The Magistrate's Gift

 



Ritter never had a good feeling in the Dreamwood. He always felt eyes on him. Watching. Planning. It was like he was interrupting a sinister gathering, and "they" were waiting on him to leave.

He never had this feeling anywhere else. He grew up surrouned by deep forests, and he loved the opportunities they afforded for boyhood mayhem.

But today, he was crossing the heart of the Dreamwood. The outpost required his tracking skills to follow some horse thieves back to their lair. The thieves had been scattered during a fight the night before when all but one horse had been recovered safely.

Every nerve in Ritter's body was strung as tight as a harp. Every careful footstep seemed as loud as a tree falling. Any moment, he expected an arrow to slice into his belly.

///

He was not wrong. A pair of green eyes watched him from the high branches. She smelled his strange scent: an enticing mixture of bacon and leather and clean soap. Not like the stink of the other man-kin that defiled her woods these past weeks. They smelled of sweat and horse meat.

Another movement caught her keen eyes: it was the stinky man-kin. Last night, only two had come back from the man-kin fort on the forest edge, and they were now moving toward the bacon-smelling man-kin, following the same deer trail toward each other.

Neither had spotted the other - wait! Yes. The bacon man-kin had heard them.

///

Ritter heard them talking, so he knew he had the advantage. Based on their tracks, it would be a two-on-one fight, and he needed that advantage. His old muscles were already getting stiff from the skirmish last night.

He ducked down in a gully filled with wet leaves. He held his breath as the voices got closer.

"I'm tellin' ya, it's a bad idear to go back there."

"Shut up. They think we're on the run."

"Well, we are, ain't we?"

"Yeah, but we got to get that one chest our dearly departed idiot leader left behind."

"The townies already got it, I bet."

"Nope. It's loaded with traps, he told me. We'd have heard the boom. Plus, I got a scroll to deal with them."

///

She watched the smelly man-kin walk right past the bacon man-kin. They were jabbering on like man-kins do. But the bacon man-kin was quiet like her. He was watchful too. Like her. She liked him.

Then she almost fell out of the tree. The bacon man-kin was looking right at her.

She could not catch the hiss that bubbled out.

The smelly ones turned and looked right at her. One yelled, "Look there, a fluffy kitty cat spying on us."

Before she could react, the bacon man-kin sprang from the gully and attacked. She had never seen a man-kin move like that; he was almost as agile as she. Amazing.

///

Ritter pressed the attack; the fat bandit was down from a kick in the belly, and the tall one was stumbling back from a hail of sword strokes. The tall bandit called out, "Use the scroll or we're dead!" He dodged behind a pine tree, using it as a makeshift shield, and landed several savage blows on Ritter's shield.

The fat bandit behind him panted, "I call upon the elder ones! Come to my aid and strengthen our swords!"

Ritter dodged to the side, the tall bandit's sword leaving a deep gash behind. A flash of light almost blinded him.

"Ha! That's more like it," the fat bandit called from behind. Ritter finished his dodge and sent a blow toward the fat bandit.

The fat bandit's parry was easy from his glowing sword. Ritter spun again and saw the tall bandit's sword was also glowing. Shit. He was in deep trouble now.

The tall bandit raised his sword for a killing blow.

"Freeeeeze!" The scream came from the tree, and lightning crackled all around the bandits.

///

She was pleased with herself. Immensely. Her spells worked on troll-kin sometimes, but she had never tried one on a man-kin. The effect was spectacular and complete. They were as rigid as stones.

She dropped from the tree, her Wylderkin blood stirred up from the fighting and the exotic smells and the magic that had just poured through her. So she did a stupid thing.

"I am Misha of the Dreamwood. I claim these trophies for myself!" Her white, furry ears almost quivered with energy.

The man-kin smiled but he did not show his teeth. Was that a good sign? She did not know.

"I am Ritter of Salvania," the man-kin said with a small bow. "You can have them, but I have a plan you might like."

///

The townies gasped. Ladies grabbed their children and hustled them into cottages. Men reached for swords and farm tools.

"Ain't never seen one of them Wylderkin sitting like a proper lady next to a human as pretty as you please," one said.

Misha and Ritter rode into town on the bandit's wagon. Trailing behind, tied around the waist by hemp rope, two stone statues slid along through the mud.

Ritter stopped outside the outpost and called, "We have a bargain for the magistrate."

///

The storyteller closed her book, saying, "And the magistrate granted trading rights and promises of enduring friendship to all Wylderkin near the outpost." 

As the small audience clapped, her ears twitched, and she smiled, not showing her sharp, white teeth.




///

Original image by Chrysander Mandragora (Instagram @mandragora_media).

For more, visit Alliance Atlanta LARP. 




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Heroes and the Jabberwock

Image
  For a long time it was assumed that the fearsome jabberwock was at last slain by a single hero. One can blame the talented - and slightly bonkers (all the best ones are) - writer Lewis Carroll. In truth, there were two heroes with vorpal blades that sealed the creature's fate. None today remember their names or stations, though some of the ancient scrolls hint that one was a ferocious knight traveling the land and helping the downtrodden - his penance for some past sin. The other was called "a pox-scarred bard whose voice was the only beauty about him." Each hero took a tooth, not the entire monstrous head, from the jabberwock's steaming mouth as a keepsake. It was said that it took a team of mules to haul the prizes home. But, since all we have is our esteemed Mr. Carrol's poem, we must pretend to change "He" to "They." Then it reads right. Jabberwocky BY LEWIS CARROLL ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: ...
Read more

Secrets of the Old Forest

Image
  The guide turned back to Ritter and said, "We are entering the oldest part of the forest. Few come this way, and many of those who do are not seen again." It looked like a normal forest to Ritter, but he drew his sword out of caution. "Nay, good Sir," the guide said. "Your sword cannot protect you from the powers that inhabit this place." The old guide threw his cloak around his bony shoulders and moved cautiously down the trail. Ritter followed, his sword still unsheathed. They walked silently, slowly for a few minutes, and the air grew warmer, more oppressive. It was like the forest was watching them, and the gaze of the trees was pressing in on them. The guide stepped lightly to the left to avoid a small mushroom on the trail's right edge, and Ritter copied him. As he did, Ritter's sword lightly grazed the top of the mushroom. He said nothing, and continued following the old man. Moments later, the trail turned to bypass a huge tree, behi...
Read more

Queen of Wands

Image
  Ulrich sat in the Seeing Lady's wagon as she lit an oil lamp. The wagon was more like a small house, in truth. It was just big enough for two curtained rooms. The main room was her public space, it seemed, with silken hangings, a folding table, lamps, and too many pillows. When he glimpsed through a gap in the linen curtain, he could see her sleeping cot and two fluffy cats: one asleep and one staring at him without blinking. "Please to be comfortable," the Seeing Lady said, pointing to a three-legged stool topped by a white pillow with a swan embroidered in red. It was also covered in cat hair. The Seeing Lady wore an elaborate, silk and linen dress and head scarf favored by ladies in eastern Salvania. Her fingernails were painted bright red to match her lips. Her eyelids were painted green. She fell into that indeterminate age somewhere between too young and too old. It seemed like eastern ladies went to a lot of trouble painting themselves each day. They sho...
Read more