An Unlikely Bride 13

Everyone was waiting back at the wagons as expected, but he saw that several men had gathered up crude bindles of their belongings tied around their weapons. A few nodded to him as they passed, part of him wished he could have kept them and he knew the road ahead would be harder without the support of so many fighting men. He was glad that Ruran hadn't moved to get his armor, joined by Corrick and another man who's name he didn't know, and another mercenary had set out his bedroll and was settling in for a nap. Good. Four men was better than no men, and he liked what the spellsword could do to throwing spears.

Soon enough they were joined by some townsfolk just as Thonvar settled his stiff body down, baskets of food and some scrap leather, fur, linen, and other cloths were laid out. Pieces of chain mail and metal scraps too, along with a decent-sized sack of coins. As a reward for their continued loyalty, Thonvar laid down some coins for the four men and saw that Agzi got some too.

Ruran didn't look too pleased.

"She fought well," said the northerner.

"Aye, she did. Saved your arse too, tha's why I ain't smilin'."

He wasn't sure what the southerner meant. "I am happy to have her support, and yours."

"Lot of good it does when you just go takin' off to fight. I thought about leavin' with them, still am."

"Why?" Thonvar asked. "We had to fight, they would not have let us stay."

Saying nothing at first, Ruran sat down and took a swig from his waterskin. "You weren't here for it, but those men left 'cause they ain't got the stomach to fight for a damned fool that dives in the first sight of trouble. Gods only know if you even think 'bout it, but there ain't no sense in followin' some stubborn battlemage that don't know the first fuckin' thing 'bout his magic or how to fight smart."

"Do they feel this or do you?" he asked, unable to hide the wounded tone in his voice.

"What I feel," Ruran looked over at Anza, "ain't important. You got us outta that damned forest, kept us movin' when we needed it, but you got us right back in harm's way. They need a leader, an' lad, you gotta wise up."

Truth was in the spellsword's words, more than he liked to admit, it was foolish of him to have taken such a risk and put himself in harm's way. Actually it was much more than foolish, it was stupid. Bravery was worth little if it came without cunning to guide it, and he had let his temper get the better of him and forgot that important rule. His attitude needed to change, he was no longer an unimportant bastard son and had hidden gifts that let him do extraordinary things.

With that power came responsibility, it brought danger to those around him if left unchecked, he could not afford to unleash what he did not understand.

Thonvar nodded and slipped his arm around Anza. "Wise counsel."

"Aye."

"I am... unprepared for my new duties as their chief. I know nothing of this new power, or of what darkness chases us. Why do you stay knowing we are marked?"

"This 'ere town weren't on the road we were on before, was it? Just got hit by demons that come up from a hole in the ground. Guards took some of us to see it, just opened up under some poor maid's basement, they come rushin' out. Big fat one put a hole through the wall just to crawl through. Way I see it, goin' south ain't happenin' with the woods as they are, stayin' is a damned fool place to be, so the mountains are the best bet. With you. I reckon if you learn to control that wind, we'll be just fine."

"We go in the wrong direction for that, I know the wind comes from the Reach."

Ruran shrugged. "Far as we are from there, I'm not sure it matters. Gettin' 'cross the river into the mountains is our best bet either way."

"This is true," Thonvar replied before looking down at his wife. "You did not tell me about the bandits on the mountains."

"Why tell husband?" she asked with a twinkle of confusion.

Annoyance had to be kept in check, he imagined she had little thought paid to being leader up until then. Why would she tell him? What was there to tell? A highborn girl of his own kind wouldn't have concerned herself with such things if she was expected to be married off, it would only become relevant once her husband was in power. From what he had gathered so far he guessed that Anza did not expect to ever wield power, her mate would claim the title of chief through marriage.

So it was understandable that she didn't think about it, he reminded himself he was just as clueless. Maybe he should have paid more attention to his father and learned more from the elves, but he didn't and he suffered for his ignorance.

"They are my lands now, our lands, bandits are a threat to our way of life," he reminded her, looking up the hill at the city gate. "I will need to see how your people have chosen to defend themselves."

"If it's anythin' like the ones we met when they first hired us, you're not gonna like it," warned the spellsword. "A hole in the ground with some rocks stacked up around it, some logs fallen, that's it."

That wouldn't do at all.

Thonvar looked down at Anza for confirmation, he could see her mixture of angry defiance toward his judgement and embarrassment at her people's inadequacy. Kobolds had learned to be reclusive long ago, partially because they could not emulate the humans, dwarves, and elves with any degree of success. They sent people out to the wider world, they did not invite it in so they could be laughed at. She didn't need to explain any of that, his imagination let him guess how hard it was to bear their painful self-loathing while carrying that assumed destiny of greatness.

They truly had no idea why they weren't the equals with everyone else. Part of it was due to nobody wanting to actively empower them, no knowledge of walls and towers and military secrets passed on to them. What they got were things that made them useful as pets or free labor, he remembered that Anza pointed to his books when he asked where she learned her skills with a tongue. Was that the extent of their library? Sexual manuals?

His own stack of books were an assortment of useful knowledge, some he had never read fully because they didn't interest him at the time. Suddenly he wanted to look over Jargal Kjarvenson's Stones of the North, a tome detailing the building styles of all the northlands. All he ever read was the part about Ivarshold and specifically Ivar's Keep, the hand-drawn illustration made it look far grander than it actually was. Even then he flipped through most of it, ignoring the study of how the giant stones were laid to form the walls and towers.

Perhaps that could be his gift to his wife in thanks for all she had done, turning her home into something that might demand respect.

"Ruran, if I give you the gold, can I trust you to buy some things for me?"

"Aye, you can, what is it?"

A sly grin curled the northman's lips. "See if they have any books for sale, I prefer the kind I can learn from."

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After the cartwright walked down, left, and came back with a gigantic cartload of obviously second-hand but still serviceable parts they all sat down for an evening meal. They weren't allowed to go off in their little groups anymore, some old planks that had been discarded near a hovel were fashioned into a hefty table and some benches. Seeing how fast the kobolds worked in a group made him appreciate their dedication, they just didn't know what they were doing and were prone to focusing on obviously bad ideas. Perhaps that was a racial trait they all shared or, maybe, it was just the result of their cultural inclination to cobble things together until it was good enough.

Comparing them to Anza made her look extraordinary, she was tall, clever, calculating, and had a certain fire in her that inspired him to want to be the best for her. Perhaps if he wasn't around she could lead them, he knew she was smarter than she let on sometimes. So perhaps his clan wasn't just born stupid, but instead the previous chief never saw fit to teach them to be smarter. Thinking about Uzkrig gave Thonvar a bit of insight into why Anza seemed so... distant to her father's death.

He knew she had acknowledged it and felt affection for him, but with him gone it was like a switch had gone off in her head. There were no tears, not like the others, and she didn't spend long moments in silent grief. Anza looked at the vessel containing her father's ashes from time to time, he had caught her with a hand on it before they sat down to eat, but she expressed no grief.

Was it appropriate to ask her about it? As somebody who cared? As a husband? As her chief?

That was all too complicated, he put it out of his mind.

Uzkrig was dead and the title of chief had passed to him, so the Kozakrim would suffer no more under an incompetent, ambitious fool that simply was well out of his element. Thonvar would lead them as if they were his own fiery-haired kin, starting first by making sure their weakest were better than the best the other clans could muster.

"How many animals do we have? At home?" he asked.

Anza looked up at him with confusion. "Animals here?"

"So we have none in the mountains? Were they brought on the journey or..." he trailed off and scowled. "So these are new."

"How kobold keep big animal?" his wife asked with a puzzled expression.

As everyone else kept theirs! Put them in a stable, feed them, care for them, it really wasn't a hard concept at all. She saw his thoughts play out on his face and gave him a dirty look, but he didn't regret it at all. They would need even more supplies than he thought! Then he remembered how little kobolds paid attention to the future, the practical future, they just dreamed and dreamed of being important one day without a single damned thought of how to get their tomorrow.

"Corrick," he began, looking down the table at the other human, "we have nothing for the animals. Our feed will not last through the winter."

"I know, sir, I grew up on a farm," said another man.

Thonvar sighed. "I forgot your name."

"Hedrek, sir, grew up outside of Kaldruun," he answered, scratching the side of his head. "Old elf town, maybe you heard of it?"

He shook his head as he chewed on the slice of quickbread. "I know little of the south. Can I trust you to get what we need? For these animals?"

Looking at all the animals made the southerner frown. "All of them? For a whole winter?"

"Yes."

"You have nothin' there, sir? Not a thing? We're gonna need more wagons, horse alone needs tons of hay. Gotta have the hay, sir, gives 'em heat in the gut to keep 'em warm and these are from the south. I reckon it best buying it now, get a big cart, load it up with hay, move it on. Straw too, for beddin' and the grain we feedin' 'em now ain't gonna be enough. Find me an ox, pair if you can, an' I can get us a wagon. Saw enough rough wood 'round 'ere for it, I reckon nobody's gonna miss it."

"You will just build a wagon?" Thonvar asked with obvious doubt.

Hedrek shrugged. "Need a few hands, but aye, I can. Sir."

A problem that solved itself, except the southerner was the one who needed to go and get the necessary supplies. Obviously somebody needed to do both tasks, and since he had the gold it was probably best he walk into town again. Those townsfolk wouldn't like it, but it had to be done, and he had heard all the necessary information anyway. What harm could come of it? If the worst of it came to pass he could always have some of the animals sold, or slaughtered, he dreaded to think of their food storage issues.

Hunting and trading could fix that, all they had to do was last one winter.

"Since we are building wagons, it may be best to build two. We have many mouths to feed, I will try to find four strong oxen and enough hay. Perhaps we can arrange for more in the winter."

Hedrek stood up with his wooden plate. "Aye, get a cow if you can. Too late to breed, but next year's late spring is a good time for it."

Thonvar nodded and the man set off to start his work. "Some of you help him, where is Agzi?"

"Anza tell Agzi go family, make rest," his wife answered. "Kobold help human, make good wagons, yes?"

Shrugging it off, he watched as several of the kobolds quietly got up and left without much acknowledgement. Did they resent him, or were they just tired? As long as they did their tasks as he wished, they could spend the winter safe in their cave hating him if they liked. Their ways that held them back had to be killed, it was the only way his clan would survive and prosper amidst so many aggressive neighbors. Perhaps the forestfolk wouldn't be so bad, he suspected that he might strike a deal with Hodvar if the man was interested in magic.

"Declan, finish up and go help," Thonvar commanded.

"I was gonna stay and--" The boy couldn't look in the piercing blue eyes of the chief. "Yes, sir."

Satisfied with the boy's answer, he turned his attention to the girl. "My wife surely has things for you to do."

A mumbled, "yessir," was all he got, she didn't even look at him.

Somehow he had forgotten they had lost their mother, her wild corpse slayed by his hand and burned on his order. He didn't care. Survival was more important than the feelings of blubbering teenagers moping about over things they couldn't help, the past couldn't be changed and if it could then what would they have done? Ran away? They would've died, and no doubt their mother would still have wound up cleaved in the back. Life was not fair and it was a lesson all had to learn sooner or later, even those that felt safe in their towns and behind their walls were learning the hard reality.

Good, they needed to learn it. This was the consequence for their lack of integrity, had they been kinder and more connected with their neighbors they might not have been so unaware. Had they kept their king rather than sacrificing him in a bloody ritual to Otar, something good reachfolk simply couldn't understand, they might have been ready for the darkness. Instead they were squabbling over a wooden trinket to put on somebody's head, it was complete foolishness because only a vote at a Thing could determine who their king would be.

Placing a kiss on his wife's snout, Thonvar stood up and fought against the painful stiffness that made his muscles feel like wood. Softer men might have given in and sent somebody else, but he grabbed the sack of gold and set off to do his part. Reachfolk all pitched in, and he intended to lead the kobolds by example.

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During times of crisis people had a habit of trying to get as much as they could for scraps, but he was having none of it and stood firm on his price. Something had told him to ask about how much hay normally went for, the amount he needed would be a solid thirty gold along with twelve in grain, and the farmer at the barn knew it was fair price for it. Thonvar had seen this before, he knew that farmers sometimes forgot their place and overstepped their bounds for whatever reason. Perhaps it was the isolation, maybe they thought the entire world was a giant field waiting for their firm guidance. They did that at the absolute worst of times; even if they were rescued from bandits, or freed from the annoyance of a kobold camp, or an adolescent wyvern was slain right in their precious field.

Sure, a small wyvern the size of a horse wasn't the worst thing that could attack a farm, but just moments before the village was cowering in fear as it munched away on some poor goat. Experiences like that taught him to stand firm with these kinds of men and after a few moments the farmer's eyes lost their resolve, but it still took him a good minute to succumb fully. Thonvar knew he was intimidating, word had already spread of his contribution to the town's rescue, and he was still armed with his trusty sword.

Yet the animals remained an issue since nobody wanted to part with cows, at least not right away. After some wandering he found a farmer near the western gate willing to trade him cows in exchange for helping move produce to the nearby town of Kvenseyr. That meant going further south and back west than he had liked, but the farmer insisted on it. Thonvar tried to negotiate, but only managed to talk the farmer out of a haywagon and a pair of old oxen. At least that meant he could get more feed, but their trip would be extended even further.

These forestfolk harvested late, he would have been worried about the coming snows for at least a week.

Regardless of the circumstances, he had to accept that certain sacrifices had to be made for the sake of long-term progress. A crash course in learning how to drive a wagon later and he was on his way back, the long walk out to the farm gave him plenty of time to think about his fancy map. Anza would have liked to sit with him and look at their new path, he made a note to remember to do that, and by his guess it put them rather close to their original route. They would be traveling through snows for sure, and with the revelation about mountain bandits...

Kobolds would need to learn how to defend themselves better, they used whatever they could like savages. An ambush in a blizzard, on the side of a mountain, that was a condition he wouldn't have an easy time to fight in. Actually the thought frightened him a bit, his memory flashed back to the roadside ambush and how desperate it had felt. That was real fighting, bloody, hard, brutal, and faster than the brain had time to process. Better than fighting the dead being lead by demons, right? What were they called? Dauva? From Angura?

Their skin was like charcoal, it even had a certain gleam to it that was definitely not natural at all. They looked vaguely like men, but their faces reminded him of bats in a way with their upturned nostrils and big, black eyes. Bits of red and gray marked them, the one he killed in the forest had flecks of dark gray as if they were freckles and red stripes down his back. His teeth were white though, almost shockingly so, hidden behind blackish, purple lips that turned down naturally.

From what he had gathered their mouths were roughly triangular, the point under their nose "clipped off" to form a straight line as they snarled and bared their teeth. Actually they looked rather elven in general, he remembered there being ears that did come up to a dagger point, but also jutted down too. Khezde took them both, cut them right off at the skull, if they were put together they looked a bit like a lopsided four-pointed star.

Those fangs though, they were the real danger. Twice he had survived their poison, the fever, chills, pain, and stiffness were not something he ever wanted to repeat.

They came with weapons too, obviously doing everything he could to avoid those wicked-looking instruments was in his best interest. Swords looked relatively conventional, stylistic choices gave them spines and ridges that had functional purpose as well. Much like his own blade they favored one side in both sharpness and posture, but they were merely curved on the blade side and sported serrations on the other edge. Was that for intimidation? Utility? He knew right away it could be used to cut up branches. Yet the placement would have made thrusting a dangerous affair, his own sword stuck because of the geometry, serrations would have been a nightmare to extract.

Most curious of all was the axe design, as if a sword desperately wanted to change professions and gained a lot of mass toward the tip. From a glance it looked like a stretched triangle, the toe end forming one part while the face continued straight down on a concave path into the hilt. What made the third point was the poll which had downward-facing serrations that continued for a ways until they ended in a flat spine that drove into the hilt.

Holding it took some strength, it would have made a fine chopping device due to it's weight and he guessed that the serrations wouldn't have pierced a glove so it could be used to parry. Battleaxes were slow and didn't work so well on horseback, they were meant to batter as well as chop and were so slow. Using the beastly thing didn't interest him at all, he hoped the mongrel trader would come and give him a good price for the weapon.

When was the last time he truly had time to think? Weeks, definitely. He had missed being able to just process the day's events, what tomorrow would hold, where he had gone... They were near the end of their journey, he felt like this part of his story would be drawing to a close one way or another. Evil from another world, an entirely different realm than his own, had shown up at a time when he should have been at his happiest. Somehow he felt connected to some larger event and not just from how it had touched him, but in a way that had yet to be revealed.

Perhaps he would know soon, it was tiresome being ignorant of the world around them.

Anza was linked to it too, he knew that in his heart, and he felt like her role to play was different than his own. They were together, of course, but their contributions to this... nebulous event would be unique. Perhaps Khezde would know, he had seen her chanting and waving her hands over a smoldering cup while watching the twisting stalks of smoke from between her claws. What was that? Was it related to the secrets his wife kept from him? There was one from before... something he didn't remember, somebody had said something about it, but her mood was more sour and she was less talkative lately.

No, it wasn't from the event in the forest. Events, actually, the yet unexplained connections and ominous warnings from his shaman were equal parts interesting, terrifying, and confusing. This was from before that and before their stop at Munvangr...

Best to put it out of his head, a man that suspects his wife of such things will surely go mad.

Whatever her motivations he knew she had him in his heart, the thought made him smile and laugh to the gentle wind. Did she love him? He thought she might, and maybe it was too difficult for her to convey to him. Teaching her new words had become less of a priority lately, but she was learning!

"Hoh there!"

Still wearing his smile he looked over at the rider. "Yes?"

"Are you goin' south? With Tarmund?" the man asked.

Thonvar noticed he was not dressed like a farmer, he was dressed like... A bard? Perhaps? What business would he have with a farmer, especially one on such a mundane trip like that?

"What of it?"

A fake smile curled the man's lips. "Oh I was just wondering. I heard he needed guards for his special shipment, perhaps you and I could come to an arrangement..."

Was this man an idiot or that arrogant? Did he not realize that reachfolk would never go back on an agreed upon deal? There was no arrangement to be made, Thonvar would watch over the farmer and his wagons since he had already taken payment for the job. Backing out would mean he would need to give all that he had claimed back to the farmer, and then he would have no draft animals and be one wagon short. Again!

"You are a fool if you think I am so easily swayed, I have no need for gold, I need cows and this wagon."

"Oh! Oh, but northman, there isn't any need to give your trophies up! Allow me to go in your stead, my men and I--"

"No."

Anyone could see the man's frustration bubble under that grinning mask.

Slowly the man replied, "you would be doing me a favor, for I also need to be in Kvenseyr!"

"Then go to Kvenseyr."

"I would like to go with the good farmer, he and I--"

Thonvar scowled.

"No. Go away."

"There are many dangers along the way to Kvenseyr! A tomb has opened up, harassing travelers, the dead walk and are led by the risen form of Fjoar Sariksen!" warned the stranger, desperation in his voice. "Surely you know of him. Fjoar the Bold-heart? Conquering hero of Rangvaal, sometimes known as Alfarbrjodar on the rune stones, you must be aware of him."

"I've already fought and won against demons that made the dead walk," Thonvar muttered, not bothering to look at the man. "Look at my armor."

Of course he knew of Fjoar Elf-Breaker, the stories of how he crushed the elves invading the northlands for hardy slaves were not in short supply. Some say that Ivar Fire-Heart was allied to the old warrior and helped him keep the Reach safe, but only reachfolk insisted this version of the story was true. Even the fjordlanders asserted that the Alfarbjodar never sought help in purging the north of the knife-eared scourge, it made the tale even more epic in light of what happened afterward; even the elves admitted the ancient kingdom of Silelunel crumbled shortly after.

Southerners point to this event as the beginning of their rise to power, but claimed it was a magical event that destroyed the elven cities and forced them to flee to the coasts.

"Fine. You seem to be quite qualified," the rider declared through the tight irritation in his voice, "I just advise you to steer clear of the Hjallagashvall temple. Especially if you have elven blood."

As soon as those words hit his ear his sword felt awfully heavy on his side.

The sensation was in his head, but it was as if the sword was reminding him it was there in case he needed it. Fortunately for the loudmouthed idiot he had rode off already, Thonvar did not have an opportunity to lop off his head for the insult. Not that he would have, he wasn't a bloodthirsty savage, but even implying that he might be elven was a sure way to irritate him.

For the rest of his ride back the reachman glared ahead and thought of all the ways the black-haired southerner could be maimed and murdered.

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"What do you mean go back south? The way we just fuckin' came?"

Ruran was obviously unhappy, but the deal had been made and they couldn't go back on it despite how much the northman agreed with him. They needed the wagon, Hedrek had made it perfectly clear that they would barely have enough to keep the animals alive as it was and they didn't have enough to pull everyone else too. Some of those wagons would be gutted when they got there, their wood was necessary for fortifying the cave, so they couldn't just leave some behind.

What was likely the most frustrating part for the spellsword was that he knew all of this, he arrived into the discussion about how desperate things would be.

Thonvar sighed and rolled out the map. "This will put us near where the elves wanted to take us, our arrival should not be that delayed."

"Aye, and it was you that said we'd get fucked out 'fore we even got to the damned mountains!"

Corrick pointed at the map and asked, "what were the elves gonna do when we got there?"

"Fuckin' leave us there, no doubt!" Ruran snarled.

Murmurs of agreement followed, both from the men and plenty of kobolds nearby. They seemed demoralized and frustrated, he had underestimated how taxing the ordeal had been for them. As chief he had to lead his people, to cut off any mutiny or dissent, it meant being strong and decisive. He thought of that thane from the fjordlands, Vadgar was an old and wise leader and would've kicked over the table before shouting at all of them.

Such aggressiveness wasn't necessary, but...

"I care little for the whims of elves and what might have been, we go south as agreed. There is a tomb there that the stranger spoke of, supposedly the dead have risen and harass the roads there. We know where it is, if necessary I will remain behind and distract them."

"You can't and you fuckin' know it!" Ruran snapped, glaring at the chief.

Thonvar looked at him with a blank expression. "Walking dead do not frighten people of the Reach, and I do not believe the stranger's warnings. Why would a tomb's honored dead attack the roads? These paths are ancient just as they are in my homeland, traveled every day for many years."

"Aye, and the fuckin' Dauvic horde comin' up from the ground? That surely got nothin' to do with it." the spellsword replied with a voice rich with sarcasm. "If his warnin' has just a lick of truth to it, these ain't gonna be like the kind you fought before. Mummified warriors an' their kin gonna put up more fight than the bloated dead of lost drunks an' murdered peasants."

Agziqoh shifted in her seat and leaned forward. "This one stay with chief."

"Zan stay too," the kobold declared. "Magic man watch wagon, yes?"

Everyone looked to the spellsword, he seemed less than pleased with the attention.

"Khezde wonder why chief stay, northmen dead know him, stay far away, very far," the old kobold said to nobody in particular. "Zan, big scale-kin, both brave. Not needed. Go if want, maybe Kix go see old king?"

"No, that is," Thonvar looked at the hopeful youth, "likely not necessary if they leave us alone."

"Mmm, chief believe..." the shaman trailed off and chuckled. "Maybe Khezde getting too old, forgive old shaman."

He really wanted to see what she was going to say, but her cloudy eyes looked at him just then. Shut up, Thonvar. They told him to behave, he might have been their leader but she saw the things he hadn't... She revealed them as necessary. That was her part, and it was his part to take her arcane counsel seriously better than his predecessor had. Something about her comments about Uzkrig made him wonder if ignoring him was his downfall, she sometimes had tried to tell his father in-law and was sent back every time.

That bothered Thonvar a lot, partially because he simply hadn't noticed or thought of it before.

"Perhaps we can avoid them and keep moving, I only wish to keep you all safe."

Agzi chuckled and slapped his back. "Good chief Thonvar, this one follow with big pride!"

"Aye, brave lad," Corrick admitted.

Positive murmurs from all around reinforced their words, but his eyes saw only a fleeting glimmer of enthusiasm on most of the faces. Gloom still lingered and threatened his reign, but he wasn't so sure how to purge the unseen demon that gnawed at their hearts. Had they been strong fighters and their opponents of this world, he might have just thought an easy victory would lift their spirits. Too bad both conditions weren't true, even the mercenaries lacked true soldiering experience.

Except for Ruran, the grizzled man was obviously a veteran of plenty of fights. Losing his support would devastate the group, the men were starting to look to the spellsword as their captain just as much as they looked to young Corrick.

"What food have we gotten for the trip?" he asked, deciding to change the subject. "Hard work deserves a reward."

"Greens, sack of potatoes, flour, loose grain, dried peas and beans, cheese, even some butter," Hedrek answered, nodding toward the stack that hadn't been loaded. "It'll all keep well in this weather, I reckon. North's mighty cold, sir."

"No meat?"

He frowned and shook his head. "None, sir. Wagons are done, I can go in and fetch--"

With a firm scowl at the table Thonvar flatly said, "no, we will see what the next town holds. Perhaps we can hunt along the way, I do not wish to give these rude people any more of our money."

"As you wish, sir," the young mercenary mumbled.

"I want the last of the salted beef made," the chief declared, looking hard at the muscular cook, "a good stew for everyone to have for their hard work. Put some spice in it, we had a good day for once and I want it to end with full bellies."

Applause made him smirk.

"This clan can do better than that," he bellowed.

Their happy cries echoed off the trees above, it made him glow with satisfaction. Beside him Anza snuggled into him and looked up with soft, alluring eyes. Any red-blooded man could have known what she wanted, he didn't need to read her mind to hear her whispered thoughts. Before he melted he felt his helpless heart performing acrobatics, he submitted to her spell and knew his mind would be only on her until they could retire to a more private place.

Everyone bustled about around them while they shared a tender kiss, it would be awhile until they could have more than just a taste.

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Waking up was painful for him.

Perhaps drinking so much mead wasn't wise, it let him forget how stiff and sore his body was while he gave in to his wife's intoxicating magic and ravaged her into exhaustion. Seeing the damage she had inflicted, his wife made a point to kiss and make it better before reviving him fully with her very, very talented tongue. Alcohol helped, when she was done she fed him breakfast and made sure he imbibed strong ale to brace him for the day's journey. Only then was he allowed to be clothed, she giggled as their roles were reversed and she got to enjoy the show as he clumsily dressed himself.

"Poor husband," she laughed, kissing his bare neck. "Anza give too much drink."

"Husband is fine," he corrected before deliberately falling on her and returning the affection and tasting a sweet flavor. "What are you wearing?"

"Khezde make for Anza, give soft scale," she whispered, craning her neck to give him access. "Husband like soft, yes?"

"Yes he does."

She giggled again and ran her fingers through his hair. "Good! Anza like soft. Beauty for husband pleasure."

"You are the most beautiful creature in the world," he breathed, the alcoholic buzz in his brain made his hands too dumb to negotiate her clothes. "Take it off."

"No, husband," she sighed as she wiggled free. "Not have mountings, wait for night."

Damn. Face-down in the furs seemed like the best place to be, but he knew he needed to go outside. With a groan he pushed himself up and slid out of their sanctuary, she crawled out with him and only paused to give him a goodbye kiss before leaping down. With all the regret in the world he watched her scurry away to exert her authority to the kobolds, they scrambled about at her order and made ready for departure.

"Thonvar?"

He looked down and saw Runa holding up her tiny arms, so he picked up the runt and set her on the wagon. That's where she belonged for their journey, he didn't need to tell her to keep watch over his things or Drond. Not that Drond needed it, but it made the girl feel important.

"Reina!" he shouted, looking around for the wild-haired youth. "Come up here!"

She jogged up, but at first he almost didn't recognize her. Instead of the peasant rags she was wearing something that looked suspiciously like short mage robes, the kind wandering healers often wore. Around her belt were salvaged pouches and a satchel, another across her chest and going up and over her left shoulder. What was she doing with all of that, and better yet, where did she get it?

"Like it?" she asked, doing a little spin as she bounced along. "Your missus said I should be dressin' better, said you needed uh... I forgot tha' word she said. Said I gotta work it off though."

"You look like a mage."

"Aye, maybe I am an' you dunna know it yet!"

He folded his arms. "Magic takes practice, perhaps that will be your new hobby."

"Anza tells me I gotta help Khezde, Declan's learnin' how a spear works an' I'm stuck pickin' mushrooms!"

Thonvar laughed, but his task for her wouldn't save the girl from her duties to the shaman. "Right now I need you to run and find the farmer. Be quick, he should be near the western gate. Perhaps you can find some mushrooms along the way."

"Aye..." she mumbled, rolling her eyes as she walked off.

Turning back to the wagon he saw little eyes and a snout poking out from under the canvas, the ever-watchful commander of the wagon was nothing like the timid whelp he had bought for a copper. Having worth tended to do that, out of everyone she remained positive and enthusiastic in her own quiet way.

"So, what shall I attend to next?" he asked.

Runa knew. "Horses!"

"Those are mules, Miranna is a horse. Drond will get them and we'll be ready soon, I--"

"Thonvar!"

He looked over and sighed before leaving the adolescent kobold to her own devices, but even before he got there it was clear that a real problem had occurred. Kobolds were struggling to pry up a wagon that had slipped off the wooden block, underneath was the wreck of a wagon wheel bent almost to a perfect corner. Fortunately they did have a wheel to replace it, but...

"Aye, the weight of this one's gonna be a problem," Ruran muttered. "I tried usin' magic on it, too damn big for the spell."

"Not big heavy," one of the kobolds reminded, struggling with the pole.

Ruran shrugged. "We can't unload it either, not if we want to be gone within the hour. Gimme a hand."

With two kobolds on the small log and Ruran and Thonvar on the big one, they started to haul it up higher and higher while a third kobold slid a block underneath the small lever. Another man came by, he saw it was Hedrek, and finally Bothik joined them to get it up high enough for two more kobolds to slip the new wheel on. Somewhere out there was a dwarven-built contraption that would have done the same job with less effort, but they didn't have any clever dwarves on hand.

"Done! Lad, put a rope around that block, tug it out," Ruran advised.

Too late.

Blood was everywhere when the carnage had stopped, one of the kobolds was clutching his ruined face while the other simply wasn't moving. They paid dearly for their mistake, the stout wooden pole came down with enough force to spring up again and right into their heads with a sharp whack, the merciless instrument of wood still had a tooth embedded in the grain.

"Gods damn it, what did I fuckin' tell you?" he shouted, but Hedrek was already on the unconscious fool before Ruran could get there. "How is he?"

"Alive, but..."

A foot moved and they sighed.

Thonvar wasn't so easily settled, especially not in his buzzed state. "Take these two to Khezde, tell her to treat only their wounds and not their well-earned pain."

"Yes, my sir, take to Khezde we will," the elder kobold replied as he set down his tools.

"You," Thonvar glared down at the third kobold, "clean this up."

Idiots! He stormed off and looked for something else to get into, but he ran into Anza on the way. So they were done then? From her smile and happy wave, yes, they were, all they needed now was a farmer and his goods to join them. So he hoisted his little wife up and carried her back, smirking through the adoring kiss he earned.

"Good day to go far, yes?" she asked.

"I think so, aside from two idiots--"

She kissed him again and wiggled her hips. "Husband quiet, not make bad moment."

Fine, he wouldn't dwell on the bad. Especially when she insisted on straddling him and presenting her meaty backside to his hungry grip, he needed no encouragement to get some handfuls.

"Good husband," she cooed with a lick to his neck. "Thonvar hold Anza, many thinking for her all day."

"What does my beautiful wife think about?"

A claw came up to her chin as she struck a thoughtful pose. "Mmmm... Anza maybe think of big husband under tail, give strong to Anza."

As exciting as the subject of her blunt honest reply may have been, he still had to laugh at how forward she was. Getting him to please her was a straightforward affair, he liked that about her a lot since he wasn't so good at guessing her needs. Seeing her satisfied grin just made it that much more exciting, he truly liked showering her in any affection she desired. Meanwhile she made sure to treat him with kindness and warmth, her own affection for him was an endless well he could draw from.

"Husband find Anza nice pig?" she asked, pouting her lip as best she could. "Like meat."

"I hope so, then I could feed it to you for a change," he laughed.

Nope! She shook her head and kissed him. "Anza always feed Thonvar."

"You do like that, don't you?"

She nodded firmly, but he knew the answer already. As far as their domestic life was concerned, she did whatever pleased her and often it was doting on him in some way. This suited him just fine, he didn't need the extra attention at all of course, but if it pleased her then he would indulge her every whim.

Thinking about it made his heart race, he didn't know what to do with the incredible feeling that overcame him. Without warning it was as if he could float away, like his body had both a deep yearning and connection with her, but it was just too much to bear at the same time. What was this? It felt so good that it hurt, the only way he got relief was pinning her to a wagon and letting her shove that magic tongue down his throat. Even then it was... His heart was going to explode, he was sure of it, he couldn't feel anything except that. All of it. What was wrong with him?

Her giggle made him come back down from the cloud he was on.

"Husband!" she whispered, petting his face. "Go ride horse! Anza fine, husband go."

"Sorry, I..." Thonvar trailed off, so she kissed his forehead and nuzzled him. "You're right, my wife."

At least he got the opportunity to set her down on the wagon, they shared another kiss before he set off for the horse. Apparently Miranna had figured out what they were doing because she trotted up to him, apparently having untied and flicked the reins up on her neck all by herself. A rider needed no more encouragement than that, he hauled himself up on the saddle and let her wander at her own leisure. Reina was coming back ahead of the farmer, so finally it was time for them to leave.

"Are we forgetting anything, Drond?" he asked.

"Drond not think so, my sir," he mumbled as he pondered the question. "Why not trade old things? Thonvar say make pretty for trade."

"Didn't the merchant come?" he asked.

Shaking his head the kobold replied, "Drond not see merchant come for buying, only gives thing to chief!"

"So we still have the junk on top of everything else," he whispered with a black look. "I wouldn't be surprised if the fool got drunk or ran off. Fine. We'll sell at the next town, I would hate to throw them away to save on weight."

"Very good, my sir," the kobold replied with a respectful nod. "We go now?"

Still wearing his glower he didn't answer, he just urged the steed forward to lead his people on the journey ahead.

"Damn knife-ears."