Part XII

Johan was stressed out. He paced nervously over the same five feet of Portuguese tile floor, which was arranged in a tasteful pattern throughout all of the hallways in the Royal Residence. “How can I possibly tell her? There’s no way… she’ll have MY head, too.” He desperately needed another chef, and quickly; of course it didn’t need to be said that the chef would have to be outstanding, well qualified, and in the general vicinity, which was not terribly easy, either, considering what a backwater Dryhuvil was generally considered to be. And then there was the matter of the girl that had appeared at the back gate. He knew Martha knew about her, and she probably knew about Hugo Sightmartin’s defection, as well. This was a fine kettle of fish.
The door opened, and out stepped a perfectly coiffed young man, outfitted smartly in red and blue velvet and girt with the finest scimitar the realm could create. (Scimitars weren’t the usual weapon for the area, but of course Queen Martha had insisted. “It gives the romance and intensity of the Orient, don’t you think? Of course, I realize the term ‘Orient’ is terribly outmoded, but you don’t really know what I’m talking about, do you?”)
“The Queen will see you now.” Johan jumped with a start out of his reverie, and hurried into her antechamber.
“Johan, you know how I feel about distractions before my parties. Don’t you?” It wasn’t a good sign to begin the conversation this way, thought Johan.
“Yes, milady,” he heard himself say.
“I won’t stand for anything getting in the way of the realm’s enjoyment, is that clear?” Martha was glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
“It is,” he said.
“Excellent. Let me tell you precisely how we’re going to salvage the mess you’ve made of my plans so far, and after the party we’ll see if you should keep your job. Or your head.”
*****

The Arrendan guards had secured the forest on Cechar’s orders. They knew that their quarry had long escaped the region, so many were puzzled by this. Murmurs of dissent had begun to filter through the ranks, and none of them liked this area. ‘What if the accursed demon pigs come back?’ ‘We’d be hard pressed to overcome their foul magic this time,’ and so on. Velmeer, the head man-at-arms for the Southern Palitinate, watched nervously and didn’t say much. He was reasonably sure they were safe here, but also knew who else was coming.

Cechar himself arrived at nightfall. He was a tall man, or so he seemed. Wrapped in a black cloak, and riding a huge black stallion, he rode into the clearing slowly, purposefully, as if he was smelling for something. Clutched in his clawlike hand was a small carved object with a faintly glowing crystal at the end. Finally reaching the guard’s camp, he dismounted his massive beast, and handed the reins to a waiting squire.
“Mistreat him and it’s your meat he’ll dine on tonight,” hissed Cechar to the boy, who blanched white and scurried off to the livery tent. “Now,” he said to Velmeer, “any signs of our friend?”
Velmeer also looked afraid. The Hrukal hadn’t been freed in years and years, and it had been far before Velmeer’s tenure that the thing had been near the Southern Palitinate. Now they would see how well Cechar was able to control it. As if on cue, the crystal in Cechar’s hand flared red. The small group of guards that had been standing at attention for their Lord’s arrival fumbled for swords and watched warily.
“I know you didn’t kill the girl,” Cechar snarled into the trees. “But you did get what I need for the ceremony. Bring it here -- I WANT IT NOW!!”
With an unearthly shriek, a dark creature dropped from the trees above directly into their midst. It was small, stooped, and covered with short black hair. Its face was somewhat catlike, but massive fangs portruded from its mouth. It crouched on two legs, and the crowd of guards noticed that its arms seemed to be longer than its legs. It glanced suspiciously around before fixing its gaze on the captain of the guards. Velmeer fainted. He would recall later that its eyes were jet black, but still managed somehow to shine.
When Velmeer awoke, the Hrukal was gone. So was Cechar. When he asked a guard about what happened, the guard grunted, as if he didn’t understand what he said.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on here?”
“I will,” replied a voice behind him. Velmeer wheeled around and saw the most hideous thing he’d ever seen – it was a Puppig, grotesquely deformed and misshapen, as if it had been dead for two weeks and reanimated. Its head had been severed, yet now seemed to be crudely fused back onto its body with a small amulet.
“Our master Cechar has relieved you of your command. Your guards now answer to me, who was once called Graken. We ride immediately.”
“What will become of me?”
“You’re going to help me get stronger.” Vermeel suddenly realized he was frozen to the ground; the undead warthog held him there with an icy gesture. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. Graken touched him with a twisted forehoof, and seemed to sigh as energy flowed from Vermeel. His eyes grow wider and wider with horror as he saw wrinkles appearing on his hands, and it seemed that he was shrinking, being dessicated by the sucking grasp of the Puppig. The sinews in his arms and neck stuck out like ropes, his strength was vanishing, and from then on, his hair would be white. Graken finally released him, looking much more fat and almost alive again.
“Arrendan guards! We are the first glorious column of the coming flood! To Dryhuvil!”
“TO DRYHUVIL!!”

Part IX

The Red Lady monitored all of this activity from her satellite home. She was not superhuman. She was not divine. She simply had access to vastly superior technology than the elves and their guarnoes or the puppigs or the humans of this world.

She had superior technology, and a perspective on the world that was much larger and sophisticated than anything dreamt of in its lower denizens’ philosophies.

So she watched and she intervened when she thought it necessary. And if she derived some amount of pleasure from her magnanimity, well, that seemed warranted and harmless enough.

It amused her mildly that the elves referred to her as the Red Lady. They didn’t know what else to think of her or how to describe her and she didn’t give them anything to go on. She happened to wear her red mask the first time she talked with them. Had they dared to ask her why she wore a mask, she would have said ‘They’re terribly comfortable. Everyone civilized wears them.’

She could barter for anything she wanted from the elves, of course. She could trade some small skill or technological trinket or even some valuable material that her fabricators could easily produce. She had thought of actively encouraging a cult of her deity, but had decided against it. So she came mysteriously and tried to guide the beings toward good ends.

She found the elves to be most receptive to her direction, so she invested most of her time with them.

These days her direction was against the guards. She despised their subhuman behavior. She wanted to end their reign of terror. And she believed that Farrell and Rynin were just the ones to do it.

***

Rynin sought out Sozleg. She found him grooming himself near the fire. While she tried to remember that different lifeforms have different customs that are valuable, she continued to find the puppigs revolting. Sozleg’s public grooming was simply repulsive to her.

‘Mighty Sozleg’ she said ‘thank you for your help and your care for me. But the time has come for me to seek out my comrade.’

‘Your comrade is a fool.’ said Sozleg with warthog hair stuck between his teeth.’

‘He may be a fool’ said she ‘but he is also my companion who has shared hardship with me. I must find him.’

‘If you must find him, then you must.’ said Sozleg. ‘But you’ll get no help from us. The elves are involved now, and we want no part of their machinations, or those of their Red Lady.’

Rynin’s head reeled. ‘Elves…Red Lady…’ she said ‘whatever do you mean?’

‘This interview is over’ said Sozleg. ‘I wish you well, but I won’t lift a hind hoof to help you. Your comrade ran off in that direction.’ He gestured with his snout, bloody from ‘grooming’.

So Rynin collected her things, and trudged off into the forest to find Farrell…

Part VII

"Atttttacccccckkkkkkkk!!!!!!" Farrell pulled the sword from his scabbard and ran screaming like an injured nine year old into the forest.
"Your mad partner's gone off bloody half cocked," Sozleg said. "He's running the wrong direction. The guards are coming from there." he gestured toward the edge of the wood with a gnarled, warty, twistedly hoofy hand in virtually the opposite direction that Farrell had run.
For a moment there was an absolute maelstrom of activity. The bloodhounds, released from their tethers, all ran straight through the clearing, past the Puppigs and Rylin and after the streaking figure of Farrell. Rylin, seeing four Arrendan Guards, unconsciously pulled her blouse down slightly, revealing a bit of cleavage before unsheathing her throwing dagger in her left hand and her ebony handled dirk in the right. The vicious looking Puppigs, fiercely brandishing their weapons a moment before, now broke ranks in a flurry and scattered, presumably at some invisible signal by Sozleg. The guards stopped, looked in bewilderment at the scattering porcine phalanx, and then laughed. The leader slowly unbuckled a large iron mace at his belt and moved towards Rylin. The other three, still chuckling, turned and slowly loped after the dogs.

* * *

About a mile east of the clearing of Grakel's tree, a queer beast sat and waited in a small glen. The thing was a fat, red, hairy, flat-backed sort of beast. It looked like a small ox, but its head was buried under a dense matted clump of hair that two spiral horns twisted from. They were locally known as Guarnos, and their bodies were built as thick as two men standing side by side. A thin, elflike figure sat astride the creature's shoulders as it sat firmly on the ground and lazily chewed its cud. The Guarno looked up through the mass of hair at its rider, who was listening intently.
"Listen, Bastir, our cue." The spritely creature reached into a cunning little satchel trussed neatly underneath her cloak. She produced a slender fluted blowgun, carved finely with fair sylvan creatures up and down the length of it.
"I'm still not sure what you expect is going to happen," intoned the Guarno. "Do you think our quarry will just come to us?"
"The Red Lady said he would. Besides, my friend, don't you hear that clumsy thing crashing through the forest?" Saying this, the elfin being placed a dart into the muzzle of her weapon, and held it to her pursed lips. At this, the Guarno raised himself remarkably swiftly to a standing position. His ears, which up until now had been hidden underneath the carpet of fur on its head, now swept up from where they were hanging. Guarnos have large ears, and when they were listening, the fuzzy scoops tilted from side to side slowly like huge lily blossoms.
"Yes, Arva, I do hear the man. And many dogs, too, I think." Bastir began to scan the rise ahead of them intently for signs of their target.
"Leave the dogs to me." And as if on that signal, the figure of Farrell crashed through a shrub at the top of the hill and tumbled down it. Striking nearly every stump, boulder, and thorn bush on the way down with an accompanying obscenity, Farrell fell finally in a clump at the feet of the Guarno.
The elf and the beast traded glances, as if to disbelieve the ease of their task. As Arva put away her blowgun, a passel of hounds streamed down the hill, no longer barking.
"Hello, my darlings. Yes, I love each one of you!" Arva excitedly greeted the dogs, licking the first one on the nose. The dog licked her back, and she scratched each behind the ear and gave it a morsel from her satchel. "Now, those nasty men that keep you are about to come back and ruin my plans," she said sternly. "Go eat them! Eat them now!!" With that, Arva pointed to the top of the rise, where the first guard appeared huffing and puffing as he tried to catch its breath. The Guarno began chuckling, as the dogs turned and ran swiftly up the hill snarling.
"Wha. . . poochy, good poochy. . . AAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!" The guard screamed in abject terror and ran from sight.
Within five minutes Arva had Farrell securely tied to the back of the Guarno and they had disappeared from the glen.

* * *
"So, milady, have we met before?" The guard held his mace in front of him lazily, as if not concerned in the slightest by this slight woman with a weapon in each hand.
"Ever been to the dungeons of Elzohr?" Rynin spat the words from between her clenched teeth. Elzohr had been the scene to her most awful trials -- and most bloody escape. The guard paused, as if taken aback by the notion of this near legendary criminal, and then stepped towards her.
". . . he should be good for a ransom, don't you think, Yenzlik?. . . "
". . . at least 40 gold, I'd reckon . . . "
Hearing this exchange behind him, the guard turned and saw a line of forty Puppigs advancing from all sides, dagger length short swords held by twisted hands. Seeing his predicament, he dropped the mace and held up his hands.
"Don't hurt me, demons!! I have a wife!! And a pension in only two months!! Please don't kill me, uh, huh, huh. . . " the guard began blubbering incomprehensibly. Rynin scoffed in disgust.
"You deserve anything we do to you. Now pull out those hand irons from your belt and put them on yourself," commanded Rynin. Sozlek walked up from the line of Puppigs.
"You've handled this situation well," said the former warthog.
"Next time, tell me to run too," snapped Rynin. "Now where's that Farrell? I'll be damned if I let that fool get killed by those dogs. And why do you have hands, when Graken only had hooves?"
"Graken didn't wear these more human trappings that we do, either, and probably fouled the earth of his den with his own filth as well," said the old chief haughtily. "As for your companion, he may be lost. However, I can tell from where I stand that you cannot fight nor run any further tonight. We must create a shelter and make our hard decisions by morning's light." With that, Sozlek made some strange grunting noises and the whole group of Puppigs threw their armor and weapons aside and began digging feverishly at a small earthen bank on the outskirt of the clearing. "As for this guard, hmmmm." The grizzled old piggish humanoid listened to the distant sounds of screams and barks. With a knowing smile, he turned to the guard. "Run away, but run that way." He pointed towards the direction Farrell, the dogs, and the guards had run. With a crazed look in his eyes and his hands still shackled, the guard did just that.
"Jernstul! Fervlin! Come here." At his command, two young pigs scuttled quickly out of the rapidly expanding hole and ran eagerly to Sozlek. In a soft voice he said, "Take one or two of your group and track the stupid man. Bring him to camp or report on his outcome. And find out why an elf is involved here. Go now!"
By the time Sozlek turned back to Rynin, she had already collapsed in exhaustion.

Dawn found Rynin awake in a well camoflauged den, expansive enough to accommodate the troupe of Puppigs strewn about the floor around her, and branches cleverly placed to hide the opening. She awoke with a start, and saw the scout Jernstul asleep by the door. She shook him hard, and cried, "Swine!! Where is Farrell? Where is he?!" Jernstul awoke suddenly and bleated, ". . .

Part III

"Quick!! Fly!" Farrell grabbed Rynin by the hand and they ran down the muddy path.
"You didn't have to kill the horse," Rynin said between clenched teeth.
"I don't suppose you had a better idea," answered Farrell. "Methinks using the dumb beast as our shield was a fine idea." They jumped quickly down the hillside, rapidly moving from the naked cliffside into the woods.
"I could very easily have used my feminine wiles to free us." Rynin could not forget the sight of the horse.
"What's done is done. Besides, how many men do you need to bury your dirk in just as they are feasting their eyes on your heaving bosom?" Farrell always harbored a bit of resentment towards Rynin's never ending flirtatiousness, even when it had managed to save her life before.
Rynin ignored his comment. She did know how to use a dirk, and a dagger, and a stiletto, and most other sorts of piercing, stabbing, penetrative edged weapons. It was her specialty, if you will. Ever since her escape from the guards armed with only a sharpened comb and a hat pin, she had trained herself incessantly on the killing arts.
"Look, the guards are evil. They've perpetrated horrible crime and lawlessness on our nation. But what did the horse do?"
"Oh, hush, woman. Now we've had to turn back from the path. How are we possibly going to escape to Dryhuvil if the pass is taken?"
It was a hard question. They had thought their only chance after the harrowing escape and journey was to flee to the neighboring country in hope of telling their plight to Queen Martha. Now they were stuck at the border in the dark forest that both shielded them from their pursuers but also seemed to suck the hope from their souls. Hearts weary and soaked to the bone, they decided to make camp. As the rain stopped, Farrell stiffly unpacked his tinder box to find some dry kindling. Just then, they realized they weren't alone.
"What's that, an ugly boar?" Farrell saw a chubby, squat thing dart from tree to tree just on the outskirts of where their lantern lit the area around where they sat.
"I'm a warthog, I am," called the fat little creature. "You are trespassing."
"Can't snog your way out of this one," chuckled Farrell to Rynin. "I don't imagine pigs like girls obsessed with horses."
"Hold your tongue, manspawn. Justify your presence or I'll run you through with my tusks." Farrell bristled at the comment, but then had to stifle a laugh at the thought that the two inch tusks could do anything to his well made armor.
"Um, gentle animal, we flee the evil guards of Arrend, who are this moment cutting down your forest to light their fires," said Rynin, eyes wide open for maximum earnestness value.
"Hrrmph." The warthog paused. "The lady has a sugared tongue. Very well, I shall listen to your plight But it is almost morning, and soon the scum shall scour the area for you. Let us hide here until nightfall."
And with a bizarre motion, the little warthog sat back on its haunches, and began using its front hooves to rub a tiny metal amulet that hung from its neck. With a blinding flash, a large hole opened at the base of a large tree just in front of the party, and horses and all, they scampered in to a huge, warm, dark room. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by a glowing disc in the center, Rynin and Farrell were shocked to see. . . . . . . . . .

Part II

The first guard came at them with determination. He wasn't in a hurry. Where were they going to go? They weren't going to get away again. He hefted his spear and closed to attack.

Farrel was used to quick action. It had kept him alive this long. He jumped from his horse and closed with the guard, deflecting the spear with his sword, but only long enough to get by. He was no match for the guard's armor or trained war-horse. He wasn't about to try to trade blows with him, here on the cliff face, mounted, and certainly not on foot.

After blocking the spear, he went to work on the horse's right foreleg. He aimed for the side of the knee, even behind it if he could reach, and slashed with all his might. The horse reared and neighed in pain, totally surprising and unsettling its rider. It was a credit to the guard that he stayed in his saddle. A moment later he wished he hadn't. The horse came down, and leaned forward and cliff-ward, favoring the wounded leg. The guard pitched forward. Farrel raised his sword with both hands and struck the exposed neck, biting deeply. The guard hung lifeless from his stirrups.

The other guards watched from behind, essentially helpless to assist. Now they wanted into the fray, with a renewed desire for vengeance. But they needed to get by the maimed horse. Or use it to their advantage. They tried to drive the poor creature toward Farrel and Rynin, hoping to force them over the edge, or down the path where the soil was washing away.

But Farrel was ready for that, too. He had already lowered himself in front of the beast. And as the guards goaded it from behind with their spears, he pushed against it and stabbed with his sword. The horse leapt from the path and the cliff in fright, carrying its dead burden with it.