Chapter 16 #2
Oh Many-Armed One, maybe this is one of those cultures where they get very upset if they feel they owe an outsider something. “Truly, you don’t need to thank us,” Edmund said hastily, “but if you perhaps had a ration of grain for my mule…”
“Your mule?” Otto’s eyes flicked to the door, as if expecting to see the mule standing there.
“Yes,” said the Dervish, “she’s with our friends farther down the road. We do need to get going so that we can join up with them.”
“Your friends are welcome as well, of course.”
“You’re very kind,” said the Dervish, “but there’s still a few hours of daylight left, and I expect they’ll be ready to get moving.”
“I see,” said Otto. “Certainly, it is the least we can do.” He called to the youngster who had been waiting nearby, and the boy hurried to the far end of the barn and returned with two wrapped grain cakes.
“Thank you,” said Edmund, bowing awkwardly. “I do very much appreciate it.”
“Not so much as we appreciate your help with our dragon,” Otto said.
The Dervish smiled and bowed, backing toward the door. Edmund followed him. Otto remained in the room, watching them leave, his face impassive.
“Was it just me—” Edmund started to say, as they left the barn.
“Later,” said the Dervish sharply. He didn’t need to say anything more. The people outside were still watching. Even the men dressing the deer had paused in their work.
Edmund tried smiling at them. It didn’t change much.
It wasn’t until they’d put several buildings and a fair amount of distance between themselves and the barn that the Dervish relaxed. “Whew,” he said. “There was a man with the personal warmth of a bag of cement.”
“Yes,” Edmund said. “Though I suppose to be fair, I don’t know what they’re like normally. It could be one of those religious communities where no one talks frivolously. And we did just tell them there was a dragon coming.”
“Sure.” He didn’t sound convinced. Edmund wasn’t entirely convinced himself.
Nevertheless, they made it back to the copse where the others waited without any incident. The Dervish scanned the area for any watchers, then called, “Dog Violet? Francis? You there?”
“Still here, knife-man.” The gnole emerged from behind a bush. “Some humans come along road, but didn’t see us. Even a mule kept quiet. Smart mule.”
“When she wants to be,” the Dervish muttered. “Okay. I think I saw a route that will get us out of here without being spotted. Let’s get moving.”
Dusk had spread a cool blue blanket under the trees by the time they had left the farmlands behind.
Edmund estimated that they’d come a good way south and a little way east. He’d have preferred the other way around.
To get back to the main road, they were going to have to cut through densely wooded hills, and the odds of getting lost rose dramatically.
Still, you couldn’t very well not warn people when a massive predator was waddling around the region. The dragon might be slow, but it would be nearly unstoppable if it attacked, and the damage it could do to a barn or a farmhouse or a field was unthinkable.
Francis had stayed low most of the way. Several times, they saw people out across the fields, and once a horseman on a low rise overlooking the road.
Fortunately drainage ditches were everywhere, and the few times that Francis had to cross a road or a field, they were able to find spots where she would be unobserved.
Everyone was exhausted by the time the moon rose, not so much from travel but from constant wariness. The Dervish called a halt in the first sizable patch of woods out of sight of the fields. Large Francis flopped straight down on the ground, looking like a strange, shiny throw rug.
“I-am-sorry-friends. It-is-not-so-easy-to-move-like-that-for-long-periods.”
“You rest,” Edmund said, bending down to pat her carapace. “Err … that was meant to be a friendly gesture. I’m not sure if your people do that.”
“We-touch-antennae-but-I-realize-that-would-be-difficult. The-gesture-is-understood-and-appreciated.”
They scrounged fallen wood and built up a small fire, fed Sweetness, then passed around the sack with Alba’s generous offering. “Cheese,” moaned the Dervish. “It has been so long since I have had cheese.”
“Best things humans invented.”
Edmund paused with a slice halfway to his mouth. “Gnoles didn’t make cheese?”
Dog Violet shrugged. “A gnole isn’t a historian, but old gnole, ours, says long time ago, gnoles aren’t keeping animals like humans. Except bees, always kept bees. And burrow bats.”
“Huh.” Edmund let the sharp flavor dissolve on his tongue. “I suppose if gnoles didn’t domesticate most animals, that would make sense.”
“What-is-a-burrow-bat-friend-Dog-Violet?”
“Little bat, lives in gnole burrows, catches bugs. Friendly. Like to be scratched behind ears.”
“Their droppings are used for fertilizer,” Edmund said. “I’ve only seen them in a few burrows, though.”
“Hunt-gnoles keep them, not job-gnoles. In a city, maybe no hunt-gnoles.” Dog Violet popped another piece of cheese in her mouth. “No bat cheese, though.”
“Thank the ancestors for that. Though it might still be an improvement over all that jerky.”
The downside to subsisting primarily on jerky for over a week involved a certain amount of time spent attending to nature.
Edmund excused himself, went off into the woods, and spent the last of the fading light finding a comfortable tree root.
My kingdom for some fresh vegetables. Or even pickled ones.
Full dark had fallen by the time nature was satisfied. Edmund made his way back toward the gleam of firelight between the trees.
The Dervish was standing upright on the other side of the fire, a peculiar expression on his face. “Hello, Edwin. Did you find that manic tree you were looking for?”
“The manic … the manchineel tree?” Edmund stepped forward, puzzled. But that’s only in the tropics, and why would he call me Edwin…?
If he’d had another five seconds, Edmund believed, he would have figured it out.
Possibly even three. But even as he realized something was wrong, he had walked into the circle of firelight, and then it was too late.
He saw the light glint off the blade that was snugged up under the Dervish’s left ear, and then an arm went around his neck and a voice said, quite pleasantly, “Two for the harvest. That should keep the dragon fed for a while.”
The Many-Armed One preserve us, Edmund thought. Why does it always come down to human sacrifice?