Landria wanted to get a move on. Her eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun as she studied her surroundings with an impatient air. Far away she saw the trees of a forest and the rugged path leading to it. Closer by was the town she and her friends had visted recently, a scattering of colorful houses around a market. She sighed. It was later in the morning now and Giselle should be here. Where is that crazy girl?
She had planned it out so well, too. In the morning they would have a quick breakfast over at the Inn, then purchase the tools builders use to peel back walls. They would follow her map to the Feld River, cross, then spend the night at a town called Minis Culedot. Then it was a short walk to the deceased wizard’s tower where they could try to uncover some of the magic scrolls hidden in the walls. She shook her head and fiddled with the worn pages of her spell books. But they couldn’t go until Giselle caught up with them. Trastor said it “wouldn’t be right”.
Right now he stood with Landria on the top of a hill, his hands resting on his hips and his head lifted proudly. The armor he wore glinted in the soft sunlight, but he was unaware of the mess a bird left on his back. Wildfire snickered at this as she inched towards him. Her red hair fell in her face as she reached for Trastor’s back pack. She wore no rings or gloves, prefering to keep her hands bare. These hands now quickly searched through the bag, sorting out what she liked and disliked.
Scarloc, kneeling to inspect a flower on the hill, looked up at them and bit his lip.
“Wildfire!”
She frowned at him, mouthing, “This isn’t time to grow a back bone, whipping elf.”
“Do you absolutely have to call me that?” he glanced from Trastor to Wildfire, wringing his hands. He hated confrontation and would rather handle the matters of day-to-day survival. Ask him to navigate through an unexplored forest and he would gladly do so, but try to get him to send back bad food to a cook in a resteraunt and it won’t happen.
Wildfire was almost finished rummaging through Trastor’s stuff when he happened to turn around and catch her in the act. He opened his mouth to let out a nasal wail of protest, but she fished out two green gems, deftly hid them away, and threw the bag at him with a resounding ‘thump!’
"What do you expect from me, making me wait here for that daft druid to show up?"
Trastor puffed out his chest, “It’s not my fault she’s late. What gives you the right to look through my things, take my things, hide my things who knows where? If you don’t give those back to me I will,” he paused, sputtering, “be forced to take them from you!”
Wildfire’s lips twisted into a smirk as her hair billowed around her face and crackled with electricity. She took a step towards him, challenge in her eyes. Before anything could happen, or more likely, before she could kick his ass, Phanndos spotted something.
“Hey! I think I see Giselle coming up the hill!” Indeed she was. She was behind a huge barrel, attempting to roll it up the hill but not making much progress.
“Dragondung!” she cursed as her hands slipped off the barrel. It rolled over Giselle’s foot all the way down to the bottom of the hill. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring down at it and shoving her damp hair out of her eyes. The velvet cloak she wore looked as though it weighed about half her weight. She wore it every day, even on sunny days, because she thought the hood of the cloak made her look mysterious.
Phanndos jogged down the hill to help her. From a distance the two horns on his head and his goat feet made him look half human, half animal. But he was really a satyr, a mythical being with animal attributes. In his opinion there was nothing better than drinking, eating, playing music, and chasing nymphs in forests. Giselle, the closest thing to a nymph he’ll ever get, stood for a moment and beamed up at him as he hefted the barrel and made it back to everyone else. Wildfire rolled her eyes. All of a sudden, Phanndos sprinted down to Giselle again with a playful grin.
“This is making me sick,” Wildfire groaned, clutching her stomach.
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the chivalrous and romantic one,” said Trastor.
“Why can’t anyone do that for me?” Landria asked, setting down her spell books and raising her eyebrows haughtily.
Phanndos has lifted the glowing Giselle up into his arms and made it back to the group a second time.
“Aw, how sweet,” said Wildfire, plopping on the ground, “Now someone hand me a barf bag.”
Trastor took the opportunity to go through his things and make a list of everything that was missing. Giselle, with only her nose, mouth, and chin visible under the hood, gazed at Phanndos and told them why she lugged a barrel of wine up the hill.
“If you think about it a flask really isn’t enough, and bottles break so easily.” her voice rose light and energetic, “Who knows how long we’ll be on our next adventure? It could be hours, days even, before we reach another town with a bar.”
“So you think you’re going to roll the thing where ever we go?” Wildfire spat, peering at them from her spot on the ground. She sniffed, making her look like a disgruntled pixie. “Oh yes, we’re being attacked by bandits, lets roll the barrel of wine over them and flatten the fools to death. That sounds sensible.”
Giselle glanced around for reassurance. “Well, it could happen.”
“That’s it!” Trastor said suddenly, pointing at Wildfire. At the outburst Phanndos autmatically stepped in front of Giselle and her barrel, shielding her. “You! Fiend! Hand it over. I want my money and those two gems back, now.”
“Tough luck, golden boy,”she jumped to her feet. “You’re not getting a cent from- wait. I never took your money, only the pretty little jewels.”
“You expect me to believe that.” The two were about an inch away from each other.
“Er, about that,” said Giselle, peeking out from behind Phanndos.
“Yes?” Trastor snapped at her.
“Um... it’s not Wildfire this time, actually. I kind of, sort of, borrowed your money. I used it to pay for the wine.”
"What!?" Trastor bellowed, only it wasn’t a bellow. It sounded more like a dying duck in agony.
Wildfire did something she had never done before. She laughed. Loudly. And because laughter is contagious, soon everyone except for poor Trastor was cracking up. Some were rolling on the ground, others had rolled down the hill, and only Giselle, who felt guilty, was making any attempt to control her giggles. That was the last straw for Trastor. He clanked away in his heavy armor, not knowing where he wanted to go, only that it needed to be far, far away.
Those morons.
He walked down the path leading from the hill and muttered angrily to himself. They were so immature. A week ago Wildfire thought it would be funny to eat her stew out of his helmet. When he unknowingly put his helmet on the next morning and got a hair full of veggies, it was the prank of the day. To their simple minds, he was the squeaky voiced boy trying to play at being a knight. It’s not his fault he sounded like a broken oboe. At least he followed the law and his god; understood right from wrong.
As he walked farther leaves and twigs cracked under his feet, reminding him of a kid chewing something crunchy with his mouth open. The dense forest area was rich with the warm colors of fall; red, orange, yellow, brown. He took a deep breath in, then sneezed a sneeze that sounded like it came from a chipmunk. Biting his lip in embarrassment, he looked all around him as if expecting the trees to burst into laughter.
Trastor kicked away little stones to the sides of the path. Why couldn’t he just vow to leave these people, and then actually do it? Because no one else would put up with you, a little voice gnawed at him. He remembered training to be a knight with the other boys. Not only would they make fun of him, they wouldn't let him be a leader or even participate when an adult wasn’t there to keep things fair. What was worse was being left out of their mock tournaments, their games in the fields, and especially the late night talks that went on long after they were told to go to sleep. But he never had what you could call true friends. Not then. Not now. He let out his breath slowly. Someday, he told himself, he would find people who held the same values, but until then, he had to make the best with what he had.
That girl, Giselle. She was supposed to be a druid, a preserver of nature, an animal friend, a tree hugger even. Druids feel a tie to nature, but what seperates them from Rangers like Scarloc is that they just use more spells to protect it. And while mages learn their spells by memorization, druids learn by connecting themselves to the environment. What did she connect with? Strange men and alcohol. Trastor stopped walking. He had come to a fork in the road, with one sign directing travelers to a neighboring town and the other sign pointing to a thick forest. But he didn’t notice the signs, the trees, the light drizzle that was starting up, or even the split in the road. He stopped because he had an idea. Drinking was the problem, that was it. Somewhere he’d find someone to help Giselle with her addiction. Trastor, his jaw clenched, took the path that led to the nearest town.
***
Scarloc lay awake in his sleeping bag, listening to the rain pound on the tent above him. He now regretted that Giselle had convinced him to drink with them today. All he wanted to do was sleep, but his loud hiccups and queasy stomach were keeping him up.
The hiccups were keeping Wildfire up as well, who was close by in another tent. Her irriation rose higher and higher until she threw off her covers, grabbed her pillow, and strode over to Scarloc’s tent. Scarloc heard a sound and looked up to see a figure at the flap of the tent, holding something in its hand. Lightening flashed ominously behind the figure and he recognized it as Wildfire, looking postively murderous and drenched to the core. His eyes widened in panic.
Is she going to smother me?
He hiccuped.
“Shut up!” she threw the pillow at him and walked out. A second later she came back in, snatched the pillow up, and stalked out again, her hair sopping wet. After that incident the hiccups ceased, probably out of fear, and everyone was finally able to get some sleep.
Giselle slept soundly, curled up against Phanndos inside the tent they shared. She was in the middle of an interesting dream when a hand clamped over her mouth, waking her up.
“Fiduh yipee! Dafroya arril!” She called out, the sound muffled, which was actually ‘Find the gypsy! Destroy the barrels!’
“Shh!” a familiar voice squeaked.
She blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the dark. What in the world? Something was wrong. She, the gread druid, was on the winning side, along with the mermaids and the tuna fish. The evil gypsies with their barrels couldn’t have captured her! It just wasn’t done!
Giselle felt herself being lifted up, carried, and then drenched by rain. Slowly, the dream fog from her mind cleared. She blinked up at her captor, who was walking very fast.
“Trastor!”
“Shh!” He half-ran past the tents, his feet making squishy sounds on the wet grass, then came to the path on the hill.
“What do you think you are doing, tin head?”
“Be quiet!” he snapped.
Her eyes bulged. “Oo, you, you... piece of rust! When I tell Phanndos about this, no amount of bulky armor is going to save your sorry butt.”
He set her on the ground, eyebrows knotting furiously. “Yeah? ‘Cause no apology of yours will give me back the money you stole from me. You couldn’t have offered to return the barrel, bargain with the merchant, noooo. Instead, you giggled about it with your friends and thew a party.
Oh, right. She looked down, thinking. She could take him. One good kick to the- damn. He had armor there too.
Trastor went on, pointing to himself, “Since I am a good person, I am doing you a favor. You, my friend, are going to rehab, where they can cure you of your alcoholism.” Trastor took her arm and guided her farther from the hill. He began preaching about the great evils of alcohol, but she easily tuned him out.
What? It’s not as if i have a serious problem. Sure, I like to have a drink once in awhile, but not every second of every day. After all, I have to sleep at some point. This is ridiculous.
“Uh, Mr. Bright Idea, hold on a minute,” Giselle stepped in front of him, interrupting his speech. “‘Rehab’ doesn’t exist here. People cure drunks by dunking their heads in and out of water. Since I’m already soaked from the rain, consider your job done.” She tried to give him her sweetest and most reassuring smile.
Trastor looked at her with his mouth open. She just smiled at him. All he had to do was let her get back to her friends and she wouldn’t ever drink again. He was half tempted to let her go, when he shook his head and realized she was just trying to charm him.
“No. Don’t even try to trick me with your, your tricks. I know of a place where someone can help you. So that’s where we’re going.”
Giselle pouted, contemplating sticking her tongue out at him and making a run for it. They weren’t that far away from the hill now, only a mile maybe. But Trastor, sensing her sophisticated plan, threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and continued down the path.
***
Phanndos, wrapped in his covers, was in a deep sleep. His eyes were closed, his mouth smiling. With only his head peeking out of the sleeping bag, he looked like a human. But the two horns sticking out of his head and making punctures in the pillow betrayed this image. In his dream a bunch of leprechans were offering him all of their gold, drink, and women. He danced with the ladies in a circle and sang a song about lightening and thunder. To his surprise, it started raining zebras, and they kept hitting him on the head.
“Ow!” He cried, running faster in circles. Where could he find shelter? He looked to the leprechans for help, but they had vanished, leaving Wildfire in their place laughing maniacally at him like a hobbit on pipe-weed. Phanndos shook his fist at the sky and at that moment a very fat zebra fell on top of him, waking him up with a jolt.
His eyes opened slowly, then immediately closed again. The sun was too bright through the slits of the tent and his head was pounding.
Must have been the zebras.
He cracked a smile. It couldn’t be a hang over, oh no. It was the fickle leprechans, damn them. He sat up, looking for Giselle, but he was alone. He shrugged, assuming she went out to get something to eat. He quickly got dressed, pulling on a simple green shirt and pants. His goat feet didn’t require shoes, so he never bothered with them. Giselle’s little mirror was in her purse. He carefully pulled it out to admire his horns for a moment; one of the traits that distinguished him as a satyr.
“And you know what they say,” Wildfire stood at the flap in the tent, looking less scary then she did last night. She smoothed her hair back. “Horns for a horny little bastard.”
Phanndos grinned at her in agreement, his forest green eyes twinkling. She warned him that he’d better goat-tail it out of there of they were leaving without him, and then she was gone.
He packed everything up efficiently, wondering why the druid left all her stuff behind. Maybe he was pampering her too much? Could it be that she was taking advantage of him? He sighed. Hopefully not, because he really liked her. Of course he’d be fooling himself if he thought it was anything more than a fling, but right now it was fun to treat it like something real. He exited the tent, folded that up as well, and whistled his way toward Landria, Wildfire, and Scarloc. Trastor’s still not back, he noted. Ah well. But he didn’t see Giselle with them either.
"Where’s my girl?"
“Can’t you keep track of your woman, satyr?” Wildfire’s lip curled. “Pathetic. You know, you’re supposed to tie her to you so she doesn’t do something stupid, like think on her own. Otherwise, women might just run around, helter skelter, without a man to direct them. Where would we be then? Chaos! Chaos in the streets!”
“We thought she was with you.” Scarloc said, his usually alert eyes drooping and bloodshot, and half his arrows sticking out of his knapsack instead of his weapon holder. Phanndos stifled a chuckle.
“She’s probably just back at the pub,” Landria threw her hands up. “Let’s go check there first, and if she’s nowhere to be seen, we’ll ask around. Oh,” she cocked an eyebrow, “check your money as well. With Trastor gone...”
Phanndos felt the beginnings of sweat on his forehead as he casually patted his coin pouch. It was brown, tied with a string, and rattled with a couple of gold coins. Relief swept over him.
You dummy. She wouldn’t take anything from you; only from stuffy knights like Trastor. Relax.
“Nothing stolen?” Landria asked.
They all shook their heads and went to town to search the pub. The place looked clean and well kept, tables and counters polished and and windows scrubbed. The floor was worn but dirt free, and the chairs looked lived-in but sturdy. There were a couple of people in the bar this morning: the bartender and a drunk obviously recovering from the betrayal of a lover. He slouched over his beer, mouth sagging, staring at the outline of a heart he had made using peanut shells. When the bartender tried to tell him he’d had enough, he shook his fist, rose from his chair, and shouted, “I’ll take ya! I’ll take ya like I took the jerk who stole my Vanessa from me!”
The bartender simply patted him on the head and served him cider that tasted like alcohol. He often gave it to kids, but the drunk was too far gone to taste it for what it really was.
Landria stepped up to the bar, "Sir?" He paused in polishing glasses and looked up. "Have you seen a girl today, about nigh high, with gray eyes, blonde hair, wearing a tattered old cloak?"
His forehead wrinkled in concentration as he scratched his balding head. "No, not today miss, though she did come in yesterday morning. Bought a huge ol’ barrel of wine," he grinned and winked at Scarloc. "Can’t imagine what she did with all of that, but I imagine it’s nice to know a woman who can have fun."
Scarloc’s eye twitched, so Phanndos spoke, "My train of thought exactly."
"Thank you anyway," said Landria, yanking Wildfire away from the now dozing drunk with his coin pouch dangling loosely from his pants.
They started heading towards the door when the bartender glanced up and called them back, “Hey! Are you lookin’ for your other pal too?”
Met with blank looks, he went on to explain, “This guy in armor came in and asked me all these questions. Well, a voice like that is a shame, a real shame.”
“Trastor?” they chorused.
The bartender shrugged, “Didn’t give me a name. All he wanted to know was where he could get some help for some girl. When I directed him to the nearest healer, he said he meant help for her drinking problem. I’m sorry to say everyone laughed him out of the place. You don’t walk into a bar asking something like that.” He rested his chin on his hand, “If you see him, tell him the only thing you can really do about it is try to keep the alcohol out of their reach, you know. Like a kid who wants a toy that they shouldn’t have. But when ya get down to it it’s their own decision. I’m sorry to say you can’t make it for them.”
“Did he mention where he was going next?” Landria asked.
“Nah, he just walked out. Looked quite embarressed, too.” The bartender thought back to Trastor’s face turning red and the way he rushed out of there.
They thanked him again and left. The group walked back to the city gates, arguing about what to do. Scarloc, his head aching horribly, was not in a good mood.
“I can’t see what there is to argue about. Landria should have some kind of plan. She’s the know-it-all mage, just let her figure it out.”
She whirled around, looking much like Wildfire did last night when she threw the pillow at him. Her mouth opened as if to speak, then closed obstinately. Landria pursed her lips, primly turned, and refused to participate in the argument.
Wildfire sighed. “Trastor probably woke her up when we were still asleep, lied about another drinking party somewhere, and took her to some goody-two-shoes place where they did who knows what in an attempt to ‘cure’ her. That or he bonked her on the head and dragged her there by her hair.”
Phanndos, not happy with the idea of anyone knocking his girl friend unconscious, stormed through the gates and up the path. The rest of the group made no attempt to follow, and he was glad for it. He wasn’t even sure where he was going. He just knew something needed to be done.
Reaching the top of the hill, he noticed two figures far ahead, seeming to be moving towards him. Phanndos squinted. The smaller figure was wearing something white, the larger figure had on armor. He broke into a run. They both spotted him, looked startled. The two people also started running, one away from Phanndos, the other closer to him.
Phanndos opened his arms to Giselle, who in turn opened her arms to him. They met. They embraced. And all was well in the world. Except for one thing. Landria and Scarloc had made it to the hill, now watching Wildfire race to the couple.
"Where is he?" she shouted.
"Trastor? Oh, he ran away when he saw Phanndos." Giselle said.
"He won’t get far," she chuckled, sprinting down the path.
The pair walked hand in hand to Landria and Scarloc. When the four of them were together, they all looked at her expectantly.
Giselle told them how Trastor carried her out into the rain while she was still groggy, took her to a cleric’s house in a neighboring town who agreed to help earlier, and lectured her about drinking all the way.
"All the cleric did was dunk my head in and out of water, half drowning me. I told Trastor that’s what people do, but would he listen? No. Then, the cleric expected payment, and since neither of us had any money, things got ugly."
Before she could continue, a loud whining was heard coming up the hill. Wildfire was dragging Trastor to them by the ear. Phanndos waited until he was in reach, then grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Don’t you ever kidnap Giselle again,” he spoke very slowly and quietly, choosing to enunciate his words with a good shake.
“O-okay, Phanndos. Never again.” He backed away as soon as he was released, clearing his throat and trying to get reoriented.
Appearing satisfied, Phanndos turned to Giselle and asked calmly, “How ugly did things get?”
She looked from Trastor to Phanndos, and back again, worried. “Oh, he just called the guards and tried to get us into jail. But we took care of it by tying him to his chair and telling him to stuff it.”
Wildfire smirked at Trastor, "Ah, is the knight trying to be a bad-ass now?"
He flushed, "No, of course not. I mean, he’s a cleric, I thought he offered his services for free."
"So you pissed off Horny over here for nothing."
"Not necessarily." Giselle said, her light hair still damp and her night shirt full of wrinkles, "We have a bet going, you see. If I don’t drink for a month, then Trastor has to have one glass of wine. This is in an effort on my part to get him to loosen up. However, if I lose, I have to pay him back the money I took from him."
"This is going to be interesting," Wildfire said. "I predict you’ll have to pay him back by the end of today."
She frowned, and Scarloc spoke up, "I’m wondering more about you and Phanndos. How does he feel about a bet that doesn’t allow you to drink at all? He is a satyr, remember."
"I hadn’t thought of that." Then she shook her head, smiling in a teasing way at her boyfriend. "What are you going to do with me?"
Phanndos surprised them all with a little tune.
"What will I do with a drunken druid?
What will I do with a drunken druid?
What will I do with a drunken druid?
Early in the morning?
He paused to grin mischievously at her. She raised her eyebrows warily, and Phanndos continued,
*Tickle her until she’s sober,
Tickle her until she’s sober,
Tickle her until she’s sober,
Early in the morning!"*
Even though she was sober for once, he did exactly that.
Wildfire sighed, debating whether or not to push Scarloc or Trastor off the hill to ease her aggravation. Grinning, she took a hold of both of them, and shoved with all her might. They toppled back and rolled all the way down the hill, Trastor wailing like a violin on a bad note. *The Drunken Sailor song, modified.
