Quick-stepping caught Orlon up to Tarl, and they quick-stepped it up to the Party. And the Midgets quickly discovered they needed to speed up even more just to stay up, as their fellow journeymen let go the restraint of their hurried pace.
Ahead of them were the four hills within which they met the musician and Shibtarr. Ah, they remembered the music that entranced them as they approached the hills then. The memory was so vivid it put a hop and a skip to their step—a hop and a skip that brought them to a halt with the realization there was no music on the air this time. To a man, they frowned a moment, disenchanted.
And the moment passed.
They walked to and up the hill, where they stopped. Before them was the "bowl" nestled within the four hills, the road swooping into it and up the hill ahead, and there in the center of the flat was the tree, but no flutist in green doublet and leggings and pointy red shoes sat beneath it, musical instrument poised at lips. With a wave of his staff, Ty the Parson led them down the hill, across the flat and up the next hill.
Just as they crested the hill, Orlon glanced back at the tree and sighed. It would have been nice to have the little man play them a song. Memory of how hypnotic the music had been, how it slowed them down darkened the thought. He was heading home and did not want anything to delay that. A smile touched his face, a skip in his step came and went, and he turned back to the road before him, the way home.
Down the hill they went, on up the road they traveled down a couple of days ago. Their pace was hurried, as before, yet there was a hesitation to their step. All remembered where this road led. A fair distance ahead where two houses directly across the road from each other, one owned by Bobtart Towne, one by Barlowe, and the two men—their families—were feuding.
And well they remembered these families choice of combat weapons. They threw rocks! To a man, the warriors cringed with the memory of the rock shower they suffered between the houses.
The Midgets shivered at the memory. Tarl Bimbo let a hand come to rest on the hilt of his sword for comfort, even though he knew a sword offered little protection from a rock bombardment. Orlon had suffered little injury during the rock shower days ago, the warriors physically shielding him from it. But at that time he was "the One" needed to defend the world against evil Tibtarni—whatever. Well, the quest was completed. The evil defeated. He was no longer "the One" which meant if rocks were thrown he would have to face it alone.
He sniffed, bit back a tear with a sorrowful thought that nearly brushed aside the dreadful memory. With the loss of his self proclaimed protector, whom he felt certain would have still defended him against any threat, he truly was alone…. Another thought helped him push away both emotional thought and memory. Since they befriended Bobtart Towne that meant the rock bombardment would only be coming from one side, from the Barlowes.
Thinking of that befriending turned his mind to Bretta’s biscuits. They were not only tasty, they had been quite filling as well. He thought them the perfect snack while working on the farm. He would have to ask her for the recipe.
When the two houses came into view, so did something that drew them up short. In the road between the houses was Roxx’s push cart. Tarftenrott was just as startled by the discovery as his fellow travelers, and he was also relieved by the sight.
"B-bu-bu-b-boy, a-am I-I g-gu-gu-glad t-tu-tu-to s-su-su-see thu-thu-that," he said, smiling. "I-I c-cu-cu-c-can r-ru-ru-return i-it t-tu-tu-to h-hu-hu-his f-fu-fu-f-f-family."
The stuttering warrior hurried forward, passing Ty the Parson and the rest. They hurried to catch up…
Upon reaching his goal, Tarftenrott took hold of its handle, overjoyed—for a split second. What spoiled it for him, as well as the mood for those behind him, was the bombardment of rocks—from both houses. They ducked and dodged and side-stepped and jumped this way and that, and they suffered the sting of being hit repeatedly anyway.
"Bobtart Towne," Shing, who had been their spokesman before, called. "Bobtart Towne, cease and desist. We are your friends—allies from two days ago, stopping by on our return trip home."
Response to his plea was a redoubling of the rock shower. No one said it, but everyone heard it in their heads: "Let’s get out of here!" And so they did.
They escaped the rock bombardment, ran on a fair distance before stopping to examine what injuries they received. It turned out they suffered only minor cuts and bruises. Still, those wounds hurt, some incredibly so, and to a man, they thought of the healing agent Ty the Parson produced from a baggy sleeve the last time and the fact they had no bucket of water to dissolve it in. Therefore, they resigned themselves to cleansing their injuries with dry handkerchiefs.
Tarl, however, was thinking of more than his aches and pains. A hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and he inwardly grumbled at how useless "Wasp" was in combating the rock shower. And his mind turned to what reaching the houses of Bobtart Towne and Barlowe meant in terms of their journey. It was nearing its end, which he regretted. Then he remembered…
Orlon had more on his mind, too, remembering his cleansing of Sharna’s wounds. He gulped, yet a smile played at his lips, briefly, before a deep sadness draped over him. She was…gone now, and he quickly sought a distraction from his sorrow. What he found was the field he had considered a nice place to build a house on after the quest…. No! He would be returning to his home. Then he remembered…
Both Midgets looked to the twin rivers ahead—and their jaws dropped. Where the bridges spanning those rivers had nearly collapsed beneath them, and did soon after they crossed them, were two bridges. Bridges that looked identical to those offering access to the other side before.
"How…?" Orlon and Tarl pointed.
"One should not question one’s good fortune," Shing advised, as he passed them, following Ty the Parson, who, after a spin and wide-legged stance, staff pointing, started up the road.
"Never look a gift horse in the mouth," Grash put in, following the Oriental Ranger.
Tarftenrott pushed the cart by them, shaking his head.
Orlon and Tarl looked at each other, shrugged and took off after them.
Oh, they quick-stepped it to the first bridge, but halted at its brink. The bridge did look like its predecessor, all the way down to its fragileness. No word needed to be spoken. Ty the Parson started across it with carefully placed steps, Shing giving him a few paces led before stepping onto the bridge himself, and so it went before Grash began, Tarftenrott began, and Orlon and Tarl began to cross the bridge. It creaked and groaned beneath them, and to a man, they were grateful for one thing: the Oaf was no longer with them.
Safely on the other side, they eyed the second bridge with more confidence, yet when they crossed it they did so just as cautiously as they did the first. Once back on solid ground again, they continued up the road without looking back.
There was no reason for caution now and Ty the Parson took advantage of it, increasing their pace to previous levels. Up and over the hill they went, on up Eltrondale Road at such a speed they reached Dark Forest in good time. And it was here he brought them to a bone-jarring halt—at the spot where they had exited the forest days earlier. Everyone, no one more so than Orlon, eyed him questioningly, but it was obvious the Parson had something other than which way to go on his mind.
Rather than at the forest, or up the road, he looked from Tarftenrott to Roxx’s cart and back again and back again and back again… The stuttering warrior frowned under this confusing attention. It did not help matters that all other eyes were soon upon him, too. He tugged at his collar.