Greyfax Grimwald (28 page)

In Bear’s room, a rug shifted a few inches, raising slowly, and Strap peered out of the small slit at the large figure upon the bed. He listened for a few moments, making sure the man was asleep, then slowly raised the trapdoor fully open. Its hinges creaked as he laid it back, and terrified, he froze to the spot, not daring to breathe. The snoring went on unaltered.

Strap fingered the dull blade of his knife, stretched out a foot, and repeating the process, put out the other, slowly, carefully, one after the other, until he stood beside the bed. The man was covered completely by the rag of a blanket, and in the poor light, Strap couldn’t be sure where to strike his blow. Holding his breath, he carefully placed his hand out and grasped the edge of the blanket, drawing it slowly down. The pale, dim starlight filtered in across Strap and onto the peacefully sleeping form of Bear. Thinking the figure unlike any other he had ever seen, Strap leaned close to the sleeping muzzle. Bear snored loudly, smacked his lips, and turned over, sprawling one huge forepaw over the edge of the blanket. Strap’s knife clattered loudly to the floor, followed by his scream, and he stumbled backward, teetered a moment, then went crashing down into the open trapdoor. Below, Wheatflower gloated, hearing the scream and scuffle, and went out to the stairway to claim his rightful treasure, the jewels that would make his fortune. He was greeted at the landing by a huge, towering dark form that was cloaked from top to bottom in what appeared to be a fur robe. As his foot touched the last step, the booming figure whirled.

“A demon ghost,” shrieked Wheatflower, stumbling headfirst down the stairwell, thumping and bumping down to a stunned heap. Bear, dunking something had attacked the man, hurried down to the crumpled form.

“Easy there, easy,” he said, patting the man’s hand with his paw, and trying to think what he ought to do. “Water, he should have a nice glass of water,” he mumbled, and lumbered off in the direction he thought the kitchen to be. In the galley, Strap held a mangled arm to his side, and white with fear, was racing toward the safety of his stable. As he crossed the pantry, Bear’s shadowy form filled the room, muttering in his own tongue, trying to find the pump handle to draw up water for the unconscious innkeeper on the stairway. Strap, eyes accustomed now to the dark, fainted away at the sight of this apparition moving purposefully about in the dim kitchen quarters. Bear finally found what he was after, and leaving, looked down and saw the small tin cup clutched in his huge paw. He returned hastily to man form, and hurried out to his stricken host.

Wheatflower sat cowering on the bottom stair, his pistol clutched unsteadily in his hand. Seeing Bear, he tried to steady his aim, but his arm shook, and still weakened and dazed by his fall, his shot went wide, burying itself in the wall beside Bear’s head. The report and blinding muzzle flash stopped Bear in his tracks, but before the man could gather himself to fire again, Bear was on him, swatting the firearm away with a heavy, quick blow.

“I’m not your assailant, friend. You’ll hurt someone if you’re not more careful.”

Wheatflower scooted backward up to the next step, eyes wide with fright. All thought of the stones was gone, and all he wanted now was to go on drawing breath.

“I meant no harm, Master Bruinlen. I thought some assassin had attacked you in your sleep. I heard noises and rushed to aid you, but there was a demon monster at your door that set upon me and threw me down the stairs.”

Wheatflower’s head spun at the strange visions that had come upon him since this odd man’s arrival. First the frightening scene in the common room, then the giant goblin that had appeared to him on the landing.

“I thank you for your attempt to help, friend, but you should be more cautious about waving firearms : so recklessly. Your aid came near to settling me for good.” Bear helped the man to his feet. “But what’s done is done, and I know you meant well. I think your murderer has fled, whoever he was, and frightened out of his wits to boot. I don’t think we need fear any further attacks tonight. I’m going to try to finish out my nap, and suggest you do the same. You’ll probably have some nasty bruises tomorrow, and a rest is what you need.”

“I don’t understand at all,” muttered Wheatflower. “I run a decent inn. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing. I’ve never had any trouble before.”

“Most likely some passing bandit; the roads are full of all sorts these days.” Bear stumped heavily up to his door. “I would make sure my gates were double-barred in the future, to avoid such ruckuses as this.”

“I shall indeed, Master Bruinlen,” he agreed quickly. “I shall do that, for sure.” Another dark thought was slowly stirring in his reeling, tortured brain.

At daybreak, Bear awakened to loud voices from the courtyard below.

“That’s him, sir, there’s the one who did it” Wheatflower’s voice was loud and accusing.

Bear went to the window and looked down. Two soldiers had Strap by both arms, one broken and useless, and a third soldier with a single iron bar on his helmet stood beside the innkeeper. “He made me do it, it’s him what’s guilty,” whined Strap, his arm throbbing painfully, bringing tears to his eyes.

“I was kind enough to give this murdering thief a job when he came to my door starving. I’ve given him shelter and food, and this is how he repays me,” Wheatflower said indignantly.

“Well take care of his likes,” growled the officer. “He’s not strong enough for a work camp, but he’s good enough to make good target practice for my men.”

“No, no,” screamed Strap, struggling to free himself from the grasp of his captors. “Not Strap, he’s done no harm, you can’t shoots old Strap.”

“Take him away,” ordered the officer, and the two soldiers led the gypsy squirming and screaming away.

Wheatflower was pointing up toward Bear’s window, explaining something to the officer, who nodded, and the two of them came back toward the house. Whatever they were up to, Bear knew it was of no good tidings to him. At the least, all those unpleasant questions, or at the worst, another delay. He placed two bottles of the honey in his rucksack, pulled it onto his back, and hurried down the stairs.

As he passed the front gate and quietly shut it after him, he heard the galley door slam and the two men clumping loudly up the stairs. A quick look revealed no one about on the dawn streets, and Bear quickly set out toward the edge of the small settlement, trying not to walk too hurriedly, and as he reached the crossroad where the highway met the village, he veered sharply away, heading for the safety of the thin patch of low shrub trees that bordered the open fields around the town. At any moment, he expected to be hailed, but after a tense few minutes, he was under the low-lying branches of the trees, and no one had seen his passing. The sun had broken the chill that lay over the day, and the bright light sparked gaily on the snow. Above, the sky was a dear, high blue, the wind crisp and fresh, a good day for traveling, he thought, and travel he must, and put as many miles beneath his feet as he could, for they would be looking for him soon.

Wheatflower and the officer had agreed to split the gems between them, and put the fellow into the army, or a work camp, and no one would ever know the difference. They had searched the inn and stables thoroughly, and at last, victim gone, the officer, angered at being done out of the treasure he was promised, marched Wheatflower at weapon point to his commander, and enlisted him in a company outbound for a distant front.

The officer then alerted his men to be on the lookout for a deserter, and promised a reward of gold for the man who brought him the big stranger. He did not mention treasure.

And Bear, moving steadily on, reached woods’ end by noon, and was safely far beyond their reach by nightfall. He had seen no living thing the entire day, except for the birds chattering in the woods. He spoke to them, inquiring if any of them had seen a small gray otter thereabouts. And one, a dark russet brown field lark, told him of the strange animal with die odd humped back that had passed through their land, going on away toward the mountains. This news heartened Bear greatly, and he doubled his speed, in hopes of overtaking Otter before the little fellow reached the now barely visible lines of low foothills stretched out across the horizon.

Otter and Flewingam roused themselves and broke fast with the remaining food Otter carried, and moved on, ever upward now, across the rolling chain of snow-carpeted hills. They planned to reach a shepherd’s camp that Flewingam knew to be safe by nightfall, and with another day’s march, to be at General Greymouse’s camp.

A
t daybreak, Dwarf was awakened by a chattering, incessant bird voice. It was calling out loudly in a tongue he understood well.

“Wake up, you scoundrel, you crack wing, wake up, I say.”

A flutter of dark black wings beat about Dwarf’s head. He reached for his sword and began thrashing blindly at the drumming things. The raven flew up out of Dwarf’s arm reach and pelted him with a stone he had picked up in his beak.

“Villainous nest robber, I’ll have your eyes for my breakfast,” cawed the bird in a screeching war whoop, and dived angrily at the stunned dwarf. Just as he fell upon the little man to pluck out an eye viciously, he halted in mid wing-stroke.

“Dwarf! Well, pluck my tailfeathers, if it isn’t Master Dwarf.” Raven hopped from Dwarf’s shoulder to the ground, cawing apologetically.

“I hope I haven’t done you serious harm, sir. I mistook you for a thief who has robbed two eggs from my wife’s nest. I am sorry, dear old friend. You’ve been gone so long, I hardly recognized you.”

Dwarf picked his hat up and put the sword back into its sheath.

“You’ve taken a good ten dwarf ages off me, Raven,” he huffed. “And quite a good shock of my hair. I should stew you up for my trouble, if I weren’t so glad to see you.” Dwarf laughed and reached down to Raven, stroking his back feathers twice, as manners demanded. Dwarf was, if hasty and impetuous in some ways, very mannerly and polite in others.

The two sat down to talk while Broco fussed about building a small fire, and Raven related to him the strange events which had preceded the destruction of the valley. He told how he had come upon Otter that far distant morning in September, and Bear surprising him soon after, and the terrible fight and Bear’s slaying of the werewolves, and how after that day, they had passed out of his life, and he’d heard nothing of them from then to now. He stared dumbfounded at Dwarf whirling and dancing around, throwing up his hat in a great burst of joy and racing about shouting.

“How long since was that, Raven?” asked Dwarf at length, holding his breath awaiting the answer.

“I make it no more than three full moons ago,” said Raven, eyeing Dwarf suspiciously. Then he spotted the ample sack, and hungry after watching Dwarf’s antics, hoped it was full of something to eat, as in days of old. “A dwarf cake would do me nicely now,” hinted Raven. “All this jabber and frolic has made me hungry, and I still have the missus and kids to think of.”

“I haven’t had the time to bake,” replied Dwarf, “nor the makings of dwarf cakes since I was carted away by those filth. I do have a tin or two of sweet comb that I found in poor Bear’s wrecked pantry. You’re welcome to share that”

Raven hopped over and studied the opened tin of bee comb. “Hum, it doesn’t look so bad. Did he put it up recently?”

“I think Bear wouldn’t keep something about that wasn’t fit to eat,” Dwarf answered, taking a fingerful and holding it out to the bird. Raven took a small piece in his beak, wiggled his head up and down twice, swallowed, and paused.

“It’s not so bad,” he said. “Nothing near the pleasures of good corn or wheat bread, and certainly nowhere near the delight of water bug, but under the circumstances, I think it’ll do nicely.” Raven pecked up a beakload, and mouth full, he added, “I’ll just run this back to the family,” and was gone, black wings beating noisily over the snow-shrouded ground.

Dwarf finished the honey, and satisfied for the moment, sat down and began making his plans for finding his two friends, while he waited for Raven’s return. The gladness of the news that Bear and Otter had indeed not been slain overcame him again, and when Raven flew back, he came upon Dwarf cartwheeling furiously about in the snow, first one way, then the other, making fancy turns in midair, and ending with a double backover dwarf flip that left the little man standing on his head, breathing hard.

Raven cawed twice, shook his head, and tried to talk sensibly to the figure of the bottoms-up dwarf.

“If you plan to overtake Bear and Otter, I would suggest you look first toward the mountains. Neither of them said anything to me of where they were bound, but from the direction they started off in, I would venture to say that’s where they were heading. No reason for than to veer away from that course, for from what I’ve heard from the few strangers that fly over these parts, the only place to find shelter or food lies there. Of course, the whole place is overrun with Mankind down that way, but then that seems to be the lay of things, these days.”