A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Two Cubed
Scene Three: Pudding Nap
No people of any tribe occupied the log cabin that the bandits called Fort Fourteen. The make-shift dwelling sat at the top of a clearing on the western face of Mount Ephart. Surrounding the structure was a crude wall made of pointed sticks. Vir stepped through a gap in the wall, peered through the open fort window, and motioned for Denario to join him. Denario helped untie the cowhide door.
Inside, the accountant couldn’t help but think that the place couldn't have served more than a half-dozen men at once. They’d have had to sleep on the floor, too, because there were no beds. The ground was covered by straw, blankets, a burned-out campfire, and cooking utensils. A small stew pot hung on a hook in the ground. Vir ran his hands through it all. He dug under the fire pit and came up with a crude stone amulet but he restored it to the ground. He pulled away a chunk of mud mortar from the east wall. Between the gap it left in the logs he found a slip of birch bark. But it was empty, nothing written on it. He put it back and fitted the mortar over the gap again.
Finally, the big man took them to the trench on the downslope of the fort. It stunk of feces and urine but he dug up one end of the rich soil with his spear.
“No sign,” he sighed after he'd turned the ground over. “Alaric was never here.”
Vir marched them out of the fort while it was still noon. He didn't want to wait to find his missing men. The problem was that Denario had gotten hungry. Moreover, his burst of adrenaline from the battle had faded. In less than a mile, all of the weariness of his travels seemed to catch up to him all at once. Denario staggered and fell.
He lay in peace for a moment, wondering why he was looking at the sky. Then he decided it was a nice sky, very blue, and the wisps of clouds were only there to give it a bit of texture. He felt dizzy and happy. He wondered about his place in the world and if he'd become a flower.
That is, he wondered until Vir's face rose into view. The big man blotted out the sun and clouds.
Yew rye? said the captain, or something like it.
There were bags under Vir's eyes. He looked as tired as Denario felt. But he wasn't happy. That made Denario try to get to his feet.
“I'm fine,” he said. It came out of his mouth as, “Mmmfy.”
Vir had to lift him. When he was upright, though, Denario found that he really felt quite well. The slope of the trail seemed to give his feet a bit of a problem. Otherwise, he felt loose-jointed and nimble.
“Ye gets this way after a battle sometimes.” Captain de Acker yawned. “I feel it, ta, I mean, too.”
They wandered down the slope and onto level ground. Denario recognized this patch of sparse woodlands. They had passed it on the way from their morning battle. Nothing but fir trees grew here. The forest floor was covered by several inches of pine needles.
“We're not fit,” Vir announced. He unslung his biggest pack and threw it down. “'S my fault. I made us march for the right timing. Had to get to the trail by today at dawn. But we haven't slept enough. What if we did run into Alaric's bunch today? Are we in any shape to help them? No.”
“No?” said Denario.
“No. Especially not ye.” The Mundredi gave him a calculating squint. “It's as warm as it's going to get, right now. Can ye sleep without a fire?”
“Sure. Did that out of Ziegeburg.”
“Good. Ye must be tougher than ye look. Lots of me men complains when I orders a camp with no fire.”
Denario didn't feel tough. He wanted to tell Vir that the reason he'd slept without a fire is that he didn't know how to make one. But that kind of honesty seemed excessive. The better thing to do would be show that he was as strong as Vir thought.
When he sat down to take off his packs, he thought about pudding, for some reason. He could smell the warm rice pudding made by the women in the house next to Master Winkel's home. They often sold bowls of their sweetest stuff to the apprentices. Pudding is nice. It's fluffy, he thought. The next thing he knew, his eyes were closed. After a long while, hands as big as his head lifted him by shoulders and knees. He became aware that his body was floating off of the rocks and pine cones. His limbs came down to rest on a bed soft pine needles. Someone covered him in a pine needle blanket, too.
Just give me a moment, he thought. I'm getting up.
“Pudding!” he shouted. Then he frowned because he knew that was wrong.
“No, no, soup,” answered a deep voice. “Bacon-fat soup.”
A heavy, stinky animal flopped down next to Denario in the pine needles. It grunted for a few seconds, snuffled, and belched. Then, with a bellowing fart, it pressed flat in relaxation, which made a few more dry needles pop. The forest held still for the creature. After a few seconds, it started to snore. Birds that had hushed started singing again. The last thought in Denario's head was, bacon pudding, mmm.
Chapter Eight, Scene Four
Stories on life, death, enlightenment, zen buddhism, religion, philosophy, stoicism, meditation, daoism, kindness but not meekness, and samsara.
Sunday, August 28, 2016
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 47: A Bandit Accountant, 8.2
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Two Cubed
Scene Two: Imprecise Aims
“Well, now I know,” murmured Vir as he wrapped a bandage around Denario's head.
“Know what? What are you talking about?” Denario asked. He tried to hold still. It was too bad he hadn't been wearing a helmet.
“How you killed those bounty hunters before.” For such a large man, Vir had a deft touch. In Oggli, everyone would have placed him by sight as a butcher or livestock handler but, by his skills, he could have been a doctor. His eyes saw human bodies shrewdly. “Now I see how an accountant thinks. You did it with the darts, right?”
Denario considered explaining. Vir deserved to understand. The story strained his verbal abilities, though, and his head hurt too much already. He didn't think he could tell the whole tale without revealing the gold he carried. And he couldn't trust any of these bandits with that.
“Yes,” was what he settled for. “It was darts.”
“Well, maybe I don't have the whole story.” Vir hesitated a moment. But he resumed wrapping Denario's head. “Yesterday, I might have knocked you senseless for holding back. Yer lucky. Today, you can tell it all in yer own time. Ye did the right thing. Tried to, at least, when ye ran at Piotr.”
“You saw that?”
“Some.” Vir made a wry face. “Ye were awful. Ye were falling to one side and off your back foot. Klaus was better even though he was dying. He got a good stab in on that traitor.”
“He did?” Denario couldn't shut up, apparently.
“We'll have to go find his body, by the by.” Vir tucked a bone needle into Denario's head bandage to hold it tight. Then he put his hands on his hips and surveyed the corpses around them.
None of the Raduar had escaped Vir. After the biggest spearman had fallen to Denario's dart, Vir had rushed the other one and wounded him in the shoulder. While that fellow scrambled to get away, Vir turned and stabbed the swordsman running up from behind. That had seemed easy for him.
The only hard part for Vir, in fact, had been protecting the accountant. Since, in his cowardice, Denario had left his original attacker on the ground without finishing him off, that man got up and tried again. He'd come at Denario left handed, which was why he'd missed – or mostly missed, anyway. Denario patted the scrape under his bandage. It felt clean. He was lucky.
Vir had finished that fellow, too. The final score was: Vir 5, Raduar 0. Denario stood at minus 2 since he'd had to be rescued twice. How Piotr and Klaus figured into things was hard to say. If Piotr was alive and had any brains at all, he was running hard for the Raduar territories by now.
“There's no hope for Klaus?” Denario asked, afraid to hear a definite answer.
“Not really.” Vir grabbed Denario by the shoulder. “Come on, let's get moving.”
The Mundredi captain was willing to wait for a few minutes while Denario re-packed his bags. After all, the trick with the darts had saved them both. Denario studied his equipment before moving. He knelt to the open case. It made him nervous to re-seal the poison. But he had to do it. It was too useful to throw away. And without any new wax available, he had to re-use the stuff he had. He gathered green leaves as gloves to keep from getting even a drop of poison on his skin. That was awkward. Vir grunted his approval.
“Deadly stuff,” he said when Denario was done. “Not exactly instant but as close as I've ever seen without magic. My men would hate it and hate you for using it. They'd say it wasn't honorable.”
“Sorry,” said Denario.
“Don't apologize. I said that's how my men are, not me. I don't hold with any of that 'death before dishonor' crap. That's for them barons and knights and other folks like that. I wish my own folk hadn't gotten it into their heads.”
“Oh.” Denario's head bobbed in agreement as he began to pack in earnest. “Then I'm sorry that we needed it. I'm just not much of a spearman.”
“If ye apologize any more,” the captain warned, “I'll kick ye in yer wounded head. And as far as using a spear goes, did ye expect to get good at it in only an hour?”
“I did.”
“Well, it takes months and months and a lot of battles to learn. Ye've lived through yer first one. That's a start. And ye'll learn more spear work or ye'll die. That's how it goes. In the valleys, even an accountant has to know stuff besides math, ye see.”
Denario finished with the last item in his travel pack, the spare pants he kept on top in a roll. He pulled the drawstring tight.
“I've been thinking about what yer sword instructor said to ye back in yer big city,” Vir continued. “He's right. Ye need to work on yer strength. So we'll spend time on the spear first.”
“We will?” Denario rose from his crouch. He couldn't help looking around at the carnage of the battle. This didn't seem like the best time or place for lessons.
“Yeah. How do yer leggings feel?”
Denario gazed down at his feet. They were covered in soft, thick hunting boots. It had been a relief to stow his accounting slippers into the pack with his math books, drawing compass, and other tools. It was even better than he didn't have to rob the dead himself. Vir had done it for him.
“Wonderful,” he admitted. He'd been surprised to see how blue and cracked his toes had gotten in his official gear.
“'S funny,” said Vir. “Convenient that yer axeman had small feet.”
“More than convenient. Needed.”
“Yeah. It's just that I heard ye mention Melcurio. And in pictures he wears boots like you've got now. I mean the lacing and all. Yours don't have wings on. That would look silly.”
“Right. That is funny. But of course, Melcurio wears wings and lightning bolts everywhere. He's supposed to look fast, I guess. I'm slow.”
“He carries lighting bolts in his arms. Which I'm told that he stole, by the way.”
“That's how the story goes.”
“And this scar on your arm. It looks a bit like lightning, doesn't it?” Vir had rolled up Denario's sleeves as he'd checked for hidden wounds.
“That's only from some beatings I got when I was a child.”
“When you were a slave?”
“Yes. The scars faded and blended together like this as I got older.”
“Huh.” Vir hitched up his pants. His waist bag was heavy because he'd already helped himself to the spear points of the men he'd killed. “Let's finish up here and look for Klaus.”
The despoiling of the corpses was more gruesome than Denario had imagined. He'd seen plenty of dead men before but not like this. The smaller spearman that Vir had killed was still twitching. Denario did his best to avert his gaze.
In ten minutes, the Mundredi captain re-packed. Heavier but with renewed energy, he thumped the ground with his new axe. After that, his expression became grim and he glanced around the woods as if anxious to leave. So that's what he did, without a word. Denario had to run to catch up.
By a tree that stood at the edge of the forest no more than thirty yards from the fighting, they found Klaus. The young man had propped himself up against the sturdy trunk. He looked like he was resting with his eyes half closed.
“Ach, brave lad,” said Vir. Only then did Denario realize that Klaus had passed away. His chest was still. He never took a breath.
The captain knelt by his fallen soldier and said a few words in the old tongue. They went by so quickly and so gutturally that Denario couldn't make out the meaning, which maybe was Vir's intent. This was a private moment for the bandit chief, Denario supposed, and he was surprised when, after nearly a minute of silence, Vir began to loot Klaus's body.
First, Vir folded the arms together over the chest. There was still a bloody knife in Klaus's right hand. Of the fatal arrow, there was nothing visible, not even a splinter of wood, but Denario was sure they'd find a broken shaft beneath the corpse if Vir turned it over. The dried blood all over the grass had already attracted flies.
The captain cut the string of Klaus's money pouch, which looked nearly empty anyway, and he bothered the fingers of Klaus's left hand to remove a silver ring. The face of the ring had been engraved with a clan symbol of some kind, spears and stars together. Vir found Klaus's pack nearby and divested it of a comb, five debit sticks, and a sash with the same clan symbol as the ring.
After he'd finished gathering Klaus's personal effects, Vir stood and saluted the dead body.
“Died with blood on his blade,” he murmured to Denario. “Good omen. That's the best way to go to the netherworld.”
“You're leaving the knife?” asked Denario. He'd gotten over the idea that Vir was looting his fallen comrade. He could see how this was a task that had to be done.
“His family will understand. Everything else goes to Klaus's brother, Friedrich, but not the weapon he was holding in his hand. That stays with the body.”
“But you're taking his bow, I notice.” Denario glanced at where the chieftan had lain all of what he'd gathered.
“Not much good where he's going. The string won't last. Anyway, I'm not taking it. You are.”
“Me?”
Vir thrust the grip of the bow into Denario's chest. He had no choice but to grab it.
“Let's stop in at the fort.” The captain turned and started walking. “Maybe we'll pick up supplies. Maybe we'll find out something about what happened to Alaric and his men.”
“Maybe there are more Raduar there,” Denario hissed. But, after a second's hesitation, he followed. There was nowhere else to go.
Chapter Eight, Scene Three
Chapter Two Cubed
Scene Two: Imprecise Aims
“Well, now I know,” murmured Vir as he wrapped a bandage around Denario's head.
“Know what? What are you talking about?” Denario asked. He tried to hold still. It was too bad he hadn't been wearing a helmet.
“How you killed those bounty hunters before.” For such a large man, Vir had a deft touch. In Oggli, everyone would have placed him by sight as a butcher or livestock handler but, by his skills, he could have been a doctor. His eyes saw human bodies shrewdly. “Now I see how an accountant thinks. You did it with the darts, right?”
Denario considered explaining. Vir deserved to understand. The story strained his verbal abilities, though, and his head hurt too much already. He didn't think he could tell the whole tale without revealing the gold he carried. And he couldn't trust any of these bandits with that.
“Yes,” was what he settled for. “It was darts.”
“Well, maybe I don't have the whole story.” Vir hesitated a moment. But he resumed wrapping Denario's head. “Yesterday, I might have knocked you senseless for holding back. Yer lucky. Today, you can tell it all in yer own time. Ye did the right thing. Tried to, at least, when ye ran at Piotr.”
“You saw that?”
“Some.” Vir made a wry face. “Ye were awful. Ye were falling to one side and off your back foot. Klaus was better even though he was dying. He got a good stab in on that traitor.”
“He did?” Denario couldn't shut up, apparently.
“We'll have to go find his body, by the by.” Vir tucked a bone needle into Denario's head bandage to hold it tight. Then he put his hands on his hips and surveyed the corpses around them.
None of the Raduar had escaped Vir. After the biggest spearman had fallen to Denario's dart, Vir had rushed the other one and wounded him in the shoulder. While that fellow scrambled to get away, Vir turned and stabbed the swordsman running up from behind. That had seemed easy for him.
The only hard part for Vir, in fact, had been protecting the accountant. Since, in his cowardice, Denario had left his original attacker on the ground without finishing him off, that man got up and tried again. He'd come at Denario left handed, which was why he'd missed – or mostly missed, anyway. Denario patted the scrape under his bandage. It felt clean. He was lucky.
Vir had finished that fellow, too. The final score was: Vir 5, Raduar 0. Denario stood at minus 2 since he'd had to be rescued twice. How Piotr and Klaus figured into things was hard to say. If Piotr was alive and had any brains at all, he was running hard for the Raduar territories by now.
“There's no hope for Klaus?” Denario asked, afraid to hear a definite answer.
“Not really.” Vir grabbed Denario by the shoulder. “Come on, let's get moving.”
The Mundredi captain was willing to wait for a few minutes while Denario re-packed his bags. After all, the trick with the darts had saved them both. Denario studied his equipment before moving. He knelt to the open case. It made him nervous to re-seal the poison. But he had to do it. It was too useful to throw away. And without any new wax available, he had to re-use the stuff he had. He gathered green leaves as gloves to keep from getting even a drop of poison on his skin. That was awkward. Vir grunted his approval.
“Deadly stuff,” he said when Denario was done. “Not exactly instant but as close as I've ever seen without magic. My men would hate it and hate you for using it. They'd say it wasn't honorable.”
“Sorry,” said Denario.
“Don't apologize. I said that's how my men are, not me. I don't hold with any of that 'death before dishonor' crap. That's for them barons and knights and other folks like that. I wish my own folk hadn't gotten it into their heads.”
“Oh.” Denario's head bobbed in agreement as he began to pack in earnest. “Then I'm sorry that we needed it. I'm just not much of a spearman.”
“If ye apologize any more,” the captain warned, “I'll kick ye in yer wounded head. And as far as using a spear goes, did ye expect to get good at it in only an hour?”
“I did.”
“Well, it takes months and months and a lot of battles to learn. Ye've lived through yer first one. That's a start. And ye'll learn more spear work or ye'll die. That's how it goes. In the valleys, even an accountant has to know stuff besides math, ye see.”
Denario finished with the last item in his travel pack, the spare pants he kept on top in a roll. He pulled the drawstring tight.
“I've been thinking about what yer sword instructor said to ye back in yer big city,” Vir continued. “He's right. Ye need to work on yer strength. So we'll spend time on the spear first.”
“We will?” Denario rose from his crouch. He couldn't help looking around at the carnage of the battle. This didn't seem like the best time or place for lessons.
“Yeah. How do yer leggings feel?”
Denario gazed down at his feet. They were covered in soft, thick hunting boots. It had been a relief to stow his accounting slippers into the pack with his math books, drawing compass, and other tools. It was even better than he didn't have to rob the dead himself. Vir had done it for him.
“Wonderful,” he admitted. He'd been surprised to see how blue and cracked his toes had gotten in his official gear.
“'S funny,” said Vir. “Convenient that yer axeman had small feet.”
“More than convenient. Needed.”
“Yeah. It's just that I heard ye mention Melcurio. And in pictures he wears boots like you've got now. I mean the lacing and all. Yours don't have wings on. That would look silly.”
“Right. That is funny. But of course, Melcurio wears wings and lightning bolts everywhere. He's supposed to look fast, I guess. I'm slow.”
“He carries lighting bolts in his arms. Which I'm told that he stole, by the way.”
“That's how the story goes.”
“And this scar on your arm. It looks a bit like lightning, doesn't it?” Vir had rolled up Denario's sleeves as he'd checked for hidden wounds.
“That's only from some beatings I got when I was a child.”
“When you were a slave?”
“Yes. The scars faded and blended together like this as I got older.”
“Huh.” Vir hitched up his pants. His waist bag was heavy because he'd already helped himself to the spear points of the men he'd killed. “Let's finish up here and look for Klaus.”
The despoiling of the corpses was more gruesome than Denario had imagined. He'd seen plenty of dead men before but not like this. The smaller spearman that Vir had killed was still twitching. Denario did his best to avert his gaze.
In ten minutes, the Mundredi captain re-packed. Heavier but with renewed energy, he thumped the ground with his new axe. After that, his expression became grim and he glanced around the woods as if anxious to leave. So that's what he did, without a word. Denario had to run to catch up.
By a tree that stood at the edge of the forest no more than thirty yards from the fighting, they found Klaus. The young man had propped himself up against the sturdy trunk. He looked like he was resting with his eyes half closed.
“Ach, brave lad,” said Vir. Only then did Denario realize that Klaus had passed away. His chest was still. He never took a breath.
The captain knelt by his fallen soldier and said a few words in the old tongue. They went by so quickly and so gutturally that Denario couldn't make out the meaning, which maybe was Vir's intent. This was a private moment for the bandit chief, Denario supposed, and he was surprised when, after nearly a minute of silence, Vir began to loot Klaus's body.
First, Vir folded the arms together over the chest. There was still a bloody knife in Klaus's right hand. Of the fatal arrow, there was nothing visible, not even a splinter of wood, but Denario was sure they'd find a broken shaft beneath the corpse if Vir turned it over. The dried blood all over the grass had already attracted flies.
The captain cut the string of Klaus's money pouch, which looked nearly empty anyway, and he bothered the fingers of Klaus's left hand to remove a silver ring. The face of the ring had been engraved with a clan symbol of some kind, spears and stars together. Vir found Klaus's pack nearby and divested it of a comb, five debit sticks, and a sash with the same clan symbol as the ring.
After he'd finished gathering Klaus's personal effects, Vir stood and saluted the dead body.
“Died with blood on his blade,” he murmured to Denario. “Good omen. That's the best way to go to the netherworld.”
“You're leaving the knife?” asked Denario. He'd gotten over the idea that Vir was looting his fallen comrade. He could see how this was a task that had to be done.
“His family will understand. Everything else goes to Klaus's brother, Friedrich, but not the weapon he was holding in his hand. That stays with the body.”
“But you're taking his bow, I notice.” Denario glanced at where the chieftan had lain all of what he'd gathered.
“Not much good where he's going. The string won't last. Anyway, I'm not taking it. You are.”
“Me?”
Vir thrust the grip of the bow into Denario's chest. He had no choice but to grab it.
“Let's stop in at the fort.” The captain turned and started walking. “Maybe we'll pick up supplies. Maybe we'll find out something about what happened to Alaric and his men.”
“Maybe there are more Raduar there,” Denario hissed. But, after a second's hesitation, he followed. There was nowhere else to go.
Chapter Eight, Scene Three
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Not Zen 188: Trust
Between the grasslands and the hills, there lived a tribe of crested boar. The sows and children kept close together as they roamed for food. The males roamed the edges of their pack. The boar territory overlapped with other animal groups, such as blackbucks, sambar, and small animals like hares. In general, the boars did not need to compete with the other groups. They were too large and too tough. When a herd of wild horses ventured upslope to try to crowd them out, the largest boar charged a stallion and lamed it. Soon, the horses migrated back down to the grasslands.
Food grew so plentifully on the eastern slopes, however, that in time larger animals moved in that could not be pushed aside. The gaur, with their mighty horns, migrated up from the south and displaced the horses. A year later, a second herd of gaur drifted in from the northeast. The two herds squeezed out other grass-eaters between them like the sambar, who decided to find a new home over to the western side of the nearest mountain. Smaller animals likewise made themselves scarce. In time, only the boars and the gaurs shared the border between the grasses and bush-laden hills.
Then a new set of predators drifted in from the east. Tigers discovered the boar valley.
At first, the boar had no defense against the mighty hunters. A lone tiger could scatter the sows and target a half-grown child. The first time it happened, a single boar rushed in to counter-attack. He was the male who had knocked down a horse. But he was only half the size of a tiger. When the beast dropped the child and turned on him, he took a grave wound. He barely escaped the deadly grip of claws and teeth and he fled, bleeding.
Other senior boars and sows conferenced. One of the sows checked on the wounded boar, whom she announced would likely survive. She suggested that the rest of them observe the gaur tactics for dealing with tigers.
“The eastern gaur, at least, must have dealt with them before,” she said.
“Why is that?” asked her son, a member of the boar leadership.
“Did you not notice? The tigers found our home by following their herd.”
The boars grunted and nodded. They knew the gaur must have a defense. The northeastern herd did not seem much bothered by the tigers. In the weeks that followed, the boars came to understand at least one important point from their observations. Their new predators, although nimble, detested slopes of loose stone. The sows led their herd uphill to a large rockfall. Boars placed themselves between the herd and the tigers. Every one of them, young and old, missed the roots, berries, truffles, and sweet nuts that were staples of their usual foraging grounds.
At least they could see their food. Every morning, the sows led them downslope to feed and drink. In the evenings, they climbed to relative safety. From a bluff above the grasslands, the elders continued to study the tigers and gaur. Tigers isolated and picked off the youngest gaur calves from the eastern and southern herds.
One day, a bull gaur in the northeastern herd saw an attack beginning on a calf. The tiger took a long run. Instead of stepping aside and letting the predator take his prey, a male gaur turned and knocked the tiger from the air, mid leap. His black-furred muscles bulged. He drove the attacker into the ground, pressing with his horns. Other gaur joined in, males and females alike. They smashed the tiger, four or five times in quick succession, until it fled, mortally wounded.
The next morning, the boars migrated downslope, as had become their habit. A male boar found the tiger's body between bushes not far from a watering hole. He showed it to the others. They were impressed.
“The southern gaur have never done this,” said the senior sow.
"There are differences between the two groups," announced a younger sow. "The southern gaur are not like boars or even like other cattle. The mothers don’t share the suckling of their young."
"This, I have noticed," the senior agreed. "The females do not share food, either. They try to hide it from one another. They don't trust even their children with their secrets."
"Have you asked why?" said a boar, her son.
"They will not let sows approach." She shook her head.
"The southern bulls roam the outside of their herd," the boar observed. "Like the females, they fight over food even when there is plenty."
The boars eyed one another warily as they contemplated the emerging pattern. The youngest among them kicked a stone. It rattled down the slope.
"Is this why the southern herd has never killed a tiger?" he asked.
"Maybe," the senior sow grunted. "Mighty as they are, it took more than one to do that."
In the coming weeks, the boars lost a young male and a sickly female to different tigers, both times while the pack was rooting along the edges of the trees. The southern gaur lost more. As the boars observed, where the eastern herd members formed teams, the southerners relied on individual power. Where the eastern herd cared for their ill members, the southern herd shunned them and they fell to the predators.
Once, when a southern bull met the charge of a tiger and stunned it, no other gaur in the herd came to help. The tiger retreated, hurt over its left eye. A few minutes later, the bull was strutting around the meadow triumphantly. The boars glanced to one another. They saw the worry in everyone else's eyes. They knew the tiger would live to hunt again. It would come for the young and the lame. That evening, the sows decided to lead the pack up to the rockfall before the sun set as far as the treeline.
"Come!" said a boar the next morning. "Southern bulls are fighting."
The elders trotted in twos and threes over to the bluff where they could look down over the trees to the gaur herds. Sure enough, they saw a pair of gaur bulls smashing their heads together and twisting their horns. One of them ripped a wound in the other's neck. A minute later, he head-butted the wounded gaur and knocked him down. The loser scrambled to his feet. He fled for cover.
"He's running into the woods!" a boar squeaked. "Doesn't he think about the tigers?"
"He judges that the other male will kill him if he stays."
"At this rate, by the end of the rainy season there will be no southern herd at all."
The elders grunted in agreement. That did seem to be how events were unfolding.
The young boar was proven right over the next few weeks. Tigers took down the weakest gaurs of the southern herd, one by one. The rains fell, not too heavily, and the soil on the hills grew treacherous. Boars slipped. They hopped up, looking for predators. None came.
Food started growing on the slope where the sows preferred to stay. The boar pack grew by two litters. Yet the tigers continued to hunt the southern gaur. In time, there were only a dozen of those remaining. They were the mighty, broad shouldered, big-headed, and fast. Among them were only nine males and three females, no calves. The tigers did not seem to care to approach them but, on the other hand, the males fought one another. One bull died of wounds inflicted by his brother. The females didn't trust the males, either, because of the increase in violence among them.
Finally, one of the southern females tried to join the eastern herd. She stood nose to nose with the eastern matriarch. The boars watched as the two negotiated. After an hour or so, the herd accepted their new member. They allowed her on the outskirts of the group. Likewise, her brother and sister applied in the evening and, by dusk, they too were accepted.
The remaining southern female was driven off. The boars tried to understand why. She had been the dominant one, easily the most desirable. But she turned south, from where her herd had come, and some of her males followed.
The number of tigers decreased that week, it seemed. A few must have followed the southern herd.
Unfortunately, at least two remained. They began to hunt the boars in earnest. A tiger ventured up the rocky slope, scattered the pack, and took a piglet.
So it was that on a warm, sunny day after the rainy season had ended, a boar approached the remaining gaur herd. He had traversed the edges of it before. He'd talked with the bulls. In time, he'd gained their acceptance although they seemed to consider him too large and dangerous to let near their calves.
"We lost one of my sons last evening," he said.
"You are part of a fearsome pack," said his friend, the bull. "Your toughest males might be a match for us. Why did you let an attack happen without consequences for the tiger?"
"That is the real question," the boar admitted. "Now I have a question for you. Several days ago, your herd rejected the best female of the southern gaur. Why was that?"
The bull snorted.
"That's between the females," he said and shook his head side to side.
"But I think you understand. And I do not."
"Very well." The bull paused to help himself to a clump of tender broadgrass. "We could not have her because we could not trust her. In fact, none of their herd rises to the right level of trust."
"Will they, in time?"
"Perhaps. It is a long process. Our herd has worked on this for my entire life and for several long generations before. We are now free to speak our minds, to express our ideas without being shouted down. We can depend on one another. When someone makes a promise, they keep it. We know our roles in the group. We don't fight over them."
"So that is how you rise to a better level than the tigers."
"It seems so."
"The southerners were fools, then." He shivered. Sweat dripped from his haunches. He knew he stank of fear and it came from what he was contemplating.
"Is that what you boars say? But I do not think you boars trust one another well enough, especially you males. I have not seen it."
"We must learn. We have to depend on one another or die, I think." He shook off the sweat. His bristles flopped from side to side. "Yet I have doubts. I don't know that the larger boars will help."
"Your tribe has not yet been scattered."
"So far. But I fear that, in the face of the tigers, it will happen."
"Perhaps."
"My friend, how does trust begin?"
"Carefully." The bull closed his eyes for a moment. "Tell the others that you are going to fight the next tiger. Ask them to come to your aid.”
“It is not my place. I am not the strongest boar.”
“Sometimes it can be like that,” said the bull. “Make sure the others understand. Do your part. There is no guarantee your trust will be returned. Your friends may falter. You may die. But you see, there is no other way. Someone among your group must establish trust.”
Food grew so plentifully on the eastern slopes, however, that in time larger animals moved in that could not be pushed aside. The gaur, with their mighty horns, migrated up from the south and displaced the horses. A year later, a second herd of gaur drifted in from the northeast. The two herds squeezed out other grass-eaters between them like the sambar, who decided to find a new home over to the western side of the nearest mountain. Smaller animals likewise made themselves scarce. In time, only the boars and the gaurs shared the border between the grasses and bush-laden hills.
Then a new set of predators drifted in from the east. Tigers discovered the boar valley.
At first, the boar had no defense against the mighty hunters. A lone tiger could scatter the sows and target a half-grown child. The first time it happened, a single boar rushed in to counter-attack. He was the male who had knocked down a horse. But he was only half the size of a tiger. When the beast dropped the child and turned on him, he took a grave wound. He barely escaped the deadly grip of claws and teeth and he fled, bleeding.
Other senior boars and sows conferenced. One of the sows checked on the wounded boar, whom she announced would likely survive. She suggested that the rest of them observe the gaur tactics for dealing with tigers.
“The eastern gaur, at least, must have dealt with them before,” she said.
“Why is that?” asked her son, a member of the boar leadership.
“Did you not notice? The tigers found our home by following their herd.”
The boars grunted and nodded. They knew the gaur must have a defense. The northeastern herd did not seem much bothered by the tigers. In the weeks that followed, the boars came to understand at least one important point from their observations. Their new predators, although nimble, detested slopes of loose stone. The sows led their herd uphill to a large rockfall. Boars placed themselves between the herd and the tigers. Every one of them, young and old, missed the roots, berries, truffles, and sweet nuts that were staples of their usual foraging grounds.
At least they could see their food. Every morning, the sows led them downslope to feed and drink. In the evenings, they climbed to relative safety. From a bluff above the grasslands, the elders continued to study the tigers and gaur. Tigers isolated and picked off the youngest gaur calves from the eastern and southern herds.
One day, a bull gaur in the northeastern herd saw an attack beginning on a calf. The tiger took a long run. Instead of stepping aside and letting the predator take his prey, a male gaur turned and knocked the tiger from the air, mid leap. His black-furred muscles bulged. He drove the attacker into the ground, pressing with his horns. Other gaur joined in, males and females alike. They smashed the tiger, four or five times in quick succession, until it fled, mortally wounded.
The next morning, the boars migrated downslope, as had become their habit. A male boar found the tiger's body between bushes not far from a watering hole. He showed it to the others. They were impressed.
“The southern gaur have never done this,” said the senior sow.
"There are differences between the two groups," announced a younger sow. "The southern gaur are not like boars or even like other cattle. The mothers don’t share the suckling of their young."
"This, I have noticed," the senior agreed. "The females do not share food, either. They try to hide it from one another. They don't trust even their children with their secrets."
"Have you asked why?" said a boar, her son.
"They will not let sows approach." She shook her head.
"The southern bulls roam the outside of their herd," the boar observed. "Like the females, they fight over food even when there is plenty."
The boars eyed one another warily as they contemplated the emerging pattern. The youngest among them kicked a stone. It rattled down the slope.
"Is this why the southern herd has never killed a tiger?" he asked.
"Maybe," the senior sow grunted. "Mighty as they are, it took more than one to do that."
In the coming weeks, the boars lost a young male and a sickly female to different tigers, both times while the pack was rooting along the edges of the trees. The southern gaur lost more. As the boars observed, where the eastern herd members formed teams, the southerners relied on individual power. Where the eastern herd cared for their ill members, the southern herd shunned them and they fell to the predators.
Once, when a southern bull met the charge of a tiger and stunned it, no other gaur in the herd came to help. The tiger retreated, hurt over its left eye. A few minutes later, the bull was strutting around the meadow triumphantly. The boars glanced to one another. They saw the worry in everyone else's eyes. They knew the tiger would live to hunt again. It would come for the young and the lame. That evening, the sows decided to lead the pack up to the rockfall before the sun set as far as the treeline.
"Come!" said a boar the next morning. "Southern bulls are fighting."
The elders trotted in twos and threes over to the bluff where they could look down over the trees to the gaur herds. Sure enough, they saw a pair of gaur bulls smashing their heads together and twisting their horns. One of them ripped a wound in the other's neck. A minute later, he head-butted the wounded gaur and knocked him down. The loser scrambled to his feet. He fled for cover.
"He's running into the woods!" a boar squeaked. "Doesn't he think about the tigers?"
"He judges that the other male will kill him if he stays."
"At this rate, by the end of the rainy season there will be no southern herd at all."
The elders grunted in agreement. That did seem to be how events were unfolding.
The young boar was proven right over the next few weeks. Tigers took down the weakest gaurs of the southern herd, one by one. The rains fell, not too heavily, and the soil on the hills grew treacherous. Boars slipped. They hopped up, looking for predators. None came.
Food started growing on the slope where the sows preferred to stay. The boar pack grew by two litters. Yet the tigers continued to hunt the southern gaur. In time, there were only a dozen of those remaining. They were the mighty, broad shouldered, big-headed, and fast. Among them were only nine males and three females, no calves. The tigers did not seem to care to approach them but, on the other hand, the males fought one another. One bull died of wounds inflicted by his brother. The females didn't trust the males, either, because of the increase in violence among them.
Finally, one of the southern females tried to join the eastern herd. She stood nose to nose with the eastern matriarch. The boars watched as the two negotiated. After an hour or so, the herd accepted their new member. They allowed her on the outskirts of the group. Likewise, her brother and sister applied in the evening and, by dusk, they too were accepted.
The remaining southern female was driven off. The boars tried to understand why. She had been the dominant one, easily the most desirable. But she turned south, from where her herd had come, and some of her males followed.
The number of tigers decreased that week, it seemed. A few must have followed the southern herd.
Unfortunately, at least two remained. They began to hunt the boars in earnest. A tiger ventured up the rocky slope, scattered the pack, and took a piglet.
So it was that on a warm, sunny day after the rainy season had ended, a boar approached the remaining gaur herd. He had traversed the edges of it before. He'd talked with the bulls. In time, he'd gained their acceptance although they seemed to consider him too large and dangerous to let near their calves.
"We lost one of my sons last evening," he said.
"You are part of a fearsome pack," said his friend, the bull. "Your toughest males might be a match for us. Why did you let an attack happen without consequences for the tiger?"
"That is the real question," the boar admitted. "Now I have a question for you. Several days ago, your herd rejected the best female of the southern gaur. Why was that?"
The bull snorted.
"That's between the females," he said and shook his head side to side.
"But I think you understand. And I do not."
"Very well." The bull paused to help himself to a clump of tender broadgrass. "We could not have her because we could not trust her. In fact, none of their herd rises to the right level of trust."
"Will they, in time?"
"Perhaps. It is a long process. Our herd has worked on this for my entire life and for several long generations before. We are now free to speak our minds, to express our ideas without being shouted down. We can depend on one another. When someone makes a promise, they keep it. We know our roles in the group. We don't fight over them."
"So that is how you rise to a better level than the tigers."
"It seems so."
"The southerners were fools, then." He shivered. Sweat dripped from his haunches. He knew he stank of fear and it came from what he was contemplating.
"Is that what you boars say? But I do not think you boars trust one another well enough, especially you males. I have not seen it."
"We must learn. We have to depend on one another or die, I think." He shook off the sweat. His bristles flopped from side to side. "Yet I have doubts. I don't know that the larger boars will help."
"Your tribe has not yet been scattered."
"So far. But I fear that, in the face of the tigers, it will happen."
"Perhaps."
"My friend, how does trust begin?"
"Carefully." The bull closed his eyes for a moment. "Tell the others that you are going to fight the next tiger. Ask them to come to your aid.”
“It is not my place. I am not the strongest boar.”
“Sometimes it can be like that,” said the bull. “Make sure the others understand. Do your part. There is no guarantee your trust will be returned. Your friends may falter. You may die. But you see, there is no other way. Someone among your group must establish trust.”
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 46: A Bandit Accountant, 8.1
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Two Cubed
Scene One: Wrong Darts Again
A lot of things happened at once. The first thing that happened was that Vir disappeared.
Denario had been staring in shock at what Piotr had done. Vir's massive right shoulder had partially blocked his view of the two scouts. Then, suddenly, the shoulder wasn't in the way. Denario glanced to his left. The Mundredi captain was nowhere to be seen. In the bushes beyond the trail, there was no sign of movement.
Twenty yards to the front, Klaus stumbled. He began to say something. It looked as though he didn't yet understand that he was a dead man. He turned around to stare in shock at Piotr, his eyes glazed, his mouth open. He wobbled. The front of his leather jerkin was clean. There was no arrow head visible. The point hadn't gone all the way through him.
Piotr noticed that Klaus was taking too long to drop. He reached for another arrow. Klaus's gaze drifted to the rising bow. He was beginning to comprehend what had happened.
Then, suddenly, Denario's body with its recently trained reflexes took over. He was holding his spear correctly for a driving thrust. His feet were taking him toward Piotr, the traitor.
“AAAAaaaaaaah!” he screamed as his outrage caught up to him. He aimed the spear tip at the middle of the tall man's back.
Piotr turned with an arrow notched in his bow. He took aim as Denario rushed. There was a sneer of contempt on his face.
Denario thought, I've been stupid. I'm not strong enough. I'm not fast enough. I'm not going to get there before the Piotr shoots me through the head.
He braced himself as he stabbed. Something plucked his too-big gambler's hat from his head. A cool breeze ran through his hair. He gazed up at Piotr's face. The tall man had fired. He must have missed. And he seemed surprised by something, a hand on his shoulder. It was Klaus's hand. The dying man had grabbed Piotr from behind.
Klaus had made Piotr miss. He'd also made Piotr turn so that Denario's jab struck off center. The bronze spear point glanced off of Piotr's leather armor. On the rebound to the left, it nearly cut Klaus.
“Hoooaaaah!” someone cried. Denario turned his head in time to see a strange Raduar bandit charging down the trail toward him.
The moment felt like an odd one, prolonged in time. Denario had a second or so to realize this fellow was important. There was a breastplate that covered the man's shoulders. There was chain mail beneath. The helm was leather. The man's hair was black. At the end of his right arm, held high, was the bronze blade of an axe. Next to him, Klaus and Piotr fell into the bushes off to the right. That left Denario alone with the this strange man who was already swinging. Once again, Denario's body fell into the motion he'd practiced for the past hour. He stabbed. His attacker dodged to the left and chopped at the haft of the spear.
It's going wrong, Denario realized. His attacker was bigger and faster than he was. It's like Vir said, I don't know what I'm doing. The axe swept Denario's spear aside. The man lunged. Denario backpedaled but not fast enough. The first swing missed by an inch but the axe arm rose a second time. The curved blade aimed for the center of Denario's face. This was it.
As the arm came down, a sword came from out of the bushes and struck from the side.
“Vir!” Denario breathed.
In a blink, the Mundredi captain was gone. He'd crippled their attacker with single shot. Vir's sword hadn't cut off the man's arm but it had gouged deep in and broken it. The axe left the grip of the Raduar, who crumpled to the ground with a scream. His weapon tumbled a long ways to Denario's right.
Denario stood stunned for a moment. He should do something, he knew, but he couldn't think of what. The fellow who had almost killed him lay on the ground, wailing. Denario didn't want to come too close. He glanced to the spot where he'd last seen Klaus take Piotr. There were no bodies there. In the dawning light, it looked like there was blood in the dirt but nothing more. Bushes shook in the distance about fifteen yards away.
Behind him, Denario heard the clank of metal on metal.
He leaped between bushes to search for Vir. At a time like this, Denario knew that taking shelter behind a wide, strong body would be best. Someone was fighting. It had to be Vir.
For a few seconds, Denario ran through the undergrowth and dodged tree branches as he made his way in the direction of the noise. Then a voice in his head asked, How stupid is it to rush into a fight? and he slowed down. Less than a minute later, as he peered around a tangled shrub-pair of poplar and copperleaf, he saw them.
Vir stood surrounded by three men. A fourth man lay at his feet. It wasn't anyone Denario recognized. From the bashed-in look of his head, it wasn't anyone Denario would ever meet.
The three standing Raduar bandits focused their weapons on a single target. Everyone had traded blows or done a bit of running, it seemed, because they were all breathing hard. One of the Raduar, shorter than Vir but just as strong, jabbed at him with a spear. Vir blocked and tried to close with his sword but, just as Vir had taught Denario, the Raduar backed up and kept out of Vir's sword range.
Another spearman took his turn while a third, blonde fellow with a delicate but deadly-looking longsword, tried to get behind the Mundredi captain. Vir was too smart for that. He dodged while keeping a tree between himself and the swordsman.
This can't end well, Denario realized. As good as Vir is, it's three to one. They all look smart.
His instincts told him to run. Denario froze for a second while he tried out the idea of fleeing blindly into the forest on the edge of a mountain surrounded by hostile bandits. That didn't seem to lead anywhere good. He had to come up with something better. But what? With no real idea, he put down his spear and fumbled in his travel pack.
As his fingers roamed through the packets of food, clothes, flints, brushes, and utensils, he remembered that he'd snuck his golden darts to the bottom. They were carefully wrapped in his smelliest shirt. He dug deep into the leather folds. But as he moved other things out of the way, he recognized the corners of a thin wooden box.
Poison, said the same little voice inside that had wanted him to run. Poison might work. Carefully, Denario slipped the pack off of his shoulder. He knelt down behind the bush. He excavated the set of poison darts as neatly as he could.
The cherrywood case looked so delicate. When he'd gotten it, he'd thought it was too thick and heavy. Now it seemed beautiful and fragile. The top swung on a finely-made brass hinge. Denario flipped it open with his thumb to reveal the three hollow-point darts. Next to them rested the vial of blue frog poison.
Another clank of metal against metal startled Denario. He peered through the bush to see Vir beat back the two Raduar spearmen. Vir even got in a good kick on the second one. But he had to leap to the safety of the tree trunk to keep from getting gutted from behind.
The Raduar men weren't in full chain mail. That was something Denario hadn't noticed at first. Their lower arms, heads, necks, and lower legs were all bare flesh or cloth. The darts would work on them. If they worked at all.
He pulled one out, dropped it, picked it up, and set it on his knee. Then he fumbled with the vial. The hook of wood that held it in place didn't seem to want to let it go. When it finally released from the clip, there was a cracking sound. Denario flailed for a moment, alarmed. He tried to escape his own grip. His hand was shaking so much that he was certain he was about to poison himself. Naturally, if he cut his fingers on the broken glass, his wounds would be fatal. But he calmed down, studied the vial in his hand, and saw that it was unharmed. The seal on top was safe.
He punctured the wax seal with the point of the dart. Oily poison immediately ran up inside. He started to rise, ready to fire. Wait, I have two hands, he thought, and crouched back down. He loaded a second feathered shaft. Then he set his belongings down carefully, picked up the poisoned weapons in either fist, and stood.
Now he didn't care if he were seen. Or at least the idea didn't force him to crouch in terror.
Vir and the three Raduar were about twenty feet away, as a group. That was twice the distance that Denario usually threw with something as light as a dart. His right hand twitched as he considered. He might have to run up to the closest spearman to be sure of his shot. Even then, he wasn't sure if he should try for the man's head or a leg. The legs were big targets but they were in constant motion.
He meant to dash forward. But that didn't happen. His legs felt like they were tied to the ground. He forced himself to emerge from behind the bush but the animal part of him that didn't want to be noticed made it a slow and quiet movement.
After three steps, maybe four, the second spearman noticed him. But the first spearman still had his body turned three-quarters away.
Denario raised his hand. It resisted him just like his legs did. He could see his fingers tremble.
The second spearman moved but Denario's focus remained centered on the first one. He felt like he couldn't really see anything else but his target anymore.
At the last moment, as he pulled back to throw, he found that all the energy in his body had switched from nervousness to a sort of calm force. His biceps felt smooth and full of strength. His eyes could make out every hair on the leg of the spearman.
He let fly.
Chapter Eight, Scene Two
Chapter Two Cubed
Scene One: Wrong Darts Again
A lot of things happened at once. The first thing that happened was that Vir disappeared.
Denario had been staring in shock at what Piotr had done. Vir's massive right shoulder had partially blocked his view of the two scouts. Then, suddenly, the shoulder wasn't in the way. Denario glanced to his left. The Mundredi captain was nowhere to be seen. In the bushes beyond the trail, there was no sign of movement.
Twenty yards to the front, Klaus stumbled. He began to say something. It looked as though he didn't yet understand that he was a dead man. He turned around to stare in shock at Piotr, his eyes glazed, his mouth open. He wobbled. The front of his leather jerkin was clean. There was no arrow head visible. The point hadn't gone all the way through him.
Piotr noticed that Klaus was taking too long to drop. He reached for another arrow. Klaus's gaze drifted to the rising bow. He was beginning to comprehend what had happened.
Then, suddenly, Denario's body with its recently trained reflexes took over. He was holding his spear correctly for a driving thrust. His feet were taking him toward Piotr, the traitor.
“AAAAaaaaaaah!” he screamed as his outrage caught up to him. He aimed the spear tip at the middle of the tall man's back.
Piotr turned with an arrow notched in his bow. He took aim as Denario rushed. There was a sneer of contempt on his face.
Denario thought, I've been stupid. I'm not strong enough. I'm not fast enough. I'm not going to get there before the Piotr shoots me through the head.
He braced himself as he stabbed. Something plucked his too-big gambler's hat from his head. A cool breeze ran through his hair. He gazed up at Piotr's face. The tall man had fired. He must have missed. And he seemed surprised by something, a hand on his shoulder. It was Klaus's hand. The dying man had grabbed Piotr from behind.
Klaus had made Piotr miss. He'd also made Piotr turn so that Denario's jab struck off center. The bronze spear point glanced off of Piotr's leather armor. On the rebound to the left, it nearly cut Klaus.
“Hoooaaaah!” someone cried. Denario turned his head in time to see a strange Raduar bandit charging down the trail toward him.
The moment felt like an odd one, prolonged in time. Denario had a second or so to realize this fellow was important. There was a breastplate that covered the man's shoulders. There was chain mail beneath. The helm was leather. The man's hair was black. At the end of his right arm, held high, was the bronze blade of an axe. Next to him, Klaus and Piotr fell into the bushes off to the right. That left Denario alone with the this strange man who was already swinging. Once again, Denario's body fell into the motion he'd practiced for the past hour. He stabbed. His attacker dodged to the left and chopped at the haft of the spear.
It's going wrong, Denario realized. His attacker was bigger and faster than he was. It's like Vir said, I don't know what I'm doing. The axe swept Denario's spear aside. The man lunged. Denario backpedaled but not fast enough. The first swing missed by an inch but the axe arm rose a second time. The curved blade aimed for the center of Denario's face. This was it.
As the arm came down, a sword came from out of the bushes and struck from the side.
“Vir!” Denario breathed.
In a blink, the Mundredi captain was gone. He'd crippled their attacker with single shot. Vir's sword hadn't cut off the man's arm but it had gouged deep in and broken it. The axe left the grip of the Raduar, who crumpled to the ground with a scream. His weapon tumbled a long ways to Denario's right.
Denario stood stunned for a moment. He should do something, he knew, but he couldn't think of what. The fellow who had almost killed him lay on the ground, wailing. Denario didn't want to come too close. He glanced to the spot where he'd last seen Klaus take Piotr. There were no bodies there. In the dawning light, it looked like there was blood in the dirt but nothing more. Bushes shook in the distance about fifteen yards away.
Behind him, Denario heard the clank of metal on metal.
He leaped between bushes to search for Vir. At a time like this, Denario knew that taking shelter behind a wide, strong body would be best. Someone was fighting. It had to be Vir.
For a few seconds, Denario ran through the undergrowth and dodged tree branches as he made his way in the direction of the noise. Then a voice in his head asked, How stupid is it to rush into a fight? and he slowed down. Less than a minute later, as he peered around a tangled shrub-pair of poplar and copperleaf, he saw them.
Vir stood surrounded by three men. A fourth man lay at his feet. It wasn't anyone Denario recognized. From the bashed-in look of his head, it wasn't anyone Denario would ever meet.
The three standing Raduar bandits focused their weapons on a single target. Everyone had traded blows or done a bit of running, it seemed, because they were all breathing hard. One of the Raduar, shorter than Vir but just as strong, jabbed at him with a spear. Vir blocked and tried to close with his sword but, just as Vir had taught Denario, the Raduar backed up and kept out of Vir's sword range.
Another spearman took his turn while a third, blonde fellow with a delicate but deadly-looking longsword, tried to get behind the Mundredi captain. Vir was too smart for that. He dodged while keeping a tree between himself and the swordsman.
This can't end well, Denario realized. As good as Vir is, it's three to one. They all look smart.
His instincts told him to run. Denario froze for a second while he tried out the idea of fleeing blindly into the forest on the edge of a mountain surrounded by hostile bandits. That didn't seem to lead anywhere good. He had to come up with something better. But what? With no real idea, he put down his spear and fumbled in his travel pack.
As his fingers roamed through the packets of food, clothes, flints, brushes, and utensils, he remembered that he'd snuck his golden darts to the bottom. They were carefully wrapped in his smelliest shirt. He dug deep into the leather folds. But as he moved other things out of the way, he recognized the corners of a thin wooden box.
Poison, said the same little voice inside that had wanted him to run. Poison might work. Carefully, Denario slipped the pack off of his shoulder. He knelt down behind the bush. He excavated the set of poison darts as neatly as he could.
The cherrywood case looked so delicate. When he'd gotten it, he'd thought it was too thick and heavy. Now it seemed beautiful and fragile. The top swung on a finely-made brass hinge. Denario flipped it open with his thumb to reveal the three hollow-point darts. Next to them rested the vial of blue frog poison.
Another clank of metal against metal startled Denario. He peered through the bush to see Vir beat back the two Raduar spearmen. Vir even got in a good kick on the second one. But he had to leap to the safety of the tree trunk to keep from getting gutted from behind.
The Raduar men weren't in full chain mail. That was something Denario hadn't noticed at first. Their lower arms, heads, necks, and lower legs were all bare flesh or cloth. The darts would work on them. If they worked at all.
He pulled one out, dropped it, picked it up, and set it on his knee. Then he fumbled with the vial. The hook of wood that held it in place didn't seem to want to let it go. When it finally released from the clip, there was a cracking sound. Denario flailed for a moment, alarmed. He tried to escape his own grip. His hand was shaking so much that he was certain he was about to poison himself. Naturally, if he cut his fingers on the broken glass, his wounds would be fatal. But he calmed down, studied the vial in his hand, and saw that it was unharmed. The seal on top was safe.
He punctured the wax seal with the point of the dart. Oily poison immediately ran up inside. He started to rise, ready to fire. Wait, I have two hands, he thought, and crouched back down. He loaded a second feathered shaft. Then he set his belongings down carefully, picked up the poisoned weapons in either fist, and stood.
Now he didn't care if he were seen. Or at least the idea didn't force him to crouch in terror.
Vir and the three Raduar were about twenty feet away, as a group. That was twice the distance that Denario usually threw with something as light as a dart. His right hand twitched as he considered. He might have to run up to the closest spearman to be sure of his shot. Even then, he wasn't sure if he should try for the man's head or a leg. The legs were big targets but they were in constant motion.
He meant to dash forward. But that didn't happen. His legs felt like they were tied to the ground. He forced himself to emerge from behind the bush but the animal part of him that didn't want to be noticed made it a slow and quiet movement.
After three steps, maybe four, the second spearman noticed him. But the first spearman still had his body turned three-quarters away.
Denario raised his hand. It resisted him just like his legs did. He could see his fingers tremble.
The second spearman moved but Denario's focus remained centered on the first one. He felt like he couldn't really see anything else but his target anymore.
At the last moment, as he pulled back to throw, he found that all the energy in his body had switched from nervousness to a sort of calm force. His biceps felt smooth and full of strength. His eyes could make out every hair on the leg of the spearman.
He let fly.
Chapter Eight, Scene Two
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 45: Wordy Days
To the folks who are reading this without social media prompting, mostly in Russian and Ukrainian, I expect, I apologize for being away on travel. I don't have access to my usual backlog of writing drafts and I haven't quite finished the next Not Zen story. All I've got this week is a habit of lampooning well-known poetry.
Wordy Days
Wordy poems have we dismembered
Murdered, slurred, and mis-remembered
And all the rest were sort of fun
Excepting literary
Which has stuff we hate
But despite our drinks of private whine
To the students, we assign.
-----[ the original ]-----
Thirty Days
Thirty days hath September
April, June, and November
All the rest have thirty-one
Excepting February
Which has twenty-eight
But in leap year we assign
To February, twenty-nine.
Sunday, July 24, 2016
A Nerd in a Warrior Culture - Seven Chapters
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Thirty-Two Minus Thirty-One
- Scene One, Fired
- Scene Two, Something Does Not Add Up
- Scene Three, One to the N Ponies
- Scene Four, A Tip on Poison
- Scene Five, A Desperate Game
Chapter Root Two Squared
- Scene One, Going Fourth
- Scene Two, Speak to the Point
- Scene Three, Fallen
- Scene Four, Friends Like These
- Scene Five, Another Plan
- Scene One, A Bargain Purchase
- Scene Two, New Shirts
- Scene Three, Lucky Find
- Scene Four, Lucky Miss
- Scene Five, Holy Larceny
- Scene Six, Strange Footprints
Chapter Two Pair
- Scene One, Deadly Aim
- Scene Two, Fair Trade
- Scene Three, Space to Breathe
- Scene Four, Familiar Words
- Scene Five, A Foolish Gamble
Chapter Full Hand
- Scene One, Deadly Aim
- Scene Two, Fair Trade
- Scene Three, Space to Breathe
- Scene Four, Familiar Words
- Scene Five, A Foolish Gamble
Chapter Half Dozen
- Scene One, Revealing Dawn
- Scene Two, A Well-Informed Captain
- Scene Three, The Attack
- Scene Four, An Escape
- Scene Five, Another Escape
Chapter Fourth Prime
- Scene One, A Pleasant Stroll
- Scene Two, Lessons from the Butcher
- Scene Three, Lessons from the Master
- Scene Four, A Token of Affection
- Scene Five, Precise Aims
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Being Geek in a Warrior Culture - Seventh Chapter
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Fourth Prime
Chapter Fourth Prime
- Scene One, A Pleasant Stroll
- Scene Two, Lessons from the Butcher
- Scene Three, Lessons from the Master
- Scene Four, A Token of Affection
- Scene Five, Precise Aims
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 44: A Bandit Accountant, 7.5
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Five: Precise Aims
They set off at a time that the accountant thought of as 'high dark.' Vir deployed Piotr and Klaus to the front just as he'd done before. Denario wasn't sure why he'd expected anything different. The night sky was so overcast that he could barely see the ground in front of him much less make out enemies in the trees. Maybe that's why he'd figured to be pushed to the fore so he could be a target. He wasn't good for much else.
They were headed for an ambush and Vir seemed to know it. Yet, for some reason, the bandit captain choose to keep Denario close to him.
That gave Denario a chance to ask questions.
“No,” Vir replied to one of them. “No, there wasn't a soul killed in the fight in Hogsburg.”
“That's what Yannick told me. But it's hard to believe.” Denario lifted the butt of the spear for the hundredth time and place it in front of his feet as he continued to match pace with the captain. His lungs wheezed from the strain. His arms hung like lead weights. He could barely keep the spear upright. “Your side had more than twenty men counting those local volunteers you picked up. The Raduar had eight. The Hogz-Polieze had a dozen. How, with all of those men fighting, could no one get killed?”
“One of their side took a crossbow bolt to the leg. Others among them got cut up a bit. But no one got outright dead. It's just one of those things. Lots of battles are like that. Everyone scrambles like crazy not to get killed. Sometimes, behind a shield wall, it can take an hour for the first man to drop.”
“Shield wall? What's that?” He liked the sound of it.
“Ain't seen one? If we get out of this, I'll show ye how they work. Can't been done without quite a few men and enough space to line up, though. Half the time, we can't use them. We ambush too much. Then there's no lines. Ye just aim at someone and rush.”
“Oh, I've heard.” When he was a slave, the nobility who visited Baron Blockhelm had expressed strong opinions about such dishonorable tactics. They hadn't confided in the slaves, of course, but they'd conferred with their peers without concern for any slaves listening in. “The knights hate those ambushes.”
“Heh.” Vir chuckled to himself. “Aye, they do. If ye get them knights down from their horses, ye see, they don't know how to behave. They fight alone, each one. They don't know enough to form lines or even stand back to back.”
It sounded like the Mundredi had some experience fighting against the West Ogglia nobility. Since all of the knights around the Seven Valleys were sworn to Baron Ankster, Baron Musselli, or Baron Blockhelm and those three men, in turn, were sworn to Count Kraffli, who was sworn to the Marquis de Oggli, then Vir was essentially talking about treason against the marquis. Or about a war against him. Or about something else that it would be dangerous for Denario to know.
The thought made Denario stumble. Or maybe he was just tired. In either case, he kicked up a pebble. One of the scouts, Klaus, turned to scowl at the noise. Although it was hard to be seen in such dark, Denario tried his best to gesture his apology. Next to him, Vir hardly noticed.
“And now the best knights have all gone off,” he said dreamily. He strolled alongside Denario as quiet as a deer and probably heavier than one, too. “It would be a good opportunity for us if we united. Shame that we Muntabi tribes have to fight amongst ourselves so much.”
“Speaking of which,” said Denario after a moment. “What about this battle against the Raduar? How long before we see them, do you think?”
“If the Raduar have gone to Fort Fourteen, we'll know in a few hours.”
He nodded. He'd expected the answer because of the relaxed manner in which the captain held himself, sword undrawn and helm in his pack. Nevertheless, Vir's scouts had already strung their bows.
Denario had his darts, of course, but they wouldn't hurt anyone in armor. He felt he should have a bow. Even Vir sported the silhouette of a crossbow. It bobbed from a hook on his backpack.
If all eight Raduar had fled to the same place and set another ambush, Denario would be useless. He couldn't even run away fast enough with everything he was carrying. That's the thought that got him noticing the critical pieces he was missing. He had no plate armor. He had no gauntlets, not even gloves. He didn't have magic. The bandits didn't have those basic protections either. They were all soon to be dead, most likely.
Denario realized he should have gotten a blessing from the powerful priest in Three Gods. Anything might help. You could never know.
“Doesn't your army use wizards, Vir?” he asked. The scarred visage of Tremelo the Magnificent came to mind. That fellow had traveled in the company of mercenaries. The Mundredi Army, by Vir's admission, had worked as mercenaries outside of the valleys. He might know about Tremelo.
“For some jobs, yeah. We hire them from the caravans they protect. The problem with those wizards, though, is that they want paying. They don't like to take goats or sheep or other barter.”
“That's because they're not Mundredi. But why not use your own?”
“There aren't any wizards in our lands, not even among the Kilmun tribes or other folks who are comfortable with magic. We've got some shamans who can hold their own. And we've got any number of witches. One of them cooks for us at Fort Three.”
Denario shuddered. What if a witch decided to poison them? Or turn them into frogs? He wondered if witches could do that. He hadn't met many in Oggli. The few he'd noticed looked ancient, shoulders bent, but with fierce expressions. They made the clerical males seem positively relaxed.
“What's a shaman?” he asked. “Is that like being a priest?”
“It's a cross between a priest and a wizard, I suppose. I don't really know. A strong shaman can stand up to a wizard for a while. A little while. They can't protect the rest of us, though. That's the real problem. For that, you need battle wizards like the barons have got in their courts. That takes money. Silver money, apparently.”
“So you can't send messages with magic? You don't have floating orbs of light? You can't fly on brooms or carpets? Those carpets came in very useful to us accountants on surveying trips.”
The Mundredi grunted. He didn't seem pleased with this line of thinking.
“I'd think you'd at least get blessings before you head into battle,” Denario continued. “The priest at Three Gods would have done it, I'm sure, for a price.”
That got a grin from Vir. His teeth showed as a faint glow in the darkness. It didn't look like a happy expression.
“You think that priest can do magic?” He snorted.
“Well, we saw him.”
“You were right up next to the altar. You didn't notice anything funny about it?”
“It looked heavy.” Denario was sure of that much. He had been, anyway, until now.
“Looked, yeh.” The big man shook his head. “I thought ye were bright. I thought Yannick was, too, but he didn't notice, either. Maybe ye have to be a suspicious bastard like me.”
“Notice what?”
“The cord. The altar has a painted cord running up the middle of it. It's black, mostly, like the black wall behind it. That's why you didn't notice it. The bottom of the cord is painted the same color as brass.”
“Oh no!” Denario slapped himself in the forehead. “It was all a trick?”
“The altar is hollow. I went and checked it when we passed through about a year ago. The priest and his deacon got upset but I had to know.”
“So ...” Denario's mind raced. “The deacon must be up in the rafters, yes?”
In the dark, a shadow nodded.
“There's a rope ladder in one of the walls. He climbs up on that into the false ceiling.”
“Okay,” said Denario, thinking quickly. “Then he must lift the altar when the priest commands it. Since the altar is hollow, they must have room in there to store some oil, too, and maybe a wick.”
“That's right.”
“But they must worry about burning the cord when they use that.”
“Good thought.” For the first time in a long while, Vir turned a genuine smile on Denario. “That hadn't occurred to me. Why doesn't the cord burn? It must be made of something pretty tough.”
“And it must be painted with a pigment that doesn't catch fire or change color in the heat.”
“Yeh. They probably have to clean it every night. I think they hide the cord in the altar, somehow, when they need to let parishioners get close.”
Denario walked in silence for a long while.
“I'm sorry I didn't notice. Now I feel like a fool.”
“Eh, yer seventeen. And ye had a trustworthy man for a master, it seems. So ye haven't learned to be suspicious. If ye live, ye'll learn.”
“If I live.” Denario didn't like the implication.
They walked on for an hour with less and less talk between them. Denario learned from Vir how to use his spear he was carrying. He even practiced with it, albeit on the march. The first thrust seemed critical. After that, it was all about keeping his opponent at a distance. A man with a spear, even a small man, could beat a man with a sword every time if he knew what he was doing.
Of course, Denario didn't really know what he was doing. Vir reminded him of that several times.
“We should run into Alaric and the others before we get to the fort anyway,” Vir reminded him. “That's the plan, although I haven't told our scouts. I guess it's okay say it now. Ye can see that I haven't marched us fast while Alaric is supposed to quick-step his men on the north road.”
“There are two roads to the fort?” Denario felt the pace was too fast for him already but he didn't want to admit that. Anyway, he was relieved that they weren't headed into an ambush. There was a plan. It would work.
“There are no roads to it, really, nothing wide enough for a cart, but there's a foot trail. We took a longer route to the trail so we could stop in Three Gods. Alaric should have left by the north gate and come by the straight uphill path.”
“When does our path meet that one?”
“Just before the fort. We'll arrive in time to see by dawn's glow whether or not Alaric's men have trod the ground in front of us.”
Denario didn't ask if Vir could tell the difference between Alaric's boots and those of the Raduar. He was starting to feel too tired to talk. There had been quite a few nights in a row like this one. Within minutes, he found himself a yard behind Vir. In half an hour, he was three yards out and struggling. When a fog rolled in, he had to nearly double his efforts in order to close the gap. He didn't want the big fellow walking away from him completely. He had to wonder if the scouts could see anything in this dark murk, though.
Finally, the fog started to clear about the time that a blue light arose on the tree-thick horizon directly in front of them. Their path had nestled up against Mount Ephart and the march took them around the south slope of the mountain toward the east.
Denario caught sight of Piotr and Klaus. The taller soldier stood at a rise, facing northeast, as he stood guard. He had an arrow notched into the string of his bow. The younger scout knelt in the dirt and scrub grass. His nimble right hand caressed it.
Klaus scowled at what his fingertips found.
When he noticed his captain, Klaus rose to attention. He saluted. His expression remained grim.
Vir glanced to what the young man had seen in the soil. Denario tried to understand it, too, but all he could see was a mess of footprints everywhere on the ground. That was good, wasn't it? It should mean Alaric and his men had come through here. But the Mundredi didn't seem happy.
Whatever his reasons, with a gesture, the chief sent both scouts out in front again. Denario couldn't help noticing that the bandits hadn't said a word. They didn't seem likely to speak either. Klaus reached into the leather tube strapped to his shoulder and took out an arrow. Vir moved his short spear into his left hand. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
The group progressed about one hundred yards before the wide, grassy trail narrowed. Scrub bushes rose on either side of them. They were large enough to hide men. In another few yards, the Mundredi had to walk nearly single file, Klaus in the lead. The bushes became trees. Each scout faced different directions into the gloom.
Suddenly, an arrow grew up out of the ground. It hummed in the breeze right between Vir's right foot and Denario's left.
The captain pulled out his sword.
“Attack!” he cried.
At that moment, Piotr swiveled with his bow at the ready. He took aim and shot Klaus between the shoulder blades.
Chapter Eight, Scene One
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Five: Precise Aims
They set off at a time that the accountant thought of as 'high dark.' Vir deployed Piotr and Klaus to the front just as he'd done before. Denario wasn't sure why he'd expected anything different. The night sky was so overcast that he could barely see the ground in front of him much less make out enemies in the trees. Maybe that's why he'd figured to be pushed to the fore so he could be a target. He wasn't good for much else.
They were headed for an ambush and Vir seemed to know it. Yet, for some reason, the bandit captain choose to keep Denario close to him.
That gave Denario a chance to ask questions.
“No,” Vir replied to one of them. “No, there wasn't a soul killed in the fight in Hogsburg.”
“That's what Yannick told me. But it's hard to believe.” Denario lifted the butt of the spear for the hundredth time and place it in front of his feet as he continued to match pace with the captain. His lungs wheezed from the strain. His arms hung like lead weights. He could barely keep the spear upright. “Your side had more than twenty men counting those local volunteers you picked up. The Raduar had eight. The Hogz-Polieze had a dozen. How, with all of those men fighting, could no one get killed?”
“One of their side took a crossbow bolt to the leg. Others among them got cut up a bit. But no one got outright dead. It's just one of those things. Lots of battles are like that. Everyone scrambles like crazy not to get killed. Sometimes, behind a shield wall, it can take an hour for the first man to drop.”
“Shield wall? What's that?” He liked the sound of it.
“Ain't seen one? If we get out of this, I'll show ye how they work. Can't been done without quite a few men and enough space to line up, though. Half the time, we can't use them. We ambush too much. Then there's no lines. Ye just aim at someone and rush.”
“Oh, I've heard.” When he was a slave, the nobility who visited Baron Blockhelm had expressed strong opinions about such dishonorable tactics. They hadn't confided in the slaves, of course, but they'd conferred with their peers without concern for any slaves listening in. “The knights hate those ambushes.”
“Heh.” Vir chuckled to himself. “Aye, they do. If ye get them knights down from their horses, ye see, they don't know how to behave. They fight alone, each one. They don't know enough to form lines or even stand back to back.”
It sounded like the Mundredi had some experience fighting against the West Ogglia nobility. Since all of the knights around the Seven Valleys were sworn to Baron Ankster, Baron Musselli, or Baron Blockhelm and those three men, in turn, were sworn to Count Kraffli, who was sworn to the Marquis de Oggli, then Vir was essentially talking about treason against the marquis. Or about a war against him. Or about something else that it would be dangerous for Denario to know.
The thought made Denario stumble. Or maybe he was just tired. In either case, he kicked up a pebble. One of the scouts, Klaus, turned to scowl at the noise. Although it was hard to be seen in such dark, Denario tried his best to gesture his apology. Next to him, Vir hardly noticed.
“And now the best knights have all gone off,” he said dreamily. He strolled alongside Denario as quiet as a deer and probably heavier than one, too. “It would be a good opportunity for us if we united. Shame that we Muntabi tribes have to fight amongst ourselves so much.”
“Speaking of which,” said Denario after a moment. “What about this battle against the Raduar? How long before we see them, do you think?”
“If the Raduar have gone to Fort Fourteen, we'll know in a few hours.”
He nodded. He'd expected the answer because of the relaxed manner in which the captain held himself, sword undrawn and helm in his pack. Nevertheless, Vir's scouts had already strung their bows.
Denario had his darts, of course, but they wouldn't hurt anyone in armor. He felt he should have a bow. Even Vir sported the silhouette of a crossbow. It bobbed from a hook on his backpack.
If all eight Raduar had fled to the same place and set another ambush, Denario would be useless. He couldn't even run away fast enough with everything he was carrying. That's the thought that got him noticing the critical pieces he was missing. He had no plate armor. He had no gauntlets, not even gloves. He didn't have magic. The bandits didn't have those basic protections either. They were all soon to be dead, most likely.
Denario realized he should have gotten a blessing from the powerful priest in Three Gods. Anything might help. You could never know.
“Doesn't your army use wizards, Vir?” he asked. The scarred visage of Tremelo the Magnificent came to mind. That fellow had traveled in the company of mercenaries. The Mundredi Army, by Vir's admission, had worked as mercenaries outside of the valleys. He might know about Tremelo.
“For some jobs, yeah. We hire them from the caravans they protect. The problem with those wizards, though, is that they want paying. They don't like to take goats or sheep or other barter.”
“That's because they're not Mundredi. But why not use your own?”
“There aren't any wizards in our lands, not even among the Kilmun tribes or other folks who are comfortable with magic. We've got some shamans who can hold their own. And we've got any number of witches. One of them cooks for us at Fort Three.”
Denario shuddered. What if a witch decided to poison them? Or turn them into frogs? He wondered if witches could do that. He hadn't met many in Oggli. The few he'd noticed looked ancient, shoulders bent, but with fierce expressions. They made the clerical males seem positively relaxed.
“What's a shaman?” he asked. “Is that like being a priest?”
“It's a cross between a priest and a wizard, I suppose. I don't really know. A strong shaman can stand up to a wizard for a while. A little while. They can't protect the rest of us, though. That's the real problem. For that, you need battle wizards like the barons have got in their courts. That takes money. Silver money, apparently.”
“So you can't send messages with magic? You don't have floating orbs of light? You can't fly on brooms or carpets? Those carpets came in very useful to us accountants on surveying trips.”
The Mundredi grunted. He didn't seem pleased with this line of thinking.
“I'd think you'd at least get blessings before you head into battle,” Denario continued. “The priest at Three Gods would have done it, I'm sure, for a price.”
That got a grin from Vir. His teeth showed as a faint glow in the darkness. It didn't look like a happy expression.
“You think that priest can do magic?” He snorted.
“Well, we saw him.”
“You were right up next to the altar. You didn't notice anything funny about it?”
“It looked heavy.” Denario was sure of that much. He had been, anyway, until now.
“Looked, yeh.” The big man shook his head. “I thought ye were bright. I thought Yannick was, too, but he didn't notice, either. Maybe ye have to be a suspicious bastard like me.”
“Notice what?”
“The cord. The altar has a painted cord running up the middle of it. It's black, mostly, like the black wall behind it. That's why you didn't notice it. The bottom of the cord is painted the same color as brass.”
“Oh no!” Denario slapped himself in the forehead. “It was all a trick?”
“The altar is hollow. I went and checked it when we passed through about a year ago. The priest and his deacon got upset but I had to know.”
“So ...” Denario's mind raced. “The deacon must be up in the rafters, yes?”
In the dark, a shadow nodded.
“There's a rope ladder in one of the walls. He climbs up on that into the false ceiling.”
“Okay,” said Denario, thinking quickly. “Then he must lift the altar when the priest commands it. Since the altar is hollow, they must have room in there to store some oil, too, and maybe a wick.”
“That's right.”
“But they must worry about burning the cord when they use that.”
“Good thought.” For the first time in a long while, Vir turned a genuine smile on Denario. “That hadn't occurred to me. Why doesn't the cord burn? It must be made of something pretty tough.”
“And it must be painted with a pigment that doesn't catch fire or change color in the heat.”
“Yeh. They probably have to clean it every night. I think they hide the cord in the altar, somehow, when they need to let parishioners get close.”
Denario walked in silence for a long while.
“I'm sorry I didn't notice. Now I feel like a fool.”
“Eh, yer seventeen. And ye had a trustworthy man for a master, it seems. So ye haven't learned to be suspicious. If ye live, ye'll learn.”
“If I live.” Denario didn't like the implication.
They walked on for an hour with less and less talk between them. Denario learned from Vir how to use his spear he was carrying. He even practiced with it, albeit on the march. The first thrust seemed critical. After that, it was all about keeping his opponent at a distance. A man with a spear, even a small man, could beat a man with a sword every time if he knew what he was doing.
Of course, Denario didn't really know what he was doing. Vir reminded him of that several times.
“We should run into Alaric and the others before we get to the fort anyway,” Vir reminded him. “That's the plan, although I haven't told our scouts. I guess it's okay say it now. Ye can see that I haven't marched us fast while Alaric is supposed to quick-step his men on the north road.”
“There are two roads to the fort?” Denario felt the pace was too fast for him already but he didn't want to admit that. Anyway, he was relieved that they weren't headed into an ambush. There was a plan. It would work.
“There are no roads to it, really, nothing wide enough for a cart, but there's a foot trail. We took a longer route to the trail so we could stop in Three Gods. Alaric should have left by the north gate and come by the straight uphill path.”
“When does our path meet that one?”
“Just before the fort. We'll arrive in time to see by dawn's glow whether or not Alaric's men have trod the ground in front of us.”
Denario didn't ask if Vir could tell the difference between Alaric's boots and those of the Raduar. He was starting to feel too tired to talk. There had been quite a few nights in a row like this one. Within minutes, he found himself a yard behind Vir. In half an hour, he was three yards out and struggling. When a fog rolled in, he had to nearly double his efforts in order to close the gap. He didn't want the big fellow walking away from him completely. He had to wonder if the scouts could see anything in this dark murk, though.
Finally, the fog started to clear about the time that a blue light arose on the tree-thick horizon directly in front of them. Their path had nestled up against Mount Ephart and the march took them around the south slope of the mountain toward the east.
Denario caught sight of Piotr and Klaus. The taller soldier stood at a rise, facing northeast, as he stood guard. He had an arrow notched into the string of his bow. The younger scout knelt in the dirt and scrub grass. His nimble right hand caressed it.
Klaus scowled at what his fingertips found.
When he noticed his captain, Klaus rose to attention. He saluted. His expression remained grim.
Vir glanced to what the young man had seen in the soil. Denario tried to understand it, too, but all he could see was a mess of footprints everywhere on the ground. That was good, wasn't it? It should mean Alaric and his men had come through here. But the Mundredi didn't seem happy.
Whatever his reasons, with a gesture, the chief sent both scouts out in front again. Denario couldn't help noticing that the bandits hadn't said a word. They didn't seem likely to speak either. Klaus reached into the leather tube strapped to his shoulder and took out an arrow. Vir moved his short spear into his left hand. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
The group progressed about one hundred yards before the wide, grassy trail narrowed. Scrub bushes rose on either side of them. They were large enough to hide men. In another few yards, the Mundredi had to walk nearly single file, Klaus in the lead. The bushes became trees. Each scout faced different directions into the gloom.
Suddenly, an arrow grew up out of the ground. It hummed in the breeze right between Vir's right foot and Denario's left.
The captain pulled out his sword.
“Attack!” he cried.
At that moment, Piotr swiveled with his bow at the ready. He took aim and shot Klaus between the shoulder blades.
Chapter Eight, Scene One
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 43: A Bandit Accountant, 7.4
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Four: A Token of Affection
“All right, everyone,” Vir grumbled. “We can see the temple. If ye haven't got a weapon, go to the hay cart and get one. Ye too, Elsa.”
Denario's eyes went wide with a sudden fear. He'd had no idea that this little band of Mundredi was going to attack the Three Gods Temple. This doesn't make sense, he thought. He went from standing beside the cart to behind it, just in case Vir expected him to do something – not for protection at all, he told himself.
The temple was a tall, impressive structure, although made from wood rather than stone. He could make out details in it from a quarter mile away. It had three spires, a central hall between them, an out-building, and a double-wide door at the front. The shutters of the door looked crude. The structure had been built along the road at the entrance to a large hamlet of maybe fifteen houses with a few more hidden in the trees. There was a gate across the road but, unlike Hogsburg, the town of Three Gods did not have a full city wall around it.
“You any good with a bow, accountant?” asked Vir.
“Might be.” Denario studied the bow on Piotr's back. The tall scout had a spear in his hands, so he didn't seem intent on using his long-range weapon. The recurved shanks had been carved from bone. The grip was rawhide. Overall, the primitive bow looked fearsome. “I've always been good at aiming things.”
“When's the last time you shot?”
“You mean an arrow?”
“Ach, nevermind. Ye've never.” The larger man took off his hat. He shook his bald head rather angrily. “How the hells did ye kill those men, anyway?”
Denario tried to think of how to explain.
“No, tell me later.” Vir reached under the stack of hay. He pulled out a steel helm, obviously his, and donned it. Then he reached back under the straws, fumbled for a moment, and emerged with the sleeve of a hard, leather hauberk. It had been loaded with metal studs. “Put this on.”
Without enthusiasm, Denario took the armored leather jacket. Volfie had already donned similar gear, although his looked better. Now he helped his bride-to-be as she tied a rather female-looking breastplate over her dress.
“Do I need a helmet?” Elsa asked her man. Volfie tilted his head and considered. Then he looked to Vir for guidance.
“He does,” the Mundredi captain answered with a nod to the Volfie. “But not you, girl. Let everyone see your face. Just wear the vambraces.”
Elsa beamed. She didn't seem worried at all. That gave Denario a hint that they might not be gearing up for an attack. What was all this battle preparation for, then? Elsa had her forearm protection on in under a minute. Then she grabbed a spear. She playfully jabbed in the direction of her future husband. He dodged and laughed. A moment later, he took his own spear from the stack of straw. He didn't tease her with it but she gave him a flirtatious look anyway. Volfie grabbed a leather helm that had apparently been set aside for him. It was stained a dark red color to match his chest armor. After he plopped it on his head, he took Elsa by the hand and led her to the driver's seat of the cart.
“None of that, yet,” Vir warned. Elsa had been about to give Volfie a kiss. She pouted at Vir but only for a moment. Then she clambered up. This time, Volfie got behind the ox to drive.
Denario had been so busy watching them that he found himself struggling into armor while the cart moved away. Luckily, the jacket had been made with enough room for a fighting man. That meant it fit loosely over Denario's layers of heavy shirts. The armored sleeves had been cut short, probably in order to accommodate vambraces and a buckler, so they weren't too long for a short-armed accountant.
Before they got to the town gate, Yannick pushed a spear into Denario's hands.
“Carry it point up. Grab your sack with the idols in it, too. You've got a job to do before the wedding.”
“We're going to the wedding like this?” Denario wondered.
“How else?” answered Yannick.
When the cart stopped at the gate, Denario could see the streets and temple grounds beyond. There were townsfolk in everywhere, mostly women, and they were headed into the church between the spires. Some of them had managed to find their best clothes. Two women wore gowns. A bald gentleman walked by in an embroidered yellow vest. Children sprinted by, laughing. A few men dashed through the temple doors with hoes in their hands. They had apparently just come from the fields.
The guards didn't even have armor, just staves. They good-naturedly asked Vir and Volfie about their business in town despite the fact that Piotr and Klaus had already gone through ahead of them. The guards must have known what was going on. They were just delaying things a little while in order for more town folk to arrive and find seats.
After nearly half an hour, with the sun beginning to glow orange on the edge of the horizon beyond the Three Gods temple, a row of farmers at the back of the church pews stood up. They carefully and rather rudely closed the doors on the wedding party.
At that point, the gate guards let the hay cart pass.
Vir marched in front of the cart to the main doors of the temple. He knocked on the barred entrance. There was no answer. He announced who he was and that he intended to see Volfie and Elsa wed. He knocked again. Still, there was no answer. Finally, he kicked the doors in.
Denario almost dropped his spear. The force of the kick was so hard, it had shaken the ground.
This time, Vir bellowed through the doorway. To the seated congregation, who looked as startled by the opened doors as Denario had been, he announced the wedding of Volfgang of Dred and Elsa of Hogsburg. The farmers near the doors had frozen in shock. One of them looked like he'd just missed getting bowled over. Vir had cracked the wooden lock bar in half. Behind them, a row of elderly, seated women clapped at the performance.
“You go first,” Yannick hissed in Denario's ear.
“Me?” Denario was still trembling.
“Don't show anyone the idols until you get to the front.”
Yannick didn't wait for Denario to ask questions. Instead, he strode up beside Vir and announced that the ceremony would begin with a devotional. Denario knew that was his cue to move.
It was a long walk down the center aisle with a bunch of strangers watching. He struggled to keep the spear upright and he clutched the bag like a shield in front of him. He was grateful that no one laughed. He was afraid he must look a mess without his accounting vest and hat. His shoes no longer looked the part, for sure.
“Welcome, traveler,” said an authoritative voice that didn't actually sound welcoming.
Denario glanced to his left. A tall, pot-bellied priest stood there next to the altar. He wore a black robe with silver trim, a salt-and-pepper beard down to the middle of his chest, a skull cap, and a strained expression. In his wide eyed, careful way, the priest avoided staring at the Mundredi warriors by his temple doors. He focused on the offerings that Denario carried. As members of his congregation exchanged whispers, the priest sighed. He seemed reasonably serene about the prospect of giving the idols to the gods.
Since Denario didn't know what else to do, he followed the lead of the priest. He moved automatically to wherever the priest directed him. He repeated the correct phrases in a stage voice for the audience. He offered up the statuette of Naakia. That was the one that had caught the priest's eye, apparently. She wasn't a local goddess so her figure was a novelty item to the crowd. Folks oohed over it for a moment.
The priest brushed a hay straw out of his beard. Then he threw his arms wide and appealed to Naakia to hear the prayers of Three Gods and Haph Bad. Denario thought it was his turn so he called out the phrases that the mayor of Haph Bad had made him memorize. The priest glared a bit sternly at Denario but he nodded. Then, impressively, the black-robed man performed his magic upon the offering to Naakia.
This fellow was better at levitation than any wizard Denario had known. The altar looked like heavy brass and it had to weigh hundreds of pounds. But the priest made it rise up into the air at his command.
“Holy fire!” he shouted at the idol. A moment later, after a sputtering start, the wood-and-bird-feather figure began to burn.
He repeated the same offering ritual with the idol to Leir. That was less impressive but only because the priest performed exactly as he'd done before. His magical repertoire seemed limited. Denario applauded with the rest of them anyway. It didn't feel very holy but it was a fine show, as good as any temple in Oggli.
When it came time for the next idol, Denario felt his hand twitch. The priest asked for the crude Melcurio figure that Denario had shown him. But Denario's fingers found the neck of the precious vase from Glaistig at the bottom of the bag. In fact, Melcurio seemed to have gone missing. He fumbled around but pulled out the vase.
“A precious offering from the temple of Glaistig!” the priest shouted as he yanked it from Denario.
He held the pottery up high. As he recited a prayer and prepared to place the vase onto his altar, his fingers slipped. The vase spun in the air and crashed on the floor. It cracked open with a sigh.
Without missing a beat, the priest stomped on the vase. It popped and sprayed pieces. Then he stomped again. Everyone cheered. He swept the fragments into his hands and onto the altar. Then he said another prayer and wagged his eyebrows meaningfully at Denario.
That was the cue for Melcurio. This time, Denario found the idol in his bag with no problem.
“Thanks to all of the gods!” shouted the priest when he was done with the last offering. A plume of smoke arose. Denario was irrationally happy to see a figure eight pattern in the vapors from the burning effigy of the winged messenger.
“Thanks to all!” shouted the congregation.
“And now, the father can stand forth!”
Vir marched up the aisle as if he would kill anyone in his way. In fact, he muttered as much to the congregation. Denario was shocked, initially, but after a minute or two of the shouting from priest to gods, Vir to gods, and then Vir to the priest, Denario got the idea that this was how it was supposed to happen. The Mundredi wedding seemed short on flowers and lace, long on shield-pounding and spear-waving. In fact, Elsa practically hopped down the aisle with her spear in both hands. She slammed the bronze point hard against Vir's shield. Then she turned and jabbed at Volfie, who had come down the aisle behind her. He blocked her with his own heavy shield.
Then the couple bashed their spears together for nearly a minute. It was fun to watch if you weren't too close, which Denario was. He had to dodge to keep Elsa from skewering him. On top of everything, the priest kept jabbering out prayers for the couple and said, by the way, would anyone care to save the bride from the bridegroom?
He asked that question three times. No one was fool enough to step forward. Vir and Volfie clearly would have crushed them into the dirt floor. Probably Elsa would have helped.
Volfie and his bride locked spears one last time. Then he caught her arms, pulled them behind his back, and captured her behind his shield in a very military looking embrace.
“She is his! They are married before the gods! Let no man tear them asunder without a heart of iron and a stomach for death!” The priest waved his arms over his head. Now he seemed to be having as much fun as his audience.
The couple kissed – although actually, their faces modestly disappeared behind the shield. Denario stood far enough to one side that he had to assume that they kissed. So did almost everyone else. Only Vir and the priest could have testified to it. Nevertheless, when Vir lifted his spear and shouted, all the men and women in the temple rose to their feet. They applauded and whooped. Children threw handfuls of grass and flowers into the air.
“Whew!” murmured Yannick as he led the way back down the aisle. Children pelted them with grass as they walked. He and the scouts made a show of pushing the townsfolk back, too, although the men of Three Gods only reached into the aisle out of their sense of ritual. “Now comes the hard part.”
“That wasn't the hard part?” Denario wondered. How much worse could it get?
“Volfie picked me to be the best man. That means I have to stay and guard him and Elsa tonight. Then I have to escort them to Forte Dred. I won't be going with Vir. He's marching on to Fort Fourteen.”
“But ...” Denario hesitated at the main doors. Suddenly, he was aware of how much his feet hurt.
“It's an honor,” Yannick mumbled. He seemed to be reminding himself of the fact. “He could have chosen anyone but Vir since Vir was standing in for the father. And he chose me.”
“But ...” Denario realized he'd been lulled into a sense of belonging with the Mundredi when, in fact, none of them wanted him here.
Only Yannick had told Denario how the battle at the jail cell had ended. Only Yannick had explained that the town of Three Gods hosted eight local deities. No bandit knew which three of the divinities had given the town its name but Yannick knew that the town had been called Tridei, long ago, and Three Gods was just the most direct translation. Without Yannick, Denario wouldn't know much of anything. He certainly wouldn't know what to do with himself.
He judged that if he stayed with these bandits to the end of their road, he'd be killed. Without Yannick, there would be no easier target in a battle than Denario. He wouldn't last a minute.
Outside in the deep, red glow of the evening sun, the Mundredi gathered to hear their orders and confer. The townsfolk soon surrounded them. Elsa interrupted the army business in order to receive kisses on her cheeks from the local ladies, who seemed to feel it was their duty, and from local men, who seemed to think that they could get away with it. The same men pounded Volfie on the back and congratulated him. So the bandits formed a line of sorts. There were handshakes and backslaps to go around. Piotr, Klaus, and Yannick were buffeted by the farmers. Even Denario, standing off to one side, suffered through a dozen thumps on the shoulders from the enthusiastic townsmen. No one dared to pound on Vir, though. Maybe they remembered the broken door and didn't want him to pound them back.
In the midst of the laughter, hugging, and handshaking, one man approached the captain. It was the priest. He spared a glance for Denario but not a kind one.
“A minute of your time, captain,” he said.
At the instant that Vir and the priest focused on each other, Denario surveyed the town square. There wasn't a single person looking his direction. This was his chance.
He knew how to do it from his childhood days. The trick to getting away from a group was to look like you didn't want to leave. You had to give the impression of going somewhere with a purpose, preferably to do onerous work – and that you'd be right back for more drudgery, too.
Denario hiked up his trousers. He strode toward a barn he saw toward the east end of town. Country folk did their business behind barns, didn't they? With any luck, anyone who noticed him would assume he'd gone off to empty his bladder. And when he reached the other side of the barn, he'd be out of sight. He could run.
“There's an outhouse at the back of the inn, mister,” said a short boy in a large, hand-me-down brown coat. He pointed to a cross street. There, hidden by bushes between a pair of tall buildings sat a well-kept two-door privy.
“Th-thanks,” Denario stuttered. He tried to look calm. He gave the boy a nod but the little fellow had already walked past him.
This is good, Denario reassured himself. The purposeful walk is working. Any direction is a good one for escape. Outhouse. Fine.
Denario kept up his stride. Part of him, though, was waiting for the Mundredi to yell for him to stop. He had both of his bags strapped over his shoulders. He had one of their spears. They had nothing of his on their cart. Would he be able to simply walk away from them in broad daylight? It wouldn't remain light for much longer, with the sun so low over the western hills. He could press that to his advantage for a clean escape.
“Good show,” said a farmhand as he stepped out of the privy and saw Denario.
“Thanks for your hospitality,” said Denario. But he must have said it wrong. The farmer gave him a suspicious look.
Denario had planned to pass by the two-door outhouse. Now he hesitated. Since he must have aroused at least one man's suspicions, he decided to turn towards it. He couldn't afford to behave oddly while anyone was watching. He might as well do some outhouse business and plan his next step. He hadn't thought he'd get this far.
He marched through the door to his right. Immediately, he was hit by a latrine stink. He glanced around. Despite the odor, the place looked well kept. A single, lonely fly buzzed in uneven circles above the two open holes in the privy bench. The wooden beams around Denario had been cut from cedar. The reek of the fresh wood covered the human smell or at least gave it a try. Lower down, the bench was only soft pine, stained by folks using the room in too much of a hurry. It looked dry at the moment.
Denario sat. He buried his face in his hands as he rested. His feet throbbed. His right shoe had begun to crack on a seam. He was pretty sure it wouldn't last another week of this kind of travel. And where can I go? he wondered. He knew he couldn't head back to Hogsburg. That left a long, hilly trip to the joining of the rivers, Riggli Kill and Rune Kill, where he could catch a boat. So he was in for a hike through hostile towns or through the wilderness or both. The Mundredi hadn't stopped for water today. His canteen held no more than a swallow. He didn't think he would survive on his own for long, especially not at this elevation. But he had to try.
He closed his eyes and envisioned his apprentices, Kroner, Shekel, Guilder, Mark, and Buck. Kroner was the oldest, painfully thin. Buck wasn't as tall but he was strong and smart. He could handle himself. The younger three were just boys. Even Kroner and Buck, though, were depending on him. They all were. Everyone knew that Curo needed help to keep the business alive. Denario had to get home. He had to make sure they kept the dockyard account.
He stood up, buttoned his pants, and cracked open the door to look at his escape route.
“You done?” said Vir.
Denario swung the cedar panel wide. The Mundredi captain stood a few feet from the outhouse with an odd, expressionless look on his face.
“Everything's set,” Vir continued. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the barn that Denario had turned away from. “Piotr and Klaus have gone to the well with a couple of buckets. The mayor will let us rest in his barn for half the night. Then we'll march out when the moon goes down.”
“In the middle of the night?” Denario suppressed a groan.
“That should give us time to reach Fort Fourteen at dawn.”
“Right. The fort.” Denario should have known that his escape wouldn't be as easy as it looked. He wondered if he was having especially rotten luck. The bandit leader must have glanced away from the priest just in time to notice where his captive accountant was headed. There wasn't much that Denario could do now except go along.
He nodded and stepped through the outhouse door. The spear that he'd forgotten he was carrying got stuck. There was a twanging sound. The shaft hit him in the face.
“Ow!” His hand covered his stinging nose. He stumbled and fell back onto the privy seat. As much as it hurt, Denario thought, at least he discovered that Vir had a sense of humor. The big man laughed, fists on hips, as if seeing the accountant hurt himself had been the funniest thing ever.
Even later, in the barn, Vir chuckled some more. He didn't tell anybody why.
Chapter Seven, Scene Five
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Four: A Token of Affection
“All right, everyone,” Vir grumbled. “We can see the temple. If ye haven't got a weapon, go to the hay cart and get one. Ye too, Elsa.”
Denario's eyes went wide with a sudden fear. He'd had no idea that this little band of Mundredi was going to attack the Three Gods Temple. This doesn't make sense, he thought. He went from standing beside the cart to behind it, just in case Vir expected him to do something – not for protection at all, he told himself.
The temple was a tall, impressive structure, although made from wood rather than stone. He could make out details in it from a quarter mile away. It had three spires, a central hall between them, an out-building, and a double-wide door at the front. The shutters of the door looked crude. The structure had been built along the road at the entrance to a large hamlet of maybe fifteen houses with a few more hidden in the trees. There was a gate across the road but, unlike Hogsburg, the town of Three Gods did not have a full city wall around it.
“You any good with a bow, accountant?” asked Vir.
“Might be.” Denario studied the bow on Piotr's back. The tall scout had a spear in his hands, so he didn't seem intent on using his long-range weapon. The recurved shanks had been carved from bone. The grip was rawhide. Overall, the primitive bow looked fearsome. “I've always been good at aiming things.”
“When's the last time you shot?”
“You mean an arrow?”
“Ach, nevermind. Ye've never.” The larger man took off his hat. He shook his bald head rather angrily. “How the hells did ye kill those men, anyway?”
Denario tried to think of how to explain.
“No, tell me later.” Vir reached under the stack of hay. He pulled out a steel helm, obviously his, and donned it. Then he reached back under the straws, fumbled for a moment, and emerged with the sleeve of a hard, leather hauberk. It had been loaded with metal studs. “Put this on.”
Without enthusiasm, Denario took the armored leather jacket. Volfie had already donned similar gear, although his looked better. Now he helped his bride-to-be as she tied a rather female-looking breastplate over her dress.
“Do I need a helmet?” Elsa asked her man. Volfie tilted his head and considered. Then he looked to Vir for guidance.
“He does,” the Mundredi captain answered with a nod to the Volfie. “But not you, girl. Let everyone see your face. Just wear the vambraces.”
Elsa beamed. She didn't seem worried at all. That gave Denario a hint that they might not be gearing up for an attack. What was all this battle preparation for, then? Elsa had her forearm protection on in under a minute. Then she grabbed a spear. She playfully jabbed in the direction of her future husband. He dodged and laughed. A moment later, he took his own spear from the stack of straw. He didn't tease her with it but she gave him a flirtatious look anyway. Volfie grabbed a leather helm that had apparently been set aside for him. It was stained a dark red color to match his chest armor. After he plopped it on his head, he took Elsa by the hand and led her to the driver's seat of the cart.
“None of that, yet,” Vir warned. Elsa had been about to give Volfie a kiss. She pouted at Vir but only for a moment. Then she clambered up. This time, Volfie got behind the ox to drive.
Denario had been so busy watching them that he found himself struggling into armor while the cart moved away. Luckily, the jacket had been made with enough room for a fighting man. That meant it fit loosely over Denario's layers of heavy shirts. The armored sleeves had been cut short, probably in order to accommodate vambraces and a buckler, so they weren't too long for a short-armed accountant.
Before they got to the town gate, Yannick pushed a spear into Denario's hands.
“Carry it point up. Grab your sack with the idols in it, too. You've got a job to do before the wedding.”
“We're going to the wedding like this?” Denario wondered.
“How else?” answered Yannick.
When the cart stopped at the gate, Denario could see the streets and temple grounds beyond. There were townsfolk in everywhere, mostly women, and they were headed into the church between the spires. Some of them had managed to find their best clothes. Two women wore gowns. A bald gentleman walked by in an embroidered yellow vest. Children sprinted by, laughing. A few men dashed through the temple doors with hoes in their hands. They had apparently just come from the fields.
The guards didn't even have armor, just staves. They good-naturedly asked Vir and Volfie about their business in town despite the fact that Piotr and Klaus had already gone through ahead of them. The guards must have known what was going on. They were just delaying things a little while in order for more town folk to arrive and find seats.
After nearly half an hour, with the sun beginning to glow orange on the edge of the horizon beyond the Three Gods temple, a row of farmers at the back of the church pews stood up. They carefully and rather rudely closed the doors on the wedding party.
At that point, the gate guards let the hay cart pass.
Vir marched in front of the cart to the main doors of the temple. He knocked on the barred entrance. There was no answer. He announced who he was and that he intended to see Volfie and Elsa wed. He knocked again. Still, there was no answer. Finally, he kicked the doors in.
Denario almost dropped his spear. The force of the kick was so hard, it had shaken the ground.
This time, Vir bellowed through the doorway. To the seated congregation, who looked as startled by the opened doors as Denario had been, he announced the wedding of Volfgang of Dred and Elsa of Hogsburg. The farmers near the doors had frozen in shock. One of them looked like he'd just missed getting bowled over. Vir had cracked the wooden lock bar in half. Behind them, a row of elderly, seated women clapped at the performance.
“You go first,” Yannick hissed in Denario's ear.
“Me?” Denario was still trembling.
“Don't show anyone the idols until you get to the front.”
Yannick didn't wait for Denario to ask questions. Instead, he strode up beside Vir and announced that the ceremony would begin with a devotional. Denario knew that was his cue to move.
It was a long walk down the center aisle with a bunch of strangers watching. He struggled to keep the spear upright and he clutched the bag like a shield in front of him. He was grateful that no one laughed. He was afraid he must look a mess without his accounting vest and hat. His shoes no longer looked the part, for sure.
“Welcome, traveler,” said an authoritative voice that didn't actually sound welcoming.
Denario glanced to his left. A tall, pot-bellied priest stood there next to the altar. He wore a black robe with silver trim, a salt-and-pepper beard down to the middle of his chest, a skull cap, and a strained expression. In his wide eyed, careful way, the priest avoided staring at the Mundredi warriors by his temple doors. He focused on the offerings that Denario carried. As members of his congregation exchanged whispers, the priest sighed. He seemed reasonably serene about the prospect of giving the idols to the gods.
Since Denario didn't know what else to do, he followed the lead of the priest. He moved automatically to wherever the priest directed him. He repeated the correct phrases in a stage voice for the audience. He offered up the statuette of Naakia. That was the one that had caught the priest's eye, apparently. She wasn't a local goddess so her figure was a novelty item to the crowd. Folks oohed over it for a moment.
The priest brushed a hay straw out of his beard. Then he threw his arms wide and appealed to Naakia to hear the prayers of Three Gods and Haph Bad. Denario thought it was his turn so he called out the phrases that the mayor of Haph Bad had made him memorize. The priest glared a bit sternly at Denario but he nodded. Then, impressively, the black-robed man performed his magic upon the offering to Naakia.
This fellow was better at levitation than any wizard Denario had known. The altar looked like heavy brass and it had to weigh hundreds of pounds. But the priest made it rise up into the air at his command.
“Holy fire!” he shouted at the idol. A moment later, after a sputtering start, the wood-and-bird-feather figure began to burn.
He repeated the same offering ritual with the idol to Leir. That was less impressive but only because the priest performed exactly as he'd done before. His magical repertoire seemed limited. Denario applauded with the rest of them anyway. It didn't feel very holy but it was a fine show, as good as any temple in Oggli.
When it came time for the next idol, Denario felt his hand twitch. The priest asked for the crude Melcurio figure that Denario had shown him. But Denario's fingers found the neck of the precious vase from Glaistig at the bottom of the bag. In fact, Melcurio seemed to have gone missing. He fumbled around but pulled out the vase.
“A precious offering from the temple of Glaistig!” the priest shouted as he yanked it from Denario.
He held the pottery up high. As he recited a prayer and prepared to place the vase onto his altar, his fingers slipped. The vase spun in the air and crashed on the floor. It cracked open with a sigh.
Without missing a beat, the priest stomped on the vase. It popped and sprayed pieces. Then he stomped again. Everyone cheered. He swept the fragments into his hands and onto the altar. Then he said another prayer and wagged his eyebrows meaningfully at Denario.
That was the cue for Melcurio. This time, Denario found the idol in his bag with no problem.
“Thanks to all of the gods!” shouted the priest when he was done with the last offering. A plume of smoke arose. Denario was irrationally happy to see a figure eight pattern in the vapors from the burning effigy of the winged messenger.
“Thanks to all!” shouted the congregation.
“And now, the father can stand forth!”
Vir marched up the aisle as if he would kill anyone in his way. In fact, he muttered as much to the congregation. Denario was shocked, initially, but after a minute or two of the shouting from priest to gods, Vir to gods, and then Vir to the priest, Denario got the idea that this was how it was supposed to happen. The Mundredi wedding seemed short on flowers and lace, long on shield-pounding and spear-waving. In fact, Elsa practically hopped down the aisle with her spear in both hands. She slammed the bronze point hard against Vir's shield. Then she turned and jabbed at Volfie, who had come down the aisle behind her. He blocked her with his own heavy shield.
Then the couple bashed their spears together for nearly a minute. It was fun to watch if you weren't too close, which Denario was. He had to dodge to keep Elsa from skewering him. On top of everything, the priest kept jabbering out prayers for the couple and said, by the way, would anyone care to save the bride from the bridegroom?
He asked that question three times. No one was fool enough to step forward. Vir and Volfie clearly would have crushed them into the dirt floor. Probably Elsa would have helped.
Volfie and his bride locked spears one last time. Then he caught her arms, pulled them behind his back, and captured her behind his shield in a very military looking embrace.
“She is his! They are married before the gods! Let no man tear them asunder without a heart of iron and a stomach for death!” The priest waved his arms over his head. Now he seemed to be having as much fun as his audience.
The couple kissed – although actually, their faces modestly disappeared behind the shield. Denario stood far enough to one side that he had to assume that they kissed. So did almost everyone else. Only Vir and the priest could have testified to it. Nevertheless, when Vir lifted his spear and shouted, all the men and women in the temple rose to their feet. They applauded and whooped. Children threw handfuls of grass and flowers into the air.
“Whew!” murmured Yannick as he led the way back down the aisle. Children pelted them with grass as they walked. He and the scouts made a show of pushing the townsfolk back, too, although the men of Three Gods only reached into the aisle out of their sense of ritual. “Now comes the hard part.”
“That wasn't the hard part?” Denario wondered. How much worse could it get?
“Volfie picked me to be the best man. That means I have to stay and guard him and Elsa tonight. Then I have to escort them to Forte Dred. I won't be going with Vir. He's marching on to Fort Fourteen.”
“But ...” Denario hesitated at the main doors. Suddenly, he was aware of how much his feet hurt.
“It's an honor,” Yannick mumbled. He seemed to be reminding himself of the fact. “He could have chosen anyone but Vir since Vir was standing in for the father. And he chose me.”
“But ...” Denario realized he'd been lulled into a sense of belonging with the Mundredi when, in fact, none of them wanted him here.
Only Yannick had told Denario how the battle at the jail cell had ended. Only Yannick had explained that the town of Three Gods hosted eight local deities. No bandit knew which three of the divinities had given the town its name but Yannick knew that the town had been called Tridei, long ago, and Three Gods was just the most direct translation. Without Yannick, Denario wouldn't know much of anything. He certainly wouldn't know what to do with himself.
He judged that if he stayed with these bandits to the end of their road, he'd be killed. Without Yannick, there would be no easier target in a battle than Denario. He wouldn't last a minute.
Outside in the deep, red glow of the evening sun, the Mundredi gathered to hear their orders and confer. The townsfolk soon surrounded them. Elsa interrupted the army business in order to receive kisses on her cheeks from the local ladies, who seemed to feel it was their duty, and from local men, who seemed to think that they could get away with it. The same men pounded Volfie on the back and congratulated him. So the bandits formed a line of sorts. There were handshakes and backslaps to go around. Piotr, Klaus, and Yannick were buffeted by the farmers. Even Denario, standing off to one side, suffered through a dozen thumps on the shoulders from the enthusiastic townsmen. No one dared to pound on Vir, though. Maybe they remembered the broken door and didn't want him to pound them back.
In the midst of the laughter, hugging, and handshaking, one man approached the captain. It was the priest. He spared a glance for Denario but not a kind one.
“A minute of your time, captain,” he said.
At the instant that Vir and the priest focused on each other, Denario surveyed the town square. There wasn't a single person looking his direction. This was his chance.
He knew how to do it from his childhood days. The trick to getting away from a group was to look like you didn't want to leave. You had to give the impression of going somewhere with a purpose, preferably to do onerous work – and that you'd be right back for more drudgery, too.
Denario hiked up his trousers. He strode toward a barn he saw toward the east end of town. Country folk did their business behind barns, didn't they? With any luck, anyone who noticed him would assume he'd gone off to empty his bladder. And when he reached the other side of the barn, he'd be out of sight. He could run.
“There's an outhouse at the back of the inn, mister,” said a short boy in a large, hand-me-down brown coat. He pointed to a cross street. There, hidden by bushes between a pair of tall buildings sat a well-kept two-door privy.
“Th-thanks,” Denario stuttered. He tried to look calm. He gave the boy a nod but the little fellow had already walked past him.
This is good, Denario reassured himself. The purposeful walk is working. Any direction is a good one for escape. Outhouse. Fine.
Denario kept up his stride. Part of him, though, was waiting for the Mundredi to yell for him to stop. He had both of his bags strapped over his shoulders. He had one of their spears. They had nothing of his on their cart. Would he be able to simply walk away from them in broad daylight? It wouldn't remain light for much longer, with the sun so low over the western hills. He could press that to his advantage for a clean escape.
“Good show,” said a farmhand as he stepped out of the privy and saw Denario.
“Thanks for your hospitality,” said Denario. But he must have said it wrong. The farmer gave him a suspicious look.
Denario had planned to pass by the two-door outhouse. Now he hesitated. Since he must have aroused at least one man's suspicions, he decided to turn towards it. He couldn't afford to behave oddly while anyone was watching. He might as well do some outhouse business and plan his next step. He hadn't thought he'd get this far.
He marched through the door to his right. Immediately, he was hit by a latrine stink. He glanced around. Despite the odor, the place looked well kept. A single, lonely fly buzzed in uneven circles above the two open holes in the privy bench. The wooden beams around Denario had been cut from cedar. The reek of the fresh wood covered the human smell or at least gave it a try. Lower down, the bench was only soft pine, stained by folks using the room in too much of a hurry. It looked dry at the moment.
Denario sat. He buried his face in his hands as he rested. His feet throbbed. His right shoe had begun to crack on a seam. He was pretty sure it wouldn't last another week of this kind of travel. And where can I go? he wondered. He knew he couldn't head back to Hogsburg. That left a long, hilly trip to the joining of the rivers, Riggli Kill and Rune Kill, where he could catch a boat. So he was in for a hike through hostile towns or through the wilderness or both. The Mundredi hadn't stopped for water today. His canteen held no more than a swallow. He didn't think he would survive on his own for long, especially not at this elevation. But he had to try.
He closed his eyes and envisioned his apprentices, Kroner, Shekel, Guilder, Mark, and Buck. Kroner was the oldest, painfully thin. Buck wasn't as tall but he was strong and smart. He could handle himself. The younger three were just boys. Even Kroner and Buck, though, were depending on him. They all were. Everyone knew that Curo needed help to keep the business alive. Denario had to get home. He had to make sure they kept the dockyard account.
He stood up, buttoned his pants, and cracked open the door to look at his escape route.
“You done?” said Vir.
Denario swung the cedar panel wide. The Mundredi captain stood a few feet from the outhouse with an odd, expressionless look on his face.
“Everything's set,” Vir continued. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the barn that Denario had turned away from. “Piotr and Klaus have gone to the well with a couple of buckets. The mayor will let us rest in his barn for half the night. Then we'll march out when the moon goes down.”
“In the middle of the night?” Denario suppressed a groan.
“That should give us time to reach Fort Fourteen at dawn.”
“Right. The fort.” Denario should have known that his escape wouldn't be as easy as it looked. He wondered if he was having especially rotten luck. The bandit leader must have glanced away from the priest just in time to notice where his captive accountant was headed. There wasn't much that Denario could do now except go along.
He nodded and stepped through the outhouse door. The spear that he'd forgotten he was carrying got stuck. There was a twanging sound. The shaft hit him in the face.
“Ow!” His hand covered his stinging nose. He stumbled and fell back onto the privy seat. As much as it hurt, Denario thought, at least he discovered that Vir had a sense of humor. The big man laughed, fists on hips, as if seeing the accountant hurt himself had been the funniest thing ever.
Even later, in the barn, Vir chuckled some more. He didn't tell anybody why.
Chapter Seven, Scene Five
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