"I cannot do this all alone," he said quietly.
Grash, Sharna, Tarftenrott and Expendendale stepped up, the first two taking up a log, the last two taking up another, and one by one they lined them up side by side. Tarftenrott and Expendendale put the last log in place. The drilled holes in each end lined up perfectly, and Shing thrust a limb through each set. The limbs fit snuggly, securing the logs together. Thus a raft was built!
Shing returned to the scattered limbs, from which he picked a long, sturdier one. This he cleared of leaves, then sheathed his sword and returned to the raft, makeshift push-pole in hand.
"Shall we?" he said to the four warriors.
The four took up the raft and carried it to the river’s edge, where Grash and Sharna dropped their end into the water. Tarftenrott and Expendendale hurried forward, putting the craft fully into the river… Great waves welled up, crashed about a magnificent monstrosity, with beady eyes and huge, fang filled mouth agape, rising from the river’s depths. Up, up it went, arched to come down on the raft, crushing the craft in its mighty maw.
And it was gone.
Wide eyed, Orlon and Tarl gulped.
"What was that?" they said in unison.
No answer was offered, the Party being just as startled by the occurrence as the Midgets were. But there were two who took the event in stride. Ty the Parson and Shing stood at the river’s edge, examining the flowing waters from which the monstrosity had come. It was obvious by their intensity they sought understanding—a solution, and the longer they stood there contemplating, the more uneasy the rest became.
"The shark detects prey by thrashing water! I, Ty, the Parson, can see only one way to safely cross. A bridge," Ty the Parson said in a flail of arms and legs.
With a nod, the Oriental Ranger looked for a proper tree for the purpose. This he found in quick order. The tree was tall, bare of limbs but its very top, the trunk thick enough to offer decent footing. Six mighty strokes of his sword set the tree swaying, creaking in protest, then with an earsplitting snap it fell across the river without disturbing the rushing waters, its top crashing through the trees lining the opposite bank… Waves welled and crashed about the coming monstrosity. It arched, coming down to smash the tree to pulp in its fang filled jowls.
And it was gone.
Shing looked at Ty the Parson, who shrugged, and the two looked back at the river, lost in thought. The Party looked from the river to them and back again, lost in their own thoughts about this predicament. It appeared to them insurmountable.
Well Orlon remembered the Parson’s warning of greater dangers the closer they came to the evil one’s lair, but he never expected anything like this river monster. If raft and bridge could not offer them safe access to the other bank, he saw no way past it…. A feeling of relief this obstacle prevented him from facing and if possible destroying the evil being swept over him, immediately followed with guilt…
If he did not fulfill his part of the quest that meant evil would prevail and the world would suffer for his failure. The thought of how the people he knew and loved would suffer angered him.
He looked at the Holy Pike, so plain and ordinary looking now, but once aglow, a halo about its point and watched over by cherubs, and sadness gripped him. If he was unable to use the weapon as intended, of what use would it be? His sadness deepened with the thought of the cherubs, their eyes seen through the slit in the wall, and that he might have taken their charge away from them for nothing.
Tarl was simply glad an insurmountable obstacle stopped them from carrying out such a mad scheme as confronting some evil being of great power. Sure, the world would suffer for their—Orlon’s failure, but such bad times would not last forever. Surely not. The important thing was that he had finally got to see some of the great big world.
A hand brushed the hilt of his newly acquired shortsword and to his surprise his delighted mood darkened. If they faced no more danger, his weapon, "Wasp," would see no action. He looked at the scabbarded blade with furrowed brow, wondering where that thought came from. His right hand took told of the hilt, white knuckled in its intensity, but he stopped it before it drew the weapon. With great effort, he forced his hand to release it, and he frowned at said hand.
Stuffing it into a pocket wrapped its fingers around the hefty money pouch and turned his mind to another thought. If no solution was found and they turned back soon, they could reach the hotel, where they could take rooms, by nightfall. And with his funds he could rent himself the best of rooms. Yes, if there was no solution to their predicament, he would spend a night in luxury.
The possible solution came from a most unlikely place.
"A rope," Marcol said, finger in the air.
All eyes turned to the mercenary, brows knit. None were more knit than those of Ty the Parson and Shing. They looked at each other questioningly. Shing shrugged a "might as well." Ty the Parson nodded with a twitch of his shoulders, and with a flamboyant arm gesture he produced a coil of rope from a sleeve. Knotted to one end was a pouch of gold. He extended the rope to Marcol, who took it and in no less a flamboyant arm gesture untied the gold pouch, secreted it away who-knew-where on his person.
"Telluspett," the mercenary called.
The Dork ran up to him, smiling.
"Here," Marcol handed him an end of the rope. "Cross the river and tie this to a tree."
"Okay," Telluspett said and darted across the river, its rushing waters splashing about his ankles, to the opposite bank. He turned and waved the rope end, still smiling.
Orlon caught his jaw, but Tarl let his drop.
Ty the Parson and Shing stared, eyebrows nearly up to hairlines.
As for the rest of the Party, they blinked.
Marcol, however, saw red. "Tie…it…to…a…tree," he screamed.
Telluspett frowned, looked from the mercenary to the rope to the tree line behind him and back again and back again and back again. Then a dim light flared briefly in his eyes, and he spun around to the trees, arms akimbo, head swinging side to side in search of the right tree. Time ticked away… His head swung back and forth, back and forth—and stopped! Nodding, he tied the rope to a sapling.
"Okay," he said, turning and waving, and thumbing over a shoulder, he added, "Done."
With eyes to the heavens, Marcol swung the rope around the small of his back, holding the rope tightly in hands, and said, "Everyone across."
One by one, starting with Ty the Parson, they crossed the river, holding onto the rope for security against its swift current. Tarl started across, followed closely by his best friend and his best friend’s guardian. Both Midgets looked into the rushing waters to see a rock strewn river bottom that stretched as far as the eye could see both ways, and they were lost for an explanation as to how this was possible.
When the three were safely on the opposite bank, Marcol let the rope loose from the small of his back and, coiling it as he went, made his way across the river. He reached the bank, and after looking at the Dork’s convoluted knot, he sighed, drew his shortsword and chopped the rope free.
Ty the Parson signaled, as wildly as the narrow bank allowed him to, for the Party to follow. He then went along the bank to the small path leading into the forest Orlon had seen earlier. Though curiously two inches wide, the trees bordering were just wide enough for him to take a deep breath and squeeze through. Fortunately the flora beyond did not crowd the path too tightly, allowing him to stand sideways upon it and sidestep his way down it to let the Party follow.
So they did, one by one, each sucking in a breath to do so, until the path was lined with men, and a woman, all standing sideways. With a signal from Ty the Parson, they advanced along the meandering path, awkwardly and slowly, and thankful that this forest offered no apparent dangers to them, nor were there earsplitting noises to stir the nape hairs…. Yet there was one troubling thing about it: the volcanic mountain looming over it.