wink
seemed to please him immensely.
Sparkly things? Gossamyr felt a strange warmth rise in her face.
She lowered her staff and looked away so he could not see her
discomfort. The blazon must be shed. Soon.
"I merely require direction to the next village," she
said. "Is it very large? I must purchase a swift horse and, as
you suggest, some clothing."
"Yes, I favor a fine dress of damask for you. And long red
ribbons for the plaits in your hair."
Gossamyr snorted and flipped the silver-tipped end of one of her
thick plaits back over her shoulder. "Ribbons? Do you romance
me, then? I'll have you know I do not succumb to a man's charm so
easily—
"Bloody hell!"
Gossamyr froze, the tone of Ulrich's voice alerting her to the
vibrations now obvious in the ground. Vibrations increasing in
strength and moving toward them. She'd been so busy chaffering she
hadn't been paying attention.
"Don't look now, Gossamyr, but you are soon to discover
consorting with Jean Cesar Ulrich Villon III is not for the faint of
heart."
Gossamyr did look. And what she saw loosed her demon-take -me
smile.
The silhouette of a wide, squat figure barreled toward them. Dust
plumed about it in a furious cloud. It wasn't a man. It wasn't even
mortal.
Danger had arrived.
FOUR
Gossamyr swung her staff, bending into a defensive stance. She
hooked the applewood parallel beneath her outstretched right arm.
Peripheral vision sighted Ulrich, stalking up beside her, his fists
bared and swinging for fight. "If you've not a bigger or
pointier weapon, then stand back!"
"I've the will to survive, my lady, so you stand back."
"I know what I'm doing!"
"As do I!"
"Do stay out of my way!"
She spun to catch the bogie in the gut with the steel-hard staff.
Impact shook her feet from the ground. Tottering two steps to the
left, she found her balance.
Ulrich yelped. She spied him shaking a fist that obviously had
more impact on himself than the bogie's hindquarters.
The beast let out a yowl and gripped her staff. The span of that
grip covered a third of the longstaff. Gossamyr leaned backward to
counter the attack. Landing her on derriere shocked stinging prinkles
up and down her spine. Shaking the vibrations from her skull she
leaped to her feet, drawing the staff before her in a half arc of
warning.
Bogies were dumb as wood, but when enraged were difficult to
contend. Usually they were more breath than roar—and oh, did
their foul breath wield a malodorous bite. Their square bulky bodies
were solid as stone, save, their bald, flat heads; the skull proved
thinner than parchment. Only problem was climbing the mountain of
bogie to reach the prize.
A vicious wind of foul breath and gnashing incisors rose up behind
Gossamyr. She spun, prepared to defend. The bogie shrieked and
tumbled midair, soaring over her head, and landed on the ground
behind her.
Gossamyr pierced Ulrich with a dagger of a look.
The man countered with his own cocky wink and a tilt of the
crossbow he wielded. "I'm keeping my distance!"
Rolling and shrieking, the squat brown bogie stirred up the dirt
from the ground in a billowing cloud. The crossbow quarrel—
wedged in the bogie's gut—splintered and was crushed to pulp.
Now the beast lay prone, its skull level with Gossamyr's shoulder.
"Leave him for me!" Gossamyr yelled. Levering her leg
back to force momentum through her body, she swung hard, meeting wood
to skull. The definite dull crunch of shattering skullbone thundered
in her ears.
A deft twist of her staff placed it like a spear in Gossamyr's
palm. Stabbing it into the bogie's eye, the applewood met with little
resistance. The body shuddered, jittering the staff in her sure grip.
The ground shook. The mule brayed. Yowls to stir up a slumbering
swamp beast from a bed of muck assaulted the air. With a final
shudder of stout hairy limbs, the bogie gave up the ghost. The stench
of such finality coiled into the air, wilting the freshness with a
heavy veil.
Brown matter oozed from
seemed to please him immensely.
Sparkly things? Gossamyr felt a strange warmth rise in her face.
She lowered her staff and looked away so he could not see her
discomfort. The blazon must be shed. Soon.
"I merely require direction to the next village," she
said. "Is it very large? I must purchase a swift horse and, as
you suggest, some clothing."
"Yes, I favor a fine dress of damask for you. And long red
ribbons for the plaits in your hair."
Gossamyr snorted and flipped the silver-tipped end of one of her
thick plaits back over her shoulder. "Ribbons? Do you romance
me, then? I'll have you know I do not succumb to a man's charm so
easily—
"Bloody hell!"
Gossamyr froze, the tone of Ulrich's voice alerting her to the
vibrations now obvious in the ground. Vibrations increasing in
strength and moving toward them. She'd been so busy chaffering she
hadn't been paying attention.
"Don't look now, Gossamyr, but you are soon to discover
consorting with Jean Cesar Ulrich Villon III is not for the faint of
heart."
Gossamyr did look. And what she saw loosed her demon-take -me
smile.
The silhouette of a wide, squat figure barreled toward them. Dust
plumed about it in a furious cloud. It wasn't a man. It wasn't even
mortal.
Danger had arrived.
FOUR
Gossamyr swung her staff, bending into a defensive stance. She
hooked the applewood parallel beneath her outstretched right arm.
Peripheral vision sighted Ulrich, stalking up beside her, his fists
bared and swinging for fight. "If you've not a bigger or
pointier weapon, then stand back!"
"I've the will to survive, my lady, so you stand back."
"I know what I'm doing!"
"As do I!"
"Do stay out of my way!"
She spun to catch the bogie in the gut with the steel-hard staff.
Impact shook her feet from the ground. Tottering two steps to the
left, she found her balance.
Ulrich yelped. She spied him shaking a fist that obviously had
more impact on himself than the bogie's hindquarters.
The beast let out a yowl and gripped her staff. The span of that
grip covered a third of the longstaff. Gossamyr leaned backward to
counter the attack. Landing her on derriere shocked stinging prinkles
up and down her spine. Shaking the vibrations from her skull she
leaped to her feet, drawing the staff before her in a half arc of
warning.
Bogies were dumb as wood, but when enraged were difficult to
contend. Usually they were more breath than roar—and oh, did
their foul breath wield a malodorous bite. Their square bulky bodies
were solid as stone, save, their bald, flat heads; the skull proved
thinner than parchment. Only problem was climbing the mountain of
bogie to reach the prize.
A vicious wind of foul breath and gnashing incisors rose up behind
Gossamyr. She spun, prepared to defend. The bogie shrieked and
tumbled midair, soaring over her head, and landed on the ground
behind her.
Gossamyr pierced Ulrich with a dagger of a look.
The man countered with his own cocky wink and a tilt of the
crossbow he wielded. "I'm keeping my distance!"
Rolling and shrieking, the squat brown bogie stirred up the dirt
from the ground in a billowing cloud. The crossbow quarrel—
wedged in the bogie's gut—splintered and was crushed to pulp.
Now the beast lay prone, its skull level with Gossamyr's shoulder.
"Leave him for me!" Gossamyr yelled. Levering her leg
back to force momentum through her body, she swung hard, meeting wood
to skull. The definite dull crunch of shattering skullbone thundered
in her ears.
A deft twist of her staff placed it like a spear in Gossamyr's
palm. Stabbing it into the bogie's eye, the applewood met with little
resistance. The body shuddered, jittering the staff in her sure grip.
The ground shook. The mule brayed. Yowls to stir up a slumbering
swamp beast from a bed of muck assaulted the air. With a final
shudder of stout hairy limbs, the bogie gave up the ghost. The stench
of such finality coiled into the air, wilting the freshness with a
heavy veil.
Brown matter oozed from
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