The noble and humble bard recognized that the group before her was formidable indeed, and so she raised them up from their prostrate positions, comforted the suffering Nadinta with a gentle touch on her shoulder, and told them that she would lead them to Skendrick, and that she felt deep in her bones that the worthy adventurers would prove mighty enough to slay the dragon.
Chapter 12
ALCOHOL + DESPERATION = BAD DECISIONS
Their flight had been neither swift nor heroic, but at last Nadinta, Rummy, Whiska, and Borg reached a sleepy hamlet that they considered far enough from Velenia to be safe from pursuit from their prior employer.
“As farm implements go, maybe a scythe would be better, eh?” said Rummy as they waited to enter the village, checked by a bored guard armed with a garden hoe.
The guard shrugged, jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and said, through a yawn, “There’s an inn down the road a few blocks that way—The Dancing Dozer. Can’t miss it. Unless you do. Which you won’t.”
“Dancing Dozer?” replied Rummy. “That seems dangerous. I’ve heard of sleepwalking, but dancing while you’re asleep seems like it would—”
“Come on, Rummy,” said Nadi. She nodded to the guard. “Thank you.”
“So, what do we do now?” asked Whiska as they walked.
“We go to the inn,” replied Nadi.
“I meant after that, you pointy-eared tree hugger.”
“I…don’t know. One thing at a time.” Nadinta shook her head, seeming unsure of herself.
They arrived at the inn a few moments later and reserved two rooms, deciding to double up to conserve their meager supply of coins. After taking some time to clean up and refresh themselves, they reconvened in the very sparsely populated common room of the inn, just in time to catch a glimpse of the most spectacular backside any of them had ever seen, which was attached, incidentally, to a bard of no small skill, as they would soon come to learn.
“So, what do we do now?” asked Whiska as they sipped drinks, an indulgent purchase given their financial circumstances.
“We go to the inn,” said Rummy after taking a long pull of his ale.
“We’re already at the inn, you hairy molerat.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought we were just having the exact same conversation we had half an hour ago.”
“We have to go back,” said Nadi as she stared into her wine glass.
“To Velenia?” asked Rummy.
“Yes.”
“Where there’s a homicidal wizard with an incredibly powerful weapon who has every intention of turning us into shish roundabobs?”
(Shish roundabobs were an ingenious invention that was revolutionizing food service across Erithea; unlike shish kabobs, which are pointy and pose constant danger throughout a meal, to the point (pun fully intended) where you can’t really relax and enjoy the lovely combination of meat and vegetables they offer, shish roundabobs are fashioned from a stick that has a pointed end in order to slide easily through food, but the pointy part snaps off once the food is on to reveal a soft, round tip that is much less dangerous if you happen to poke yourself in the eye with it. Even better, the stick is hollow, and can be filled with whatever substance best compliments the meal you’re eating—yogurt sauce, hot sauce, garlic sauce, lizard blood…whatever you fancy. It’s been whispered that the woman who invented them once lost an eye while eating a shish kabob, but I met her, and the worst injury she ever suffered eating a shish kabob was a tiny scratch on the roof of her mouth that took about a minute and a half to heal; she’s an exceptional marketer, however, so she generally wears an eyepatch wherever she goes—often switching it from one eye to the other so that she doesn’t strain her vision—and lets people make assumptions about the dangers of shish kabob consumption, leading, in most cases, to an uptick in sales for her invention. She’s pretty amazing.)
But, I digress.
“He’s our responsibility, Rummy.”
“Like hell he is!” shouted Whiska, drawing stares from the few other patrons who occupied the taproom. “I didn’t hand him some sort of crazy magical weapon!”
“No, you just found it,” said Rummy. “And gave it to the person who gave it to him.”
“We’re all culpable,” said Nadi.
“I like…shish roundabobs. Do you think…they have any?” said Borg.
“I’m not entirely sure they have running water in this…this…well, I was going to say backwater, but that would sort of undermine my point. Anyway, I’m not sure they have running water here, Borgy, let alone fancy inventions like shish roundabobs,” said Rummy, shaking his head sadly.
“This is ridiculous. I’m not doing this!” Whiska stood up. “If you decide to come to your senses, I’ll stay. Otherwise, you’re on your own, you ridiculous tailless top feeders!” She stormed off in a huff, slamming the door of the inn behind her.
“I’m not sure that calling us the opposite of bottom feeders is as insulting as Whiska thinks it is,” mused Rummy. “And all of her stuff is still up in her room.”
“She’ll be back,” said Nadi. “I hope.”
“Whiska seems…upset,” said Borg.
“Sure does, big guy,” said Rummy.
They ate and drank in silence for a few moments before Rummy spoke again. “Look, Nadi…it’s not that I agree with Whiska, mind you—I mean, I don’t think you look even a little ridiculous without a tail, for example. But, I’m not sure we’re quite ready to go back to Velenia.” Nadi started to say something, but Rummy held his hand up. “Please—let me finish.”
“That’s what…she said,” said Borg.
“Not now, Borg,” said Rummy. He paused. “Though that was pretty good.”
“I don’t get it,” said Nadi.
“Never mind.” Rummy finished his ale. “I agree that it’s our responsibility to try to stop that madman.” He spoke softly. “But we’re not ready. I barely even know how to hold a weapon. Borg is basically a giant, sweet punching bag.” He looked at Borg. “No offense, big guy.”
“I have…to poop.”
Rummy pointed toward the commode. “Please do it back there.”
Borg squinted. “That is…a small room. I will…wait.” He looked pained.
Rummy looked uneasily at his giant companion and shook his head. “Anyway. Whiska’s got power, no doubt, and she’s clever, but she’s got no idea how to work with other people.”
“And me?”
“You’re perfect, Nadi.”
“Rummy.”
Rummy shrugged. “You’re smart, calm, fair, honest, and skilled with weapons. You’ve got all the qualities of a good leader.”
“But? And be honest.”
“But, you doubt yourself too much, you have an overactive conscience, and you’re not assertive enough.”
“I see,” replied Nadi. “Anything to add, Borg?”
“Getting punched…doesn’t really hurt.”
Nadi smiled. “Glad that’s true for one of us, at least.” She looked at Rummy. “Though there are different kinds of punches, and sometimes the ones that aren’t physical hurt more.”