"Your mamma does," they hollered and were swept away.
Orlon watched them bob up and down until they were lost to sight and had mixed feelings about it. There was no denying the loss of those loudmouths and their never-ending taunts aimed at Marcol was a good thing, but the thought of their demise coming in the horrible form of drowning saddened him, no matter his dislike for them—him from the start. A low, maniacal laugh drew his attention to the mercenary, sitting in the road now, dirt encrusted smile on his face.
"Free," he said between chuckles. "I am finally free of them…forever!" And when he looked down the river his maniacal laughter momentarily erupted loudly. "Bye, bye," he said, waving.
A different kind of laughter caught Orlon’s attention, raised the hairs at his nape. What he heard was a derisive snicker that turned his attention to his best friend and sure enough, there Tarl was, eyeing him, wearing the smile he disliked so much. Yet the heat of his anger at seeing it was tempered by a question. What was so funny? The answer came in Tarl mouthing, "Does’um need a diaper change?" He was still tucked under Sharna’s arm.
With a roll of his eyes, he looked up at her. She was staring off in the distance, obviously lost in some thought or other. He cleared his throat. Her brow knit briefly. She blinked, and she looked at him questioningly.
"Um, I think you can put me down now," he said with a smile.
"Uh, oh, yes," she stammered and set him on his feet. "Sorry about that."
"No problem," he wiggled his shoulders to get his coat back in place, jerked his vest straight.
The clearing of a throat and jingle of coins in a pouch drew Orlon, Sharna, Tarl, Mishto and Marcol to look up the road. Ty the Parson, money pouch in hand, and the rest of the Party stood there, waiting. Ty the Parson performed a wild spin that turned him around, staff pointing up the road, and he took off at a fair clip. Those with him followed.
Tarl looked at Mishto Sharpaine, who looked at him, and a pang hit his heart when he read the pain and sorrow in her eyes. Sure, she was cursed with a monthly…ailment caused by her profession, but hey, somehow he had been spared the deathly results of that ailment. And there was no denying she was beautiful. And there was no denying now that Jack, Caro and Frank were dead, she was alone. And there was no denying no sex would be involved if he did this, so he offered her his hand. She hesitated, finally smiled a dazzling smile and accepted it. They hurried after the others.
Sharna and Orlon followed them, and lastly, Marcol—the money pouch’s jingle fresh on his mind—jumped to his feet and followed, too. As the mercenary quick-footed by him, Orlon could not help but smile at the lightness he registered in his step, speeding as he was to regain his position at the head of the Party and, no doubt, to take possession of the money pouch. It was clear to the M idget Marcol was happy to be alone again, free of constant criticism.
Marcol forgotten, Orlon looked back at the rivers across which had been two bridges. Bridges that represented the only way back to Dwarf Road, the farm community…his cozy little farmhouse. He did not like it one bit when the first collapsed. Now that both bridges were gone he decided Tarl was right in that there was no going back now…. The thought he might not be coming back anyway, considering the evil being he was expected to defeat, popped into his head, and he quickly brushed it aside.
Turning his attention ahead again revealed to him they had reached the Party. Another thing was revealed to him, leading to a sniff that crinkled his nose. His eyes darted to the Oaf, still snatching jerky strips from the Dorks, and he quickly concluded the silence of the missing Grumplings was not a fair trade for the Oaf’s stench.
With a coughed sigh, he sought some avenue of escape from the odor—and he had it! He would do what he did to escape his anger at Tarl on Dwarf Road, by taking in his surroundings. The only difference this time was it would be an act of discovery rather than reminiscing.
To the west he saw open field as far as the eye could see. The grass was tall, weeds plentiful, proving the land beneath fertile. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. It looked like a nice place to settle down on, build a house, a barn, and plant crops, acres and acres of them. Yes, this looked like a nice place to return to after the quest. He frowned at the thought, shook it off. When the quest was over he would return to his home. There had to be a way back home, and he would find it.
He looked to the east, nearly stumbled to a stop. To this side was fertile field, but rather than open, in the far distance was the edge of a woods that grew thicker and ever closer the further south he looked. And he thought he could hear animal noises from those woods. He shivered. This side of the road did not look friendly, and it looked strangely familiar to him.
A firm feminine hand on his shoulder stopped him, brought his attention first to Sharna, then those ahead, who had suddenly stopped. All were startled.
Ty the Parson put a finger to lips and pointed his staff at what lay ahead.
Three hundred feet ahead stood two houses, one directly across the road from the other, and even at such a distance it was discernible something was not…right about them. They were white walled, thatched roofed structures, small, though a shade larger than Orlon’s house. Typical farmhouses they appeared to be, yet for something unusual about them. Beyond that, nothing appeared to be dangers about them.
With finger to lips, Ty the Parson signaled them to advance. They did so at his slow, wary pace, and the nearer they drew to the houses the clearer the oddity about them grew. Instead of normal house fronts with window bordered front door and porch, these houses offered passersby blank white walls.
And it was quiet…. Too quiet.
Despite no visible threat, this mysterious silence had them slow their pace even more, eyes alert. The warriors let hands hover over hilts.
No one, other than Tarl, who reflexively wrapped an arm around Mishto’s waist, found this whole thing more peculiar than Orlon. His nape hairs stirred. He edged closer to Sharna—she liked this—and took a hold of the belt about her trim waist, and he felt silly doing it. This situation was completely out of the ordinary, but he saw nothing to be afraid of. Yet he was. And he dreaded the fact he had no other option than to wait and see what happened, if anything.
They continued down the road, paused when they reached the houses, eyes moving from one to the other. The pause was brief. Quickening their step a little, they walked between the houses and walked unmolested…until they were directly between them. That was when they were bombarded by a shower of rocks coming from behind both houses. With yelps of pain, they scurried about, dodging the rocks.
Only Ty the Parson remained still, the rocks mysteriously missing him. "Protect the One," he commanded flatly.
Orlon was immediately surrounded by the warriors, taking the barrage of rocks without complaint. The Midget felt a pang of guilt not only for that, but for those left unprotected. Tarl did his best to protect Mishto, which was hampered by his shortness and that the rocks came from both sides. Roxx tried to use his cart as a shield, but the both-sides assault made that effort pointless. Rae danced about unharmed, using his staff to bat away rocks. The Oaf just stood there, rocks bouncing off him, as he snatched jerky from the rock-dodging Dorks.
The shower of rocks went on, unabated.
"AA--" Roxx’s scream was cut off abruptly.
All looked to find the cook lying by his cart, a stone embedded in his face.
"O-oh, n-nu-nu-no," Tarftenrott wailed his sorrow, "R-ru-ru-r-roxx!"