The Spriggan:  Adventures of an Amazon Hobbit:  Part 5
By ZuiderZee   zuiderzee98@hotmail.com 



www.geocities.com/Area51/Dungeon/4535

It was a night not fit for man nor beast, but just about right for a spriggan.

For RhohG.

With luck, with any luck, this was the last day she would have to go by that
gobbledygook name. Rhoh-Gollilla-Lu. Just as good as another. How
innapropriate!

She had proved herself better than most. Better than the best- if Volmor
Greenshoulders was any indication. Old, dead Gigurd had admired him in some
grudging way. Greenshoulders had somehow managed to be Gigurd's killer. With a
well-wielded sling in this instance.

Greenshoulders liked space; gaps, voids. Comfortable yards between him and his
enemy, pregnant pauses between his already infrequent speeches. He liked his
belly empty as well, that was plain. The fact that he had succumbed so quickly
during the gorging match was testament to that. That huge man, whose belly was
a part of him that failed to do his otherwise impressive bulk justice, just
might turn into another casualty of the rivalry between himself and Gigurd.

RhohG didn't believe she was really Gigurd's avenger.

It was all an accident.

Greenshoulders had a conservative stomach; an anatomical shortcoming as rueful
as Fjorgun's half a face and Crushfoot's missing toes. Just another
limitation. Rather like comparing a horse to a cow. In Gigurd's slaughter
yard, a crippled steed and a plump calf had been butchered within minutes of
each other and their innards heaped into pans which had never been completely
cleaned. The horse, though larger, had a stomach which was laughably small
juxtaposed with the calf, not even considering the bovine's additional stomach
chambers-perhaps neatly explaining why it was both so easy and ruinous to
allow a horse to eat more than its fill.

It didn't seem probable that Greenshoulders would survive the eating bout
unless he vomited with as much energy as he'd eaten. Two clan leaders would be
dead. Without their leaders, their respective steadings were unstable and
dangerous places.

Dying places.

The drizzle had not abated. If anything, the murk of deepening night had
encouraged the gray clouds. Now they poured drops, formidable beads of cold,
pure water that smarted her eyes and began a static patter on the sludgy
ground of the forest. Dead beech leaves which the earlier drizzle could not
stir now began to warp and shift in the rain, sliding down over stones to
gather in heaps large enough to conceal anything from a billion black ants to
one brown bear.

It was into one of these weather-harvested mounds that RhohG leapt, springing
a full ten feet off a stony scarp. She hit the fattest end of the pile,
crashing and scattering the moldy, crumbling leaves. Her booted feet smashed a
hole through the top and her crouched body fell down, down into the clinging,
stinking mass of green and red and black shapes. A completely unexpected yelp
and then another even louder came from her left, so close and so muffled,
RhohG lashed out defensively, knowing whatever made the sound was in the pile
with her.

While it sounded human, she couldn't take any risks-after all, she knew she
sounded human and wasn't. The weight and clinging wet mass of the leaves was
worse than being underwater. Blinded by the tangle and already desperate, she
threw as good a punch as she could manage and then threw her arms upward,
tearing away the canopy of duff like an insect fouled in a spider web too weak
to immobilize it, but enough to necessitate a quick escape. Another pair of
limbs-RhogG eventually recognized them as legs instead of arms-poked through
the top of the scattered pile and flopped backward accompanied by muted sounds
of struggle.

Having recovered first, RhohG threw herself over the heap and tackled the
figure. There were bound to be many fugitives in this region after what had
happened: seekers of revenge, looters, freed captives, leaderless scrappers
and in short, scurrilous interlopers of every sort.

In such situations, RhogG was wont to throw any pretense of courtesy to the
wind. Now the voice coming from the lithe, wet-clothed figure was shrill and
terrified. A boy. A young lad from Gigurd's clan. His body wriggled underneath
hers in a series of fitful squirms, lacking the energy to escape, but showing
he wasn't going to fight or enjoy being grappled. The reek of his unwashed
hair, skin and clothes hit her nostrils like twin stabs. It was one of three
people; Gigurd allowed thralls of a sort in his steading. Since this one
smelled more of dogs than anything else, she dismounted him with a shove of
warning and got to her feet, brushing leaves from her shirt with dirty hands.

"Tholyff." RhohG announced as if correctly deducing the vintage of a wine. She
sniffed, still disgusted by the stink of him still lingering in her nose like
an unwanted guest. She did not draw her sword, but simply adjusted it, pushing
it to an angle that didn't chafe her back. The baldric helped hold the crooked
bronze blade in place. The thrall quivered in front of her as he got to his
feet in a queer chain of small movements as though he were proving bit by bit
he wasn't going to attack or flee. As if she were a dog that would spring and
bite if he showed fear or haste.

Crushfoot, as low as he was among his own clan, had at least been a man of
some worth before was disgraced. What sort of a boy he'd been was unknown to
her, but clearly, he'd been allowed rights and status at one time as a guide
and fighting man. Tholyff on the other hand had been doomed before his birth.

His mother had been only a maiden when her own father took her into his bed
and tangled their bloodline. Tholyff was born with the rare distinction of
being both the son and sister of a woman and had a lone man for father and
grandfather. Mercilessly taunted from the time he learned speech, Tholyff was
a symbol for dishonor and contempt for clan ways and was kept as a thrall
while his parents were banished and never heard from again.

Chains, Gigurd's master of the kennel, claimed the boy at the same time as
Torch, the keeper of fires. Between the demands of these two masters who
shared him for alternating days, Tholyff was a harried lad, but not abused.
Gigurd could only tolerate so much shame in his steading. Tholyff could be
used, not really depended on, but used.

"Rho-Gollilla-Lu." Tholyff said through a gulp. His right hand held a straight
shaft of wood, probably the remains of a real spear or weapon haft that had
broken off at the ferrule or had never made it to the armorer at all. But it
was not polled at both ends; a crudely hacked tip, still yellowish from never
having known weather, gleamed modestly in the dying light.

"You know me." She said evenly. Like all thralls, Tholyff had kept to himself
at Gigurd's yards. They had never spoken until this moment. She knew only his
name and his station.

"You could have killed me."

"Sure."

Tholyff said nothing in reply but stood shaking and looking at her.

"What are you doing up here?"

"I-"

"Are you alone?"

"Ah-"

"Were you followed? A runaway thrall is bad company, you know. Your master was
either Torch or Chains. Chains didn't go with the hunting party to the falls,
he didn't die with the others. Chains is a brutal man, he's looking for you,
probably."

"Ehh-"

"That's not the most articulate speech I've heard in these parts, but better
than some. Running toward Greenshoulder's meeting place wasn't the smartest
thing you could have done. Why did you come here?"

"I-"

"You're going to pay a price for your next hesitation! That stammer of yours
under the circumstances does nothing to make me trust you. Get away from here!
I'm on my way to Gigurd's steading and you can't follow me. There are
dangerous folk around and myself not the least of them. If Chains finds you, I
don't want him to find you with me. Now do as I said, get away."

"-I came to find you.." Tholyff spoke in a voice dry as dust, despite the wet
air. Leaves and bits of leaves, all dark and soiled, plastered his face. The
crude jabbing stick in his hand rose.

Not wondering if it was deliberate, RhohG drew her sword with one hand, locked
both on the grip as she brought it over her head and swatted the stick from
the boy's hand with a brutal swing. The stick went flying end over end into
the mist and crashed among the trees.

Jumping in shock, Tholyff stumbled back and fell to his backside on the wet
ground as the spriggan advanced, holding her sword well ahead of her until the
hooked tip rested on his heaving chest. He stared back with widened eyes, then
looked away and finally shut them as if a savage dog had pounced on him, ready
to tear him apart if he something in his gaze betrayed fear. He let out a
whimper and dropped his head slightly. "It was only a stick!--"

"Sure it was! Sharpened and pointed right at me for a long while into the
bargain. With thinking like that, you won't get far in this life."

"Rho-Gollilla-Lu.I wouldn't have hurt you! I wouldn't! Why do you want to kill
me?"

"Things have changed since you got up this morning, lad. Gigurd and most of
his warriors are dead. Volmor Greenshoulders, his killer, has fallen ill and
cannot keep all his clan in line. Gigurd's steading is on fire and I can think
of too many who are out tonight and up to absolutely no good.you among them,
maybe. A runaway thrall. Gigurd's death did not do away with clan law, though
some here are hoping it did. I have property in his hall which his code says
no one can take or destroy without compensation to me! And if anyone from his
clan or another tries to plunder my treasure in whole or in part, I am within
my rights to kill whomever is responsible.."

Withdrawing her sword, but showing she might very well employ it again in an
instant, RhohG motioned for the thrall to stand.

"Protect me! You know with my heritage I can never be a man like the others!"

"Protect you! The law works far better for you than it does for me. I'm the
Kriirling here, not you. But now you're off the steading. As I said, not the
wisest choice you could have made. You'd best go back. Breaking clan law is
grounds for a number of horrid things.even for one as young as you."

"I came to find you!" The thrall wrung his hands. "You're strong, but you're
fair. I'll never have this chance again. Claim me as your thrall,
Rho-Gollilla-Lu. Claim me and protect me. Chains and Torch may have already
fled or died.they wouldn't come near the place of Greenshoulders for a boy
who's worse than a bastard and lower than a hound-dog runt. That's why I ran
away. I wanted to find you!"

Tholyff knelt on one knee and lowered his head. Leaves dropped loose from his
hair and clothes and fluttered sadly to his feet.

"Nonsense you did. You've never been off the steading in your life. You
escaped. You're on Volmor's land.you're still the enemy as far as his clan in
concerned.you don't know how much trouble you're in. You might wake up
tomorrow with all your skin and bones intact and then maybe not. At least
you've never had to live in a place without law. I have. It's not the most
restful."

Hushing herself, the spriggan took the boy by his scrawny, dirty arm and
pulled him down to a crouch with her.

She'd heard the distant rustling in the trees behind her. Men, no doubt.
Renegades. After tonight, they could not return to Volmor's steading. This
meant they were hell-bent on looting and making their self-imposed exile as
profitable as they could and damned be anyone who stood in their way.
Crushfoot was among them, very likely. She didn't know all the others in that
clan enough to think who else would join him. Toadhands perhaps. He was a
trader and had been at Gigurd's under truce enough times to know the general
layout of the place. It hardly mattered if anyone else were coming; those two
alone were menace enough.

Tucking her crooked sword through her belt and baldric, RhohG clapped her
strong hand over Tholyff's quivering lips and clamped tight, feeling the
resistance of his teeth and chin. She eased up, but kept her fingers in place.

To make a sound now would be worse for him than her.

From the direction they faced came a remote bellow.

"Boooooooooooyyy!" A rough, low voice sounded in the fog like a horn.

"Chains?" RhohG whispered, feeling the heat of her own breath as she spoke
into Tholyff's ear. Again the rotten, doggy smell of his skin and hair was
offensive.

Tholyff whined in his throat and nodded.

"Well, you've brought Chains too near for his own good. If he comes any
closer, he'll be on Gigurd's land. Whoever is coming down the slope behind us
will hear him and then.trouble. You know what I mean by trouble?"

Again the whine and nod.

"I have to ask." RhohG inserted a pause in her question worthy of Volmor
Greenshoulders. "Have you ever seen men fight.you know, for their lives? Have
you ever seen a man kill another? A man you knew?"

Tholyff nodded this time. Then contradicted it with a shake."

"I think Chains is alone. If he is alone, the three coming behind us will hear
him and probably try to kill him. Right now, we're between them. Do you want
Chains to get away, or get hurt. And before you answer that, do you want us to
get away, or get hurt?"

Tholyff didn't give a clear indication; he was trembling too violently for
RhohG to know shake from nod.

Increasing her hold on the boy's mouth, RhohG slid out of her crouch and back
into the concealment and reek of the leaf pile, covering herself and the boy
like a desert insect sinking into the sand with its prey.

A rotten branch cracked not more than five yards up the slope, split by a
careless foot in the mist.

"Booo-" From below the scarp, Chains cut off his below midway.

RhohG didn't know whether he stopped because the sound of the breaking branch
had alerted him or whether he'd been flanked and silently attacked, murdered
even as he called out.

"You're a blunderer even with your good leg!" A harsh whisper came from only a
yard away, preceded by a few soft crunches. "There's a drop- off here. Best to
go around to the left. Who was that down there calling? And who was he calling
for?"

"Chains.the dog-keeper." Crushfoot's familiar voice, also in whisper, came
right on the heels of the other man. "Curse that twig. And curse me too. But
he can't see us or hear us speak. For himself, he was stupid to stray so far
from his own steading and bellow like that."

"Can you hit him from here?" The first whisperer asked.

"Don't know." A third voice, thick and sloppy answered the question. "Scaring
him off would be good enough. But I don't want him running the wrong way. Back
to Gigurd's. We can sneak past him.provided our guide here doesn't give us
away with his blundering."

Crushfoot told the third of the trio what he thought of that.

"I don't know about Chains.but I know someone else I could kill from where I
now stand."

"So. And could you also approach Gigurd's steading both quickly and unseen?
Three is small number, even with so many of Gigurd's floating down the river
face down. Not all have fled, fire or no fire."

"You certainly talk bravely, Crushfoot. Very well then. You go ahead and deal
with Chains yourself.and when he is no longer a threat, we will follow. You
must either lead him away or kill him if you want my help."

"And then there is that dwarf-witch, 'Rogaloo' to beware of. Chains is only a
man, but such a Kriirling as her is more than double a hazard to fight. If she
someone makes it to Gigurd's ahead of us-" The first man who had chided
Crushfoot now sounded more urgent.

"Exactly the reason you must deal with Chains now, Crushfoot. Now, get
going.and remember, no matter how fast you can limp, you cannot outrun me or
my arrows.." The third whisperer hissed.

"Chains is looking for a boy." Crushfoot said. "He thinks the boy has run up
here. For all he knows, the boy broke that branch, not I. That heap of leaves
is a fair thing to hide my snare.."

Crushfoot took a dreadful long stride closer to the pile, stepping longer than
usual to avoid treading on any more branches.

Under the mound, RhohG and Tholyff held as still as fawns, their eyes and ears
open, their muscles tense, but kept still. Danger was close. No running away,
no moving until the threat was gone. The spriggan wasn't worried for herself,
and the boy reminded her in some awful way of another young person she had
failed to keep out of trouble.

"And him without his dogs to help him. Now who'll wear a dirty rope around his
neck?" Crushfoot laughed into his fist.

"No time for that! Go down the scarp and take care of Chains.like a fighting
man. There will be some battle at the steading.and I want no weaklings by my
side if any of Gigurd's warriors are lying in wait for us. Find their snares,
Crushfoot.but set none of your own. Now go!"

"As like as not, the only one at the steading will be Gigurd's mad wife,
Eldeyed. I've heard all I will from a hoyden this night." Crushfoot drew a
knife from a sheath at his side. The wide blade was painted with pitch to
eliminate any gleam. "I think I know what to do with any sharp-tongued female
I may encounter.."

To be continued.