Ch: 27 A Hollow Staff

 

In the evening, after the others were off to bed, Tawny caught Shai by the hand and led her to the bath where Gary still floated. 

At a glance from Tawny, Shai made a pair of comfortable lounges appear. The two women lay down to address the human flotsam bobbing on the water.

“Gary, before you …” Tawny coughed slightly, hesitating, until Shai nudged her. “Before you ‘Caught the Crawdaddie Pimp Hand’ a few days ago,” She sighed, while Shai beamed and nodded happily. 

“We were discussing matters of health and sexuality…” Shai was grinning amiably and nodding along.

“As your physician and priestess of Healer, I have certain duties, I must inform you of some things that are important to your health and well being.” Shai kept nodding along, while Gary grinned.

 

“Where do I sign to agree to the terms and conditions Tawny? You have my full and informed consent.” Gary snarked.

 

“Actually, that is the correct ritual response. One last thing, if you wish I can ask Shai to leave the room. These are sensitive matters.” Now Shai was not just nodding along. That brought her up cold.

 

“You have no idea how few secrets I have from Shai. I mean you think you know, but nahh.” He whispered softly. “She’s everywhere.”

 

“I feel you may not be lucid enough to have this conversation.” Tawny said with clinical precision.

 

“No, sorry, I’m good, carry on, mistress Shai may remain.” He gasped, shifting slightly to a position that tugged on his sutures less.

 

“Very well, after our encounter with Esperanza, we were discussing your… magical excess. I told you that sexual activity was among the least lkely to cause complications.” She checked a small notebook, its cover was… tawny. So cute.

“Yes, complications. You seemed concerned. Is there a problem in that area?” She looked frankly, from one to the other.

 

After an extended pause she brought out her tiny tawny notebook and began to write, speaking as she did. “Patient declines to answer vis. Sexual dysfunction. Partner seems upset.” 

She snapped her little book closed and smiled. “That will go in your permanent record. So sorry Gary.” She patted him on the knee in a very patronizing way. 

“Even though the point seems moot, I should carry on. I am a professional. Gary, you may get physically intimate as much as you like, from a purely physical standpoint.” 

 

Gary and Shai looked at each other and at Tawny before shrugging in unison.

 

“Gary can’t catch human diseases or get humans pregnant.” She grunted in frustration. “That was very difficult to get out.”

She fumed and rose to pace a bit. “There is no standard protocol for having a terminal case of Gary is weird.” She stomped up and down a little. Maybe it helped, she was so tiny it certainly didn't hurt. 

“Because he is a demi human monster, he looks and mostly acts human and is in all the important ways, just a person.” She took Shais hand gently. “But he is also a monster and as such, cannot create offspring. I’m sorry Shai.”

 

Shais face fell into the depths of despair before she regained her control. Her eyes welled and those lovely knees trembled, but she was trying not to show it. 

He loved that about her, she would wrench her insides out, trying to hide what she knew he had felt right along with her. 

Damn relationships were complicated.

“You can always call on the temple of Joy.” Tawny said softly. “It is their sacred duty and gift. The celebrants share our grief as well as our joy and sometimes, theirs is the mending of them.” 

Tawny turned to Gary. “There are acolytes of Joy whose gifts are more in line with Esmerelda’s, than Otho’s. They offer aid to those whose joy is curtailed by physical and or emotional challenges that are absolutely…”

 

“Sacred gigolos.” Gary said calmly.

 

“Hmm what?” Tawny asked, looking up from her notes. “What is a gigitylow? A giggity? Whatever.”

 

“A Gigolo is a man who lies with women... professionally.” Gary said calmly.

 

“Aye, he does have a song about it.” Shai said helpfully, looking more than a little lost at sea.

 

“You are taking this very calmly, I usually rough the men up about erectile dysfunction to redirect their angst.” Tawny smiled and relaxed, putting her terrible notebook away. 

“Is that what you were doing there? Yeah, well my weiner works, I think. Most of my lower two thirds are not living their best life right now.”

 

“You seem surprisingly… not very Gary about this. You usually start to panic when we talk about sex.”

“My first winter on the street, I learned just how cold it gets in my hometown. A lady took me in, passed me off to her friend a night or two later. I went round and round, staying in the homes of a dozen sex workers that winter, men and women and neither, one was both.” 

He shrugged. “They took in a crippled kid, no one else would, not without strings attached.” He said quietly, lost in remembrance. “It feels so long ago…”

He shook it off with visible effort. “Anyway, you’ve seen my dingdong a few times. Shai showed me which end goes where. I haven't walked dick first into a grain mill or discovered a sexy use for dead monster parts. Help me out here? What am I missing?”

 

“Nothing, that was very enlightened of you.” Tawny said, brightening visibly.

“I’m not closing any doors on Shai.” He smiled at his woman. “I don’t want to share you, but if you need something I don’t have… Adoption? Gigolos? Stealing children in the night? No, not that last one. All the others.”

 

“You need to sleep now.” Tawny said to both of them fondly, before shoving wads of pollen in their mouths.

 

#

 

It was a charming home, not grand. It stood by the water side, with the front door facing up the road toward Port Ellis. There was a walled garden, but the wall was wildly overgrown with some kind of flowering vines. Easy climbing. 

The front door was a sturdy affair, designed to roll back in a slot rather than swing. That was going to take some breaking if they couldn’t talk their way inside. All the lower windows were too narrow and too heavily shuttered to be of use, while the upper windows seemed to be sealed as well.

There was a wide gate in the garden wall that looked even sturdier than the front door. If anything it was more exposed, facing the road side.

From a lightly wooded hilltop a quarter mile away, Fallon weighed the risks of a staged monster, or better yet bandit raid. Monster attacks would trigger a hunt and if no creature could be found…  

Fake bandits only needed for the raids to stop and a few ears be turned in. Ears were plentiful and delightfully portable. 

Sadly, the Shore Road offered little in the way of ambush points or even opportunities to overtake the fast moving group. Fallon had a good idea what his uncle was interested in now though.

 

This whole week had been one upsetting misadventure after another. Drawing a patrol ride to Wheatford of all places, and with Nazar of all second officers. That promised misery enough, then that damn marsh monster notice came in.

Bog vermin were tiresome, dirty and smelly, the only thing worse would be if a pack of greenies, who should not have even been there killed, the damn thing. At least that cut the abysmal journey short.

 

His Uncle’s instructions to go check on some filthy orphan in Wheatford, “while you are there” stank of being used as an errand boy.

Even more vexing, that very orphan was injured in the swamp fracas and looked likely to die, no doubt that would be his fault too. What that orphan trash was doing wandering the roads in winter, armed and badged as Adventurers was beyond him.

 

Finding Trelawny Belen there was irritating, it forced him to play nice, nice. That was not his strong suit. Not recognizing her initially, that had him furious with himself. Not that they had ever met formally..

 

At least this horse was shaping up, it twitched and frisked nervously whenever he approached now. He had been worried he might have to leave visible marks on it before the beast would behave properly.

 

That made him think of Khan and his damned horse… if he got the chance to kill Khan, he would ride that animal to death and feed it to the whores and drunkards in the dock ward.

 

The sun was setting soon, they had set out expecting to overtake their quarry in an hour and be back for dinner…

 

Now they were wrung out, exhausted and left with few supplies to camp on a winter night in the wild. His uncle would truly enjoy lecturing him on that.

 

“Come boys, let’s see if they have food at that inn… I think I smell humble pie…” This was going to be galling and humiliating at best.

 

With deep regrets for his choice of troops, he led them down to the brightly lit home by the sea.

 

#

 

The changes wrought from her first night in the madhouse were startling and deeply strange. With the now mostly alive Gary, shambling about and getting in the way. He interfered comically while trying to be helpful as he wandered around. 

 

Gone was the aura of quiet and stoic patience. The dreadful hope and hopeful despair of an infirmary waiting room was blown away on a manic breeze. 

 

Now, the small troupe was swaying drunkenly from one mood to another as their pet minstrel wandered around the musical landscape. 

 

He played simple country dances, some familiar and some not, some seemed very innovative and new, while feeling old beyond reckoning. After some, he would expound briefly on who wrote the music, explaining it away as some strange tradition in his homeland. 

 

“Copyright  law is more dangerous than you can ever know, it’s magics are dark and sinister.” He looked about nervously. “Lawyers could haunt any shadowed corner…”

 

“Dinnae be so wi Luna, she dinnae ken yer madness boy.” The smith swept in just in time to save her from whatever that was leading up to. 

 

That woman was everywhere when music played, and there was always music now. “Tis a tradition, when the author is known tae tell what ye know o them. He does say it be a bard’s duty. Ye may ignore him.”

 

“If you can go on about your fae folk and what not, I can tell this nice lady that Stevie Ray Vaughn should be considered a demigod at least.” He said, needling her in his quiet sing-song way.

 

“Fie Luna, dinnae be fooled, the fair folk be as real as thee and me, an so too be his strange tales.” She hugged her odd man awkwardly, trying to avoid his bizarre breastplate. He was still tinkling away on that thing… 

 

Yet the music came from the instruments on the walls, seeming to be produced by the bronze disks worked into some.

 

“An aught seems mad beyond belief, remember what ye hae already seen.” Shai smiled fondly at her pet fool in a way that made Luna wonder where Khan was hiding.

 

Somehow the barely mobile creature was already gone. He was over by the clavaharpsiwhatsit in the corner, coaxing the gods' damned duchess heir, into playing in what amounted to a roadside tavern.

The madman had wheedled and begged in a hilarious display of abject and pitiable misery, just to convince the kids in the kitchen to make those ‘taco’ things again. 

 

The priestess had decreed his bowels capable of solid food and he was nearly panting with anticipation. 

 

He had been playing some exotic rhythms and coaching the two boys who held guitars on some kind of foreign music ever since.

 

They were flicking and thumping at their instruments, creating sounds that rang and fell silent in a strange tempo. The looks of concentration on their faces barely concealed their smiles. 

 

While deeply entangled in whatever magic the young couple had spinning between themselves and the group at large, there seemed few limits.

 

Luna slowly eased into her magical vision, a gift from her Contract with the spirit of air. She usually kept it damped down, it could be distracting, with the gift active, magical emanations became faint auras of color and movement.

 

That was disorienting, the whole place was alive with swirling, flowing hues and auras, that was no surprise for a gift as unusual as this one. 

 

Even after she used her will to damp down the rich green and brown hues of the house, colors were flying everywhere. 

 

Just the ambient magical noise filtering in from the bath set her teeth on edge. That thing was all the colors that did not exist in any sane world. It sprayed undirected magic into the world like a fountain of eldritch… spookiness.

 

She ended her gift before the sight made her brain fray like a worn bowstring.

 

The music had resolved into a sweeping, swaying melody that seemed just the feeling for a winter night by the shore. With little warning the beat changed, becoming more complex, sending the two dancing women, Shai and Becky  into even greater flights of fancy.

 

“Great job guys,” Gary gasped at the end. “I know ‘Flor d’Luna’ is a tough one, Santana is a legend for a reason.” He sagged to a stool that Luna swore did not exist a moment ago.

 

“Did you say my name?” She asked the boy as he slowly deflated. 

 

“Mmm, ? Ss… the name of the piece.” He said slowly sinking. “Means moon flower. Or moon’s flower. Yeah, the flower of the moon, beautiful like my duskmoons.” 

 

He began to mumble and Shai swept in with her giant. They plucked him off the stool the way a parent would a sleepy child and had him stripped and floating like a corpse in a moment.

 

Becky gave a sharp whistle and Otho trotted over from wherever he had been napping. “Keep an eye on Gary ok, we are gonna eat. Have Annie help ok?” The dog snuffled and ambled off to the stables with a wag of his tail. 

 

“Gary is gonna be mad if he misses tacos again.” Becky warned the retreating mutt. “Let us know when he wakes.”

 

Shai and the giant returned, looking hungry, but not overly concerned. “He will be awake anon, tis only he be tired.” 

She turned to Luna. “What did he say ere he slept, dae ye mind?” She asked, her mask slipping a little, revealing the worry behind the innkeeper guise.

 

“Something about my name, he named a song for me I guess? My name doesn’t mean anything.” She said. “That’s just what the old woman who made my tattoo said it was called. I took it for my handle. It sounded scary.”

 

“Luna means moon in a few foriegn languages that Gary knows,” Becky sang. “including the one they speak where tacos come from.” She said, placing a tray of tacos on the table with proud flourish.

 

“Just how much of this pinchy mud monster do you have?” Luna asked around a mouthful of plump, sweet, crunchy crawdaddie and cilantro.

 

“Let’s just say, we should be glad it is delicious… and versatile.” Ivy said. “There are rumors from Shia and Becky of something new… we will have to wait and see what they dredge up.”

 

Luna was just about to ask what that meant, when a knock sounded at the door.

Silence descended rapidly.

#

 

When his troop rode within bow shot of the door, they heard raucous and strange music, it swayed and lilted and fell silent as they approached. 

 

His men seemed restive and excited, time to lay down the law. He brought them up and spoke clearly, but just loud enough to be heard.

“This is not some roadside inn, it is the mobile residence of a certain noblewoman, traveling under the veil. Do not reveal her identity or use any honorifics… or draw her ire. Do you all understand the dangers?” They nodded, but he wanted to hammer it home firmly. 

 

“If you shame my house, any honor debt you incur to house Belen will be a pittance. You will surrender your balls to my house first.” Satisfied, he rode the last two dozen yards to the dooryard.

 

He dismounted in the pool of golden light and removed his helm. Short ringlets of golden hair framed a face not quite perfect enough to be beautiful. 

 

His eyes were a cool, calm blue, beneath golden brows that naturally arched inquisitively. Square white teeth shone from a square jawed smile that was all well studied charm.

 

Tossing his reins to Malus, he strode to the door and knocked politely. A tiny hatch opened, revealing a green eye, before snapping closed again.

 

After a moment the door slid to the side, it was thick, that would be tough to breech… 

“I hae nae thought ye would follow us. I say again, ye dinnae ken him ye need nae see him till he be well. Fly on man.” She barked. “Tae be clear ye nae be welcome in mine home.” 

 

He tried to get an armored boot in the door before it slid home, but did not quite make it. He felt his men stir behind him, this could get ugly. 

 

He knocked again, when the door slid open, the giant smith and the small warrior were there, behind Belen. “Yes?” She asked, all calm and polite manners from behind her veil. Fallon gagged down his fury and spoke with care.

 

“We are sent to ask a boon of yourself, mistress Trelawny. My uncle, barron Eglund Fallon, wishes to present a gift to lady Trelawny Belen, I was tasked with asking you to please deliver it to her…” He said with his most urbane smile, while acid churned holes in his bowels. 

“...on a personal note, I would ask succor and guest rite of your band, as we are in the wilderness without supplies.”

That should place her in a pickling vat, as Malus would say. ‘God’s did I just reference Malus in my own thoughts?’ Maybe it was time to stop whoring around with commoners and settle down after all…

“Very well, your men may rest in the stable of this home. We will provide what aid and comfort we may. As is custom.” She said with cold finality.

 

“As you say mistress Trelawny. Will you accept delivery of the gift?” He asked, choking on humiliation.

 

“In the morning, after second bell, as is custom.” She said, still as frosty as a distant mountain peak.

“Malus, form a detail to empty the stable and make it habitable.” He said, just as the gate trundled open.

 

The cursed skinny one was there, smiling widely. 

“Annie says you can stay in her rooms, just don’t make a mess.”

 

This commoner, he could dress her down with impunity. “My men will not be sharing a roof with a horse, girl. You can move that beast or my troopers will.” He gave his riding crop a sharp snap against his armored thigh to illustrate. Most common filth knew to bow when they heard that sound. 

 

She giggled. Giggled! “Annie is going to have a sleepover with your horsies, she says your lordship can sleep in her stall, that is an honor!”

 

With slow growing dread he realized, they were really going to make the heir to the barony of Port Fallon sleep in a filthy stable?

 

“Annie says good night!” She called, just as their horses trotted past and into a second gate, roiling with steam in the cold night. That gate had not been there just minutes ago. At their head was that filthy Whorse, leading them into the garden.

 

His mystified troops just staggered inside, and collapsed into the fragrant sawdust bedding.

 

The giant came out later with a huge kettle of something he called ‘gumbo’, laden with lumps of fish and duskmoon pods of all things. This kettle’s contents would cost a fortune in the markets of the capital just in those exotic beans. It was good though, rich and dark, the pods made it slippery and soothing on a dry throat. 

 

 Redolent of cedar, pine and strange spicy and exotic scents, the sawdust bedding embraced him like a cloud. 

#

 

When dawn came, somehow sleeping on the floor in a pile of wood shavings was the most restful night he had enjoyed in months. ‘Damn them, damn Annie and Khan!’

 

The worst was yet to come, he had to eat a heaping helping of crow, give Belen the best horse he had ever ridden and then drag himself back to town. Things could not devolve any further, lest he begin to question his sanity.

 

A soft plopping sound drifted in and the stable door slid open. Annie stood there, draped in a green silk robe… it drifted and draped fetchingly in the pink, predawn glow. A cool morning breeze cut the humid warmth of the stable, making the cozy bedding even more delightful.

 

She was wearing slippers on her fucking hooves in the shape of gods damned human heads… with his face on them.

 

She clomphed through, yes clomphed, now he had an onomatopoeia for horses in people slippers in his mind. This trip needed to end. 

 

She clomphed through and whickered softly before flicking her tail and trotting off near silently, as though being their wake up call were beneath her.

 

His troop fell in, looking dusty and sleepy, but fit. Even Malus was smiling. That was distressing enough, but things continued to unspool. 

Their own horses came trotting out looking like they had been seen to by a priest of the god of Beasts. Their coats were almost shining in the morning light, manes were braided and tails neatly groomed as though for a parade. They frisked and pranced like foals, ready for a day’s exercise. 

Annie was holding court like princess of the fucking ponies. She was nuzzling, nibbling and snuffling at the mismatched herd like a drill sergeant reviewing her troops, a very tender and intimate one. 

The other troupe was lined up as well, kitted out as though they meant to travel on immediately. They were seated at a long table in the garden enjoying a meal among the horses. 

 

The corpse was absent of course, most likely they dropped it in the sea when it started to bloat. Men don’t survive gut wounds half that disgusting. Even the memory was almost enough to put him off the hot oat and fig porridge they were ladling out. 

Gods, they had someone giving the hoses a mix of fruit tree leaves, chopped apples and oats, dressed atop a pile of sweet, late summer hay. Who could be so low that they would serve at table for a herd of horses…

 

Gods cursed Luna, of course, she would be here, following Khan like a stray puppy. 

 

That stray bitch had more fatal duels on her record than any common trooper in a hundred years. If he got back with all his men it would be fortunate. 

 

She moved with that familiar casual grace, if not for her plain features and the hideous face she would be a fine tumble. If one could get past that spear of hers.

 

Over the last five years that woman had butchered six common troopers and two noble officers over nothing more than a bit of grope and tickle in the bunkhouse.

 

He could almost smell Stilbend’s fury; she had slaughtered the  man’s cousin in a nameless wilderness camp. Poor Hanel wasn’t even trying to plow her, he was just diddling some cook. He should have thought to drag the wretch out of camp at least.

 

He should have known, that bitch and Khan had been fucking on the sly since their indenture sales. No one ever caught them at it, but a blind dog still knows what an asshole smells like.

 

If only the food were not so damn good, and he not so well rested it would have been easier to maintain discipline. It was, he hated to admit it, a magical fucking morning. 

 

His crew of hard bitten veterans were dewy eyed and relaxed like virgins at a spring dance. 

 

Malus had a wide smile that seemed genuine and showed every rotten tooth in his head. Levin was desperately trying to chat up the skinny waif, as though he had actual intentions. 

 

Jeng was nattering away with the small spearman in the impressive armor about gardening of all things, was he taking cuttings? 

 

Gods, a man rides out with a perfectly villainous band of common thugs and here they are, chatting like old women at market!

 

At least Stilbend had that look in his eye, while Bran was a reliable second for any task. He was too simple to question orders and too direct to get clever. So Malus did the work of the second, while Bran did as much violence as the job required. 

 

Sadly this was the wrong band for the wrong job. Never bring blunt instruments for delicate work. Bran and Stilbend were now an anchor around his neck, either could become liability at any moment.

Fortunately, Belen had not roused her noble self yet. He could take charge at least until she deigned to bestirr those regal asscheeks. “Troop, form up.” He snapped, annoyed that his corporal had failed even that  simple task. They disengaged from the band of idiots and fell in, eventually. 

 

“With your mounts, you worthless…” He began as they scrambled over to the ridiculous scene playing out in the equine side of the garden.

 

That cursed she horse trotted over and stood between his men and their shiny, sassy mounts. She chuffed and stamped, while eyeing them and showing a brace of square white teeth.

 

“Annie says they are her guests until second bell, they will be ready to go when you are.” The dark skinned bitch said, smiling with utter sincerity.

Fallon  beckoned her close charmingly and said, soft and low; “When we return to Port Fallon, I shall see to it that each of these horses is butchered and fed to the pigs.” So that only Becky heard.

 

“As your lordship wills.” Was all she said, but her face was pinched delightfully. That smile slipped away in a very satisfying manner.

 

Belen chose that moment to appear, preventing any further fun with this guttersnipe. 

 

“Mistress Trelawny, I would hand over my lord uncle’s gift and begone, will you accept and deliver this horse to Lady Trelawny Belen of Wheatford, with my lord’s good wishes and this missive?” He asked, handing over a scroll.

 

“You skirt the very edges of propriety and good manners my lord. Yes I will, deliver them, though I cannot say how they will be received.” Trelawny snapped, so coldly he felt a shiver from her gaze. 

 

She accepted the offered scroll with a very minimal bow and turned on her heel. 

 

“These gentlemen would be away mistress Annie, may we please disrupt your garden party?” She asked, with a deeper courtesy to the fucking whorse!

 

The damned animal whickered and slowly, ever so slowly, all but Winslow ambled over to be saddled and mounted, reluctantly. 

 

It was infuriating, saddling his own mount under the gaze of those wretched urchins... and Belen. As they cantered down the Shore Road he made sure to spur his beast with even more vigor than usual.

 

The damn thing was as placid as when he first drew it from the stables, it would remember his crop soon enough. It was a long road and they were going to be cold and hungry before they found any peasants to roust for supplies and entertainment.

 

He could barely wait to get back to town where everything made sense, all neat and orderly. Beasts and peasants should know their places, beneath his boot. As the gods ordained.

 

They kept up the pace for a good long while, eating up the miles. When they dismounted at midday to paw through the panniers that the waifs had given them, they had made an impressive distance.

 

“What's in the baskets Malus? Any wine?” He asked hopefully. 

 

“No My Lord, mostly blankets and trail food. Jerky, oats, winter apples.” He called. “A scroll my lord!”

Levin trotted it over, after hobbling the beasts. It was small, in a lovely wooden scroll tube, sealed with undyed beeswax with the sign of a horseshoe and an apple. An unfamiliar device. 

 

The script was neat and compact. A literate commoner or a very very direct noblewoman wrote this missive.

 

My Lord Brennan Fallon,

It has been a pleasure hosting you in my home and I wish you a splendid journey. As such, to ease your path, we offer these simple comforts and have begged the boon of transport from my good friends. 

 

They have kindly agreed to bear you a half day towards your home, ere’ they return to their rightful duties. Let their kindness in this matter linger foremost in your thoughts as you continue your journey.

Sincerely and with all due respect, 

Annie, Princess of Ponies 

He carefully rolled the scroll, slipping it back into the elegant wooden tube it was packed in. That was a marvel in itself, formed of several sheets of wood, as thin as good parchment, laminated together. It was inlaid with some iridescent green substance with the apple and hoofprint device from the seal.

 

Infuriating. This was an insult crafted with care and daring. The kind of thing one would expect from those fools in Port Ellis, That must be it, some plot to humiliate him between Belen and Ellis! Time would tell who…

 

He looked up from his enraged thoughts as hooves thundered nearby. His horse flew past, in naught but bridle and horseshoes, followed by the rest, running down the Shore Road in a tight group.

 

The young groom was standing in the meadow holding chewed through hobbles and ropes in mystified wonder. “LEVIN!” He shrieked, his voice breaking unmanfully in his towering, impotent rage.

 

#

 

When seven horses came down the road without saddles or riders, cantering in perfect formation, most of the bathers were startled. When they trotted up, heads held high to keep from stepping on unattended reins, Becky, Gary and Luna were smiling widely and giggling.

 

#

 

It was worth the late start to pick up some new friends, and Annie liked having a herd along. Besides, loose horses were to be taken to the nearest temple of their brand… in this case War, and that meant Port Ellis. 

 

Annie liked Port Ellis too, it was no Wheatford, but they kept a nice stable, and they had the sweetest hay. Wheatford had the water though, wheat was not her favorite, but they had alfalfa too. Maybe Khan could have some timothy planted. 

#

 

The more ‘normal’ orphans all had at least some equestrian training, Liam had excelled and was a splendid rider. Dannyl and Ivy had at least competence with horses.

 

Shai had suffered through some of War’s equestrian lessons as well, though she preferred her own feet or a cart. 

 

Tallum had never ridden anything but sandals and it showed, only Annie was large enough and competent enough to manage an unskilled rider of that size. The man knew horses, but only from the knees down.

 

Becky and Gary were both special cases of course. Any of the animals would cheerfully do anything she asked without question. 

 

Gary had their full attention wherever he went, but they would not listen to anything he had to say, simply nudging and nuzzling him along like a herd of giant childminders. Pushing him into the arms of the nearest human when he strayed. 

 

While Shai and Gary rode the dog cart, the others rode Annie’s friends bareback, laughing and chatting merrily as magic and music turned miles into smiles. 

 

Shai was definitely a road trip girl. Every new vista was a joy and every new delight that lit her face was a balm to his jostled insides..

 

That afternoon, on a  grassy meadow by the seaside they set up housekeeping and the mobile Bathers set out to cut some meadow grass for their new friends. 

 

Tallum stood with a long knife in his hand and a bundle of wild grasses under a gigantic arm. “I’m making us some scythes for this job. Grass is too close to the ground!” He said, gripping his left side, low down.  

 

“An ye keep up yer training twill… urk.” Shai stooped, gripping her left love handle as well. “Aye, tis nae a task for folks fully grown.”

 

“I told you, all that hammering is going to unbalance you, gotta use your off hand at least twenty five percent of the time to maintain symmetry.” Liam chided, as he scampered by with another load of grasses for the cart.

 

“If you can’t cut hay, take a hatchet and gather some beech boughs, they eat those too. Oh and comfrey! And sorrel! Do you see any clover?” Becky called to the ax wielding giant as he strode to the stand of beeches still bearing some bright red and gold leaves.

 

#

 

Tawny was not best pleased. 

 

“I know you came up with this crackbrained scheme with Becky. She is a child so I can’t blame her…” She stamped her tiny golden foot at the floating needlepoint sampler that was Gary. 

 

He chuckled and winced as his multitude of inflamed sutures tightened and pinched. 

 

“Serves you right, you helped her with that whole thing. The second wall in the garden, all the horse slippers and robes. Don’t think I did not notice Annie’s.” She griped, while grinning widely.

 

“There was a letter, I made a copy, for funzies.” He whispered, clearly proud of his obstinate ways. 

 

The scroll tube of delicate flame maple veneer with the hoof and apple sigil was impressive work. 

 

Wax seal carvers were a touchy bunch, considering themselves the equal of jewelers in many cases. This seal was very clean and elegant, not some slapdash prop. The wax smelt of honey and summer lavender, subtle touches that many would miss.

 

The scroll inside was brutal. If the goal was to politely snub, insult and denigrate a man like Fallon, this was not far off the mark. The care and attention crafted into this insult would not be missed, nor forgotten. 

 

“You have made an enemy of that knight Gary, he may be a baron some day.” Tawny said. 

 

“Good friends are heirlooms, we hand them down to our children. A good enemy is a true treasure… they should be buried in secret and never spoken of again.” He said smugly. 

 

“I think I stole that from someone famous, but they were probably famous on another world…” He shrugged. 

 

“Gary, be very careful in Port Ellis, you may find you fit in too well.”