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Stories from the Verse
A Dozen Verses
Chapter 37: Slade 263
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Cooper 84
After listening to the man, Rudolph, speak for nearly an hour about wolves that could duplicate themselves, and Shivering Trees that had the brightest fruit that one would be whipped to death if they ate, and Dust Snakes whose poison might not kill you but would make you wish it had, so painful was the poison, and Great Vultures which they could not really fight because peasants were not allowed to have bows and arrows, Slade had asked about how Rudolph ate.
“Ah, well, every day I’m out with my hoe,” he pointed to a curved bit of wood in the corner, “killing what weeds come up, but mostly swatting bugs. Potatoes, carrots,” that was not the word either said, but whatever was twisting his tongue considered it was close enough. “Later, I can get some green beans. I trade this for flour in the village. If I’m lucky, I find a beehive, and capture it. Have to give four fifths of the honey to the Guardian’s men, but those are good years.”
He drifted off in thought, and Shella nudged Slade. He nodded, and then brought up the blank mind technique Lauren had taught them.
“Poor fellow looks like he’s about to nod off. I wonder where his family is,” he said in English, and had to repeat himself as Shella had to put up her blank mind shield as well.
“I suspect that it's a tale with a very sad ending, m’lord,” she said softly.
The man fell asleep, and Slade, whispering assurances to the dreadfully thin but loyal mutt, picked up the man in his arms. He was but eighty pounds, and nothing for Slade to carry. He put the man down on his mat, and the dog came over and curled up next to his master with an appealing look at Slade as in ‘please don’t hurt my human’. It nearly broke Slade’s heart to see such a mix of bravery, loyalty, and despair in the mutt’s eyes.
Slade slowly took a few steps across the room, and lay down against the wall. Shella leaned over on his chest, and then he gave the mutt a nod. It sighed, and closed its eyes, duty done for the day.
The next morning, feeling a trifle hungry but not willing to impose, Slade and Shella left the stone hut. Already they could see a thin sun through an overcast sky. It was warming, and they could see bugs swarming over the four small patches they had discovered.
“Do you think I ought to try to use magic to create a meal, m’lord?”
“You can try.”
She walked off a short distance and tried to cast the spell, but nothing happened. Several further tries confirmed the fact. While there might or might not be magic in this world, creating food out of air and dirt was not something that could be done here–which Slade reflected was a terrible shame. It would have solved so many problems much easier.
Not sure what to do, and seeing a practice opportunity, Slade drew his sword. A black bug was bumbling along through the air, and snick, it fell in two pieces. He chose another bug, and went after it. As he did so, he considered things that he knew about bugs.
They needed water for one thing. It might be that under the rocks was enough dew for them. Looking to his left, he saw Rudolph with his wooden ho staring at him, and Shella standing next to the peasant, and the mutt sprawled on its belly by them. All of them were staring at him.
“Valiantly, he slew his numerous foes,” Slade said, and Shella clapped, the dog woofed, and Rudolph agreed.
“Rudolph, good man, these bugs, they need water. Would you happen to know where they get it?”
“Oh, yes, m’lord. Of a surety. I know the land hereabouts down to the placement of each stone.” He set off, and Slade shrugged and followed the peasant. Three hundred yards away, near a footpath, they came to a wet spot in the ground which drooped into the soil, and held green grasses and a puddle. It also erupted in a cloud of tiny biting gnats which did not seem to bother Rudolph at all. Slade suspected that what with the man’s hard life it took a lot to get him bothered.
“Is this your land?”
“Well, it belike its no one’s land, m’lord. I live the furthest to the north in this area, and so this is called Wasteland.”
“But there’s a footpath.”
“Oh, yes, well I have to maintain that, and sometimes the High Planner’s men come to hunt monsters, or the peasant boys conscripted into the Army they march into the Broken Lands. The Army does some too.”
“Rudolph, could you use some water at your home?”
“Well, yes, m’lord, but how.”
“Leave that to me. Now go on back. I suspect the bugs are even now eating your gardens.”
“Ah! Yes.” The peasant quickly hobbled off with the mutt trailing behind him, occasionally turning to glance back to the two.
“Shella?”
“Earth moving spell for a well?”
“And a small channel. If it does not work, I’m going to be digging so I prefer it to work.”
“Myself, I like to see my man take off his shirt, and sweat.” Shella said with a small smirk. Then he saw and heard her begin to quietly mumble the phrases in order to review the shouts and charms for the moving of the earth. Slade knew she had buried a small fire elemental, and buried the dead Parakeets, and created foxholes. Hopefully, she could make a shallow well, and then a channel. Of course, such magic might not even work here.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
