, the tension in his neck gnawed at him. “This is taking too long,” he lamented.
Breathing heavily from their quickened journey across country by foot, Faymia concurred, “I agree, and we’ve already lost so much time.”
The man from the north inhaled deeply, pondering how they could make it across the countryside more expediently. As the stiffness in his neck grew, he asked, “How many days do the slavers usually stay in one place?”
The woman narrowed her eye and swallowed. Looking out over the gray and green horizon, she answered, “They only stay as long as they need. If they can get enough people to agree to go with them, they’ll collect them and move on quickly. They’re efficient and cunning, and I shudder to think about them in our little village.”
Dulnear reached out and held his wife’s hand. He struggled to suppress the regret he felt for being away for too long. Among his long list of regrets, this was fast becoming one of them. “We need to go faster,” he declared. “And the next town is still a half-day’s walk from here.”
Faymia squeezed his hand tightly and began to speak before stopping herself abruptly. She sniffed the air several times and looked around. “I smell smoke,” she said. “There must be a camp nearby.”
The northerner wrinkled his nose and inhaled through it. “I smell it too!” he exclaimed. “Whoever it is, they may have a horse they are willing to part with.”
The woman’s keen eye spotted smoke rising in the near-distance. It ascended from behind the slope that ran off of the southern side of the road. “Over there!” she said, pointing.
They ran east a few paces to the edge of the path. Looking down, they could see a campfire with a handful of tents pitched around it. “I see four horses,” Dulnear said, rubbing his dark, bearded chin.
Faymia’s eye opened wide with excitement. “Let’s get down there!” she said as she stepped off the road.
“Wait!” her husband warned. “Judging by the location of their camp, they probably do not want attention. I will approach them while you stay here.”
Turning toward the northerner with a clearly annoyed expression, the former slave stated, “It would be faster if we both went.”
“It is not our speed that I am worried about,” the man countered. Since the woman lost her left eye to the northerner Searfain in Tuas-arum, Dulnear had felt particularly protective of her. He looked at the leather patch covering part of her face and confessed, “I only want you to be safe, my dearest.”
“I can protect myself,” she protested.
“I know you can,” the one-handed warrior affirmed. “But I would rather if you did not have to.”
Faymia stepped back onto the road and stood facing him. “I’ll stay here, but I don’t like it,” she fumed.
“Thank you,” he said, placing his massive hand on the side of her face, and he kissed her cheek just below the eye patch. “I will go and get us horses so we can be home before dark.”
“I’ll be watching,” the woman said as she tapped the bow slung across her shoulder.
The man forced a smile and winked before turning around and beginning his descent down the steep slope that ran away from the southern side of the road. As he headed toward the encampment below, he reached inside his coat and touched the hilt of his sword. He also felt for another sword and a couple of knives that he kept on his person at all times. Though he hoped for a peaceful transaction, experience had taught him that one was not always possible.
Approaching the camp, his suspicion of its occupants grew as he noticed empty whisky bottles strewn about and a small wagon filled with fine clothing and odds and ends that clearly did not belong in a campsite. Highwaymen, he thought to himself. Just lovely.
Wanting to make his presence known without startling anyone, the man from the north called out, “Hello! Anyone here?” as he walked past the tents toward the fire. He could hear bottles dropping to the ground and, by the time he stood in their midst, the bandits were to their feet with swords and knives drawn.
“Who are you?” one particularly scruffy man yelled out.
Dulnear quickly and calmly surveyed his surroundings. There were four men who looked like they had neither washed themselves nor their clothes in a long time. The two men standing on the opposite side of the fire had a large log situated behind them as a makeshift bench, and the two others looked like they had been sitting on crates. “I did not mean to startle you,” the man from the north apologized. “I was forced off the road by a landslide a couple of days ago and have not been able to find my way back.”
The man to his left eyed him suspiciously. He had dirty-blonde hair pulled back into a thin braid and spoke through a cigarette. “Why are you so far south?” he asked.
Realizing that his size gave him away as a northerner, Dulnear answered, “I heard that the elk of these parts were particularly tasty.”
“Well, there are no elk around here, morian; move along,” the man insisted.
The man from the north did not appreciate the bandit’s insult. It was especially abrasive since it was delivered in northern-speak. However, he maintained his pleasant demeanor. “Please,” he began. “I would like to purchase one of your horses.”
“They’re not for sale,” the man said. His jaw clenched and the grip he held on his sword tightened. “I told you to move along. Don’t make me have to tell you again.”
The warrior breathed slowly and deliberately. Calmly, he stated, “I have several pieces of silver. I would not expect you to part with the beast without proper compensation.”
“Several pieces of silver,” the man mocked. “Ya don’t say! Well, in that case, let’s talk.” He then took the cigarette from his mouth and let out a loud, obnoxious laugh that ended with a sludge-filled cough.
Though his eyes began to show his irritation, Dulnear kept a cool head. “Okay then, what can I give you for the animal?”
The highwayman gestured to his companions, and they drew closer to the fur-clad northerner. “I’ll take all of it, tearang. And then you will walk away, or we will use your enormous head as a footstool.”
The man from the north’s face turned into stone. He thought about Son and Maren in Laor, and the danger they were likely in. Standing in his way of them was an unwise highwayman with a penchant for northern insults. He peered at the bandit and declared, “I am sorry then. I will be taking what I please, with or without compensation. For your sake, I advise you to stay out of my way.”
“And what, pray tell, will happen if we do not? Are you going to kill all four of us?” the dirty-blonde-haired man asked indignantly.
“Only if you are fortunate,” Dulnear huffed.
“Wha
t’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that if one of you raises a hand, I will cut it off. If you attack, I will strike back.” Then, in a motion far too quick to counter, the northerner plucked the sword from the bandit’s hand and held its point to his neck. “But, even if you let me be, I am still going to cut that ridiculous braid from your head,” he growled.
The braided man’s eyes grew wide and he swallowed. The corner of his mouth began to twitch and he ordered, “Kill him!”
Dulnear turned the sword and slapped the man in the face with the broad side of it, sending him tumbling sideways. In the same motion, he backhanded the man to his right with an iron fist. The man fell to the ground, cupped his nose with both hands, and cursed groggily.
A third man rushed toward the northerner with a sword ready to strike. Before he was close enough, Dulnear flung the braided man’s sword at him, planting it firmly in his ribcage. He then felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder and realized that the fourth bandit had thrown two knives into it.
The warrior stood tall, pulled the knives from his shoulder, and grunted, “This was my father’s coat!”
“Then you shouldn’t have worn it to a fight,” the bandit said from the other side of the fire. He then produced two more knives and cocked his arm back to throw them.
Suddenly, there was a whoosh and a thunk, and an arrow appeared in the man’s chest. He dropped his knives and fell to the ground, clutching the arrow.
Dulnear pursed his lips and sighed through his nose. “I told you to stay by the road,” he said.
“And I told you we were in a hurry,” Faymia noted as she strode out from behind the wagon.
“Perhaps, but I was enjoying myself.”
“Too much, if you ask me,” his wife replied. “Let’s get going.”
“One thing first,” he said. He then walked over to where the braided bandit was on the ground. “We will be taking two of your ponies, ne’er-do-well. You should have been more hospitable.”
