The Bringer of War

Seamus was jolted awake rudely, their airship rocking as wildly as if it were in a storm tossed sea. His one eye looked about frantically until it locked on to the large tree looming before them. Branches thicker than his arms snapped like tinder twigs as the wind billowed out their sail. The ship tilted crazily as it rushed towards the stout trunk of the towering oak. Seamus heard a scream, whipped his head around to see Stella hanging on precariously to the rigging, while Lobo rolled head over heels towards the edge of the ship.

The big man dove towards him, hoping that the minstrel knew as much about tying knots as he did about being annoying. Seamus snagged a rope out of the air as he sailed past it just as Lobo was about to disappear over the side. Both men went over, but not before Seamus managed to grab the effete man by his wrist.

When they reached the end of the brief rope, Seamus screamed as his shoulders were nearly wrenched from their sockets. Worse, his three fingered hand was losing its grip on the rope. Lobo’s legs swung wildly below him, and the minstrel let out a scream that would have sounded more appropriate coming from Stella.

“Wizard!” said Seamus through clenched teeth. “WIZARD!”

Lobo was slammed into a branch back first, the wind exploding out of him. He hung limply in Seamus’s grip, gasping for air. A groaning noise was heard as the ship was snagged on the oak’s sturdy branches, eventually coming to a stop, still tilted at a sharp angle.

Stella’s head appeared above him, one spectacle fractured and a trail of blood coming from her nose. She had a tight grip on the rope holding Seamus, but her tiny frame lacked the strength to haul both men up. Seamus groaned as his hand slipped a bit more on the hemp rope.

“I can’t lift you both!” said Stella. “You have to climb!”

“I can’t!” said Seamus. He looked down at Lobo, struggling to stay conscious. There was a good sized branch below them which the minstrel could probably have clung too if he had his senses.

“Let him go,” said Stella in a matter-of-fact tone.

“What?” said Seamus “I can’t do that!”

“Then you’re both going to die!” said Stella “suits me fine, I didn’t want to go dragon hunting anyway.”

Roikza, who had been making tiny roars of panic as she flapped around them in circles, suddenly landed upon Seamus’s shoulder. He wailed as he slipped a few more feet down the rope, his palm growing sticky with blood. The little dragon took a grip with her talons on his jerkin and began flapping her leather wings furiously. Seamus looked down at Lobo, his life literally in the big man’s hands. Stella was right. Why should they both have to die...

Seamus’s scarred face was suddenly crossed by a look of pure determination. Somehow, he tightened his grip on the rope in his crippled hand and began to lift Lobo towards the airship’s deck.

“What are you doing?” said Stella

Seamus could not answer, needing all his breath for the task at hand. Pain shooting through his limbs, he drew Lobo inexorably upwards.

“Take him,” said Seamus when his arm trembled and he could lift it no further. Lobo’s head was nearly flush with the side of the deck.

Stella grabbed the minstrel by his gold brocade doublet and dragged him onto the deck. The minstrel had recovered some of his wind at that point, and was able to at least cling to the rope holding Seamus.

“Do you have him?” said Seamus.

“Yes,” said Stella “He’s safe.”

“Good,” said Seamus. He felt light headed, felt the rope slip from his wounded hand. His body slammed into the branch below and began spiraling towards the ground some fifty feet below. The last thing he heard before losing his battle with oblivion was the screams of his companions.

** *

A thick throng of people clustered at Fort Drakken’s southeast gate. Their complaints were loud but ineffectual as the Watch carefully searched every person, wagon, and crate big enough to hide a man.

Mannix cursed when he saw the line, turning to regard the Roach at his side. They were both dressed as vagabonds, his rescuer coming up with a multitude of tattered, filthy rags to clothe themselves in. She had dressed as a boy child, adding streaks of dirt to her impish face to complete the illusion. Mannix himself had been bade to use a filthy puddle to add a dingy pallor to his sliver mane of hair. He felt the mud drying against his scalp, causing an intolerable itchiness.

“This is no problem,” said the Roach, pulling him forward by the hand. “Come, father, surely they will not trouble simple beggars such as us.”

“We look, not to mention smell, the part,” said Mannix dryly as they approached the back of the line.

“You’re still walking like a noble,” hissed the Roach under her breath. “Walk like a beggar!”

“How in the world do I do that?” said Mannix with a frown.

“Slump your shoulders,” she said “ stop puffing out your chest, and for the Allfather’s sake, allow me to do all the talking.”

“Fine,” said Mannix, doing his best to follow her instructions.

He felt his stomach turning in knots as they waited for nearly an hour in the hot sun. He wanted nothing more than to be free of the city so he could wash and put on respectable clothes. Every time a watchman would pass closely by, his heart would beat faster and sweat from every pore. No one challenged them, or even gave them a second glance, until they were at last in the front of the line.

“Can we pass, sir?” said the Roach, her voice a perfect imitation of a poor urchin child. Her large eyes shone with a pleading look, one which was apparently not lost on the guard.

“Are you all right, lad?” said the man, actually dropping to one knee and putting a hand on the Roach’s shoulder.

“My father and me, we’re heading out to our cousin’s farm,” said the Roach “we’re sick, they say they can help us afford a physicker.”

“Sick?” said the guard, standing up and taking a step back.

“Just a minute,” said his companion, a shorter man with a shock of curly black hair. His piggish eyes narrowed in suspicion as he eyed Mannix closely. “This bloke’s about the right height and age of the man we’re looking for, ain’t he?”

Mannix fought down the rising tide of panic and tried to look fearful but innocent as he stared down at the portly guard.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” he said in what he hoped was a convincing urchin accent “but I ain’t nobody, nobody at all.”

“Careful, Buford,” said his mate “they got the consumption or something.”

“Right,” said the apparent Buford “and I gots the crotch rot. What’s your name, sir? From where do you hail and to where do you head?”

“Please, sir,” said the Roach, coming up before the black haired guard “me and me father are really sick-”

Suddenly, she was overcome with a fit of coughing. Mannix’s eyes widened as she spattered the guard’s bright lavender tunic with dark spots of blood.

“Ugh,” said Buford, starting to wipe the red patches but thinking better of it. He looked down at his uniform with terrified disgust. “Little worm!”

Mannix felt hot anger boil within him as the guard reached back and blasted the Roach off her feet with a backhand blow. His hand itched for Lucille’s hilt, and he silently memorized Buford’s face for later retribution. The Roach rolled in the dirt road and groaned weakly.

“Father,” she said amid more coughing “help me, I cannot stand!”

“Nice job, you arse!” said Buford’s companion. He smiled at Mannix and even helped him pick up his ‘son’ from the ground. “You’re free to go, sir, and Allfather bless you both!”

“Wait,” said Buford, torn between stopping them and taking care of his tainted garment.

“Oh, that’s not the Lord Mannix,” said the first guard “any fool can see that. Go and change before you catch whatever foul disease they are suffering.”

The threat of infection at last sent Buford flying from the scene, though he did cast one last suspicious glance their way. Mannix supported the feigning Roach along until they were well outside the city walls. Once they had rounded a bend and stood alone on the winding road, she stopped leaning on him. A slender hand went to her face and felt at the tenderness there. Mannix noticed significant swelling on her cheek, as well as a tiny cut that had already stopped bleeding.

“The man will die for what he has done,” said Mannix grimly.

“Stop your posturing,” said the Roach with annoyance “it’s hardly the first time I’ve been struck.”

“That was clever,” said Mannix with appreciation “the way you spat the red pigment upon him. Even I was convinced it was blood.”

“It was blood, you dolt!” said the Roach. “I bit my tongue for that bit of guile.”

“Oh,” said Mannix. They continued to the southeast, the Roach scanning the treeline intently. When they passed next to a crab apple tree with gnarled roots creating furrows in the road, she veered off their course and began to lead him into the woods.

“Where are we going?” he said when she offered no explanation.

“I have a horse and provisions waiting for you,” she said “now be silent; It was dark when last I was here, and I don’t quite recall the way.”

Soon enough she either remembered or lucked upon her path. They followed a narrow game trail, her easily dodging the hanging branches and vines in their path. Mannix was hard pressed to keep up despite his longer stride, and more than once had to call out for her to slow her pace.

At last they reached a small clearing. A dark brown gelding with a white stripe on its nose stood placidly grazing next to a stream so small and slow moving it was brown and muddy. A light hitching that the steed could have easily broken free from held it to a tree, enough slack left so it could reach the creek. It noticed them coming and whinnied sociably. The Roach went up to it and stroked its flank, turning her head to address Mannix as she did so.

“He’s a good horse,” she said “he won’t give you any trouble.”

The horse had a pack on its back, and a bedroll rolled up behind the saddle. The Roach unrolled the blanket and withdrew a longish bundle concealed within. She tossed it towards Mannix, who caught it in his grubby hand.

“Lucille!” he said, his face lighting up as he recognized the weight.

“Your daughter insisted,” said the Roach with a sniff “though any blade is as good as any other, as far as I’m concerned.”

“She didn’t mean it, Lucille,” said Mannix, freeing the blade from its cloth prison and even kissing its carved face tenderly.

“Now I have seen everything,” said the Roach with a grin.

“Thank you,” he said, giving her a tender look “for...for everything you have done for me.”

“You mean, thanks for coupling with you?” said the Roach with a laugh. “That was gratis, and as much fun for me, I assure you!”

Mannix approached her and reached out a dirty hand to stroke her equally dirty cheek. She put her mouth in his palm, eyes closed, and cupped her own hand over his.

“I shall never forget that night,” he said “will I ever see you again?”

“Certainly,” she said, abruptly breaking the contact “if you have need of me, and there is sufficient coin in your purse.”

“That is not what I meant,” said Mannix with a frown.

“I know,” she said with a frown “I was hoping you’d just go with it and not make this awkward.”

“It does not have to be awkward,” said Mannix “you are beautiful, brave, and clever. I have...I have never met a woman such as you.”

“Lord Mannix,” she said with a sigh, her face deeply troubled “do not speak so. I am but a dwarf on the wrong side of the law, not a fitting companion, much less wife, for a nobleman.”

“I am noble no longer,” he said, heaving a sigh “but a mere fugitive. I may never see my daughter again.”

“What will you do now?” she said. “You cannot remain so close to the capital.”

“I suppose I will head south,” he said “towards the Raven Wood. I have allies in the resistance there.”

“Will you be welcomed?” said the Roach with a worried frown.

“I should be,” said Mannix, chuckling “I have funded them for the past year.”

“Then I shall away,” said the Roach “there are others who require my unique skills.”

“Bide,” said Mannix as she turned to leave. Without warning he swept her into his arms and leaned low. Their lips met, and her minor resistance melted away as they melded into each other. She broke the contact a moment later, an inscrutable expression on her impish face.

“I have to leave,” she said softly, spinning about on her heel. She was swallowed by the verdant forest with nary a sound.

Mannix felt a pang as she left, then turned to the gelding and scratched him behind the ears.

“Looks like it’s just the two of us, my friend,” he said “you are lucky to have been gelded, my friend. The opposite sex is nothing but trouble!”

** *

“Seamus!” Lobo said, his voice reaching the big man’s ears through a haze. “Seamus!”

He was dimly aware that he should respond, but if he fully awoke the pain would return, and it was so much easier to stay in dreamless oblivion.

“Seamus!” he heard, and this time he felt his head jerk to the side. Bit by bit, his consciousness returned to him, aided by another slap to his face.

“Stop,” he said weakly, his voice hoarse and dry.

“He lives!” said Lobo cheerfully, his voice raised in volume tremendously. When the big man’s eye fluttered open, he saw why. He was suspended in a tangle of vines, nearly twenty feet up the oak’s massive trunk. He felt a sharp pain in his side when he moved, but other than that he seemed to have sustained little damage.

“Careful,” said Lobo, braced against two forking branches. He assisted Seamus in extricating himself from the verdant web. He peered down at the sheer drop below them, wondering how the minstrel had managed to make it up the trunk when the lowest branches were well over his head.

He found out in a moment, as Lobo showed him how she had scampered up a nearby tree and crossed its branches to the oak’s. The two of them made their way gingerly to the ground, the minstrel displaying more discomfort than Seamus. When his feet hit the ground, the big man was forced to support him.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“He will be,” said Stella with a frown “once he lets me perform healing magic on him!”

Seamus turned a quizzical eye on Lobo. The minstrel shrugged, a bit of color coming to his cheeks.

“It didn’t seem right to worry about such petty things while you dangled so precariously above us,” said the minstrel.

“Well,” said Seamus, poking his side and wincing “I’d say you should let her have her way with you now. Hmm...don’t think it’s broken...”

“I’d rather you had your way with me,” whispered Lobo.

“What was that?” said Seamus, looking into his liquid blue eyes.

“Nothing,” said Lobo “I’m just glad you’re alright. You saved my life, you know.”

“Make sure to put it in a ballad,” said Seamus as Stella attended to the minstrel.

After performing her magics on both of her wounded companions, Stella stared ruefully up at their ensnared ship. Seamus followed her gaze and frowned.

“How did the two of you get down?” he said.

“Stella’s magic,” said Lobo, eyes shining “we tried to fish you out of the three with it-”

“We?” said Stella with a scowl.

“-but you were held fast by the vines.” finished Lobo. “They probably saved your life.”

“What made the ship fly so low, anyway?” said Seamus “when we dozed off we were still at a great height.”

“The enchantment faded,” said Stella.

“Perhaps you should have said something before we crashed,” said Lobo with more venom than Seamus had yet heard from the man.

“I did not know, cretin!” said Stella, turning a harsh gaze upon the minstrel from behind her broken spectacles. “I have never used such powerful magic before!”

“Because the book does not let you,” said Seamus with a grin.

“No one is speaking with you, you, you hideous man!” said Stella.

The barb hurt Seamus more than he had expected, and one hand went self consciously up to his scarred visage. Stella appeared to regret the harsh words, but her pride did not let her apologize.

“That was a horrible thing to say!” said Lobo, smacking Stella on the shoulder. “I think Seamus is quite handsome, scars or no!”

“Uh, right,” said Seamus, pleased the the minstrel had come to his rescue but now quite uncomfortable. “We should get going. The dragon was already outdistancing us, and now that we must proceed on foot-”

“Right,” said Stella, glad the awkward moment was over. “I wonder where we are?”

“Somewhere in the Raven Wood,” said Lobo “I have traversed this land before, in my youth.”

“When was that?” said Stella with a sneer “Yesterday?”

“Be kind, wizard,” said Seamus darkly.

“Yes,” said Lobo with a smile “keep your words soft and sweet, because you never know when you might have to eat them!”

Seamus threw his shaved head back and laughed.