Notes: Sorry for the delay, yesterday was SO CRAZY BUSY! Let's go on a road trip, baby!
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 12 Pt. 1
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Chapter Twelve, Part One
Road Trip!
Phlox’s poor moods could last for weeks without something to jar him out of them. Unfortunately, in Lollop there was little of great enough import to knock a captive elemental being out of his pout, so Hiram went out of his way to do novel things instead that would hopefully interest his companion enough to improve his outlook. It was the least Hiram could do.
Yes, Phlox-as-Pyrax and Hiram-as-Xerome had once fought nearly to the death, and no doubt Pyrax wouldn’t have thought twice about burning him to a crisp and going on to kill his apprentices too. But Pyrax would never have done what Xerome did, imprisoning his enemy’s essence and letting him continue to live a basically neutered existence in three separate containers. It was an incredible comedown in both power and pride for an elemental revered by his people as a god, and there were times when Hiram wondered whether he shouldn’t have meddled in the first place.
There was no changing the past, though—and Hiram would know, he’d tried more than once. All he could do now was ameliorate his friend’s condition as best he could. To that end, Hiram planned his first out-of-town trip since he first got to Lollop over two months ago. There was a somewhat larger city an easy two day’s ride to the east, and Hiram could stand to stock up on some things he’d only be able to find with a larger community of traders on hand. Not to mention, it would give him a chance to scope out whether or not imperial messengers were still distributing posters of him this far from Galenish.
He arranged for Letty to come by and take care of Knight and the chickens and pigs he’d somehow become saddled with—pigs, for every heaven’s sake. Hiram didn’t even like the taste of pork, what was he going to do with pigs other than feed them delicious scraps and watch them grow large enough to square off with their wild boar cousins? Perhaps he could make a gift of them to someone someday…
“Feel free to make use of anything you find in the house,” he told Letty as he tied his rucksack shut. “Just make a note if you use something up. If you care to weed the garden a bit with Rickie, that would be welcome too. Just stay out of the upstairs rooms, if you please.” Not that she’d get up there even if she tried, between the aversion glyphs and the relocation spell he’d reluctantly powered up that would transport an intruder onto the road out front with a blinding headache if they tried to go up there uninvited.
Letty huffed. “I’m not rude, you know. I wouldn’t invade your privacy in such a way.”
“I’m sure of it,” Hiram said. “I just wanted to mention it.”
“What about the cellar?” she asked. “I could move some of your jars down there for you. You’re starting to run out of space on your shelves.”
The cellar. Ah. Right. “I’d avoid the cellar for now,” Hiram said, a bit uncomfortable at the thought of her going down there before he’d cleared it himself. “Just the animals and the weeding, if you please. Perhaps harvest some of the chamomile and lay it on the screen by the window to dry, well out of Knight’s reach, if you please. And some of the anise. And yarrow,…do you need me to write this down?”
“I think I’ll manage,” Letty said. “Have a nice trip! I’ve never been as far as Garrison before; you have to tell me all about it when you get back.”
“I will,” he promised her with a smile before heading outside to saddle Mule and get on the road.
Mule was pleased by the prospect of a trip, too. It was a bit of a boring life for her, Hiram reflected, after several decades of intense battle at the front of the greatest army the continent had ever seen. Mule was a peaceful animal by nature and had adapted well to her new habitat, but that chase they’d gone on a few weeks back…clearly she was missing fulfilling her nature, which was to hunt down and destroy creatures touched by evil.
Maybe they’d get lucky and run into a beastie or two on the road.
Hiram waved to various people he recognized on the way through town, only stopping once for Master Spindlestep, who was crossing the road with the single-mindedness of a man who wasn’t going to be deterred by either traffic or his blindness. “Good morning, Master Spindlestep,” he called out as the elderly elf passed by.
“Master Emblic.” He stopped—out of the line of any carts or horses who might go by, thankfully—and tilted his head as though he were listening to something specific. “Leaving us, are you?”
“Only for a short time,” Hiram assured him. “I’m off to Garrison for a few days, but I’ll be back before the next market day.”
“A good thing, otherwise there may be a revolt,” Master Spindlestep said genially. “Your products get excellent reviews, sir.”
“Always welcome to hear.”
“Indeed it is.” The elf came a bit closer and lifted his hand, laying it gently on Mule’s neck. To Hiram’s surprise, Mule not only accepted the touch with grace—she could be a bit finicky about non-virgins—she whickered, turning her head to nudge Master Spindlestep’s shoulder.
“Mule, you rude thing,” Hiram chided her, but the old elf just laughed.
“She recognizes a friend when she sees one,” he said. “I’ve always loved horses of this sort, and they tend to be smart enough to know when they’re with a friend.” He said “like this” with a bit of import. Hiram wondered whether the tailor, for all his blindness, was able to see right through the glamour on Mule.
Well, and what of it if he did? The glamour was unbreakable; no one would believe him if he tried to spread such a tale about, and he had no reason to do anything other than enjoy the company of a light creature like a unicorn. “She’s been a good friend to me for many years,” Hiram settled on saying.
“I can sense that.”
Perhaps he could. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I must continue.”
“Of course.” Master Spindlestep gave Mule one last stroke along her velvety nose, then moved back. “If you’ve the means to buy a bolt of black Lancre silk while you’re there, I’d happily repay you.”
Lancre silk…and in black…that seemed very fine for use in Lollop. Lancre silk was mildly color-shifting, the result of blending worm and spider threads together, and shockingly strong for a fabric. Hiram knew this ask was a test of some kind, but what was the tailor hoping to glean about him from it? His level of disposable income? His ability to discern Lancre silk from regular silk? His willingness to do a favor for someone he had no strong connection to?
“I’ll see what I can do,” he settled on. Master Spindlestep nodded, and then Hiram was on his way once more, riding until even the disreputable Highwayman Inn was out of sight.
It was a quiet road for the first half of the day, and he reveled in the solitude and the sound of the wind. Around noon, the route expanded significantly as several more roads joined it, and he ended up jostling for position amongst carts and wagons, solitary riders and groups, and a fair number of walkers as well.
It wasn’t that Hiram couldn’t tolerate the company, but by mid-afternoon a rain had set in that quickly churned the road to mud beneath so many hooves and wheels. What I wouldn’t give for a good, Imperial highway of stone…
Of course, stone roads were reserved for much more important parts of the empire than this, especially with no quarries native to the area. The amount of work it would take to build and maintain stone roads everywhere…Hiram had argued for it, actually, citing the good it would do to local economies as well as the skills transfer from imperial civil engineers to rural ones, but that was one more place where Andy had shot him down.
It left him determined to get as far as he could tonight, perhaps even as far as Garrison itself. The city was only forty miles from Lollop, after all. Mule could do it easily; Hiram was the one who was going to be sore from the saddle tomorrow, but if it meant making better time once others retreated to the inn they got to at sundown, he’d manage.
“You won’t want to camp, sir!” the inn’s crier called out after him when he saw Hiram wasn’t turning off with the rest of the traffic. “It’s terrible dangerous in those woods at night! There’s gnolls and trolls and even bandits out there in the woods, sir, mark my words!”
“I won’t be camping,” Hiram called over his shoulder.
“Sir! Come on now, sir!”
But Hiram was determined to get to Garrison by midnight. And once he was alone… “A bit of light perhaps, Phlox?” he murmured, and to his delight, Phlox responded with a thin beam that lit the road just enough for Mule to see by. It was a good thing, too; the moon was invisible tonight, utterly drowned out by the wet cloud cover, and the drizzle got that much colder as the evening wore on.
A more impatient person would have spurred Mule to a faster pace, but Hiram was neither impatient nor a fool. He kept them moving at a steady trot, which meant he had plenty of time, even in the gloom, to pick out the array of slender metal threads stretched taut across the road.
At speed, they could have done terrible damage to Mule’s legs. As it was, the unicorn came to an easy halt a few meters away from them.
“Hmm.”
Phlox unexpectedly spoke up. “I do believe we’re about to be accosted by bandits, Hiram.”
Hiram eased himself out of the saddle with a groan. “You’re probably right, my dear,” he murmured.
“How would you care to handle the occasion?”
That was an excellent question, and one Hiram was still considering when an eerie, baying cackle started up in the woods to the right. Hiram turned with interest to watch as a pair of enormous, spot-eared gnolls emerged from the trees. He’d never seen the spotted version before; the ones who lived up north tended toward stripes. Other than that, they were identical to most of the gnolls he’d encountered over the years: they had broad, squat bodies that were heavy with muscle and blunt canid mouths full of fangs. These ones wore dark, lustrous pelts for clothes that probably came from lowland panthers, and each of them carried both a club and a dagger.
Decidedly dark creatures, by nurture if not nature. Hiram tightened his grip on Mule’s reins.
“Clever human,” one of them slavered at him, a wild glint in his eyes. “Spying our little net before it could catch you.”
“Not clever enough to stay at the inn, though,” the other said with rather less drool falling out of his mouth. “Shouldn’t have pressed on, old man. Too bad now you’re going to be late for your appointments.” He grinned. “’Cept the ones you’ve got with your gods.”
Hiram nodded slowly. “That is certainly one possibility.” Mule was quivering now, every inch of her ready to fulfil her ultimate purpose.
“It’s the only possibility, old man. No one escapes from Cletus and Clarus.”
“Ah, but you see,” Hiram replied. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He patted Mule on the neck. “Alive if you can, darling,” he told her.
The gnolls stared at each other for a moment, as if they were wondering just how mad this strange human was. That was when Hiram let Mule go. She reared onto her back hooves with a ferocious battle cry, then lowered her head and charged.
“Now.” Hiram turned back to the wires as the gnolls howled with matching bloodlust. “Let’s see about clearing this before she comes back, hmm?” Luckily they were rather haphazardly placed, and cheap besides. A quick snip with the second-best shears he’d brought along in his rucksack was enough to bite through the thinner ones. The thicker might require a bit more work…
“You let Mule have all the fun.”
“You can have the next bandits, my dear,” Hiram promised. The howls were already becoming whimpers of pain and fear. “Just don’t tell Esme we had a good time without her, or she’ll never let us hear the end of it.”
Phlox considered that for a moment, then said, “Deal.”
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