Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 13 Pt. 1

 Notes: Let's just have a nice day. Can we just have one nice day? Can we?

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 13 Pt. 1

***

Chapter Thirteen, Part One

 

Photo by Jez Timms

A Better Deal

 

Luck was with Hiram. The weather was clear now, the sky blue instead of the interminable gray it had been for the past week of drizzle or so, and the crisp autumn weather that kept threatening to descend seemed to retreat today, with sunshine and a warmth that was enough for him to shed his cloak as he and Mule ambled deeper into Garrison. Even his sniffles let up. Better than all that, though, was the way the crowd got bigger the farther into the center of the city he went. By the time he reached the main square, three times the size of Lollop’s and teeming with people, no one even thought to give him a second glance.

Gods, it was refreshing. That had been the best part of his escape from Galenish—the anonymity of it all. To go from a fearsome, even legendary figure to just another nobody was delicious. That was what his choice of Lollop was meant to ensure for him, and then… Then I went and became a bit notorious. But that was all right, it would die down. In the meantime, he could appreciate being no more than a face in the crowd.

Hiram dismounted when the traffic became too thick and found a hitching post manned by a pair of twin boys who assured him they’d look after Mule while he shopped. “Water’s free, feed’s extra,” one of them said enterprisingly as he took the reins from Hiram and expertly attached them to the post. There were two other horses tied there already, but Mule paid them no mind.

“She’s already had breakfast,” Hiram replied. “I’ll give you two extra bits when I come back to make sure she’s got a bit of space to herself, though.” Not that he expected Mule to give them any trouble, but…actually. “One moment.” He rummaged through his rucksack—he wasn’t fool enough to leave it on Mule while he shopped—and pulled out a pair of blinders. He fixed them to her long, bony face, feeling her relax a bit once he was done. Not that he expected her to see anything especially evil in a place like Garrison, but then again, he hadn’t expected the gnolls on the road, either. The last thing he needed was his unicorn to pitch a fit and impale something where everyone could see it.

“Bit fussy, then?” one of the boys asked.

“Just particular about her company, that’s all,” Hiram replied. “Thanks, lads.” He paid them half in advance, then tugged his rucksack over his shoulders and set off into the market.

His first stop was at a tea station, where he bought a cup of the sweet, spicy, milky brew that seemed ever-present in Oribel. This was spicier than what he was used to back in Lollop, and he stifled a cough into his sleeve before he took his second sip. The lady running the stall chuckled. “Bit harsh for you, sir?”

“It’s a good wakeup,” he assured her. “Just a trifle more heat than I’m used to.”

“Where do you hail from, sir?”

“Lollop.”

“Do you now!” She beamed at him. “My cousin and her husband live there, sir.”

Well, damn. “What a coincidence.”

“They run the tea stall, of course. Do a bit of foraging for some of the rarer spices we use, too.”

“Mm.” Hiram was drinking his tea down as fast as he could, more than ready to move on.

“Her last letter was full of tales about the place. There was a hullabaloo in the temple not long ago, it turns out. Were you there for it?”

He swallowed the last of his tea, gasped a bit at the persistent burn of the black pepper, and handed the cup back. “I don’t go to the Temple of Melemor often,” he said. “Have a fine day, mistress.”

“Wait, sir—your name, sir!” But he was already gone.

After that, Hiram was careful to stay a bit more reticent when it came to conversation. He made polite conversation in the stalls that attracted his notice and bargained hard but not too hard for the goods and ingredients he was interested in, but no one else got any details from him. A few enterprising thieves did try to relieve him of the contents of his outer pockets, but Phlox knew how to handle that. Static electricity was surprisingly easy to generate, and something no one could directly link to magic. The sound of people cursing their tingling fingers as he walked away brought a smile to his face.

Hiram was lucky to find an empty chair in a busy tavern on the edge of the plaza around lunchtime. He sat down with a sigh, more tired than he cared to admit. Fine, perhaps he was a little sick, a bit under the weather, but it wouldn’t interfere with his time in Garrison. When the waiter, a broad-shouldered young dwarf carrying a tray stacked with twelve pints on one hand and a rag in the other, came over and wiped the table down, Hiram contented himself with ordering the special for the day, then stared out into the crowd and watched people go by.

“Perhaps this place would have been better.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “But a larger city comes with a different set of problems.”

“You could more easily be of no import here.”

“But it’s too easy to make connections in a place like this.” He glanced back in the direction of the tea stall. “Case in point. No, the only way to avoid people entirely would be to venture off into the wild and set myself up as a hermit on a mountaintop or some such nonsense.”

Phlox snorted quietly. “That would drive you mad.”

“I know,” Hiram admitted. “I’m not made for solitude, I’m afraid.”

“You would have me.”

“That’s true. And you’re a good companion, but we’d tear each other to shreds in a week if we didn’t have someone else around to distract us. And Esme would riddle up company before we knew it.”

“She can’t help her nature.”

“None of us can.” They fell silent for a bit, and Hiram became distracted by a puppet show being put on down the way. It was a small little production, the theater set up on the back of a wagon. Children gathered in front of it and watched avidly as the players behind the tattered curtain acted out what looked to be a ferocious battle. One of the characters suddenly hoisted a flaming sparkler, and the monster it was squaring up against cried out piteously as the puppet thrust the sparkler into its scaly chest.

“Is that…”

The Princess and the Dragon. It was a puppet version of Misha’s famous proving quest, the ridiculously old-fashioned rigamarole that Andy had insisted she participate in despite the fact that she was his only child and heir. Hiram had argued against it, but Andy had insisted. After all, “I did it myself,” he’d said after one particularly vociferous exchange, a look of tenderness coming across his face. “And I found you, remember?”

Hiram had backed down, but made sure to give Misha a weapon worthy of the opponent her father had sent her after. The dragon had been menacing the foothills of the Elasgus Mountains for months, eating up entire flocks of sheep and several shepherds as well. Various bands of heroes had tried to handle it with no success; the beast was too clever and knew how to evade people of power, vanishing into a series of tunnels that dated back to when the Elasgus Mountains had flowed with fire.

Misha had taken her father’s command with equanimity, and even tried to refuse the flaming sword Hiram had made for her. “It wouldn’t be fair,” she tried to say. “I’m—”

“Your father had boots of speed, a helm of invisibility, and arrows of true flying on his proving quest,” Hiram had replied flatly. “This is the absolute minimum I’ll accept if you won’t let me come with you.”

“I can’t,” she’d said regretfully, and accepted the sword along with a kiss and hug. She’d gone off to do her duty and she’d done it well, returning in triumph. Only Hiram knew how she’d sought him out later, tears streaming down her thin cheeks as she’d cried for the dragon she’d killed, blind and starving but still so clever, a font of ancient knowledge it had tried to bargain with in exchange for its life.

Hiram watched the celebration of the dragon’s death play out and swallowed against the lump in his throat. Misha…he tried not to think about her, because if he let himself do that for too long his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He hoped she was all right. He hoped he’d drawn enough of her father’s ire that she was well and truly safe. His darling girl…

“Your food, sir.”

He blinked and turned back to the dwarf, who was setting a plate and tankard down on the little table. “Thank you.” Hiram ate mechanically, pausing to wipe his nose with his handkerchief every now and then, and by the time he was done he was ready to move on once more. He paid up and headed back into the crowd, this time looking for Lancre silk.

None of the stalls in the plaza were going to carry something so specific and rare. However, a few pointed questions led Hiram to a shop two streets away, run by a woman who’d clearly been a rogue in her early days if the quickness of her hands and the multiple, very sharp pairs of scissors attached to her person were any indicator.

“Black Lancre silk?” She stroked a hand over the shaved side of her head as she considered it. “I’ve got a few lengths of it, but it’s dear. The purple is much easier to come by.”

“I’m afraid it has to be black,” Hiram said. “One bolt should be sufficient.”

“Hmm.” She looked him up and down. “Planning an infiltration, are we?”

“Merely doing a favor for an acquaintance,” he replied blandly. To her credit, she didn’t press, just pulled out a few lengths of silk for him to inspect before charging him an eye-watering amount of money for a bolt of the darkest shade. Hopefully Master Spindlestep was good for it, because otherwise Hiram would have to put on quite the show over what he could and couldn’t afford, and that would be tedious.

“Can you recommend a decent inn for the night?” Hiram asked once their transaction was done. “Somewhere near the city center, but not likely to be too crowded.”

She nodded briskly. “You want The Raring Rooster. The owner’s wife breeds rare chickens, which means it’s the loudest place for five blocks in the morning, but the prices are good and there’s always rooms available.”

Hiram smiled. “That sounds perfect.” She directed him to a spot on the other side of the plaza, and Hiram set out ready to settle into a room for the rest of the afternoon and nap and recover.

Naturally, it didn’t work out that way.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 12 Pt. 2

 Notes: I got sick while writing this. You'll be able to tell, I'm not subtle about real life influencing my work. Speaking of, HAPPY THANKSGIVING to those who celebrate, I'm very thankful to have you in my life :)

 Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 12 Pt. 2

***

Chapter Twelve Part Two

 

 

Photo by Frederike

A Rough Night

 

Hiram woke with a sneeze. “Ugh,” he muttered as he rolled over on the straw tick mattress, grimacing as several sharp ends poked up through the loose weave of the sheet and scratched his skin. Straw was a common filler for mattresses, and it did all right for a season, but if it wasn’t replaced regularly it turned into a moldering mess. He wasn’t sure if it was the dankness of the mattress or a result of his thorough drenching from the rain last night, but his nose was thoroughly stuffed up.

“You sound sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Hiram said, wearily pressing up into a sitting position. He’d made it to Garrison last night after leaving the gnolls bound together with their own wires in the middle of the road. Mule had refrained from removing any of their limbs, the dear thing, but she had run each of them through in several places. It was a toss-up as to whether or not they’d survive the blood loss. Hiram didn’t feel much remorse about that. If they’d happened upon someone less prepared than him, perhaps someone with a family or a young apprentice in tow…

No. They got whatever they got at this point.

“You sound rather sick for a healthy person.”

“What would you know about it? You never get sick.”

“Neither do you.”

“There you have it, then.” Hiram got to his feet and went over to his rucksack. Several cockroaches scuttled out from beneath it, and he took a moment to be grateful for the sigils worked into the cloth that rendered it inviolate to any hands—or legs—but his. “I never get sick, therefore I’m not.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“It’s just the mattress. It’s full of mildew. I’ll clear out my sinuses and be right as rain in a moment.”

Phlox snorted. “It’s the rain that got you into this position in the first place.”

Hiram tuned out his companion’s unhelpful observations and pulled off his sleep shirt, shivering in the cold. He’d taken refuge in the first inn that still had a torch lit, which turned out to be a threadbare place on the edge of town run by a rather slovenly man who’d directed him to the room in the peak of the building, with sloping walls and more than one leak. It was more important to Hiram that Mule have a decent spot in the stable, which she did, but right now, cold and undoubtedly too late rising to get the “complimentary” breakfast that came with staying here, he felt more than a little run down.

Eh, the breakfast was probably inedible anyhow. He’d pack his things and find better lodging today, then go about the business that had brought him here in the first place. Hiram dressed in one of his finer outfits, topping it off with the lovely but sedate cloak that Master Spindelstep had made him rather than his single-armed Galenish one, then brushed out his hair and cleaned his teeth.

“Master Surrus isn’t here for you to impress, you know.”

Hiram felt his cheeks heat. “I don’t dress up for him.”

“You would if you had the chance.”

Phlox had unfortunately been around long enough to see how Hiram had gone about seducing Andy on a regular basis, and it had always included dressing his best. “Well, I don’t.” With that pathetic retort, Hiram hoisted his rucksack over his shoulder and headed downstairs. There was rather a clamor going on outside, the interior of the inn almost abandoned except by the same slovenly man at the front. Even he looked more alert now.

“What’s all that?” Hiram ask as he handed the man his room key.

“Someone brought down Cletus and Clarus last night,” he grunted, small eyes bright as he stared at the door. “Patrol found ‘em on the road this morning, loaded them into a cart to face justice here. Hanging for sure,” he added, wrapping a demonstrative hand around his own throat in case Hiram was somehow confused. “They’re wanted for a bakers’ dozen of robberies and three murders. Were starting to become a real problem this last month, and no one could find ‘em.”

“Well.” Hiram felt the warm glow of a job well done. “I’m glad someone handled the problem.”

“Yeah, but no one knows who!” The innkeeper was becoming animated, his jowls swinging as he hurried to explain. “There’s a big reward on offer for whoever could finish ‘em, but they was tied up and abandoned. No note, nothing. Had to be a warrior of some kind; they got stabbed by a spear.”

Hiram nodded along. “Lovely. Now, if you could tell me—”

“The Lord Mayor’s probably going to do a seeking to find whoever it was that took ‘em out. Only way to be fair with the money, you know.” The innkeeper deflated a bit. “It’s not right, if you ask me. Using magic to figure out who did what…what if I’d come across them this morning, huh? Went to all the trouble of loading them up and bringing them in. Wouldn’t it be better to at least share the reward with me?”

Hiram groaned inwardly. A seeking, wonderful. Even when he wasn’t touching his own magic, magic still had a way of trying to find him. Of all the damn… “For the extra feed for my horse,” he said, laying down a few copper bits. The innkeeper snatched them up immediately. “I’ll be off, then.” He’d been going to ask about the layout of Garrison, but decided it was better to be gone as soon as possible.

He found Mule in perfect solitude in the stable, chewing on hay and seeming pretty damn pleased with herself after her adventure yesterday. “You had to run them through, hmm?” Hiram muttered to her as he put on her saddle. She blinked at him, then tossed her head. “What will we do if someone recognized the wounds come from a horn, not a spear?”

Not my problem, she seemed to say with a saucy whicker.

“It will become your problem if imperial soldiers try to drag us out of Lollop and back to Andy by our tails,” Hiram said.

“We’ll have to screw up rather more significantly for things to get that far.”

“One would hope,” Hiram agreed. “But for all his faults, Andy is shrewd. He’s very good at collecting vast amounts of information and sifting through it to discover the gems. That’s how he got ahead in so many battles, not to mention stayed ahead of so many assassination attempts.”

“That and the fact that you were helping him.”

True. Which Hiram wasn’t now. Still... “Can you handle an obscuration?”

He felt Phlox pulse with surprise. “Do you really think it necessary?”

“I don’t know that I want to bet on Garrison having a sloppy mage if they work some sort of seeking on those damn gnolls,” he said. He hadn’t thought they’d be that big a deal, in all honesty. No one in Lollop even mentioned them to him. Admittedly, Lollop wasn’t a cosmopolitan place, but still—

“It’s not impossible that Andurion could be checking for my magical signature as well, you know.”

Hiram sighed. “Well, it’s that or we visit a hedge witch and hope they’re trustworthy.” Which was never a given, unfortunately. And then he’d have to ensure silence with a spell of his own, which would put his magical signature on the map again, bouncing across dozens of leylines and lodestones and giving all those imperial mages something to focus on. Damn, who’d have thought hiding would be so bloody hard?

“This might be completely unnecessary,” Hiram added. “Perhaps the Lord Mayor won’t bother with a seeking at all. Why give up a reward when you don’t have to?”

“Perhaps they’re a person of integrity, unlike that fool in Lollop.”

“We’ll hope otherwise,” which was something he hadn’t anticipated saying today, “but in the meantime, just keep your obscuration ready, all right?”

“As you say, Hiram.”

Hiram chuckled at the uncharacteristic agreement, then raised his elbow to his face to stifle another sneeze. “Ugh.” His nose itched uncomfortably, his throat was sore, and he felt like he’d barely put a dent in the fatigue from yesterday’s ride.

He smiled as he remembered what he used to say to Misha when they were adventuring and she started to lose her sense of levity. Eat something. Everything looks a little better once you’ve got food in your belly. “Come on,” he said as he led Mule out of the stable and mounted up. “Let’s go see what we can find in the way of breakfast, and then we’ll see what Garrison has to offer.”

Hopefully the rest of the day would continue better than it had begun.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 12 Pt. 1

Notes: Sorry for the delay, yesterday was SO CRAZY BUSY! Let's go on a road trip, baby!

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 12 Pt. 1

 

***

 

Chapter Twelve, Part One

 

Photo by Felicia Varzari

Road Trip!

 

Phlox’s poor moods could last for weeks without something to jar him out of them. Unfortunately, in Lollop there was little of great enough import to knock a captive elemental being out of his pout, so Hiram went out of his way to do novel things instead that would hopefully interest his companion enough to improve his outlook. It was the least Hiram could do.

Yes, Phlox-as-Pyrax and Hiram-as-Xerome had once fought nearly to the death, and no doubt Pyrax wouldn’t have thought twice about burning him to a crisp and going on to kill his apprentices too. But Pyrax would never have done what Xerome did, imprisoning his enemy’s essence and letting him continue to live a basically neutered existence in three separate containers. It was an incredible comedown in both power and pride for an elemental revered by his people as a god, and there were times when Hiram wondered whether he shouldn’t have meddled in the first place.

There was no changing the past, though—and Hiram would know, he’d tried more than once. All he could do now was ameliorate his friend’s condition as best he could. To that end, Hiram planned his first out-of-town trip since he first got to Lollop over two months ago. There was a somewhat larger city an easy two day’s ride to the east, and Hiram could stand to stock up on some things he’d only be able to find with a larger community of traders on hand. Not to mention, it would give him a chance to scope out whether or not imperial messengers were still distributing posters of him this far from Galenish.

He arranged for Letty to come by and take care of Knight and the chickens and pigs he’d somehow become saddled with—pigs, for every heaven’s sake. Hiram didn’t even like the taste of pork, what was he going to do with pigs other than feed them delicious scraps and watch them grow large enough to square off with their wild boar cousins? Perhaps he could make a gift of them to someone someday…

“Feel free to make use of anything you find in the house,” he told Letty as he tied his rucksack shut. “Just make a note if you use something up. If you care to weed the garden a bit with Rickie, that would be welcome too. Just stay out of the upstairs rooms, if you please.” Not that she’d get up there even if she tried, between the aversion glyphs and the relocation spell he’d reluctantly powered up that would transport an intruder onto the road out front with a blinding headache if they tried to go up there uninvited.

Letty huffed. “I’m not rude, you know. I wouldn’t invade your privacy in such a way.”

“I’m sure of it,” Hiram said. “I just wanted to mention it.”

“What about the cellar?” she asked. “I could move some of your jars down there for you. You’re starting to run out of space on your shelves.”

The cellar. Ah. Right. “I’d avoid the cellar for now,” Hiram said, a bit uncomfortable at the thought of her going down there before he’d cleared it himself. “Just the animals and the weeding, if you please. Perhaps harvest some of the chamomile and lay it on the screen by the window to dry, well out of Knight’s reach, if you please. And some of the anise. And yarrow,…do you need me to write this down?”

“I think I’ll manage,” Letty said. “Have a nice trip! I’ve never been as far as Garrison before; you have to tell me all about it when you get back.”

“I will,” he promised her with a smile before heading outside to saddle Mule and get on the road.

Mule was pleased by the prospect of a trip, too. It was a bit of a boring life for her, Hiram reflected, after several decades of intense battle at the front of the greatest army the continent had ever seen. Mule was a peaceful animal by nature and had adapted well to her new habitat, but that chase they’d gone on a few weeks back…clearly she was missing fulfilling her nature, which was to hunt down and destroy creatures touched by evil.

Maybe they’d get lucky and run into a beastie or two on the road.

Hiram waved to various people he recognized on the way through town, only stopping once for Master Spindlestep, who was crossing the road with the single-mindedness of a man who wasn’t going to be deterred by either traffic or his blindness. “Good morning, Master Spindlestep,” he called out as the elderly elf passed by.

“Master Emblic.” He stopped—out of the line of any carts or horses who might go by, thankfully—and tilted his head as though he were listening to something specific. “Leaving us, are you?”

“Only for a short time,” Hiram assured him. “I’m off to Garrison for a few days, but I’ll be back before the next market day.”

“A good thing, otherwise there may be a revolt,” Master Spindlestep said genially. “Your products get excellent reviews, sir.”

“Always welcome to hear.”

“Indeed it is.” The elf came a bit closer and lifted his hand, laying it gently on Mule’s neck. To Hiram’s surprise, Mule not only accepted the touch with grace—she could be a bit finicky about non-virgins—she whickered, turning her head to nudge Master Spindlestep’s shoulder.

“Mule, you rude thing,” Hiram chided her, but the old elf just laughed.

“She recognizes a friend when she sees one,” he said. “I’ve always loved horses of this sort, and they tend to be smart enough to know when they’re with a friend.” He said “like this” with a bit of import. Hiram wondered whether the tailor, for all his blindness, was able to see right through the glamour on Mule.

Well, and what of it if he did? The glamour was unbreakable; no one would believe him if he tried to spread such a tale about, and he had no reason to do anything other than enjoy the company of a light creature like a unicorn. “She’s been a good friend to me for many years,” Hiram settled on saying.

“I can sense that.”

Perhaps he could. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I must continue.”

“Of course.” Master Spindlestep gave Mule one last stroke along her velvety nose, then moved back. “If you’ve the means to buy a bolt of black Lancre silk while you’re there, I’d happily repay you.”

Lancre silk…and in black…that seemed very fine for use in Lollop. Lancre silk was mildly color-shifting, the result of blending worm and spider threads together, and shockingly strong for a fabric. Hiram knew this ask was a test of some kind, but what was the tailor hoping to glean about him from it? His level of disposable income? His ability to discern Lancre silk from regular silk? His willingness to do a favor for someone he had no strong connection to?

“I’ll see what I can do,” he settled on. Master Spindlestep nodded, and then Hiram was on his way once more, riding until even the disreputable Highwayman Inn was out of sight.

It was a quiet road for the first half of the day, and he reveled in the solitude and the sound of the wind. Around noon, the route expanded significantly as several more roads joined it, and he ended up jostling for position amongst carts and wagons, solitary riders and groups, and a fair number of walkers as well.

It wasn’t that Hiram couldn’t tolerate the company, but by mid-afternoon a rain had set in that quickly churned the road to mud beneath so many hooves and wheels. What I wouldn’t give for a good, Imperial highway of stone…

Of course, stone roads were reserved for much more important parts of the empire than this, especially with no quarries native to the area. The amount of work it would take to build and maintain stone roads everywhere…Hiram had argued for it, actually, citing the good it would do to local economies as well as the skills transfer from imperial civil engineers to rural ones, but that was one more place where Andy had shot him down.

It left him determined to get as far as he could tonight, perhaps even as far as Garrison itself. The city was only forty miles from Lollop, after all. Mule could do it easily; Hiram was the one who was going to be sore from the saddle tomorrow, but if it meant making better time once others retreated to the inn they got to at sundown, he’d manage.

“You won’t want to camp, sir!” the inn’s crier called out after him when he saw Hiram wasn’t turning off with the rest of the traffic. “It’s terrible dangerous in those woods at night! There’s gnolls and trolls and even bandits out there in the woods, sir, mark my words!”

“I won’t be camping,” Hiram called over his shoulder.

“Sir! Come on now, sir!”

But Hiram was determined to get to Garrison by midnight. And once he was alone… “A bit of light perhaps, Phlox?” he murmured, and to his delight, Phlox responded with a thin beam that lit the road just enough for Mule to see by. It was a good thing, too; the moon was invisible tonight, utterly drowned out by the wet cloud cover, and the drizzle got that much colder as the evening wore on.

A more impatient person would have spurred Mule to a faster pace, but Hiram was neither impatient nor a fool. He kept them moving at a steady trot, which meant he had plenty of time, even in the gloom, to pick out the array of slender metal threads stretched taut across the road.

At speed, they could have done terrible damage to Mule’s legs. As it was, the unicorn came to an easy halt a few meters away from them.

“Hmm.”

Phlox unexpectedly spoke up. “I do believe we’re about to be accosted by bandits, Hiram.”

Hiram eased himself out of the saddle with a groan. “You’re probably right, my dear,” he murmured.

“How would you care to handle the occasion?”

That was an excellent question, and one Hiram was still considering when an eerie, baying cackle started up in the woods to the right. Hiram turned with interest to watch as a pair of enormous, spot-eared gnolls emerged from the trees. He’d never seen the spotted version before; the ones who lived up north tended toward stripes. Other than that, they were identical to most of the gnolls he’d encountered over the years: they had broad, squat bodies that were heavy with muscle and blunt canid mouths full of fangs. These ones wore dark, lustrous pelts for clothes that probably came from lowland panthers, and each of them carried both a club and a dagger.

Decidedly dark creatures, by nurture if not nature. Hiram tightened his grip on Mule’s reins.

“Clever human,” one of them slavered at him, a wild glint in his eyes. “Spying our little net before it could catch you.”

“Not clever enough to stay at the inn, though,” the other said with rather less drool falling out of his mouth. “Shouldn’t have pressed on, old man. Too bad now you’re going to be late for your appointments.” He grinned. “’Cept the ones you’ve got with your gods.”

Hiram nodded slowly. “That is certainly one possibility.” Mule was quivering now, every inch of her ready to fulfil her ultimate purpose.

“It’s the only possibility, old man. No one escapes from Cletus and Clarus.”

“Ah, but you see,” Hiram replied. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He patted Mule on the neck. “Alive if you can, darling,” he told her.

The gnolls stared at each other for a moment, as if they were wondering just how mad this strange human was. That was when Hiram let Mule go. She reared onto her back hooves with a ferocious battle cry, then lowered her head and charged.

“Now.” Hiram turned back to the wires as the gnolls howled with matching bloodlust. “Let’s see about clearing this before she comes back, hmm?” Luckily they were rather haphazardly placed, and cheap besides. A quick snip with the second-best shears he’d brought along in his rucksack was enough to bite through the thinner ones. The thicker might require a bit more work…

“You let Mule have all the fun.”

“You can have the next bandits, my dear,” Hiram promised. The howls were already becoming whimpers of pain and fear. “Just don’t tell Esme we had a good time without her, or she’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

Phlox considered that for a moment, then said, “Deal.”