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Authors: Jim Galford
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him. Will be epic battle, or I convince the bards that it was.”
Growling, Raeln drew his sword, but before he had brought it to bear on the man, the gypsy had drawn two long knives of his own and lay them along his thighs. The man was still seated, but he seemed more than ready for Raeln to rush at him.
“Enough!” shouted On’esquin, getting to his feet and marching over to stand between them. “Raeln, lower your weapon.”
Raeln kept his sword ready, not lowering it an inch.
“You,” On’esquin continued, looking at the human, “put yours away so we can talk.”
The human smiled even more broadly, but he did not put his weapons away, either.
“We are trying to find ways to fight the leaders of the Turessian army,” On’esquin said to the man, softening his tone. “You’ve fought them and know what they are capable of. Would you be willing to do it again?”
“I have terms of my own before I would help,” the man noted, the knives disappearing into his sleeves with a flick of his hands.
“Name them. You’ve already survived a battle I doubt many could. You may not be who we were looking for, but we need the help.”
Grinning, the gypsy pulled a copper cup onto his lap that appeared to be tied to his belt with a short leather thong. “You find better drinks and share. I already search your bags and neither of you brings anything but water. How do you think you face down an army of dead men with nothing but water? My people know the cowardice of city-folk and you will need stronger drink to stand and not run.”
“Is that all?” Raeln demanded, sheathing his weapon. “We give you booze and you help us fight a war? On’esquin, this is insane. Send this old man away.”
“Is not wise to insult honored guest,” the man said, unrolling the parchments and shaking his head. “Your people need to learn to write. Is all scratching and pictures, but no words. So many bad habits, yes? Why are your people able to conquer these lands when you cannot write and cannot greet guests like civilized folk? Is old tongue and you wrote it badly.”
On’esquin’s eyes narrowed and he gave Raeln a meaningful glance. “What can you read of these?” the orc asked and reached for the parchments, but the human kept them out of reach.
“Here,” the gypsy said, tapping part of the flowing text. “Is flowery style, like turning letters into art, but is the name of my clan. See?” The gypsy held up the copper cup and pointed out a nearly identical symbol embossed in the stained old metal. Setting it back at his side, he glared at the parchments as though they were difficult for him to make out. “Were it not for all the sharp pointy bits in your writing, I would think you steal from my people,” the man noted. “My clan’s motto even is written here. ‘Seek companionship in all that you find.’ Is good saying, yes?”
Sitting down hard, On’esquin chuckled, shaking his head. He looked to Raeln and said, “I still don’t believe in coincidence. The words he is reading literally translate to ‘Seek out your companions where you may find them’ in ancient Turessian. This man has to be one of the ones we were meant to find.”
“Do I have any say in the matter?” asked Raeln, resheathing his weapon. “I have enough problems traveling with you, but him?”
“I listen in…by accident, I assure you,” the gypsy told them, tossing the parchments back to On’esquin. “Grumpy wolf is Raeln. I did not hear big green man’s name.”
“On’esquin,” replied On’esquin, offering a hand in greeting.
“Bandoleer Yoska, though not so much bandoleer with many of my kin dead,” the gypsy said, ignoring the hand. “Where is our army if we intend to fight the dead men? Three foolish people will not go far, no? I have already done this once with small group and they end up—” Yoska’s joking manner faded abruptly and sorrow crossed his face for a moment. “—they did not win against greater
Growling, Raeln drew his sword, but before he had brought it to bear on the man, the gypsy had drawn two long knives of his own and lay them along his thighs. The man was still seated, but he seemed more than ready for Raeln to rush at him.
“Enough!” shouted On’esquin, getting to his feet and marching over to stand between them. “Raeln, lower your weapon.”
Raeln kept his sword ready, not lowering it an inch.
“You,” On’esquin continued, looking at the human, “put yours away so we can talk.”
The human smiled even more broadly, but he did not put his weapons away, either.
“We are trying to find ways to fight the leaders of the Turessian army,” On’esquin said to the man, softening his tone. “You’ve fought them and know what they are capable of. Would you be willing to do it again?”
“I have terms of my own before I would help,” the man noted, the knives disappearing into his sleeves with a flick of his hands.
“Name them. You’ve already survived a battle I doubt many could. You may not be who we were looking for, but we need the help.”
Grinning, the gypsy pulled a copper cup onto his lap that appeared to be tied to his belt with a short leather thong. “You find better drinks and share. I already search your bags and neither of you brings anything but water. How do you think you face down an army of dead men with nothing but water? My people know the cowardice of city-folk and you will need stronger drink to stand and not run.”
“Is that all?” Raeln demanded, sheathing his weapon. “We give you booze and you help us fight a war? On’esquin, this is insane. Send this old man away.”
“Is not wise to insult honored guest,” the man said, unrolling the parchments and shaking his head. “Your people need to learn to write. Is all scratching and pictures, but no words. So many bad habits, yes? Why are your people able to conquer these lands when you cannot write and cannot greet guests like civilized folk? Is old tongue and you wrote it badly.”
On’esquin’s eyes narrowed and he gave Raeln a meaningful glance. “What can you read of these?” the orc asked and reached for the parchments, but the human kept them out of reach.
“Here,” the gypsy said, tapping part of the flowing text. “Is flowery style, like turning letters into art, but is the name of my clan. See?” The gypsy held up the copper cup and pointed out a nearly identical symbol embossed in the stained old metal. Setting it back at his side, he glared at the parchments as though they were difficult for him to make out. “Were it not for all the sharp pointy bits in your writing, I would think you steal from my people,” the man noted. “My clan’s motto even is written here. ‘Seek companionship in all that you find.’ Is good saying, yes?”
Sitting down hard, On’esquin chuckled, shaking his head. He looked to Raeln and said, “I still don’t believe in coincidence. The words he is reading literally translate to ‘Seek out your companions where you may find them’ in ancient Turessian. This man has to be one of the ones we were meant to find.”
“Do I have any say in the matter?” asked Raeln, resheathing his weapon. “I have enough problems traveling with you, but him?”
“I listen in…by accident, I assure you,” the gypsy told them, tossing the parchments back to On’esquin. “Grumpy wolf is Raeln. I did not hear big green man’s name.”
“On’esquin,” replied On’esquin, offering a hand in greeting.
“Bandoleer Yoska, though not so much bandoleer with many of my kin dead,” the gypsy said, ignoring the hand. “Where is our army if we intend to fight the dead men? Three foolish people will not go far, no? I have already done this once with small group and they end up—” Yoska’s joking manner faded abruptly and sorrow crossed his face for a moment. “—they did not win against greater
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