Bursting into the clearing brought them face to face with a group of twelve inch tall men pulling a wagon full of branches, twigs and pebbles. They halted, the little people halted, and they looked at each other, wide eyed. Then the little men spotted the stuttering warrior, and they scattered. Within seconds all that were left in the clearing were the Party and the supply wagon.
One by one they looked at Tarftenrott. Aware of their disapproving attention, he looked into the distance, his cheeks tinted pink.
The uncomfortable moment ended with a wild spin by Ty the Parson, resulting in a wide-legged stance, staff pointing at the entrance to the path through the forest ahead. He hurried toward it, skirting the hill beyond which lay the slaughtered village of little people, and the Party followed. The Parson squeezed through the entrance, Shing and Crash right behind him. Tarftenrott paused and looked back, over the heads of the frowning Midgets, to see a couple of the little men watching him, and said:
"S-s-su-su-s-sorry. W-wu-w-wu-with thu-thu-the qu-qu-quest a-and a-all th-thu-the t-t-t-talk o-of du-d-du-du-danger, e-evil…"
He shrugged, went through the entrance, Tarl and Orlon on his heels.
Down the winding path they went in good time and soon enough found themselves lined on the bank of the second river. All looked from the river to the far bank. Top most in their minds was how easily Telluspett carried the rope across the swift current, as the river turned out to be only calf deep, but they also remembered the destruction of the raft and felled tree-bridge by the river monstrosity. They gulped.
"The chosen is cast into the ceremonial fire pit! The way is scouted by the man on point! Who will cross the river to secure the way across the river?" Ty the Parson said with a flail of arms that ended with a flamboyant arm gesture, a coil of rope dropping into his hand.
"I’ll do it," Tarl Bimbo said.
Orlon gave his best friend a double-take. Never in his wildest dreams would he have believed Tarl would willingly volunteer to do anything chancy—dangerous.
"Telluspett did it," Tarl answered Orlon’s reaction, shrugging. "Hey, remember the river is only inches deep, pal o' mine. Nothing to it."
With that, he took an end of the rope and started across the river. By his second step he disappeared into the rushing water’s depths. The rope in Ty the Parson’s hand uncoiled once, twice, a third, fourth, fifth time… Tarl surfaced several feet downstream, dogpaddling frantically against the swift current. Climbing was his forte, no doubt, but swimming, not so much.
Yet there was one thing that lent fins to his limbs, memory of the horrific creature that had thwarted their first two attempts to cross the river. His efforts focused more on reaching the other side than fighting the current, costing Ty the Parson several more coils of rope before the Midget finally reached and pulled himself onto the bank, where he rolled onto his back, took in great gulps of air to catch his breath.
A smile came to his pudgy face with the thought of the one positive aspect to this unexpected plunge into the river. The rushing waters had cleaned the slime and urine stains from his clothing. Crimson crept up his cheeks with the further thought of how the rushing waters had swept away the fresh urine released upon his thinking of the river monstrosity. He blurted a laugh. Now if he could just combat the chill of being soaking wet.
"Tie the rope to a tree," Shing hollered.
Tarl blinked, sat up and looked upstream at his traveling comrades.
"Tie it as high as you can," the Oriental Ranger added.
Tarl blinked again—and his eyes dropped to the rope in hand. When the reason he crossed the river returned to his mind, he smiled and gave them a thumbs-up. He got to his feet and quick-stepped it back toward them, eyeing the smattering of trees along the bank for the right one. He found it! And it was nearly directly across from the others, too. Stretching his four feet two inch frame to the limit, he tied the rope around the trunk a good five and a half feet up.
"Okay," he said, turning in a wide step to clear the way.
With the briefest of nods, Ty the Parson looped his end of the rope about a sturdy tree, pulled out all the slack and tied it secure. He then leaned on the rope with all his weight to test its strength. It held. A nod revealed his satisfaction, and he hung from the rope, swung his legs up to wrap around it and proceeded to pull himself hand-over-hand over the river. Once safely on the far bank, he stepped aside to await the others with Tarl.
Shing was next to pull himself along the rope to the other side, followed by Grash and then Tarftenrott. Each joined the others upon reaching the bank, and shortly they all stood together, looking at the last person on the far bank.
"It’s all up to you, Orlon," Tarl said with a big grin.
A frown touched Orlon’s face. There was no need for his best friend’s comment, or his obviously sarcastic grin.
He looked at the rope above him, and he swallowed. To reach it would be easy, just a simple jump, but it was what was expected of him after that worried him. Not only were his legs tired, his arms were weak from the strain of reaching this point as well. Did he have the strength to pull himself over the river? What if he fell into that swift current? He inwardly chuckled at the latter question. If there was one thing he had over Tarl Bimbo, it was that he could swim. Maybe he was not great at it, but he could swim.
"It’s all up to me," he breathed,
The simple jump to reach the rope proved successful. With great effort he was able to get his legs up and wrapped around it. He hung there. The weariness of his limbs was evident in their trembling, but he bit his lip, began to pull himself hand over hand over hand… Try though he might not to, he glanced at the rushing waters beneath him once, twice, a third time. Just as many times he gulped back bile. Nevertheless, he did not stop.
It was on his fourth glance down that he saw the edge of the bank, which renewed his waning strength. One pull, two pulls, a third and a fourth, and he was safely across the river. He let go his legs, then hands and dropped to solid ground. Upon remastering his balance, he turned to his fellow travelers, a proud smile on his face.
Reaction to his achievement took the smile right off his face.
Sappy staff pointing, Ty the Parson started through the forest, the Party right behind him. Tarl gave his best friend a shrug and followed.
A bit crestfallen, Orlon wiped his sweaty palms on his vest and took off after them.
Traversing the forest’s light and airy interior was quick and pleasant, even though the lengthy shadows that foretold of day’s end dimmed its light aspect more and more. They were not so concerned about the growing darkness, as they had been going the other way, and the fading of the river’s roaring current filled them with relief. The quest was over. They were heading…home.
No one, not even Tarl Bimbo, was more excited with the idea of going home, and the mundane life that awaited him there, than Orlon. A simple farmer, a happy farmer, he had been shanghaied on this quest to "save the world from the clutches of evil," and he had done it. To his way of thinking nothing would be better than to return to his simple, happy farm life in a continued time of peace and tranquility guaranteed by his deed. His only concern at the moment was getting there.
It was not so much that Tarl was unhappy with the thought of going home as it was a bit of a letdown for him. His dream of breaking free from Dwarf Road to see what lie beyond the farm community had come true—and he even exceeded his dream. He had had an adventure! And in that adventure he gained possession of and used his trusty sword, "Wasp." Oh, the experience had been exciting, exhilarating, as well as frightening beyond words. It had also exhausted him to the point he was amazed he was able to keep going.