Mongrel

  After just a few minutes of tottering along, it became clear that Sam could not keep up with the others. Mongrel might have told her as much, but the day that stubborn she-bear decided to listen to reason would come right after the sky falling down and right before hell freezing over.

  With great reluctance, she allowed Gug to take her in an awkward princess carry, all the while trying to assure everyone that she only needed a minute to rest, even though she was feverish and pale and weak-kneed.

  Oatmeal kept them going mostly in a straight line, though they zig-zagged a little to keep clear of the worst terrain. The ground was a little steeper in this region, and not boggy as it had been further south along the Iron Road. Not having to worry about wet boots was nice, but the constant up and down coupled with the extra packing made the whole endeavor fairly exhausting.

  As their nerves were already fried after the tumble inside the semblance, Mongrel allowed for a long break in the early afternoon to rest and eat. They found a hollow inside a circle of old oaks to take their ease, where stones and thick roots made for reasonable seating. Only about two thirds of their provisions had made it, but with two less mouths to feed, it all evened out.

  Mongrel was chewing on a tough bar of beef pemmican, occasionally stopping to lick animal grease from his lips, when he became aware of a movement at the corner of his eye. He assumed it was one of the boys and ignored it. A few moments later, someone yanked his head back by his hair, and there was something sharp scraping the stubble on his throat.

  "Hello hello," said a voice in his ear, breath sweet with tobacco. "And who might you fine folk be, trespassing in our woods?"

  Mongrel did not need to ask which plurality 'our' was referring to, as a whole troupe of men and women stepped out from behind the oaks all around them, wearing hooded green cloaks and brown clothing beneath that blended in with the surroundings. They were all armed—a few carried bows, arrows nocked, while others had swords or daggers. Someone carried a flanged mace.

  Sam was trying to get to her feet, but luckily Gug was hugging her so tight that she could not move a muscle. The troll's eyes were as wide as his open mouth, parted in a shocked O. Oatmeal was choking on a mouthful of dried fruit, one hand over his mouth with the other raised high to show that he did not intend to offer any resistance.

  Mongrel looked mournfully down at the pemmican he had dropped between his feet, now covered in dirt and twigs. "We're dealing with the fine people of Freetown, I take it?" he asked.

  "Typically," said the man in his ear with a snarky edge to his voice, "etiquette dictates that the man with the sharp thing does the asking, and the man without does the answering."

  "Typically," Mongrel replied through gritted teeth, "I prefer comely lasses to be pulling on my hair, not sweaty woodsmen."

  "Nice to hear that you're keeping a sense of humor about all this. The screaming and begging does get tiring after a while."

  "I can only imagine."

  Mongrel scanned the folk ringing the edge of the hollow. Their drawn cloaks and long sleeves made it impossible to see their sheets. He couldn't figure out how these bastards had made it past the chimps he'd posted as lookouts. They should have given warning already. Had they really missed a group this large coming through?

  In any case, there was no way the boys could overlook this kind of commotion. He sensed them dotted about in the treetops through his Kindred Spirit bond. If he just stalled long enough, they'd be able to ambush the ambushers, even the odds in case diplomacy proved ineffective.

  "You the leader of this outfit?" the knifeman asked, followed by a squelching sound as he shifted the tobacco beneath his lip with his tongue.

  "Sure," Mongrel replied. "You can call me Mongrel. The boy is Oatmeal. The girl is Sam Darling. The big one is Gug the Genius."

  "Pleased to make your acquaintance, all of you. Now, if you wouldn't mind stripping out of—"

  "Sam?" another of the bandits asked, and threw back his hood to reveal a young fellow with light hair. "Goddess! It really is you, isn't it?"

  "What the fuck are you gabbing about?" the knifeman asked, and leaned away from Mongrel to regard his compatriot. "You know these people?"

  "Yes!" the man replied, and began picking his way into the bottom of the hollow by hopping on root and rock. "Well, only one of them." His confidence faltered when he approached the troll protectively clutching Sam to his chest like a little girl with her favorite ragdoll, but he did not stop. He craned his neck awkwardly to see past the great green arm blocking his view. "Do you remember me?" he asked. "I'm—"

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  "Artie!" Sam replied, her voice coming out thin and muffled. "Of course I remember!"

  "Please, everyone, lower your weapons!" said the man apparently named Artie, and held up his hands to gesture peace. "This woman did right by me and Gutsy a while back. I'm sure she's no danger to us."

  There was a bit of grumbling at that, some back-and-forth, but the bandits eventually relaxed their bows and stowed their steel somewhat sheepishly. The knifeman released Mongrel and stepped away, leaving a streak of irritated skin where his blade had pressed down.

  Sam appeared to have found new strength at this chance meeting with an acquaintance, and wrestled free of the troll to speak with him, and at once invited (without permission) the other bandits to share a meal with them as well.

  Seeing as the danger appeared to be averted, Mongrel whistled somewhat sullenly for the chimps to stand down.

  The bandits had their own fare—fresh food, rather than travel rations—and once it became clear that they were not enemies, they were generous in doling out lean white meat and soft bread and even tubs of salted butter, with light, pale beer to wash it down.

  "How have you been?" Sam asked once she and Artie were seated together. "I'd hoped I would see you again sometime."

  "I'm doing wonderfully!" Artie said with a delighted laugh. Now that they had thrown their cloaks back and rolled up their sleeves, Mongrel could see that the man was a Level 6 Trader. "My life has changed so much that I can hardly believe what it was like just a short while ago. To go from selling slaves to freeing them! You might scoff at the idea of highway robbery as an honest profession, but truthfully I'm much happier now than I ever was in Sheerhome."

  "That's awesome!" Sam replied with a grin that was a near showing of her usual vigor.

  "And, of course, you may recall Gutsy," he continued, and motioned at a Level 5 Explorer standing at his shoulder, with a face like granite and the stiff bearing of a coat rack.

  "Of course!" Sam shook hands with each of them, then turned to Mongrel—at last deigning to explain what the hell was going on. "Mongrel, this is Artie and… Gutsy, was it? Yes. They were some of the first people I met after I washed up on the Shore of Awakening. Artie was one of the slavers, and Gutsy was the other slave in the tower I was brought to. Then Will arrived and freed me, and he let the two of them go on the condition that they leave Sheerhome and never return, so that they would not be able to reveal any sensitive information about us to any of the lord's people."

  "To my shame, mind you," Artie quickly added, nodding along. "I'll be spending the rest of my life making up for what I did back then. I'm lucky to have a friend like Gutsy—I never would have made it here without him."

  The Explorer did not so much as blink to show that he had registered the praise, nor did he find himself a seat, but remained standing with his cold stare throwing a perpetual wet blanket over the conversation.

  "I guess you two hit it off after all, then?" Sam asked.

  Artie laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I won't lie, it was a bit touch and go for a while. We actually parted ways pretty much as soon as we left the watchtower—I guess neither one of us trusted the other not to stab them in the back. I was trying to make my way north when I was attacked by a terrible beast of some description. I thought I was done for, but then Gutsy came out of nowhere and saved me.

  "We've stuck together since then, and we went through a lot before we eventually found our way to Freetown." His mirth faded a little, and a worried frown came over him. "But enough about us. You look injured. Are you all right?"

  "Oh, I'm good," Sam said, but her smile had gone shaky at the corners, and the fact that she had not touched her food at all showed that she was in fact anything but 'good'. "You could say we've gone through some trials of our own."

  "Those wounds must be very fresh if they're still bleeding. Did you run into a monster near here?"

  "You could say that." The girl began to explain their close call with the Monster Mansion, but she was somewhat delirious and not making much sense, so Mongrel touched the girl's arm to still her. For once she listened, and allowed Gug to carry her off so she could lay down and rest.

  Mongrel took over the conversation in her absence. "Truthfully, I don't like the way she's headed. We've stitched her up some, but she could use some proper medical attention sharpish. We're looking for Freetown, but our guide up and fucked off on us—you gentlemen think you could bring us there?"

  "Of course," Artie replied without looking to anyone for confirmation, implying that he was the leader of the troupe, or at least in a position of authority. "Freetown is less than an hour's walk from here. They way you were headed though, you would have just missed it, gone right past. You're lucky we found you when we did."

  "There's a good man." Mongrel felt some of the tension go out of his bones.

  "But… if you don't mind me asking, what brings you to Freetown in the first place? Are you in trouble with the lord's men?"

  "Uh, sort of. It's a long story—one I'll gladly tell once there's a roof over my head and a fire at my feet. For now, I'll just say that we're looking for a man named Big Deal Buck. Know of him?"

  Artie laughed, and shared an incredulous look with Gutsy. "Know of him? He's a legend in these parts!"

  "That's what I like to hear. Is he in Freetown?"

  "He should be. He goes out pretty often to hunt the monsters that come down out of the northern fells, but I think he just came back from an outing last night, so he'll probably stay put for a few days at least."

  Thank fucking god. Mongrel was quite ready for this hell trip to be over with. Assuming nothing else went wrong, it looked like the objective might finally be in sight.

  Which, the pessimistic side of him thought, meant that something was liable to go spectacularly wrong very soon.