Holiday, Part I
Back On The Road
Gears crouched, all of his weight resting on his toes. Unconsciously he brought one of his hands up to a sideburn to scratch at it. The wall ahead stretched away to the left and the right. The commons was particularly barren today. Not a bench was occupied, no one lay leaning back against the well. The only other person present was a Watchman, who casting him dark glowers from time to time, apparently displeased with his choice of lookout point. That suited him just fine however. Grinning, he surveyed the road from his perch atop one of Jiyyd’s lamp posts. He was leaving, he was departing, he was extraditing himself from Narfell! He was going to see green grass and trees that had leaves instead of needles, and splash through streams without catching a cold abruptly afterward! He was going to Luiren; he was going to see his parents. He was going home.
With a laugh he sprang off the post, turning a complete flip in the air before landing lightly on the ground and practically bounded through the gates, his shaggy, pale blond mane flying back off his face. With a quiet thunk, the Watchman closed the gate behind him, grumbling about “basic manners”. Let them stew, he thought as a smirk curled his lips back slightly. They’d have cooled off before he was back. His pouches jounced steadily up and down in rhythm with his footsteps, each one carrying him a little farther along his path. A small breeze played across his face. Mentally he offered up a prayer to Brandobaris to watch over his journey. Yes… it was good to be on the road once more.
There hadn’t really been any packing to do. He preferred to travel light. Light even for a race that was on average three feet high. The only business left to clear up had been the goodbyes, which went quickly enough. A hug here, a wave there, (an armful of explosives from Belma’r), nothing too drawn out. He knew he’d see them again, and despite many admonishments to be careful, he was reasonably sure they thought they’d see him again as well. All of them had gone by quickly, except...
With a gentle smile he’d closed his eyes as he held her close. With anyone but Ginger a smile from him was rare, but she always managed to drag one out of him; he just saw such sincerity in her eyes when she was looking back at him. Stroking her dark hair, he’d once more told her he’d come back, and was surprised to find himself actually feeling a little guilty for leaving. Her face buried in his neck, her warm breath on his skin...maybe he was missing her a bit already too. He’d grinned lightly, pushing her off gently then pulling her back in to give her one last, long kiss before he set off. Then he’d dragged her out of the gates for another last kiss...then another...and a few more. Finally, she’d left with one true, final goodbye, and he’d watched her back until he couldn’t see her long, black ponytail bouncing anymore. With a small sigh, he had turned back to Jiyyd, and now, twelve hours later, he was off on his journey.
He kept up a good pace for the first few miles before slowing his strides to just above a stroll. After all, he thought, s’ is m’ last great adventure on m’own. Best enjoy it, hadn’t I? Trudging through the snow of the Nars Pass, he headed south until he could see Norwick’s walls in the distance, then cut east. He had no desire to pass through the Rawlinswood, it and its monsters could rot as far as he was concerned. Better to avoid the whole thing, he’d seen enough excitement there.
It was slow going. Few people came this way, and there was no clear path. Uninhibited, the forest had let a fair number of bushes, shrubs, and other undergrowth spring up. Once he accidentally blundered into a bluejay’s nest while stumbling through the brush, and it took a full two minutes of running before it finally gave up fluttering around his head, darting its beak in between his waving hands. Often, he had to stop and reorient himself, checking the position of the sun as it slowly traveled overhead. In spite of this, he found the plants thinning out as the light dimmed. He emerged at the forest’s tip just in time to see the sun dip below the horizon. Damn, no time t’find dry wood, he thought with a small scowl, slipping on a small ring topped with a nondescript blue stone. It helped take the edge off the wind’s bite, as well as providing a small light, but it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as a fire would have been. He reached a hand into a pouch, fingering one of Mar’s explosives. There were, after all, methods of getting soggier things to ignite, whatever their natural inclination…
A nearby fox jumped twice its height into the air and skittered off in the opposite direction as the night air was rent by a boom, followed by a flash of light and heat. Settling himself on a fair- sized rock he had located, Gears warmed his hands on the cheery blaze that now crackled in front of him. Reaching into an inner pocket, he took out a much battered, wrinkled, and dog eared piece of parchment. With near-reverence, he gently unrolled it and smirked. The map before him was faded, and in some spots stained to near transparence by grease. None of this managed to obscure a clear, dark line wending its way south, however. He’d been planning this trip for some time.
Thoughtfully gnawing on a piece of jerky, he re-examined his route. Once past the woods, he was to head southwest, stopping at a church of Brandobaris in the Great Dale. Hopefully there they’d render him some assistance in speeding his journey back to Luiren. Luiren, homeland of hins, his birthplace, and where he would find his parents. Gears smiled wistfully. With any luck, he might even be able to bring them back with him, at least for the ceremony...he was suddenly struck with a small pang as he thought that Ginger wouldn’t be curled up next to him when he bedded down, but he quickly pushed it away. He’d be back. Probably all too soon, really. He shook his head and peered down at the map once more. After Brando’s temple, it was on down through Thesk, Algarond, Unther, the easternmost strip of the Shaar, and then he’d be there. Sure, it would probably take a while to locate his parents’ caravan, but what did it matter? Lately his mind had been filled with the green hills, well worn roads, and small strongheart towns of his youth, (well...his earlier youth anyway), and he meant to be fully satisfied in his urge to see it all again. With a laugh he refolded the map and tucked it away. After popping the cork and draining the contents of a bottle of the Dolvaks’ personal stock, he unrolled his bedroll and cushioned the back of his head on his hands. The stars twinkled in what struck him as a rather friendly fashion. Closing his eyes with a yawn, he gave a contented snicker. Life was pretty soddin’ good.
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
Gears frowned in his sleep. Something was tickling his throat. He lifted a hand and tried to push it away. It persisted, and he shoved it away again. His eyes shot open as he yelped as something cut his finger, and he found himself staring down the business end of a short blade. The still burning fire cast flickering shadows across the faces of three unshaven large men. Gears’ green eyes flicked to their armor and back quickly as recognition flashed in his sleep addled mind. Orange and purple. Eastlanders.
“Oh, has the ickle halfling had a bad dream?” The one holding the sword to him inquired, smiling nastily. “Well, don’t worry, you’ll be sleepin’ quite deeply soon enough.”
Gears narrowed his eyes and fixed a glare on him, doing his best to look fierce. He knew from experience it didn’t work quite so well when a blade was at your throat, you were outnumbered three to one, and your opponents were twice your height. Still, it was the thought that counted.
“I thought you lot had a little thing called a treaty goin’ on with everyone...?” His gaze darted around once more. His sheath was out of reach. Not that it mattered, as one of the bandits had unsheathed the blade and was examining it.
“Not out here we don’t, pipsqueak,” The bandit grinned, revealing a mouth of yellowing teeth. “If no one finds the body, no treaty’s been broken.” The other two sniggered appreciatively.
Gears inched his hand towards his belt and reached into a pouch, taking hold of a bag. His fingers closed around it in a fist. He smirked and raised a brow, adopting a pleasant tone.
“I believe y’mean bodies, mate.”
“Oho! Got some spirit, doesn’t he, lads?” The leader grinned and looked over his shoulder at the others. They gave small laughs, more absorbed in their examination of Gears’s bow now. Gears smirked as his hand shot up and out of his bedroll. He shouldn’t have looked away. The bag left his hand and a sticky mess exploded on the bandit’s face as he yelled with rage.
Gears rolled away and to his feet, rolling his eyes as the man dropped his weapon to tear at the contents of the tanglefoot bag now coating his face. Bloody foot soldiers. Snatching up the discarded short sword, Gears launched himself at the other two. They were more prepared than the first, drawing their swords as they saw Gears coming at them. But now that he was up and moving, the advantage was his. He made a smaller, faster target than they could ever hit, he knew. He easily dodged the clumsy downward stab of the second bandit, dashing to the side of it and slashing at the knees of the third. Orange leather parted as blood stained the snow. The bandit gave a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, as Gears had hoped, directly into the fire. Shrieking, he leaped out and toppled over on his injured legs, leaving just one. Gears grinned as he whirled around and deflected the other bandit’s blow lazily. He sidestepped the next blow, stabbing the man’s wrist as he moved past him, forcing him to drop his weapon as his hand went limp. Crimson streamed out of the wound as Gears danced back out of reach and snatched up his bow.
“Y’know, I’d get t’a healer pretty quick if I were you,” Gears smirked and slung his bow over his back, stooping to pick up his own blade and re-affixing the sheath to his belt. “Much longer an’ y’ liable t’lose that hand.”
The first bandit finally freed himself from the contents of the tanglefoot bag, tearing it off to reveal a very red face. Gears whipped around to face him.
“I’d recommend y’give this one up.” Panting, he gave the bandit the smuggest smirk he could manage. From the look of hatred that spread across the bandit’s face as he took in his companions, moaning and clutching at their injured limbs, Gears thought he’d pulled it off pretty well. Tossing down the bandit’s blade and sliding his own back into its sheath, he inclined his head.
“Ta.”
And with that he turned and dashed off into the night. Best to put as much distance between himself and those three as possible; who knew how many more might be lurking about? His breath made small clouds that parted as he ran through them, and his feet crunched in the snow. So much for sleep. At least he’d get to put a few more miles behind him. What was rest compared to travel anyway?
