Ferrell the Farmer 9

Quarter Master Rupert Schumacher dug a groove into the wooden table top with the sharp tipped hook of his left hand in irritation. Before him stood one of the wagon men. “What do you mean the barrels are empty?” Rupert words snapped with heat.

The man swallowed, “As I said, sir. The dwarves took the silver and gave us empty barrels and told us not to come back.”

Stamping his right peg leg into the ground Rupert grabbed a crutch to steady himself as he stood. “Dwarves do not cheat. Did you insult them?”

Hobble stalking the retreating man, the Quarter Master pressed on as the wagon man pleaded. “No, sir. Things went as they always do. Except an encounter with an Imperial checkpoint well over the border and they shot Fritz for not listening to them quick enough!”

Placing the flat of the hook under the man’s chin, Rupert ground his teeth, body shaking. “Send word to the King. Work has slowed but with the new workers we might not need the powder. Go.”

As the mand went to leave, Rupert turned the hook, carving a groove near the man’s collar. The wagon man clutched at the wound as Rupert shook his head. Adjusting his wig, the Quarter Master smiled as a pair of guards dragged a struggling stout woman with her hands bound behind her back. Mock bowing to the larger lady, Rupert continued his smile. “Lady Meriwether. It has been a long time. I had hoped to run into you earlier but as they say, all ships eventually meet again.”

Spitting at the Quarter Master, Meriwether jerked a kick at the man. “How’s yer arse? Noah’ mind, see it moved to yer face.”

Wiping at the spit, Rupert jutted a chin towards an empty area of the camp. “Bring out the post and one of the workers. The Lady and I will catch up over and evening meal. Have the man whipped until the Lady calls to take his place.”

Trying to surge forward Meriwether spit at Rupert again finding herself held in place by stronger arms. “I take ‘is place now. Is it true the frost took yer bits too?”

Rupert had survived by the sheer hatred he had for the woman before him. His hand, taken by a bitch of a Baroness. His right leg at the knee by frostbite in the frozen wastes of the ocean. His body would forever shake with Kuru, doing what he had to do to survive and claim revenge. The time for retribution was here and he would savor it.

*** **

Ferrell dropped the heavy sack in the back of the wagon. The sound of metal came from the container leaving Cedric curious as to the contents. From the dark silhouette of the fort a light signaled. “They are calling everyone back to the fort, sir.” Spoke one of the sailors.

Nodding the farmer climbed in the back of the wagon. Opening the sack for a peek Cedric found his hand around his dagger as he looked from it to the back of Ferrell. In all his life he had never seen such wealth, beckoning with the circular golden gleam. It would be so easy, a knife plunge to Ferrell’s back, a kick to knock the sailor off the wagon, round up his sister and flee. Still even if he took out the farmer it would be two on one and he did not know their skill with a blade. With a breaking heart the bandit closed the sack before climbing in beside Ferrell.

At the fort chaos brewed as Lance had come down with Gnat. Swords out they kept the orc at bay, shouts of alarm raked through their ranks.  Ferrell leapt from the wagon putting himself between the orc and frightened mob. Gnat signaling that she eat many of their faces.  “She is with me, any man that wants to get her will go through me.” Ferrell called trying to gain order.

Lance proved to be more effective, standing with Ferrell. “And ye will have to git through me! We need all the allies we kin git. We do not git luxury of choosing who serves wit’ us, stand down!”

Walking arm and arm with a blushing Blane, the duelist took one look at Gnat and screamed in a tight trill before fainting. The female bandit barely able to hold up the unconscious duelist and settling for laying him down somewhat gracefully.

Raking a hand over his face, the farmer listened to the sounds of blades being set back in their sheaths though their hands would not leave hold of the weapons. Lance gave forth the latest news of the mine. “They have brought more of our captive brothers. And sisters.”

The latter part of the statement shook the men, many of them shaking their heads. “We canna fight dem, then.”  Said one with sorrow.

“Tell us everything.” The farmer stated grimly.

The report was indeed bad. They had brought in nearly every surviving captured islander. Along with the additional one hundred and fifty, a score of soldiers had been sent to reinforce. Most of the soldiers did not enter the camp, instead they were directed to break ground to start construction on a garrison fort to oversee the mine. Most disturbing to the men was news of the arrival of their female kin. The women were transported in a special, wheeled cell, with guards nearby under order that at the first sign of revolt they would slaughter everyone in that large cell.

One man cast down his sword followed by another.  Bewildered Ferrell looked to Lance for an explanation. “They won’t fight if they think not doing so will save the women. I am sorry, it is over.”

Ferrell felt frustrated and overwhelmed with hopelessness. “There has to be a way. We just have to find it.”

Blane fanned the fallen duelist with concern. Shamus moaned opening his eyes, “I saw the most horrible thing. A green pig that walked like a man. I hate pigs. Fucking hate them.”

*** *** ***

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 6 part 6

The farmer instructed Cedric to journey to Stringburg and buy as much explosive powder as he could with the gold that Ferrell had harvested from the previous invaders of his farm. The bandit helpfully offered to have Blane come along with him and to his surprise Blane turned her brother down. The two broke into an argument in their created language. Cedric watched in dismay as his sister walked away nose high in the air. Crying angry tears, the bandit snapped the reins of the cart, guiding it on its way in the early morning.

Blane joined Gnat, Lance and Ferrell on the ridge. Passing out hardtack Blane settled in on a branch of a tree watching the activity at the mine. “There be no blasting fer the last day. I be thinkin’ the powder is wet maybe?” Lance said as Ferrell stayed glue to the long viewer.

The farmer focused on the rolling cell. It was sealed and armored and nearly thirty paces long and twelve or so wide. It took ten horses to move the thing. There was a front and rear entrance barred like a cell and half a dozen windows with bars. Four guards at both entrances, the wagon was centered in the clearing with no tents within thirty paces of the cell. That left no way to sneak to the structure.

A lookout tower had been set up near the road, the platform could only hold one man, and he would either have stand the majority of the time. They finally had enough manpower to send out a patrol to search out the escaped prisoners that had broken free nearly four days ago. Sooner or later they would cross the border and spot the fort they were using. The soldiers kept the workers weak with little food, water and rotated them often enough to make restful sleep even more difficult.

“I am starting to think there is no powder.” Reasoned the farmer finally setting the long viewer down.

“What if we get word down to the workers that we are going to rescue them?” Blane asked.

Lance shook his head as he tossed Gnat an apple. “They wonna do a thing until they know de’ women be safe.”

Gnat chewed the apple her fingers working in sign, growing impatient. ‘Fight them. Fight them all.’

Ferrell patted the orc on the arm, putting on a hopeful face. “Soon. We have to be smart about this.”

“What about getting word to the women, then?” Blane asked coming down from the tree.

“How would we go about doing that? It is not like I can get close enough to shoot an arrow through the window with a note.” Ferrell said, tapping the long viewer on his thigh.

“Simple. I will let them catch me.” Blane answered, hands on her hips over the poncho.

Lance stroked the stubble on his face, considering the bandit. “Ye be pale enough but letting them just catch ye is not going to convince them.”

Ferrell frowned confusion cluttering his mind. “Blane is no woman.”

Rolling her eyes Blane skirted her poncho off and pulled her tunic up, showing her chest wrappings.

Gawking the farmer averted his eyes as the blush built in his cheeks. “How did I not see that?”

Snapping his fingers Lance grinned. “Slavers. They roam about tey’ parts, we could sell ‘er to ‘em.”

Gnat glared at Ferrell, rubbing it in. ‘Is female. Stupid Apple Man. Gnat win!’

Splaying his hands out to the orc, Ferrell sighed. “I am sorry, Gnat. You win.”

Turning to Blane next, Ferrell looked at the bandit’s attire. “You are going to need to look the part, we need to find a dress or something.”

Gazing down the mountain towards the direction of the fort, Blane smiled thinly. “I think I know where to get one.”

*** ** **

“Are all women such beauties in your land?” Blane asked, as Shamus worked on her hair.

“Yes, they are but the Nosicans wear it better. To put a woman of the Isles in such finery would shatter the world.” Replied the duelist coolly.

“Ouch!” The bandit flinched as Shamus worked a braid of hair tight.

“It will be over soon. You did not give me much to work with hacking it so short the way you do.”

“Why are you braiding it then?” Blane inquired, struggling to hold still.

Taking a deep breath, the duelist grew quiet. Looking over his shoulder to assure they were alone. “The women of the Isles have a secret language. They send messages in the way they wear their braid and color cords. I am letting them know you are there to help if you are unable to tell them aloud.”

Curiosity enthralled the bandit. “What sort of messages? How did you learn it?”

Tangling more of Blane’s hair Shamus started weaving brown cord into the mix. “Everything from, my husband has small cock, to he beats me. Messages of happiness. Seeking divorce. Things of that nature.”

“So how did you learn it?” Blane repeated herself, wanting to know more about the duelist.

Motioning for the bandit to stand, Shamus shook his head. “That is not up for discussion, perhaps not ever.”

Stepping into the hastily made dress of reworked tunic and burlap, Blane stuck her tongue out. “This thing is awful!”

“Yes, a true crime of humanity yet, it will have to do. Let’s get the corset on, come on, lively now.”

“My brother is going to lose his mind when he finds out what I have done.” Blane looked at herself in the mirror with growing uncertainty.

Standing behind Blane, Shamus studied the slender bandit. “Why are you doing this for those you do not even know?”

Shivering, goosebumps appearing on her arms thinking of the thrills and dangers ahead. “As you said. That is not up for discussion, perhaps not ever.”

“Touché.”

Ferrell sat on a stool as one of the sailors shaved off his beard. Around him sailors filed the handles of daggers flat. The wind brushing his now naked skin felt odd, Aideen loved it when he shaved. Recalling her voice in his head as she would playfully chide him about the would-be briar patch growing out of his face.

Shamus walked the common area of the fort, picking up a blade being worked on eyeing the handle critically. “Thinner.” The duelist said tossing the blade back to the sailor.

Spotting Lance the duelist’s pace became purposeful. “Where is the demon pig?” Shamus said, nearly demanding an answer of the sailor.

Lance spit to the side, unimpressed. “Sod off ye dandy.”

Shamus’s hand darted for his sword only to have the seasoned sailor get nose to nose with him leaving no room to draw. “I be havin’ me fill of yer noise. Look down yer nose at me again, I break it.” Lance’s heated words sending the activity in the courtyard into a hush.

Tense seconds passed as Ferrell rose, not sure how to break this up. Ever since Shamus had fainted at the sight of Gnat the duelist took every opportunity to verbally jab Lance about his relation with the orc. Seeing the other men standing behind Lance the duelist loosened his grip on the sword. “Just keep that thing away from me.”

Pointing away, Lance did not even blink. “Kick der road.”

*** *** **

Cedric frowned as the dwarf went on about not having any more explosive powder. The wagon was full, twenty barrels worth. “Maybe the hammers are ringing too loud but I need all the powder, Herr Rink”

The dwarf’s gaze grew intense. “We ain’t got no more. That was supposed to go to Swenton, manling. It would take time to make more.”

Cedric looked about the small dwarven community, its simple stone buildings were a façade to the intimidating fortress he knew that was many meters under his bootheels. A procession of dwarves clogged the road. Their stunted broad bodies, marched steadily. Armored head to toe, axe and shield the crest of the serrated gear on their banners. Sliding a silver over the counter to the merchant, “Who are they?” Cedric asked already knowing the standard was that of the Tonk clan.

Taking the coin, the dwarf shrugged. “Broken Nose. The war machine makers.”

Cedric balked, he could already hear his sister now. How’s that elven cock taste, brother? Passing another coin to the dwarf. “Where are they off to, Herr Rink?”

“Freeman’s Port. Won’t tell ya what it is about.”

Looking at the still mostly full sack of gold, Cedric considered running off with the remainder. His sister and the rest of those fools were going to get themselves killed trying to save a bunch of slaves. For all he knew they were already dead. That farmer is going to get someone killed. Wrestling with wanting to run or go back, his breath became rapid pouring into panic. He needed to be around her, he was nothing without her! If she was dead or soon to die, they would pay for it dearly. And the instrument of doing that was marching right on by the tomb raider.

In the center of the procession a steam powered carriage on thick iron rimmed wheels that crushed pebbles on the sturdy road. In the carriage a lone greybeard stared straight ahead. Timing it, Cedric slipped through the break in the line leaping into the carriage. Rough hands were on him instantly looking to haul him out. “I wish to open an account!” Cedric yelled, the bag of coin spilling over the table top.

Holding up two fingers the older dwarf stared at the bold man. “Release him.” Said the dwarf in a voice of deep gravel.

Picking up a small sand timer, the dwarf set it down starting the sands running. His other hand settled over a silver bar before drawing it off the table and out of sight.  “Begin.”

Wrenching himself free, the bandit sat across from the Dwarf rolling a coin over his fingers nervously. Cedric gave the details as quickly as possible, the dwarf never took his eyes off the coin as it flitted over the man’s fingers. When the time was up the dwarf gave no sign to agreeing to the arrangement and tossed Cedric out of the carriage without ceremony and little warning.  Rolling, the throw earned the bandit new bruises and a good lung full of dust stirred up by the marching dwarves.

Sitting in the middle of the road, the bandit shook his head armed with the knowledge that the dwarf did not say yes but also did not say no. It meant he was considering the offer, nothing more. Dusting himself off Cedric made his way back to the wagon and turned it about to head back to the fort.

*** *** **

The next morning Ferrell walked the road near the mine with Blane shackled in tow. He wore an Empire uniform that had been stripped of rank. A man-catcher in his off hand. “Are you sure you want to do this, Blane?” The farmer asked already knowing it was too late as they had been spotted.

The guards at the mouth of the road leading to the mine stopped the two. Quarter Master Rupert Schumacher waited curiously as the slaver and slave were brought into the camp. Swallowing hard, Ferrell recognized the man using the man-catcher to steady himself. Tilting the wide brim hat low over his eyes, the farmer was forced to play it out. Rupert examined the slave. “A bit too skinny for my liking. I will part with two gold for her.”

Trying to haggle, Ferrell deepened his voice. “Five.”

Squinting at the farmer the Quarter Master drew up from his desk. “You look familiar, sir. Where did you find her?”

“Rolling Hills to the northwest.” Ferrell said casually, chewing the inside of his cheek furiously until it bled.

“Never heard of it. Three and not a penny more.” Retorted the former emissary.

“Four and six silver.” Came the counter offer from the disguised farmer.

Rupert stared at the waif of a slave, his mind delving elsewhere. Excitement flooded his being as a thought hit. Lady Meriwether was just a mark in a book. As long as the number was maintained he could do whatever he liked to the overweight noble now. He would still have twenty rare captives. He would have to get medicine to revitalize himself from the apothecary but the idea of her suffering in the meantime was appealing.  Snapping his fingers Rupert found his smile. “Pay the man. Add two coppers for the irony of an Empire man selling slaves then escort him out.”

Blane shuffled along as the guards took her away to the massive locked wagon. Puzzlement nagged at the Quarter Master, looking at the slaver one last time. “I swear I know that man. It will come to me later I am sure.”

Ferrell the Farmer 8

News from the mine brought more confusion to the farmer. “No change? No riders leaving?”

The veteran of the mines, Lance nodded as he greedily drained a canteen of water. “Aye. They working harder but not a one has left to investigate or send word out. Which is no outa sorts for ‘em.”

“What do you mean?” The farmer asked taking in every detail.

Lance explained why the King ran things lean. One guard for every five to eight prisoners. Enough men to keep the prisoners in line but not enough to gamble on incidentals. Likely the King would send more men if there was no activity from the mine to see why there was a delay. They were also almost out of powder and expected receive some in a pair of days from a wagon team that constantly on the move between the mine and Stringburg. The Quarter Master would send silver ingots back as payment for more powder.

Turning to the twins, the farmer nodded. “How many men were on that powder wagon?”

Cedric tapped his cheek. “Two.”

“And two riders flanking.” Blane added.

The men began to cluster around, sensing the farmer was about to act. Jabbing an excited finger at the first man he saw. “Light the forge, quickly now.”

“The rest of you, tear this fort apart. I want every piece of silver you can find! Anything, candle stick, coin, spoon, platter. Go!”

Shamus snorted, tossing down a silver tankard as he finished draining it. “What are you thinking, farmer?”

“I am about to commit an act of villainy, care to help?” Ferrell grinned wickedly to the duelist.

The silver began to pile next to the tankard as the men set about their task.

** ** **

Ferrell needed word quickly from activities going on at the mine. Lance and Gnat would watch the site. A trio of runners were strung along the now marked trail the man at the bottom would use sailor’s flash code to relay messages. The forge produced five and one half ingots. Ferrell had iron nails tossed in to flesh the last bar out.  Cedric and Blane examined one of the silver bricks, arguing over details.

Light flickered from the tree line of the mountain, the sailor at the look out tower of the fort called down to the farmer. “Silver is on the way out, sir!”

Rubbing his calloused hands together the farmer nodded pushing away the nervousness. “Alright then. Let’s get to it.”

Shamus fumed at the uniform in his hands that had been taken from the fort. “I’m not wearing this wretched thing.”

“Then stay here, I would rather you be at my side for reasons other than your sword.” Snapped the farmer, having no time to argue.

“I vowed to kill men that wore these.”

“Plenty of time for that later. You in or are you out?” Ferrell said putting on the long coat of an infantry man.

With a bitter look, Shamus donned the uniform, the pins marking him as a Captain. “It is almost too big.”

The six of them disguised as Imperial soldiers piled into the wagon using Blane and Cedric’s horses to pull the wooden cart. The bars sat on the floor of the wagon as the men set out. Crossing the Swenton border the wagon crossed through open fields, angling for the main road that the silver from the mine was to take. They rode in near silence, even Cedric and Blane were oddly quiet.

“Think this will work, sir?” One of the sailors asked the farmer breaking the silence.

Placing a hand over the pouch which held the figurine of Lady Dana, the farmer put on a brave face. “It will. It is about time we used the weight of the Empire to our advantage.”

Checking the map Ferrell chose a bend in he road for the act. Placing the wagon across the road the six waited. Passing skins of water around and chewing on iron rationed hardtack. “They are going to be suspicious of an Empire checkpoint inside their own border.” Shamus said scratching his neck in annoyance.

“That is why I brought you, Captain.” Ferrell replied with a smirk.

“What do you mean by that?” Shamus asked as his hand drifted over the hilt of his sword.

“I need someone that knows how to talk to…lesser folk. In the proper way.” The farmer explained hoping that the duelist would not take offense real or imagined.

It was Shamus’s turn to smile after a short chuckle. “I see. I shall endeavor to do my best, you filthy peon.”

“Perfect.”

A pair of hours passed before the sounds of horse and wagon could be heard rounding the bend. The green tabard wearing riders wheeled their horses around in front of the wagon. “Lo! Empire brethren!” Yelled the lead rider. “What is your purpose?”

Shamus took his cue, setting his frown deep. “Bandits have been spotted on these roads. All travelers are to be stopped and examined.”

The lead rider laughed, “But brother, we are obviously not bandits and you are in Swenton. We can understand the mistake as we are such close allies.”

The duelist raised a hand, Ferrell and the sailors raising crossbows in response. “Where we are is not for you to question! Dismount and prepare to have your goods examined!”

Confused the man did as commanded, keeping his hands where they can be seen. “There must be some mistake, sir.”

Shamus motioned for the others to take to the wagon. “The Empire does not make mistakes! Suggest it again and I will carve your tongue from your head.”

Throwing back the covering on the wagon, Ferrell expected a sealed, locked chest. It was three open wooden boxes with ropes tacked on for handles. Three bars a box. The driver of the wagon turned to watch the Imperials as they checked the wagon. “You there! I said dismount!” Shamus focused on the driver now.

Blane’s crossbow discharged, the bolt slamming into the man’s thigh. The soldier from Swenton cried out, tumbling to the side of the wagon. By the expression on the bandit’s face it was clearly an accident.  Those of Swenton went for their weapons, the lead rider and Shamus calling for everyone to hold fast.

“Your man, just shot my man!” The lead rider lamented as Ferrell traded two of the bars in the box and Cedric trading out his at the back of the wagon, unseen.

Recovering quickly Shamus glowered. “You were all told to dismount. If your man had obeyed, he would still be able to walk!”

The other rider of the wagon circled the wagon from the front, rushing to his fallen comrade. Bolt lodged deep in his leg; the wounded man struggled to pull the shaft free. Ferrell signaled they had finished, passing the fallen man with a look of pity.

The Swenton rider’s face twisted into helpless anger. There was nothing he could do other than report the incident. “The King will hear of this.”

Shamus laughed until he cried inside, feeling no compassion. “I sincerely hope he does.”

The silver laden wagon got back underway, the wounded man lying in the back with the precious metal. Muttered promises of violence as the soldiers of Swenton passed was music to Shamus’s ear.  Once the wagon was out of sight, Ferrell let out a loud rush of air.

Traveling back to the fort the farmer basked in the setting sun happy with himself for the most part. “So why did we trade out silver for silver?” Shamus asked, grateful for the skin of wine to wash out the Imperial taste out of his mouth.

“Sometimes it is not the trade that counts. It is what one makes of the trade.” Ferrell replied closing his eyes for a nap to the gentle sway of the traveling wagon the answer leaving the duelist puzzled and the twins cackling.

*** ** **

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 6 part 5

Lance sent down the bad news. The dwarves had still sold the soldiers at the mine the powder, reporting the wagon had arrived loaded. Ferrell slumped forward on the railing of the parapet of the ruined fort. “Pleasant attempt, General.” Shamus said mockingly, pouring himself more brandy.

There would be no stopping Swenton now. The farmer looked at the men who were expecting something more from him but Ferrell was out of ideas.  With heavy heart Ferrell turned to Cedric, “Why did it not work?” the farmer asked.

Sticking a tongue through a gap in his teeth the bandit considered the matter. “They could have over paid in the past. Dwarves are sticklers for record keeping. Everything must be accounted for and exact. They even keep count of every hair in those bushes they call beards.”

“What if we bought the rest of their powder?” Ferrell asked, maybe he wasn’t out of ideas yet.

“We would need a lot of coin to tap out a dwarf and we don’t have any more.” Cedric explained.

“Get the wagon and two of the men and meet me at the farm.” Ferrell said, grasping at a tattered string of hope.

** ** ***

Shamus stared at his reflection in the dirty water of the horse trough the men used to wash themselves. Making a face, the duelist refused to bathe in such conditions. Making his way up the wooden steps, Shamus opened the door to the Kessler’s personal quarters. The lanterns were already lit as if he was expected. Velvet curtains and fine wooded chairs led to a plush four post bed. The drawers lay askew as the room had been plundered for silver earlier.

Shedding the distasteful uniform Shamus ran a dry cracked hand over the fabric of the curtain. Partially swathing his body with the red curtain, looking at the full sized mirror he let his mind wander.  A splash of water broke the duelist’s wistful musings. He was not alone.

Drawing a dagger, the duelist slipped over to the set of screens someone had erected to shelter an ongoing bath. Peering around the corner he watched Blane dip head under water in a decent sized brass tub. Coming up in a spray the bandit giggled, spraying water from the mouth, pulling back blonde hair. Hands groping for the blanket at the side of the tub. Shamus handed the blanket to Blane, a smirk on his lips. “Is the water still warm, Mademoiselle?

Blane’s eyes bulged as she shot to her feet, wrapping herself in the blanket quickly. “What are you doing in here?”

Offering a hand to Blane, which she refused stepping out of the tub on the other side and away from the duelist. “Same as you, trying to be civilized.” Shamus replied eye brow cocked in amusement.

Working his boots off then his trousers, Shamus watched the dripping bandit. “What are you going to do?” Blane asked, taking another step back.

“I am going to take a bath, with company or not, a bath I will take.” Said the duelist simply.

The still warm water though slightly dirty was heaven upon his skin. Settling his back against the side of the tub, “Oh, this is indeed nice. Still enough room if you desire to come back.”

Frowning, the bandit appeared worried, pulling the blanker tighter against her body. “Please, sir. Are you going to tell anyone about me?”

Running a hand over the ridge of the tub, Shamus’s eyes grew predatory. “Tell them what? That I had a bath with a woman? We all know what you are already. Well maybe that ridiculous farmer does not but I seldom care for what he can see.”

“How did you…” Blane began, only to be run over by Shamus.

“You don’t piss with the rest of us. Your brother is overly protective of you. You do not know any bawdy jokes and when you try to tell one you blush. I think I already sorted out why you do it but I would like to hear you say it.” Shamus spoke moving a wet cloth nonchalantly over his filthy arms.

Still dripping Blane shook her head. “They don’t let women serve in the Empire military.”

Splashing water at Blane, the duelist smirked. “That is correct but you are no soldier. Try again or next time I take that blanket.”

Going for her clothing, Blane quickly spoke. “I don’t know what else to tell you, sir.”

Exiting the tub with alacrity, the duelist caught Blane by throat, pushing her until her back came to a rest against one of the posts of the bed. Annoyance bit at the duelist’s face. “You are a tomb raider like your brother. An executable offense if you are a man.”

Blane turned her face away from Shamus, shivering as the duelist bent low towards her ear murmuring. “You are a woman so it is to the Tower straight away for you. That’s why you do it. Is it not?”

Blane clamped her eyes shut, giving a single nod. “Yes.”

Releasing his hold, the duelist gave Blane an appraising eye. “Still, it is such a shame that scum as you could house such beauty.”

Shaking, Blane covered herself as the duelist stripped the blanket off her. “Please. Don’t ravish me.”

Wrapping the blanket around his waist Shamus cocked his head in a serious expression. “I am many things. A killer first and foremost.  Yet through all my marbled past, a rapist I am not. You can go if you like or stay, which I would hope.”

Nearly ripping her tunic as she put it on in haste, “Why would I stay?”  Blane asked as her feelings mixed in confusion.

Padding back to the tub, the duelist dropped the towel, sinking back into the water. “Softer conversation is so hard to find in this motley brood. Pass me that sponge if you would be so kind.”

Not sure if she was to regret it or not, Blane took up the sponge requested before passing it to the duelist…

Ferrell the Farmer 7

Episode 6 part 3

Entering the fort in the early evening the farmer found the islanders nervously waiting, talking amongst themselves, a pair of low fires smoldered in which they used for warmth. They had also emptied out the armory, taking a small comfort in the weapons. Without upkeep the fort suffered accelerated rot, moss growing on the walls and rooves. Shamus was drunk and leaning sleepily on the wall to the barracks. They all had heard about the fate of this place and did not want to be here after dark.  Every noise had to be investigated and warded out of suspicion.

The men looked his way, giving their thanks and continued their stares.  Ferrell shifted uncomfortably, not knowing why they were watching him.  Turning away from the dozen, one called out to Ferrell. “What be next, sir?”

Tired eyes swiveled back to the speaker, “What do you mean?” Ferrell asked.

Rubbing his wrists, the man had been wearing the shackles for so long to not have them on made him uneasy on top of rumors of the fort. “Ye freed us. Are we to go home or did ye have different plans?”

Shifting without comfort, “What kind of plans?” the farmer inquired.

Staggering off the wall Shamus swirled about with bottle in hand. Pointing at the farmer the duelist snickered.  “They are looking to you for direction. If I was this lot and I am, I would be looking to stick it to those bastards.”

The majority of the men nodded at Shamus’s intoxicated words. “Aye.”

“What about the silver you promised?  They are free we get silver.” Cedric interrupted.

“Oh, so er’ lives are just coin to ye? Hope ye rot ya heartless bastard!”

“We were promised payment! It is only fair!” Blane shot back at the sailor.

Gripping a pouch on his belt Ferrell felt overwhelmed. Inside the pouch was a wooden figurine of Lady Dana he was sculpting. She had been away for so long he almost forgot how her face looked, the only spot on the crafting left unfinished.  He wished she was here now. She always knew what to say.

Raising his voice Ferrell bellowed. “Enough!”

Shocked at the effectiveness of the word, Ferrell experienced the scrutiny of every eye. Pointing at the bandit, “You want silver? You will get it.”

Looking to the others, Ferrell took a leap of faith with his orders. “You want revenge? You will get that too. Someone, find me a map. You over there. I want to know who can fight and who cannot. I want to know who has been in the mines the longest and tell me how things go in there. And finally, I want the sternest mind among you. That does not include you.” The farmer ended his jumbled rant by indicating Shamus to be excluded from the last request.

Oddly, the men went to task, half of them turned out to be sailors and had some sense of discipline. Every man had some sort of experience in warfare, even the merchant knew how to bend a bow; if he could actually hit a target was up for later discussion. Blane managed to find a map and the farmer set about, chewing his lip, tracing roads. “Alright then. Ced’ric, your brother said they are getting powder from, Stringburg which is southwest of the mine. Tell me about the wagon, how much powder was it carrying?”

Cedric began counting on his fingers before giving up in a shrug. “I know not. It was stacked fairly high. They were stacked standing up.”

Dipping a quill Ferrell began to draw crude cylinders on the far side of the map, “Like this?”

Nodding the bandit continued to watch, “Yes. Like that.”

The farmer kept drawing, his mind churning. “Tell me when to stop.”

Twenty barrels give or take was the result. The veteran of the mines spoke of the two mines he was forced to work near the port. They used about four barrels a day for blasting. The mine veteran was also deemed the keenest among them. Taking the man back to the farm, Ferrell took a huge risk introducing him to Gnat.

Having to restrain the man from fleeing, Ferrell explained the purpose. “I need eyes on the mine. She can get you there and back.”

Gnat glowered at the man, pacing, throwing a few jabs in the air. The orc tended to do that when she was uncertain of things. The man refused to work with the orc nearly panicking. “Tis no natural!”

Ferrell struggled to reassure the man, “She will not hurt you.”

‘Yes I will.’

Ferrell put more steel in his tone. His frown deepened knowing there was no time to ease the two into his plan. “I understand how this is. You do not like orcs. You do not like humans. If you want to set things right, we do it my way.”

Gnat shook her head, fingers moving. ‘Want fight. Fight man now!’

Ferrell put himself between the man and the orc, the veteran of the mines cowered in the corner as Gnat began to push her way past the farmer.  Straining against the growing orc, Ferrell lost ground as his booted feet slid along the barn floor. “Gant please, stop. I need you to do this for the big fight that is to come.”

The orc ceased, peering around Ferrell to the frightened man. Running a thick hand over her short mohawk, beady eyes zeroing in on the farmer. Fingers working in a wary fashion. ‘Big fight?’

Lightly pushing Gnat back Ferrell sighed in relief. “Sometimes you have to watch and wait for the big fight to come.”

Turning to the man in the corner Ferrell made a fist, grinding his words.  “Sometimes you have to delve into the taboo to get the revenge you crave. You doing this could save lives. Please, you two. Sort it out.”

Gnat sniffed the man, her shoulders tense. ‘How big?’

Ferrell winced as the sun sank low in the sky, signaling a new problem on the rise. “It will be so big -you might have scars to show off at home.” The farmer said in a rush.

Gnat appeared interested now, pawing at her arms imaging where the scars would be and what they would look like. ‘I will do this.’

Ferrell smiled faintly, “Great.” Addressing the mine veteran. “And you?”

The man took a half step towards the orc extending a trembling hand to the orc. “Aye.”

*** ** ***

King Foster read the mine reports his brow working into a frenzy. “Unacceptable!” Tossing the scroll aside the monarch slapped a hand on the table, causing his advisor to jump.

Looking at the table top the advisor braced for what was to come. “Your Excellency. The mine is dry. The second is waning and now flooding. It is not a matter of the workers being slow it is that there is no more silver.”

Displeasure raked over Foster’s face.  Pacing the lavish room, the King paused at the window overlooking the refinery smoke stacks, surrounded by soot covered hovels of thatch and wood. “I made simple rules for these people. Meet the need and they live. They failed to meet the need. The rumors of the mines being dry is yet another excuse. There are penalties for these matters.”

“Yes, your Excellency. What penalty will you invoke?”

Snapping a finger at a guard near the door the bitter monarch addressing the man. “You, go to the pens and have one of their precious women hung. That should be sufficient motivation for those islanders.”

As the guard left, the King eyed the last unopened scroll. Considering the object Foster held his breath. A slender smile appeared, the tension easing. “At last. Good news.”

The advisor eased himself up and out of his chair, glad for whatever soothed Xavier Foster. “Your Excellency?”

Foster chuckled, “The new mine in the south. The initial findings bode well, very well indeed! Make preparations to have more workers sent down there immediately.”

The advisor nodded quickly. “Shall I halt the hanging then, your Excellency?”

Turning from the man, suspicion flashed over Foster’s expression before resuming its smile. “You favor those people, I see.”

The advisor froze, “No, uh no your Excellency. I just felt the King could be…merciful this once?”

Tossing the scroll on the table, Foster watched his advisor with sad eyes. Holding out a ring laden hand to be kissed.  “I understand the appeal. There are passionate people and I have tasted that passion in the past. Do you know what the result was?”

Leaning down to kiss the hand of the King the advisor found his wrist cuffed by the monarch. Side stepping the advisor Foster gripped the man by the back of the belt and ran him three steps before heaving him through the glass window. Shards erupted as the man burst through the window, spiraling down five stories before fatally hitting the ground.

“It left me dead inside.” The King answered gazing down coolly at the crumpled man.

*** *** **

Ferrell ran for the fort, heart racing, his breath ragged. The moon lit the way and the dead were already at the ruined outpost.  Leaping over a crawling skeleton, shoving his way passed a pair of zombies the farmer kicked himself into a slide under the lumbering legs of the two headed, undead giant.  Rolling to his feet, gasping for breath Ferrell frantically scanned the courtyard.

The escaped prisoners were building a hasty barricade as the dead filled the common area of fort. Shamus trembled in the throng, his muscles locked unable to move, his sword half drawn from its sheath but looked unharmed yet.

Ferrell cupped his hands, “Duchess! Duchess, I can explain!”

Cara Mia rose from behind the farmer’s shadow, her hood hiding most of her face. “Peer Ferrell. Always a pleasant surprise. I was just about to have a meal.” The Duchess’s voice smooth and almost soothing.

Waving his hands around frantically Ferrell pleaded with the vampire. “Please don’t hurt them. I know those men. I need them. Alive.”

Smirking, the Duchess circled Ferrell until she stood in front of him. “You are responsible for them?”

Dusting himself off the farmer attempted to make himself presentable for the vampire. “I am and if I succeed there will be more.”

With a gesture the dead halted their advance, as the Duchess grew curious. “What is transpiring?”

Ferrell explained the happenings of the recent days and his plans for the future which was brief. “So, if you save all those people, what will you do?” Asked the Duchess, casual concern showing its face.

“I was hoping you could help me with that.” Replied the farmer.

Discerning what Ferrell was implying the Duchess set a slender hand on hip. “You would turn the town I founded into a boarding house for refugees? That borders on insult, Peer Ferrell.”

Shamus slammed the blade back in its sheath and began to dance a jig against his will, the man snarling the entire time.

Ferrell played on the one weakness he knew of concerning the vampire. Nostalgia. “Perhaps it would not be a boarding home. They could maybe help restore it? Bring back some of its luster?”

Duchess Cara Mia turned towards the gates. The heart beats of the panicked men loud in her ears. Closing her eyes, the vampire’s mind fell to the past. Back when symphony of such hearts was soothing and a comfort. The progress of the residents always a surprise as humans made discoveries and dared to dream. Now it was her opportunity to start that process all over again if she desired.

“Well played, Peer Ferrell. They may stay for a time on the stipulation that if so much as a silver spoon enters my town the deal will be void.” The vampire paused adjusting the head of a skeletal soldier, straightening it.

Bowing, Ferrell sighed. “My thanks, Duchess. It is good to see you.”

The two headed giant knelt as the Cara Mai stepped onto its palm. Speaking airily to the farmer. “As always Peer Ferrell you are mildly interesting with your simple thinking. One would pray it never changes.”

Confused, the farmer watched the giant rise placing his friend on its shoulder. “What would happen if it did ever change?”

Finding a firm clump of hair to cling to as the giant turned the Duchess smiled. “Then Kings would have something to truly fear.”

 

*** *** **

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 6 part 4

Ferrell began to question his sanity. As the last of the dead exited the fort disappearing into the night the living began to look at one another in confusion. Dropping wooden boxes and sacks of wheat, each wondering what they had been doing and why they were doing it.  Shamus rubbed at his inner thighs, muttering about how sore his legs were.

“I understand she can be a bit dramatic.” Ferrell began unsteadily.

Shamus frowned, “Who are you talking about, farmer?” still working on his leg muscles.

The farmer pressed on with his words. “The Duchess! She was just here. With her…you had to have seen them. Her army of the dead?”

One of the sailors made a warding gesture quickly. “No one ‘ere but us, sir.” Looking at the hastily made barricade the man shrugged. “Building a wall against ‘em don’t seem like a bad idea now. In case they be comin’.”

“May-be ye need some rest. Ye be pushing hard fer us, sir. No gettin good sleep one kin see things.”

Ferrell looked at the shattered gates in the near dark; a sideways broken, jagged toothed smile that mocked the feeble minds of the men around him. “Yes. I could use some sleep I suppose.”

The farmer lost a few hours to sleep waking as Aideen’s braid slipped from his grasp. Picking up the braid, the farmer sat on the edge of the stiff bunk, inhaling her scent as it had become part of his morning ritual. Sometimes it felt like she was close or her smile on his back. Ferrell was not in the mood for the challenges ahead. “I know not what to do, I am not a leader of men.”

Still the farmer had to do something with this situation he created. Cedric and Blane were examining the Dwarven battle wagon, tapping the metal plates on the side and arguing in a language no one else seemed to understand. “What are you two doing?” Ferrell asked hoping for a distraction.

Blane looked up before pushing his hat lower over his brow. “Cedric thinks the armor plates were made the Tonk clan, when it is clearly from Broken Nose.”

Cedric spit on the machine, “Broken Nose my foot. The markings are clear, it is from Tonk or I’m a elf cock sucker.”

“Let me find you an elf, brother!” Blane shot back with a wry grin.

Breaking the two up as they began to try and choke the other, Ferrell asked quizzically. “How do you know of the Dwarves?”

“Father used to fence a lot their goods that were lifted from their tombs. They mark everything so they knew what was theirs and everyone would know who made it. That’s why they make such wonders. It is like bragging without words. The mark says it all.” Cedric and Blane said, taking turns speaking causing Ferrell to have to switch back and forth to face whom was talking. It was quite dizzying.

“I swear it is like you both share the same mind.”  Ferrell said blinking in bewilderment.

“We were born at the same time.” Replied Blane with a glint in the eye. “But Dad knows I was first.”

“Was not!”

Again, Ferrell had to break up another near fight. “Stop. Just stop. How can we get the Dwarves to stop selling powder to Swenton?”

The two pondered the question rolling their shoulders in unison. “They won’t. They love gold, silver any slight can be mended with enough coin. The only unforgivable crime is to steal from them.”

“Steal from them.” Ferrell repeated to himself aloud a fragment of a plan forming in his head.

Ascension’s Requiem (Demo)

*Apparently there is interest in my hand at space opera. So here ya go. More Farmer later.*

Falling with Claudia I had to shut my eyes as the rush of reconstituted air forcefully assaulted my eyes. Plus, what she was doing was calculated insanity and I certainly did not want to witness the possible error. I could only imagine what was going on in her processors. The descent slowed as her legs tensed, clattering along something metal skidding to a diagonal stop.

Chancing a look, I could see the expanse of the impound port going down as far the eye could see. In a normal station there would be the hustle and bustle of ships coming and going. This was an impound ring, no traffic going out unless you had deep pockets.

Claudia held on to me like a piece of cheap luggage, her other hand holding on to a hose of one of the magnetic impound claws. Glancing down at me, her lips twitched into a thin smile, “Ready?”

Shaking my head, “No- not really.” trying to puzzle out what she had in mind as my lungs worked in overtime to catch my breath.

With a wink the android hurled me seemingly without effort out horizontally towards the center of the impound ring. Flailing, I try to form a scream as Claudia launches herself after my falling body. Slipping her arms around me, she giggled in my ear as our bodies twisted around the other. The hull of the ship went into vertigo as the android contorted her body to protect me from the impact. Arms closing over my head, knees tucked under my hips, rolling perfectly along the top of my ship. Finally, we come to a stop with me on top, my face buried in the expanse of her chest. The texture of her ‘skin’ was very uncanny valley. It almost felt human. Almost.

Arching her back slightly, Claudia gazed towards the rail we originally took the plunge from. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” She asked teasingly.

Placing a hand on her chest I pushed myself off and lay face down on the deck. The cool metal doing little to calm my hammering heart. “I…next time we are taking the stairs.” I didn’t have to see her to know Claudia was pouting. “I keep hearing about how humans have a sense of adventure. What happened to yours?”

Staggering to my feet, I field my automatic response. “We have gone over this a dozen times already. Adventurous humans-“

“Get deported back to Earth.” Claudia completed my statement with a mirthless huff. “But you are a-“

“Don’t” I snap. “Just don’t.” My cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

Looking around the android whispered loudly, “You are an Aldrin. You come from a line of risk takers.” Her eyes dilated until the striking green was overtaken by black. “And judging by the reaction in your pants, the fall was thrilling.”

Snapping my long coat closed, I stamped my foot. “Get in the ship.”

Claudia shrugged and sauntered by with a mock airy sigh. “Right away, Captain Aldrin.”
********** **********
Settling in behind the controls, I open a channel to the station listening for news on the emergency. Claudia busied herself checking the ship systems, “When are we going to trade this ship in?” She inquired, instigating one of her favorite rituals.

Rolling my eyes, I play along. “I inherited this ship. She handles fine, never for a lack of fuel. Did you have your eye on some other junk pile?”

Pointing out the viewport, “How about that one? The cozy looking blue box.” She replied moving her eyebrows suggestively.

Squinting at the tiny craft, “Leave it to the Manks to impound an escape pod. Look at those view ports on the side. So tiny and impractical.”

Shrugging her shoulders, “It is probably bigger on the inside. Still, that blue is eye catching.”

“Makes me wonder what luxury liner it came from.”

The comm crackled dragging my attention back to the task at hand. ‘Begin evacuation of the station. All personnel and patrons are required to proceed to the nearest vessel. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill!’

Level by level the docking ring of impounded ships lit up as clamps unlocked. Dozens of turbo lifts began to move as the station began to evacuate. Claudia brought up a schematic of the ship, the all too familiar metal box on long legged tripod thrusters flashed on the screen. “Core is online. Thrusters are hot.” Drawing out the last word and batting her eyelashes.

Taking the controls, I whistled at the growing space traffic. Several near collisions occur as ships jockey to achieve escape velocity. “Someone is going to lose it and start blasting their way out.”

On cue a Crux saucer opens fire on a much bulkier K’Tar hauler, rapid bursts of heavy laser fire nearly cutting the vessel in half.

The android clucked her tongue, “I am getting readings all over the station. Every panic button has been activated. Look out!”

The resulting explosion turned the rest of the docking ring into a space version of the iconic saloon brawl. Ships bounced off each other due to raised shields and deflectors. Repulsors flared, rail cannons soundlessly fired. Long streams of disruptor fire lit the darkening ring of the station. Slamming the thrusters forward I rolled the ship in a starboard direction as plasma bursts raked the sections of dock the ship occupied seconds ago.

Claudia worked quickly on the console, “Shields are up!” A squealing navigation droid impacted off the shields at our viewport as it ejected from a small fighter. “What are we going to do, Brett?”

Racing the ship along the ring of the station, giving any attackers a limited attack scope as I flicked a switch. “Time to do what humans do best; piss everyone else off. Seismic charge armed, launch!”

My ship didn’t carry any weapons, its design was for busting asteroids and mining the smaller pieces for fuel. The released canister flipped through space and detonated in an orange ring of sonic particles. The generated force knocked several combative ships into each other. Punching the accelerator, I angled the ship to the now clear path.

With the path of panicked destruction fading to our backs, I guided the ship towards the nearest slip gate. Only to find it was already activated as a phallus shaped Mank heavy cruiser spilled out already launching fighters. Everyone’s favorite race of law enforcement had arrived…

Picking up speed and barrel rolling to the port side, we clipped one of the Mank unmanned drone fighters sending it spiraling out of control. The comm chimed politely, Claudia smirked. “They are hailing us.”

Pushing the reply option on the console. “This is the Ice Breaker; how can we be of assistance?”

A short humanoid face appeared on the screen. Typical Mank, it was more grey hair than face. Its large crooked nose tattooed with warts snorted. Beady deep set black eyes peered unamused back at me. “This is Commander Slen-Bak-Tu. You will power your ship down and prepare to be boarded.”

“We aren’t a part of the mess going on behind us.”

“I will not ask again!”

I nod holding my hands up. “Ok. Ok. You win. Just give me a second.”

Claudia posed her face to portray a disgusted look as I cut the channel closed. “Just like that? You are going to just let those as you call them ‘space dwarves’ walk all over you, again?”
Closing my eyes, I let out a long breath. Claudia was right. I already owed an outrageous sum to them. They would just impound the ship again and I would be deported to a place I have never even seen.

Glancing over to my companion knowing her look never wavered. I guided the ship into docking range with the heavy cruiser, a cluster of ion cannons already trained on my ship. At five meters from the docking port I kicked the accelerator into over drive, rocketing my ship towards the still open slip gate.
The android flickered an expression of shock as we sped along the body of the cruiser, the guns rapidly training on us. The first ion bolts began to work over the rear shields, a price I was willing to pay. Once we reached the gate we were home free…

The ship rocked under the firepower of the heavy cannons, panels blew out in a shower of smokeless sparks. The displays on the console sputtered and died as the ship lost control, tumbling end over end as we entered the slip gate.

“Oh, fuck me.” I cursed as the view port went from the blackness of space to the milky white of the slip stream.

“Not now.” Claudia replied clutching the arm rests of her chair.

Well that was a first.

Ferrell the Farmer 6

Episode 6 part 1

Lady Dana pulled back from the hug she gave Rothman. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Welcome to Edina, Kingdom of the rolling sands.”

Rothman smiled, ruffling the short hair of the female bard.  The trek to find her had taken nearly a month. “Still sportin’ that boy cut I sees. No exactly laying low I see.  Mingling wit’ nobles no less!”

Lady Dana turned to the railing of the massive town ship watching the sunset as she began to fix her hair, “Edina values scholarship. They need good, keen minds to keep their population growing or their air ships flying and sailing the desert.”

Frowning, Rothman joined Lady Dana at the railing watching the dunes shift below. “The Empire has taken a pair of these flying ships. They be working round the day in an’ out to make ‘ore.”

Shaking her head Lady Dana let the last rays of the sun dance on her face, “I have heard the same. They enlisted the help of the Dwarves who are just as at a loss as the Empire. Simply put they are asking the wrong race. So, what brings my favorite mentor to this grand place?”

Setting down his pack, Rothman piled through it, pulling a stack of papers. Watching her reaction as he tried to hand them to her as he spoke.  “Yer farmer friend be alive. It appears ye gonna have to change yer song about ‘im.”

Hearing the news Dana’s hand went to her heart, clasping the other over it as she took in a joyous breath. Silently thanking the gods, the bard hugged Rothman again. “I will gladly change it! I was so worried for him.”

Rothman grew insistent, “We need to talk of him. Tings of import. How did ye meet the farmer?”

Lady Dana felt her heart slide into sadness, “I did not meet the farmer. I met a man so rooted in grief even the mightiest of the gods could not move him. -I call for protocol. You came to see me and that means you tell me what you have seen, first.”

Settling in a deck chair Rothman pulled at his beard. “Ye be right. See, I just escaped the custody of two of the most imbecilic brigands I ever lay eyes on. Convincing dem to take me safely north in return for plans to rob a silver mine near the border of Swenton…”

** ** ** *

The farmer woke, head aching, body stiff from sleeping at the table. Nursing a tankard of water, Ferrell looked about bleary eyed. “Rothman?”

Silence greeted the farmer, spinning the map on the table he read the words the bard had left. Rolling up the map, the farmer shook his head, immediately regretting the gesture. Draining more water, the farmer set about creating a meal of pork and sliced apples. Bosco bounded up, leaping up on the table, “The bard left?” The kobold asked.

Shrugging, the farmer sighed. “Bards do that. They come and go.”

Wringing its tiny talon laden fingers together. Bosco watched the farmer. “Good. Now we can come out?”

Attempting not to nod, the farmer stretched. “Get some sun. We got chores to do.”

Checking the wall inside the pantry the farmer noted a series of strings were slack in the elaborate network. Someone or something was on his property and triggered the series of bells he slept through. The orchard. Considering the season and timing, it could only be one cause. She had returned and ready for more. Cranking open a chest the farmer donned a heavy leather and hay filled vest. Taking up padded mitts and placing them over his hands, a smile reached his lips. Not all intruders were unwelcome…

*** ** ***

Ferrell watched the large growing hands move, ‘More!’ the hands signaled.

Nodding, Ferrell stuffed more bundled hay into the protective vest he made for the exercise. “Alright then. Hands up. Good.”

Swinging a slow fist at his opponent, Ferrell continued his instruction. “Back step left. Back step right.  Lean left, snap the right! Perfect! Again! Watch your feet, shift right.”

A large fist beat against the cotton and hay stuffed mitt covering his hand. “Again! Faster! Harder! Faster. Twist right, go left.”

Throwing a series of strikes the farmer watched his slightly smaller opponent duck and weave and finally take the opening provided. A fist slammed into Ferrell’s padded chest sending the farmer down on his back, stars littering his vision.

The pig nosed creature loomed over the farmer, its eyes glittering in delight and success.  Its stubby fingers twisted forming into signals. ‘Win. I win. Is good.’

Groaning the farmer sat up before getting to his feet knowing the growing orc wouldn’t help him, it was not their way.  Blinking rapidly. “Yes. You are doing well. You mother would disapprove you being here, regardless.”

‘She does not. In quiet. In tribe yes. Very loud.’

Ferrell had learned that orcs could indeed understand human speech, it was just too whiny and distracting for them to warrant a reply in speech. Too much talking not enough fighting. Those that spoke the human languages were the lowest of the low in the tribes, right up there with cripples and the insane.

Uncovering a basket of apples, the farmer stood aside as the female orc tore into them with reckless abandon. “You did really well today, you will be gaining scars in no time.”

‘Good Apple Man.’

Chuckling Ferrell looked at the stance and boxing charts he had hung around the barn. “I do try, Gnat.”

Ferrell had saved the orc from a pair of heroic opportunists and the little one kept sneaking back for apples ever since. She caught the farmer shadow boxing a few times and started using the moves to bash the trees to shake loose apples she could not reach. Gnat grew, yet not as fast as the books say she should and was of the age were dominance battles began to happen.

She was faster than the average orc so the farmer only added to it with teaching fisticuffs or at least the basics. It had caused quite a stir already. Of the fights he could translate she had won eight out of nine. Losses were never talked about but amount of fights was always up for display.  Orcs did not bob, weave, duck, jab, or continuously use fists. They were more prone to biting, clawing, grappling and utterly breaking their opponents.

Gnat paused from her gorging, ears flittering and centering on sound. Tiny eyes falling to slits as the orc grew agitated. ‘Danger.’ Stubby fingers said to the farmer. Taking up the loaded crossbow, Ferrell nodded.  Checking the door to the barn, the farmer saw two men on horseback draped in ponchos of oil canvas and masks over the lower parts of their faces wheeling their horses about obviously upset.

The larger of the two yelled, “Rothman! We know you are here, come out. We demand explanation!”

Measuring the odds, the farmer found them in his favor; speaking to Gnat. “Stay here. I will make them go away.”

Gnat stamped a foot, drawing it back slowly as her fingers worked in signal. ‘Fight. Want fight.’

Quickly finding a middle ground Ferrell tensed. “Stay here and protect me if I get attacked.”

‘I will do this.’

Stepping out of the barn the farmer closed the doors with the rear of his foot. Facing off with the two highwaymen the farmer felt a chill over his bones. “He is not here. Why do you want him?”

The smaller one piped up, “That be our business. Think you can take us with a single shot crossbow?”

Kicking a tuff of hay outside the barn, the motion planted another crossbow in Ferrell’s off hand. “I got one for each of you. Now, state your business with my friend who is not hear to defend himself.”

The pair looked to the other before slowly raising their hands in surrender. Ferrell felt his eye twitch, “Put your horses in the barn. One at a time.”  Gnat could use the practice…

 

Farrell the Farmer

Episode 6 Part 2

The pair huddled in the far side of the barn as Gnat snorted and paced. Daring them to try and get passed her. Ferrell tossed the orc an apple after setting down one of the crossbows. “Alright then. Let us start off with who you are and why you are looking for my friend.” Taking a seat on a closed barrel the farmer laid the crossbow on his lap, still pointed at the two.

The smaller bandit pointed at the orc, fearfully. “You have a pet orc?”

Ferrell winced as Gnat stopped in mid chew. Slowly turning to the smaller bandit, the orc snarled, hands working rapidly. ‘Stupid female human I eat your face!’

The larger bandit showed a bit more courage, putting himself between the two. Pulling down the mask showing ugly black gapped teeth, the man balled his fists. “Don’t you dare cast on…him! You’ll have to go through me first! You green skinned-“

The bandit never finished the sentence as Gnat hit the man in the stomach and clubbed him behind the ear dropping the man like a sack of wet mud. Ferrell hung his head, voice tired already. “Gnat that is enough. You two will start talking or my friend is going to be really upset.”

Holding his stomach lower torso, the larger bandit groaned. “Just keep that magic using orc back.”

It was the smaller man’s turn to shield the fallen bandit. His voice pitched high, scared and obviously very young. “I’m Blane and this is my brother, Ced’ric! We have business with Herr Rothman.”

Gnat snorted and kicked loose straw on the fallen man before padding away back to Ferrell. ‘Stupid female human. Want hit it.’

The farmer signed back to the orc, correcting Gnat curiously. ‘Is male child.’

‘Female.’

Giving up before he grew frustrated the farmer watched the two once more. “What sort of business? And my friend here can smell it if you are lying.”

Gnat sniffled and narrowed her gaze playing along. Blane swallowed hard, Cedric interrupted angrily.  “Don’t tell him nothing!”

“Unfortunately, you are going to talk one way or the other.” Ferrell reminded the two, patting the crossbow and nodding towards Gnat.

Blane stammered, “Herr Rothman exchanged safe passage north for information on a new silver mine in Swenton. The three of us planned to plunder it and retire rich as lords.”

Arching a brow, the farmer looked amused. “The three of you? Looting an Imperial influenced mine? How?”

Blane huddled his shoulders as Cedric took over, “Rothman had the details. It was his plan. It would be easy, he said.”

Nearly falling off his perch on the barrel Ferrell laughed. “I see!”  Looking to the roof of the barn, the farmer sighed in relief. “I am sorry to say that Rothman was indeed here but left about six days ago.”

“Where?” The two asked at the same time.

Rolling his shoulders in a shrug, the farmer took up his crossbow. “I know not. However, you two have to be dealt with. I do apologize.”

“Please! We can come to an agreement. We won’t tell anyone about this place or your orc friend.  We swear!” Cedric pleaded, putting himself in front of Blane.

Lifting the crossbow Ferrell aimed. “Do not make this any harder than it already is.”

Blane cried, the man on his knees begging.  “Herr Rothman said it would be easy because there were guards for the slaves but not as many to protect the silver when it was on the move.”

“Slaves? From where?” Ferrell asked, his mind trying to sort this out. The Empire did not use slavery but it appeared their appeasing allies did?

Cedric took over again, his bluster gone with the wind.  “He did not say. Please good farmer, shoot me and let my brother go.”

Lowering his aim Ferrell took to swirling his thumb though his growing beard. “Where is this mine?”

Blane shut his eyes, awaiting the end. “Near Barrows off the northern pass. As, Herr Rothman said.”

“I know Rothman and you are going to need more than his word.” Ferrell mused.

The pair looked at each other, then Blane brightened. “They are buying dwarven powder from the post at Stringburg. We passed through there when a shipment was heading north. Cost us a whole day till we could be sure the road was clear.”

Giving Gnat a side look, the farmer nodded. “Alright then. Let’s have a peek.”

*** *** **

The four made their way through the rough forest terrain at dawn the next day. Gnat in the lead, carrying the shoddy weapons of the bandits. Blane and Cedric followed with Ferrell crossbow in hand another over his back brought up the rear. The two bandits conversed among themselves in a language only the two could seem to understand. They moved so similar to the farmer it only added questions for the farmer. Gnat stopped, going stock still. The pair nearly bungling into the orc the began to complain only to be silenced by the farmer. Thunder sounded in the distance; the farmer checked the late afternoon sky. Not a cloud to have caused the noise.

Gnat placed her hand on the ground and motioned for the farmer to do the same. Again, the thunder sounded, Ferrell could feel the vibration through the rock faintly. Eyes darting to the crest of the mountain the farmer pushed his way ahead. Grey smoke that smelled of heavy sulfur crawled over the ridge top to meet them. The ridge dropped steeply; the sounds of tools no longer shielded by the mountain side. Dropping to a crawl Ferrell pulled Tetsuo’s long viewer focusing it on the activity below. Men toiled with pick and shovel, clearing freshly blasted rock. Tents ringed in a horseshoe around the site, the green uniforms of Swenton men dotting the milling crowd. Horse drawn wagons were loaded with debris and taken to a make shift on the far left of the camp.

“I count about twenty soldiers, maybe one hundred workers.” The farmer remarked darkly collapsing the long viewer.

Moving along the ridge, the four stopped again at a clearing that could be seen from below. Hastily lashed together wooden beams creaked as the wind picked up, swaying the corpses of three men that hung by the neck from them. Gnat pawed at her snout, ‘Dead man smell bad.’

The two bandits made warding gestures; Cedric removed his hat placing it over his chest. Ferrell frowned as he examined the bodies from the edge of the clearing. No whip marks yet there was a plethora of bruises. Their tattered clothing still hailed where they were from. The farmer looked away bitterly. “They are from the Isles.”

Blane tapped Ferrell on the shoulder point down the way breaking the farmer’s train of thought as ice flooded his veins. Along the main road leading to the site a pair of wagons stalled in the mud of the overworked road. The four made their way down the mountain, hiding in the tree line near the road Ferrell again used the long viewer. “Five guards, twenty prisoners. By all that is unholy…”

Wiping his eye in utter disbelief, the farmer peered through the tube again, centering it a bald man the guards had hauled with a few others to lighten the wagon and push the cheap wagon. Puffing his cheeks, the farmer regained his composure. Looking to Gnat, “Give them their weapons.”

Gnat shook her head rapidly, tensing. ‘No.’

Hefting his crossbow, Ferrell stared at the pair. “Help me free these people. Help me and I will help you steal all the silver you could possibly want.”

Cedric and Blane nodded in unison, the farmer moved his fingers signaling Gnat. ‘Want to fight?’

Slapping a meaty hand in the other, the orc snorted. ‘Yes! Fight now!’

The first wagon lurched, making progress as muscle began to overcome nature. “Then give them their weapons.” Ferrell said again.

Gnat tossed the belted weapons at the bandits harshly. Blane squeaked as his short sword hit him in the chest. “Hey watch it!”

Cedric strapped his sword belt on, watching the wagons as he spoke to Ferrell. “What’s the play?”

One of the guards broke off heading towards the tree line, by the pace he set there could only be one reason. “I guess we let that one come to us first.” Replied the farmer.

Hiding in the brush the quartet waited, the guard whistled tunelessly working the top of his trousers down. Sighing in near ecstasy the man began to relieve himself. Ferrell figured he would wait until the man was done but Gnat had no such scruples.  Breaking cover the orc punched the man in the kidneys, knocking him into a nearby tree.  The wind exited his lungs from the impact, Gnat spun the man to face her a stream of still flowing urine pattering her along the leg. Taking offense to the ‘insult’ the orc worked over the man’s midsection driving the blows deep, twisting the fist at the end of each blow.

The guard managed to sound off a scream before Gnat made stew of his innards. “Shit!” Cedric said knowing all too well the other guards heard the call.

Readying their weapons Ferrell loosed his crossbow, in a rare moment the bolt missed, flying between the pair of guards. Dropping the first the farmer readied the second only to find the bolt had come out somewhere along their wanderings. Loaded but useless. Cursing, Ferrell drew the fallen guard’s blade. Running after the bandits as they broke cover the farmer circumvented the battle as he headed to the wagons.  The prisoners barely held in check by the remaining two guards, “Get back in the wagons or you will hang when this over!”

Spotting Ferrell the remaining guards chose to go after the armed farmer. Ferrell hurled the sword with purpose between the two, and held his hands up in surrender. “I give up! In the name of the Undying Emperor, I yield!”

Confused and angry the guards shouted for him to get on his knees, the prisoners began to scatter trying to make it for the trees. Skilled fingers closed one at a time over the hilt of the fallen sword. Lithe, wiry muscles outlined in ground mud flexed and stretched. A shark like grin played over the bald man’s chapped lips. The sword was rubbish in the man’s opinion but it would have to do. Whistling loudly the bald man tested the eighteen inches of chain the shackled his wrists.

Cedric and Blane struggled with their opponents, the further apart they were from the other the worse things seemed to get for the two. Blane cried out as the bandit took a cut to his off arm. The prisoners making for the trees back peddled as the yells of ‘ORC’ took to the air.

The bald man casually swaggered as the armed guards rushed to meet him. Flicking his sword, he tapped the flat to the charging guard’s blade brushing it wide. Half turning, the bald man bashed a lightning quick elbow into the soldier’s face sending the attacker flying off his feet. The man was grim poetry in motion. Parrying an incoming blow, slapping down another sweeping strike with contempt before slicing through the guard’s neck. Rolling to stand the fallen never got to his feet as the bald man cleaved through the back of his enemy’s head without hesitation. Wrenching the blade free the man’s expression twisted into one of anger upon seeing the farmer.

Unarmed, Ferrell was still kneeling, knowing he would have no chance against the man even if he was armed. The farmer waited, looking the man in the eye without flinching. “Still angry with me, Shamus?”

The duelist said nothing as he wiped the bloodied flat of the stolen sword on the shoulder of Ferrell’s tunic. Flipping the sword Shamus repeated the motion on the farmer’s other side. Glancing back at the two dead soldiers the duelist glowered. “I am still very upset with you, farmer. If I had a few more of these to dance with I might feel better about it.” Shamus fell back into his fake Noskie accent.

Pointing to the beleaguered bandits, Ferrell dared a grin. “As luck would have it…”

*** *** **

Casting the last of the shackles into a pile Ferrell pondered quickly of what to do. Cedric and Blane bore minor wounds but whined continuously. Gnat had all but vanished, the farmer knew she was nearby but chose to hide which she could do rather well. Shamus looked impatiently down the road. “Where is Aideen?” The duelist asked a sliver of hopefulness in his voice.

“I’ll take you to her.” Replied the farmer trying to keep his nerve.

In the end, eight of the twenty chose to remain and scatter to buy time for the others to escape with Ferrell and his band. The night made things tricky as the moon was hidden by the trees and Ferrell was the only one with a lantern. Ferrell coaxed the ragged line to keep moving. He seemed to know the way when in reality the farmer was following apple cores the orc was leaving behind.

Reaching the farm stead at the false dawn, Ferrell led Shamus to Aideen’s grave at the opening of the apple orchard. Shamus grew rigid sword tumbling from his fingers.  Collapsing to his knees the duelist murmured, tears streaming in muddy stripes. “No, no, no. Me friend. Me friend! How?”

Clawing at the ground Shamus howled, trying to dig at the grave. Ferrell struggled to restrain the duelist from behind. Shaking the duelist’s lithe form wracked with sobs. “How kin dis be?”

“She was murdered by soldiers of the Empire nine years ago.” Ferrell said his voice growing uneven with renewed grief.

“Why?”

“I know not. You need rest, we will sort this out. I swear it.”

Tear blurred eyes fell to the sword on the ground. Grief turned to rage, “De’ Empire did this? I see a grey uniform I kill de’ man wearing it.” Shamus vowed.

*** *** **

Ferrell listened to the news of the Isles from the escapees. Economic growth had risen so much those of the Isles looked to settle unclaimed land to the north. For two winters the land prospered then in the spring an army bearing no colors composed of mercenaries swept through the land using Empire weapons. Capturing the small villages and seizing nearly impenetrable port cove. Eight cycles after Aideen’s murder.

A man named Foster anointed himself as King and immediately allied with the Empire. From there the King attacked the Pyrat navy only to be humbled by the swift ships and seasoned sailors of the Isle people. The King of Swenton enlisted the help of the Dwarves who were always happy to serve the highest bidder made odd machines to traverse the sea in winter. Every year the contraptions got closer and of better make.

This year spring had come early, a stroke of luck for the Isle people as cluster of steel vehicles could be seen from the shore. They moved without the pulling power of horses and belched black smoke. The ice gave way sending every single machine to the bottom of the bay. The Emerald Queen ordered two of the outermost islands to be stripped being made into large shipyards. Every man, woman, child was to undergo military training. Six of the thirteen flotilla communities were broken up to increase the size of the Pyrat navy.

Due to Swenton’s numerous failures the Empire taxed the life out of the small kingdom. Demanding tributes of iron and silver to the point where Swenton’s people were merely slaves without chains.

Putting the escaped prisoners up in the remains of the fort, Ferrell pondered what to do, it would be an easy matter for Swenton to cross the border looking for the Pyrats. He would have to act fast…

Ferrell the Farmer 5 Cont 6

Episode 5 part 11

Aideen pleaded with the large man in front of her. “Ye be great, never a question. I spen’ many a night recalling yer fights when I was wee. Jus’ let this one go. Please, brother.”

The mountain of a man considered his younger sister. Scar tissue on his forehead grew tight, his voice deep as any giant of seven feet. “It is me duty to fulfill the contest, just as it is for yer suitor.”

“His name be, Ferrell.” Aideen snapped defensively.

Working a set of tongs, the massive blacksmith checked the steel rod in the furnace. “I make it quick, ye’ah see. Ye thank me fer it dow’ the road.”

Stamping her foot, Aideen fumed. “I be thanking’ ye now if ye just’ walk away!”

Settling on an overly large stool, the giant checked his cup. Seeing it was empty the man groaned. “If ye liked women like I hoped ya would dis no’ah be an issue. Even if she ‘as from the Em’pire. I have me own problems to mull over, larger den a fight with a mere farmer.”

** *** **

Xavier stood at the foot of the bed Ferrell was resting upon. The farmer stared at the ceiling; uninjured arm draped over his stomach wound. Pulling up a wobbly chair next to Ferrell the Captain sat down, his brow heavy with concern.

“Hagen Ryan has his own problems. Used to be a brawling champion turned avid gambler. Too bad he is no good at the latter.  He is in some serious debt to rather nasty people. Word is the delegates are willing to pay the difference if he puts you down. Cutting the Empire out of the trade picture for at least a pair of  solar cycles. No one likes to trade with losers.” Explained the Captain, watching his cousin.

Slowly checking the sealed wound on his stomach, the farmer hissed in dulled pain. “Guess I will have to win that brawl then.”

Xavier debated continuing, the need to succeed battled with what little conscience he had left. Against all sense his conscience armed itself with guilt and words spilled out. “I did a little tree shaking and something unexpected fell out.”

Focusing on Xavier the farmer frowned deeply. “What do you mean, Xavier?”

The scoundrel captain winced, failing to brush off the question as usual. “He is on a permanent regiment of willow root. For his head.”

Ferrell stiffly sat up, flexing his injured hand. “I could use some of that now. Why for his head? You are being oddly specific, Cousin.”

Lending a shoulder Xavier helped Ferrell ease into a sitting position. “He’s brawled for years. One too many shots to the head, the healers have warned him in the past a decent strike there could kill him or leave him without use of his arms or legs. Still he is as stubborn as you are and refuses to quit. This could be good for us; he has a secret that we now know. I suggest we use it.”

Touching the stitches under his jaw, Ferrell replied. “I am not killing that man.”

Snapping to his feet Xavier paced at the foot of the bed once again. Face distraught with anger. “Damn the man! Save the Empire! You have four days to rest when the healers say you need at least fourteen.”

Ferrell painfully reached for a cup of water on the stand next to the bed, “I will not kill that man.”

Xavier surged towards Ferrell, clamping hand over the top of the cup staring his cousin in the eyes. “You might not have a choice.” Releasing the grip the Captain straightened out his uniform.

*** ** ***

Xavier left the Wilson’s abode, noting the crowd growing in the front of the property. Abbey Dunn was telling the farming community all about the fight she witnessed between Ferrell and Shamus as the sun set behind her.  That and she was still missing seven pigs. Ren Wilson sat in a chair on the front porch with the prostitutes from the carriage, one on each lap. Each taking turns whispering dirty deeds and invitations to the elderly hero, giggling the whole time.

“Well I be no satyr in spring ‘dese days but the invitation has appeal.” Ren said with an amused smile.

Spotting Xavier walking away from the house, Ren quickly payed the two a coin a piece. Urging them up with a pat on the rump. “Me thanks fer gettin’ Ferrell here safely. Now if ye kin excuse me I have’ a man to talk to about a dog.”

Calling to the Imperial, Ren strode to catch up with Xavier. “Captain. A word if ye please.”

Slowing, Xavier sighed, waiting miserably. “What can I do for you, Captain Wilson?”

The air had grown cold enough for breath to be seen, Ren peered at the stressed Imperial. “How did ye fall?”

Flicking invisible lint off his sleeve, Xavier muttered. “What are you talking about?”

Ren Wilson hefted his tankard, sipping the contents before offering it to Xavier. “Yer’ drowning in lies an’ schemes. How that come to be?”

Accepting the container, the Imperial took a heavy pull of the tankard. “You think I wanted it this way? I did it to stall the inevitable. I have seen good people put to the sword and noose for resisting the Emperor’s word. Lands that no longer exist because they angered him. I did this to save this place.”

Silence passed between the two, Ren taking back the tankard, sipping at it again. “Everything dies eventually. Ye did it because ye knew what he be doing is wrong but you no’ah wanted to face ‘im.”

Wiping at an eye Xavier felt too tired to get angry again, “He is going to come here one day with his armies and wipe this place out. The survivors will be peacefully cowed and complacent. Just like Ferrell.”

Ren’s lips creased downwards as Xavier went on. “All his life people have called him simple. Just a farmer. Until that is all he wanted to be, it is his purpose of being. To dutifully serve the Empire in a singular role. Now look at what my bringing him here has done.”

“Even simple folk kin ‘ave dreams, Captain. Tis why yer Emperor kin no truly win.” Ren again offered the tankard only to have the Imperial turn his back to the elderly man.

“Yet the complicated man has the nightmares. Where is the justice in that?” Xavier replied bitterly, ending the conversation by walking away.

*** *** **

Abigail grunted tightening the wrappings over Ferrell’s hands as the two sat in a small wooden alcove of the live stock center. Reminding the farmer of the rules as she worked on Ferrell. “Three ways ye kin win, Ferrell. One, knock yer opponent out. Knock ‘em down for a count of ten. Or toss ‘im out the box for a count of ten. No rules on blows, the only law is the bell. It rings ye stop.”

Adjusting the bandages Abigail covered them with strips of red cloth around his stomach. “If he sees ya bleeding he is going to target it. Dis should ‘elp a wee bit.”

Ferrell felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as the roar of the crowd grew. “What are my chances?” The farmer asked, trying to keep Abigail talking; it helped with his nerves.

“I wouldna go toe to toe. Hagen be slow, if he git his hands on ye it be quick. So be quick, use yer feet, tire ‘im out.” The hero replied, leaning forward kissing Ferrell’s wrapped hands and then his forehead. “Fer luck.”

The crowd booed as Ferrell was escorted to the wooden walled ring. The place was packed with rows upon rows of spectators. Torch light was spread to illuminate the ring with angled reflective metals. The Baroness’s balcony box was dark but the farmer could make out the outlines of occupancy. Wondering if Aideen was hidden in the shadows of the box, part a head of rotted cabbage bounced off the farmer’s shoulder bringing him back to the affair at hand.

Xavier sat in the front row with many of the opposing delegates, listening to their jeers. They apparently sat on Ferrell’s side because they would not be able to see around Hagen if they took seats on the champions side. The crowd parted as joyous cries erupted, announcing Hagen’s arrival. The monster of a man flexed, shaking hands his beard had been shaved off, head coated with tattoos of black flames.  Where Ferrell had to be let into the ring by a gate, Hagen straddled the wooden wall before stepping over it.

Settling in his corner, the fence groaned from the weight of the man as he sloppily kissed a female fan.  Turning an eye towards Ferrell as the hammer met bell the giant was on the move immediately. The farmer padded forward to meet Hagen in the center. Hagen bellowed freezing Ferrell in place with the sudden yell. With a ham hock palm the brawler slammed it into the center of Ferrell’s chest lifting the smaller man off his feet.

Playing to the crowd the giant held up a finger as the crowd began to count. ‘One!’ ‘Two!’

The farmer sucked wind, rolling to his feet at the count of four. Hagen half turned when Ferrell punched the man in the side. Back stepping from the return blow, Ferrell hit the same spot, the big man leaning into the blow tensing muscles to absorb the hit. A massive boot stomped forward planting itself in the farmer’s stomach sending him into the wood railing. Instinctively Ferrell moved as the follow up fist shattered a plant of the fence.

Twisting around Hagen, the farmer lined up a punch to the bent man’s head before balking at the action. The hesitation cost the farmer as Hagen grabbed Ferrell in a crushing hug. Ferrell’s back popped as the man shifted the farmer around like a rag doll. Managing to slip and arm free Ferrell jabbed the blacksmith in the eye with a finger. Dropping the farmer, the former champion held his eye, Ferrell kicked the man behind the knee.  The bell clanked, Hagen trying to get at the farmer was barely held in check by a pair of guards that hopped the wall to break the two up.

Slumping on the stool, holding his chest Ferrell felt like he was breathing fire. Abigail cleaned Ferrell’s face with a wet rag. “No ‘ah bad. Ye need to loosen up, yer workin too stiff. Hit’em in the face.”

“I can’t. I can’t hit him in the head.”  Ferrell replied taking a gulp of water.

“Why not? No like he gonna git uglier.”

Taking another gulp, “He has Bucket Head.”

Focusing on Hagen the elder nodded. “I understand. There be something wrong with his right foot. He favored it after the kick he put on ye. Suggest ye investigate it.”

With the call of the bell the two engaged again, Ferrell worked his feet staying ahead of Hagen, ducking and coming in, working the body of the massive man. Hooking a punch towards Hagen’s chest the blacksmith blocked it allowing Ferrell to step in and stamp on the top of the former champion’s foot. Hagen howled as the ingrown toenail of his large toe burst.  Seizing the farmer with almost inhuman strength, the blacksmith raised the smaller man overhead and pitched him into the crowd!

Crashing into a group of patrons, the farmer held his ribs, arms, legs and curses tangled about him. Hagen paced in a pained tight circle calling for the count to start. With the help of the angry crowd Ferrell was hauled to his feet and tossed back in as the count reached eight. The rest of the round the farmer did his best to fall well as Hagen punished him. Ferrell let his hands drop as Hagen’s fist eclipsed the farmers face. The world blurred, spinning as if one had too many bottles of wine. Ferrell staggered, his knees buckling.

The Imperial captain bolted to his feet, checking the sand timer the bell bearer had next to him. It was almost out but Ferrell had just gone down. The time keeper raised the hammer towards the bell eyes going to the falling sand. The crowd began to count. Gritting his teeth, as the count reached seven but the sands had more to pour as Xavier acted. Sneezing the Imperial Captain ‘accidently’ bumped into the time keeper, causing the hammer to strike the bell. The crowd roared it disapproval as the count was broken. Spinning on Xavier the time keeper began yelling angrily. Putting out his hands Xavier kept the man distracted until he was certain the sand had run out before backing away.

Abigail hauled the nearly unconscious farmer to the corner. Xavier slipped over the rail with Abigail, fanning Ferrell before dumping a bucket of water over the beaten man. “He’s not getting tired. You have to finish him.” The Imperial said frantically.

Pushing part of an iron bar that was sized for an average man’s fist into Ferrell’s palm. “You have to go for the head.” Xavier explained.

Abigail frowned seeing the object but said nothing. Ferrell stared at the bar before closing his fingers over it. Abigail waved an herb bundle under the farmer’s nose Ferrell spasmed his eyes shooting open, wildly trying to focus. The crowd cheered as the bell rang. Hagen plodded forward, Ferrell hunched his shoulders.

“Ye be giving as good as ye get, Ferrell.” Hagen said with a sliver of respect as the fighters circled each other.

“I know.” Was all Ferrell replied with a he locked up with the massive man.

Grinding the heel of his boot into the injured foot of Hagen. Using the fist load on the man’s side punching down for the hip. Hagen curled as Ferrell gave him everything he had. Punching Hagen’s kneecap, side, chest, shoulder, elbow. Ducking wild swings Ferrell fell back only to return like a relentless rabid dog.

Pivoting to protect his injured side, Hagen was forced to use his off hand to attack. Hagen’s thick hand found Ferrell’s neck finally, squeezing. The farmer clubbed his iron loaded hand into the spot just below the blacksmith’s arm pit repeatedly. Shoving Ferrell back, Hagen made to follow when his knee gave out with a pop. On all fours, the blacksmith’s face red with rage battling with pain. The scar tissue on his forehead suffered enough tension a rivulet of blood mingled with sweat spontaneously.

A hush fell over the crowd, Ferrell blew the rank moisture from his face, one of his eyes seeking to seal itself shut from swelling. Resting painfully on his heels, Hagen’s heavy arms flopped, beckoning the farmer to continue. With dragging foot steps, the farmer readied the fist load once more, pulling his arm back.  “I know about your head, Hagen.” The farmer said with labored breath.

Spitting the former champion lowered his gaze. “What are ye waitin’ fer den? Finish it.”

“Do it, Ferrell!” Yelled Xavier, his voice carrying hope ridden excitement.

“Finish it, Ferrell!” Hagen yelled, pushing his head forward for the farmer to get a better shot.

Opening his hand, the farmer let the iron piece fall to the floor. “I will finish this.” With a look to the Baroness’s box Ferrell guided the blacksmith onto his back, standing to start the count.  Calling to the crowd, “If I spared that sack of pig dung, Shamus I am not going to kill this man! START THE COUNT!”

“One!” Screamed the Baroness from her now lighted balcony box.

The throngs of patrons reluctantly followed suit. Four. Five.

Hagen stared at the iron piece; pride demanded he get up. His leg twitched refusing to comply.  Seven. Eight.

TEN! The witnesses of the contest applauded weakly but as the realization of what the farmer had done became apparent the roar grew deafening.

*** *** **

Hagen nursed his injures hours later, working a tiny file over the iron piece that could have killed him, etching details with care. The distraction kept him feeling much of the pain and what he knew was coming next.

The door to the shop opened, Hagen did not bother to turn around. “So that is that, eh? Obviously, I donna ‘ave the money to pay. Jus’ make it quick, assassin.”

A small pouch thumped on the workbench next to blacksmith. “I paid your debts, Hagen Ryan.” Ferrell said, leaning heavily on a wooden staff.

Turning to the battered farmer, Hagen’s brows furled. “How ye do that?”

“My cousin used the expenses set aside for my grave and placed a bet on me. You are no longer in debt to those people. I hope you keep it that way.”

Nodding to the pouch, Hagen grumbled. “What is all this then?”

Smiling, then stopping as he remembered how much it hurt to do so. “I want you to make Aideen a new sword.”

Pouring out the contents the blacksmith counted the coins, “There is enough here to make two.”

“I also you want to make one in honor of the child we will have.”

 

*** *** **

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 part 12

Ferrell was still sore when summoned to court, along with Cousin Xavier. The farmer resisted bed rest since the fight with Hagen. He was not allowed to work, so he made himself a friendly nuisance to those he knew. The courtroom felt empty; no voices sounded from behind the door as the guards opened them to the grand hall. Xavier immediately grew suspicious, his eyes combing the area.

Baroness Sylvia Ryan sat upon the throne, speaking quietly with Aideen. The room had been decorated in celebration for the mid winter festival that would take place later that evening. Candles of hope unlit, crystal shards hung from various beams of the hall.  Ferrell felt nervous. He had not been allowed to see Aideen until her challenge to him. So, this was it, there was no time to plan, no information to glean, just her and he in whatever way she decided…

The Baroness was curt with Xavier, her expression nearly bland. “Captain.”

“Baroness.”

Looking down from the dais, Aideen smiled almost sadly at Ferrell, her eyes filled with worry. Not waiting for the Baroness, the shield maiden went into her words, keeping her voice light. “I asked for the Baroness to summon ye.”

Blinking, Xavier cast a hand about. “And we have arrived. Where are the others?”

“I felt this matter should be private.” Interjected the Baroness quietly.

Aideen shut her eyes, struggling with her next words. “Sir Ferrell. These challenges have been brutal even among our own people’s standards. Even now, I feel small at de size oh yer heart.”

“I would endure them again.” Ferrell said evenly.

Shivering, Aideen nodded. “Aye, ye would. I know. It is with regret that I announce the withdraw of my challenge. I have found ah man to marry and canna go through with this.”

Ferrell felt the world coming down on him in inexplainable pieces. Xavier protested yet the farmer could not hear him. Fighting like a drowning man in a sea of despair Ferrell rallied what was left of his resolve as the Baroness spoke.

“Enough, Captain. Aideen has de’ right to accept or decline as is our way. She ‘as declined.”

Looking at the floor, the farmer forced his hands to his side. Sniffling, “This man you are to marry. Is he a good man?” Ferrell asked not knowing what he would do upon hearing the response.

Aideen hiccup sighed; her voice soft as if handling something fragile. “Aye.”

“There is no man that loves her more than you, Cousin! This is a…” Xavier resumed his previous protests.

Ignoring his cousin Ferrell felt tears breaking loose from the pools at his eyes. “Does he love you?”

Green eyes welled with tears of their own as the shield maiden responded. “Aye.”

“I mus’ go, me husband will be at the altar soon for us to wed.” Aideen added, unable to stay in Ferrell’s heart broken presence a moment longer.

Nodding his head with a stiff jaw, gazed sadly one last time to Aideen. “Then that is enough for me to know. I am happy for you and this man you have chosen.”

Xavier nearly exploded, fists balled. “That’s it? You are just going to give up, Ferrell? You have lost blood for this woman. Took ridicule of her people for nearly a season! Saved her ignorant brother’s life when he sought to end yours! Played through these ridiculous rituals and won only to have her back out because she cannot defeat you.”

Ferrell was already on the move when Xavier spoke. Pausing at the door, head bent low. “Cousin. I will not build a cage for someone I helped set free.”

Baroness Sylvia Ryan slipped from her position on the throne to meet Ferrell at the door. Speaking kindly to the farmer, “Let me walk with you a few moments. Such heavy news can be often misunderstood.” Placing a reassuring arm over the farmer’s own.

Ferrell felt numb as his legs moved mechanically down the hall without direction, yet the Baroness was there to keep him moving. “Did I do well at least in those challenges?” Ferrell asked, his heart rolling in the dust of ruin.

Sylvia gave a small laugh, the Baroness turned them down an empty hall. “Ye changed the coin economy for a good while with all the betting against ya. Aye, ye did well. Better than some heroes I hear tale of an’ better than could be asked of a simple man.”

A servant passed by handing the Baroness something that Ferrell failed to notice other than the passing. “I did not fall in love with her position or her family power. I fell for her.”

The Baroness smiled ruefully, tugging at Ferrell’s tunic, moving it up and off. “I know yer heart, Ferrell.  It is still a shame the way things went.”

Slipping her hands over Ferrell’s shoulders, taking longer than she should the Baroness felt his torso muscles, she replaced the tunic with an open ended robe of sea green. Skillfully tying a black leather belt around his waist. Taking a wreath of green, yellow glass seaweed, she placed it on Ferrell’s brow, stepping back the Baroness’s lips twitched in a smile.

Looking at his attire confused, Ferrell felt duped and childlike.  “I do not understand. I did everything right and I still lost. What is all this?”

Sylvia pressed her back on a set of doors Ferrell had never seen in all his time in the castle the Baroness kept her smile. “It be possible to do everything right an’ still lose. Yet, that day be no this day.”

From the open door poured light bright and true from a dozen windows.  Shielding his eyes Ferrell stepped past the glare into another broad hall filled with people. The finery of the nobles and their servants sat on one side of the expansive temple. The farming community sat upon the other, each side rising to the appearance of the farmer. Wordless applause followed, as Ferrell looked to the high center of the place.  In the center stood the altar, with no man waiting.  Kicking his legs into motion, Ferrell forced himself to run, chasing the impossible dream to its end. Zig zagging to clasp with as many of the inner aisle out stretched hands as possible.

This was a great moment in his life and the greatest was yet to come…

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 Finale

Ferrell felt as if he was in a dream, one he had no desire to wake up from and yearned to relive. Aideen made her way down the aisle flanked by her brother who through sheer will walked without use of a cane. The brace on his leg made his steps stiff but timely. Attired in a sheath dress of sky blue, looped with a golden belt about her waist. Her sword strapped over her back, poorly accessible but ever present. Her sun set red hair hung loose around her shoulders, the beads of valor that ended her braids were worked into a neckless around the neck of the shield maiden. The slender wreath upon her head was emerald encrusted in the shape of the rolling landscape of the Pyrat Isles and dotted with rubies that danced like fire as she moved.

Every row the shield maiden passed the attendees rose and shifted, the two sides of the temple mixing. Noble with commoner, merchant to soldier, sailor to midwife. For the hour there was no rank, just people of one land, together. Clasping hands the two looked upon the other silent vows exchanged along with simple spoken ones. The priest dutifully looped a cord of green and blue over the clasped hands, his blessing was in the native tongue of the Pyrat bonding the two together.

As the priest finished the crowd erupted into cheers as the new husband and wife kissed. The couple walked down the steps to the aisle, the Baroness without her crown of office stood in before them. Wiping at her eye, the noble considered the two. “Tonight, ye both will be expected te’ attend the mid winter celebration. It starts on the seventh bell as always. You are given permission to arrive before the ninth bell.”

Aideen blinked with her confusion. “Why are we allowed to be late?”

Ferrell gently gripped the dress of the shield maiden at the hip pulling her closer. Watching the blush curl to the woman’s cheeks, the farmer grinned. “I think you know why…” His words rang deep with invitation and promise of things to come.

*** *** **

The celebration also served as the reception of the newlyweds. The couple received many gifts that Ferrell did not understand for they were mere scrolls of paper with writing. Aideen promised to explain them later.  Abigail Dervish and Ren Wilson sat at the back of the ball, hands together as they drew their final breaths. Sights fading at the edges of their vision drawing to a close upon Aideen and Ferrell as the two danced in the country way. Ren’s famous silver tankard slipped from limp fingers to the ground, a single stream of amber liquid trickling from the container. Their passing would not be discovered until the morning as they both appeared to be merely sleeping peacefully.

Days passed and the two proved to be inseparable. Hagen flipped the near molten steel over. Hammer ringing upon anvil in time to the activity happening in the loft on the other side of the shop. A missed strike caused the blacksmith to glare in annoyance which changed to a sigh capped smirk. Jabbing the steel back in the furnace the massive man cleared his throat. “Ye know, ye can take that elsewhere if ye like!”

The two prostitutes Shamus had hired for his post battle celebration crossed their ankles for warmth under the trio of heavy blankets as they rested on the roof of the carriage watching the night sky.  The vehicle rocked side to side. Eyeing the sand timer, one of the working women yawned. “Gonna hav’ to flip it again in a few. Like a pair of hares they are.”

Other giggled, “Could think of worse ways to spend time. Sides, all the motion down there feels good on me back up here.”

*** ** ***

Rothman feverishly worked his quill through the night and into the start of the dawn. Ferrell had fallen asleep after telling the tale at the table. Half a cup of brandy near his head. Hand clamped over the braid of Aideen his thumb minutely moving over the strands of red.  Sometime during the night, the farmer had brought out an ornate wooden box during Rothman’s distracted writings.

Curious the bard opened decorated container, peering inside. Gingerly, Corbin pulled out a wrapped cord of green and blue, an odd cluster of coin sown to leather came out with it. Looking at the cluster of coins, there were lapped over the other like a piece of armor.  Setting it aside the bard worked through the pile of scrolls. Reading the words lips moving in time with the pace he read. Flicking a glance at sleeping farmer in disbelief, the bard began comparing the scrolls to the other. “Tis no chance this be true.”

Pinning down a scroll with brandy bottle the bard spread out a map. Making marks the bard worked through the rolled parchment as Ferrell slept. Falling back in his chair as he made the final mark. Tugging at his beard Rothman considered the markings. It was roughly the shape of the northern kingdom of Swenton. Ferrell’s farm was at the southeastern most point. Taking the quill up again, the bard struck through the title on the map with the writing instrument. Scratching down a pair of words over the marked area. It read simply, Ferrell’s land? Replacing everything in the box after taking hasty notes the bard found he had a desperate need to find the nearest fellow bard and work through what he discovered. Shoving the box into his backpack, he would need evidence to support this outlandish tale.

Speaking to the snoring farmer, Rothman was beside himself with intrigue. “I ‘ate to leave ya like this but I must.”

Packing up enough supplies, the bard found his fatigue had faded and replaced with nervous excitement. Stepping out into the stead, Rothman produced a piece of flat steel in the shape of a dolphin on the end of a thin silver chain. The piece spun as Corbin chewed his lip. “Com’ on there has to be ‘ah someone close. I have just spent nearly thirty days with Ferrell Ryan! Unbelievable!”

At last the dolphin stopped spinning and slowly centered on a direction to the east. The amount of time it took to settle down informed the bard the closest of his brethren was quite a way off. At least a quarter of a season. “Oh, kick der road!”

*** *** ***

King Foster walked the parapet overlooking Freeman’s Bay, though the locals had a different title for it. Hangman’s End.  The Imperial war machine was a demanding mistress, as they called for more silver from Swenton. More iron. More, more, more.  The King had taken to wearing his armor as there had been a pair of attempts on his life in the last half of the solar cycle. The people obviously did not understand to the lengths that were required in their role to the Empire. He would have them instructed by force, again. As many times as it took.

The coin mail was a comfort as the King gazed out over the land he killed for.  Fingering the ripped section of the armored vest, the king failed to repair it. Using it as a reminder of the lengths he would go to get where he stood now. Watching a ragged line of slaves that were once settlers from the Pyrat Isles being guided into the mines which were nearly stripped of their silver due to the needs of the Empire.  Their numbers were dwindling, Foster figured they would have to raid for more in the early summer.  His forces had yet to make land on the Isles but with the Imperials weapon advancements it would only be a matter of time.

Turning to the south a bitter line of thought rose from the dead, the King rarely wondered of the man but this morning it was different. A simple man that brought ruin to his dreams. A pair of things made him uneasy concerning the simple man. The guards he sent to eliminate the man nearly a decade ago did not return. Nor did the next set. The second reason was the simple man was just too stupid to be stopped. Like a raging bull that did not understand that its heart had been pierced and it was supposed to be dead.

Shivering, the King blamed it on the morning cold. He had his duty to the Emperor to think of. King Xavier Foster, knew his role…

Ferrell the Farmer 5 Cont 5

Episode 5 part 9

The next evening Ferrell was summoned to court. Sitting next to Xavier the pair faced off with Sylvia and Aideen Ryan across the grand hall. The rest of the court was spread along the sides of the room, Abigail and Ren waited patiently taking turns whispering to the other. Finally, Sylvia stood addressing the crowd. Her voice steady and practiced. “Two venerable heroes. Blessed by the people to be the embodiment of our gods. Stand before us submitting themselves to be challenged and seen if they are still fit for the titles granted. Who here will challenge?”

Murmurs rolled through the crowd, no one was in haste to commit. Aideen fumed having had more than enough. Rising to her feet brushing off the Baroness’s attempt to stop her, striding towards the two.  Glaring at the crowd with barely suppressed spite, “I am glad to see the respec’ ye give Ferrell’s champions. It tis the shame that respect no reach the man whom brought them ‘ere first.  Likely, they wouldna answer yer call anywho by yer actions present.”

Xavier winced, silently chuckling. “Ouch. She just hamstrung the entire court.” The Captain whispered to Ferrell.

Hand on her sword Aideen bowed to the two, respectfully. “Ye grant me hope, a debt I kin nora pay.” Turning to Ferrell the shield maiden’s eyes grew soft, her smile gentle. “I accept yer challenge and me thanks for the gift.”

Ferrell clicked his tongue, watching Aideen somewhat confused. “You are welcome?”

Twisting back to the elderly couple the shield maiden stared at Abigail. The elderly woman’s eye twitched as she returned the stare.

“Really?” Was all Abigail said with menace before dropping the war hammer and dragging the sword of office that hung at her husband’s hip out of the sheath.

Wrenching her own sword, Aideen ground the blade edge along Abigail’s new weapon with a joyous ringing sound. Ren sighed taking another swig of his tankard before considering Ferrell who sat worried, “There is nothing finer; than watching women fight.”

The initial clash between the two sent Abigail into a spin. Grabbing Ren’s arm the woman hauled him into the battle. “Ye donna get to watch! Flank that slippery tart!”

Flicking the contents of his silver container out, the stream of amber liquid slowed and curved into a frothy cutlass with the tankard as a handle. Ren rolled his shoulders sheepishly, mock resigned to do as he was bade. “As ye wish, love.”

Ferrell sat transfixed; the summoned blade was the first act of magic he had ever witnessed. Aideen seemed to be holding her own, definitely faster and had more endurance but there were two of them and they knew each other inside and out. When one faltered the other covered.  The crowd shifted uneasily, scattering when the fighting got too close and regrouping on the other side to continue to watch. Aideen tried to use distance to get them to chase her and they merely plodded after her. If she concentrated on one for too long the other would flank her away.

Abigail locked her sword with Aideen’s blade dragging the shield maiden’s arm down. Putting muscle to use, the shield maiden worked to power out of the pin only to be sent into a half spin as Ren unapologetically thumped the body of the tankard into Aideen’s temple.  Whirling, Aideen stopped her blade neck to Ren’s throat leaving a skin parting scratch white scratch. Abigail had reversed her hold of the sword she held, stopping it a hairs breath from Aideen’s chest, her off hand closed over the back of the hilt to shove the blade clean through the maiden. Gasps and tension filled the air, Ferrell nearly fainting.

Breathing hard, Ren tenderly pulled his head back from Aideen’s blade, then worked Abigail back.  With a turn of the wind, Abigail smiled at her husband,  “I like this one. Always have.”

Stepping back Aideen touched the spot Abigail’s sword nearly punctured taking a breath to make sure should could hold it before releasing it in a rush.

Ren coughed, dabbing at his lips. Holding a hand out to Aideen. “I offer a draw.”

“I be unsatisfied yet agree to the offer.”

The shield maiden and elderly woman glared at the other for saying the same thing at the same time.  Aideen took the offered hand from Ren, Abigail clamping her wrinkled digits over the two. “Well fought.” Abigail wheezed.

“Well fought.” Replied the shield maiden.

“I think I may have hurt me back.” Complained Ren.

Xavier sidled up to the Baroness trying to be casual. “So now how do we proceed?”

Wiping her eyes from witnessing the battle, Sylvia composed herself. “Not a ting. It be out of our hands now. She accepted, now it be a lottery. One fer a champion of water, one for fire. The last challenge she calls personally. Yer Cousin has little to no chance.”

The Captain moved to comfort the Baroness only to be held back by a suddenly firm hand from her. “If he fails your people will quickly recover.”

Angrily blowing stray hair from her face, Sylvia Ryan gritted her teeth in a rare moment of expressed anger. “Ye donna understand. Ye brought him ‘ere as a lamb to slaughter. To hide corruption ye have brought for years to dis court! Yer mistake was not knowing me people could tell still good from de bad.  Despite your plots he flourished!”

Xavier tried to grasp her words, shoring up his bravado. “Yet he has been successful if quite the handful.”

Watching the elderly couple instruct the shield maiden post battle, the Baroness turned to the Captain her expression one of hurt. “He brought back love to my court. I opened my chambers to ye… hoping for the same. He truly loves her.”

Frowning, Xavier jutted his chest, “I love you as much as he loves, Aideen. That is apparent is it not?!?”

Draining her glass of wine, she offered Xavier to take it, when the man reached for it, she let it fall to the ground shattering upon the stone. “Ye do not love me. I took yer cousin’s clothes an’ what did ye do? Not ask me why, yet ye punished yer cousin. As if I be a stolen an’ sullied property not worthy of conversation or parlay!  I change not a word of the trade arrangement yet ye look for ah’ lie. Ye love what I can give ye, what would come from me. Yet, ye donna love me.”

The Captain’s mind scrambled, he chose to try and appease. “How can I make this right?”

Sylvia turned her back on Xavier with stone cold finality. “Ye need to help ‘im. If he loses, ye lose everything. Should he win, ye might salvage past trade agreements.”

Xavier gripped the arms of the chair Sylvia sat in moments ago, desperate. “What of us if he wins?”

The Baroness refused to turn around, “No change. I loved you, yet ye do not for me. I will carry on, suggest ye do the same. I sculpted the best part of ye weeks ago out of stone me-self for remembrance so I might look at what might have been. Ye can stay till the thaw, yet ye will do it elsewhere than me chambers.”

 

*** ** ***

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 part 10

The farmer leaned on the bar at the tavern Aideen had first taken him to. The mulled cider steamed, inviting with its warmth yet Ferrell found he could not drink. The champions had been selected by lottery and tomorrow he would face the first one. He was not allowed to see Aideen until the ordeal was over but they could send messages to the other. Draping part of a braid the shield maiden had cut from her own hair over his fingers, feeling its smoothness, clasping his other hand over it. The man looked to be praying as he gently inhaled her scent.

Xavier pushed his way through the patrons as they had clustered near the farmer.  They had kept their voices low, not entirely sure what to do with Ferrell. Leaning his back against the wooden bar, Xavier took in the quaint ambience. “Got news, Cousin.”

Staring at the back of the bar, Ferrell waited. Flagging the barkeep, Xavier asked for schnapps. The barkeep spat into a tankard, blowing his nose in a rag and using it to wipe the rim before filling it with the clear liquor. Stamping it down on the bar, flecks of liquid spattered the back of Xavier’s hand. With a resigned sigh the Captain, considered the mug. “Charming people you run with, Ferrell.”

“They know what you are about. I just wish I knew sooner.” The farmer replied sullenly.

Xavier measured the distance to the door with an eye, just in case. “You would never understand my life, Cousin Ferrell. Look, I am here to inform you about your opponents, not to revive beratement. Deserved or not.”

Closing his eyes Ferrell disliked the way the Captain tended to draw everything out. As if he was doing Ferrell a favor when it was more than obvious the Captain’s future was on the line as well. “Who is first?”

“Shamus Giovanni. His real name is Shamus Gunn from the outer Isles. He adores the Noskie style. Their greasy hair, puffy clothes, even uses those quill thin swords they fancy. He is a self proclaimed duelist when he is actually a murderer with a hundred excuses at the ready. He wants to know where you will meet him.”

Hearing the name, the crowd came alive. Coins and stories of the man’s reputation began to circle. Ferrell absorbed the words, the not knowing had ended. Now he could plan. “Would you say he is a fop cousin?”

“One that can kill you, yes. Uh, I would like to place a wager if you please.”

Tucking the braid in his tunic, Ferrell looked over the crowd then to his cousin. Draining the tankard of cider not setting it down before every cooled drop was gone. Tossing the empty cup to the barkeep, Ferrell found his feet. “Tell him I will be waiting for him at the Dunn’s pig farm.”

“A pig farm?” Xavier repeated confused echoes of memory scratching at his mind. He knew the name, from so long ago.

“I have an urge for bacon…”

*** ** **

Shamus exhaled the last the Javin opium smoke, the warmth flooding his senses. The carriage rocked over the frozen road making one of the passed out prostitutes to fall over in the lap of the other. Studying the swallow breathing pair the duelist smiled setting down the opium pipe. “Sleep well you two, you will be needed after this.”

Adjusting his black curled wig, Shamus frowned in the mirror at the sharp mustache. Twirling the hair and pulling it tight until he deemed it perfect. The carriage came to a stop. The wind rattling the leather flaps at the window of the horse drawn vehicle. Pulling back curtain, even in the winter the stench of farms made him nauseas. Piling out of the carriage the duelist donned his wide brimmed hat. Sorting his belt out before putting it on, selecting two daggers and his favorite rapier. The farm was distastefully bland. Pigs huddled in the cold, sheltered by a wicker awning. Pulling his cloak over his shoulders, the duelist grinned wickedly as the farmer stepped out of the humble cottage.

The farmer held a sword awkwardly as he stepped towards the duelist. Starting his games Shamus spoke, “I am unfamiliar with your stance, sir. Do you know how to use that?” teasing the farmer.

Ferrell’s expression did not change from its concentration on Shamus. “Not as much as you.”

Bowing lightly, Shamus adjusted his cloak. “Then we have time for a few lessons.”

Readying his blade Ferrell moved to circle Shamus. Flicking his cloak, the duelist snapped the heavy cloth forward, the metal plates sown in the hem bashing the sword out of the farmer’s hand. “That is a disarm.”

Stepping back Shamus motioned to the fallen weapon, the most insincere expression the duelist could muster in the cold on his face.  “I apologize I am being unfair.  Let us begin again.”

Ferrell lunged for the weapon sweeping the steel at the duelist who side stepped the attack and jabbed the thin sword lightly into Ferrell’s stomach. “That is a wound. Won’t kill but it hurts. As you can clearly see.”

Clamping a hand over the bloodied spot, Ferrell hacked at Shamus. Nearly laughing the man parried the weapon, down and away. Rolling with spin the duelist lashed out with a back kick. The sharpened spur on his boot cutting Ferrell under the jaw line. The duelist began to look bored as he dished out another light wound upon the farmer, gashing Ferrell’s forearm. “Please sir, do something other than bleed!”

Yelling a curse Ferrell charged the duelist sword looking to cleave the man in two. With a pivot Shamus side stepped the charge as the farmer barreled on by the duelist striped the back of Ferrell’s vest with his rapier. Off balance Ferrell fell towards the cottage sword clattering out his hands.

Whipping his cloak gallantly Shamus bowed airily. His next taunt stuck in his throat as he returned from the bow taking a clod of frozen earth to the face. Sputtering and spitting Shamus ran a gloved hand over his face and wiped it with a sleeve. A streak of blood creased his wrist. Fuming the duelist traced the blood to a nostril, eyes narrowing on the farmer as Ferrell fled around the corner of the cottage. “Bad form, sir! Ye be a cheat!” Shamus was angry enough his native accent reared its head.

Giving pursuit Shamus’s eyes shot wide as he rounded the corner a scythe arced in an upward swing. The crude iron blade made contact with thin steel, snapping the rapier and tearing off the duelist’s wide brimmed hat. Working the farm tool in a twirl Ferrell swept low for Shamus’s legs. Leaping the attack, the duelist’s cloak was pierced pinning it to the wall of the cottage. Quick drawing a dagger Shamus’s eye sight blurred as Ferrell punched him the jaw, loosening a few teeth.

Slashing with the knife, the duelist kept the farmer at bay nicking the back of Ferrell’s hand. Clutching his wounded hand, Ferrell again fled.  Ripping his now ruined cloak free the duelist cast the remains of his rapier aside. Following the droplets of blood Shamus set eyes on the on the large pen of pigs. “Hidin’ among yer own wonna save ye!”

Inspecting the herd, the duelist opened the gate to the pen his vision trying to sort through the filthy animals. Stepping into the pen, Shamus kicked at a piglet. “Let us finish this, ya bastard!”

Ferrell inhaled painfully, blowing into a pig whistle. Squeaks and squeals of alarm ripped through the herd.  In a panic the farm animals charged for the entrance of the pen. Bumped and jostled by the animals, Shamus found himself being drug down by the cloak as the pigs trampled him. Curled into a ball the beating was brief but effective as the duelist struggled to move with pigs bleating their distress in the cold still ringing in his ears.

Rolling off his perch on the roof of the sheltered pen, Ferrell dropped into the mud near the crawling Shamus. Taking length of rope the farmer lassoed one of the larger pigs who had stopped moving as the pig whistle had ceased its terrifying call. With shaky hand, Shamus gripped the top of the fence to haul himself up. His clothes were ruined, and the smell of pig shit was everywhere. Wheezing, the duelist was certain he had several fractured ribs.

Putting his back to the fence Shamus stopped upon seeing the farmer with a leashed pig at his side. Ferrell smiled darkly with the whistle clenched between his teeth. “Did you know pigs can eat a man if they get hungry enough?” The farmer asked before puffing the whistle.

The pig lunged, trying to get away from the sound, its mouth snapping in fear too close to the duelist, ripping the man’s boot. “They can chew through bone. Like a hot knife through butter.” The farmer added, struggling to hold the pig back.

Glued to the rail the duelist wailed, “Get that ting away! Take it away!”

“She is telling me she is rather hungry. I might not be able to stop her.” Ferrell said bluntly, again blowing on the whistle and loosening some of the rope.

The terrified farm animal knocked the duelist over, the pig now inches away from his face. Its breath was of rotting death, the teeth promised messy dismemberment for the duelist. “I yield! I yield! Anything, just donna let it eat me!”

Ferrell dropped the rope and Shamus clamped his eyes shut, screaming, hands held out in a last ditch effort to ward off the monster before fainting. The pig snorted, moving away from the duelist having no interest in eating the man. Ferrell removed the remain dagger from Shamus’s belt, using the tip to peel off the wig. “I will be taking this.”

*** *** **

Aideen practiced with her bow, trying to master the technique Ferrell had shown her. One of the kitchens servants approached with a silver covered tray. Her heart leapt into dismay letting the bow drop on the stones of the courtyard. Shamus had vowed to serve Ferrell’s heart to her on a silver platter. Tears welled in her eyes, holding herself with one arm the other reaching to the tray top.

Pulling the lid up, her expression grew confused. In a nest of dark hair two daggers lay crossed one over the other. Duelist daggers and Shamus’s wig!  Hurling the lid away, she laughed with relief. Grabbing the servant in a hug the platter and its contents clanging to the floor.

“He’s done it! He’s done it!” Aideen swung the shocked servant around before setting the man down. Kissing the man on the forehead the shield maiden dashed for her room, she had to send a message to her suitor. What message, she had no idea but she would think of something!

Ferrell the Farmer 5 Cont 4

Weeks passed, the first snow fell and going outside was less appealing. The two would meet, making excuses for doing so with increasing frequency. Ferrell seemed to lose his way to his room often and would have to be escorted back by the shield maiden.  Aideen would time her patrols of the castle halls in accordance with the errands that Foster would send the farmer to do. Each encounter ended the same, a single kiss that lasted longer than the previous.

The farmer’s attempts at learning the Pyrat tongue left Aideen in tear stained laughter most times. “Then he says…I have brought ye these flowers for yer bosom. Yer eyes be like the sky with a hole!” Aideen said still wiping her eyes while laughing.

Meriwether sputtered her wine, hand slapping the tabletop the two sat at in her room. Cough gasping, the Baroness’s aide steadied herself, amused. “Yer eyes be the whole of heaven to me. One look lost, one look saved. Ask ye be gentle in yer choosing. Heard that one many a time from suitors courting others.”

“He never ceases trying to learn our ways. It be…as if.” Aideen let her words drop, taking in Meriwether’s expression. “What?” She asked.

The Baroness’s aide hunched down like a cat about to pounce, still smiling. “What be yer intentions with the man?” Asking the question that nearly everyone in the castle wanted to know.

Aideen bowed her head in blushing thought. “I know not. I never imagined such things were meant for me in this world.”

**** ** ** **

Ferrell sought his cousin’s council as matters progressed. “I am thinking I am going to vie for Aideen Ryan’s hand.”

Racking a stack of papers on the desk Xavier failed to look up, “They wouldn’t allow it.”

Frowning the farmer pulled a chair opposite of his cousin, “Why would not allow it?”

Seeing he wasn’t going to shut his cousin down so easily; the Captain crossed his arms leaning back in the chair.

“Look I am aware you fancy her; the whole castle knows. She is a shield maiden, so the marriage would not be about furthering a family line. It would be political and as you see, due to Rupert actions and my own inattention it would be seen as a desperate ploy to dig into the family. You would be laughed out of the room at the very least and possibly assassinated at worst if they take enough offense to it.”

Sullen the farmer clasped his hands before him pleading with his cousin, “Cousin, Xavier I have to try. Can you help me?”

The Captain rolled his eyes, “Fine. I will even show you.”

Pulling a single piece of paper from the stack Xavier held it out, “This is you.”

Placing the paper on the table, the Captain thumped down a large stack of books, before panning a hand from top to bottom. Pointing at each book in turn Xavier carried on.

“Your lineage will be in question which is not good for me. You have no financial offerings. You would have to get the support of at least two members of the court or military of decent rank. Even if you manage that then you face challenges. Three of them, since she is of nobility and at any time, she can cancel the contest and walk away. I can assure you those contests would also be lethal. The champions would accept no other terms because of where you are from.”

Running a frustrated hand over his face Ferrell stared at the tower of books as his cousin concluded, “Just sleep with her, no politics to that. I have to get back to these agreements. Those Noskie noodle slurpers are on my rear because of suggested new tariffs.”

Ferrell plodded to the door, “My thanks, Cousin.”

“Ferrell?”

“Yes, Cousin?”

“For what it is worth, I am sorry.”

*** ** **

Bundling his cloak Ferrell crunched over the frozen mud of the road. Chiding himself for reaching for too much. He was after all, just a farmer.  Walking along the farming properties waving those he knew. An elderly man stubbornly hauled more wood from the stack outside as Ferrell greeted the man, “Lo’ Ren Wilson!”

The man waved in kind, “Ferra! Noah expectin to see ye! Come ere’ an’ git out of the cold, boy!”

Accepting the offer Ferrell was shown in. The place appeared to be much larger on the inside, old Pyrat banners adorned the ceiling. The burlap curtains were held up by a serrated tipped pike. Gingerly, Ren placed a stool out for the farmer, calling to the kitchen, “Abigail! We have a guest.”

Poking a head out of the door her thinning silver hair pulled in a tight pony tail, switching to the tongue of the Empire. “Who be daft ‘nough to be poking outside with this weather?”

Upon seeing Ferrell, her look softened, “Lo’ Ferrell. Let me put on some cider.”

Ren raked a hand over the flaking skin of his bald head, “What puts ye on the road and not in front of a roarin’ fire, Ferrell?”

The farmer unpacked the burden on his mind and heart, in a long rush.  These farmers were his friends, and hard won ones at that. He trusted them to at least hear him out. The couple listened with rapt attention, letting him just talk.  Wiping at his eyes, Ferrell sniffled.  “I don’t know what to do with this impossible dream.”

Ren nodded his sympathies, as Abigail stepped into the kitchen, walking out with a knife she stared at it her frown increasing. Putting the knife back she and returned with a grey metal cleaver. Opening the front door, she stepped out into the cold, Ren sighed. “Help me stop ‘er if ya please.”

Making her way for the gate as the men caught up to Abigail, the elderly woman waggled the cleaver at Ren. “Donna think ye can stop me this time, Anchor. Tis carried on long nuff!  An’ it always be the Dispossessed they be doing it to!”

Ren held his wife at bay by the shoulders, “Agreed, yet we canna be butcherin’ every person in dat castle! Look me in the eye.”

Spitting to the side, her glare melted as she gazed into her husband’s face. “We fight smarter.” Ren said.

Abigail replied in the native tongue, her cheeks red with the cold and anger. Ren hugged his wife, smoothing out her hair, “Aye, we do, love.”

Gently taking the cleaver from her hand Ren handed it to Ferrell. “Let’s git back inside.”

Following the couple, “What does she mean by Dispossessed?” the farmer asked with concern.

Settling in a lavish chair the old man set about filling a pipe, elderly eyebrows knitting in recollection as Abigail muttered and hefted various objects as weapons. “Now and again the gods mark a child at birth. They canna have children. Or lack a desire to have children. Sometimes the mark be apparent other times not so much. They were destined for other roles in the eyes of the gods. Judges, courtesans, priesthood an’ shield maidens.”

Draining the warm cider from his wooden cup, “Why can they not marry?” Ferrell asked.

Holding out the pipe to Abigail who took it and lit the bowl with a piece of twig put to the fireplace. Letting the smoke curl past her teeth, “A plague came to the Isles when de’ Imperials came ‘ere a long time ago. People died, they noah married for love ana’ longer. Married to survive an’ rebuild. It no ‘bout that the Dispossessed canna marry, the people forgot they kin.” Abigail explained, taking another long draw off the pipe.

Holding his wife’s hand Ren continued where Abigail left off. “Some still marry for love. Uphold old laws an’ oaths. Yet yer Undying Emperor would want to see those ways gone.”

“So, she can marry.” Ferrell murmured, taking in the information.

Abigail snorted, blowing the last of the smoke through her nose. “She a woman, yes? On land we are the power as the goddess intended. Even over kings.”

“More than a king?” Ferrell parroted.

Ren smiled, as if remembering an old joke. “You can put a crown on a king.”

Abigail jabbed her husband in the side with an elbow, “Or’ hang it on ‘is cock!”

“Without a queen to keep it true an’ hard it jus’ gonna fall off!” The two answered together before descending into fits of laughter.

“I still need to bend two members of the court to hear me out.” Ferrell lamented.

Pointing with her pipe at Ren and then back at herself, “Or ye git two soldiers of rank.”

“You were soldiers?” Ferrell fell back in near disbelief.

Patting the farmer’s arm, Ren gestured behind him to a pair of wooden frames. “Almost anyone that lives ‘ere served at one time or ‘nother.”

The frame that hung over Ren contained a pressed naval coat, the glass covering it had been there long enough to distort the view of the jacket.

“Captain Ren Wilson of the Brawling Whale.” Ren said adjusting his shirt with pride.

The second frame was completely empty! “Where is Abigail’s uniform of station?” Ferrell regretted asking the question as he turned back to the smiling faces of the elderly couple.

Opening his mouth to speak Ren was silenced by Abigail, trying not to laugh. “Shh! Give ‘im a moment to think it ova’!”

The realization hit the farmer like a stone, his ears turning red. “Ah.”

Again, the couple laughed, Ren started coughing, “Nekkid!” the man said before returning to deep laughter.

Stamping her foot Abigail snickered in a mock ‘matter oh fact’ voice, “Was not! Wore boots like any good sword bearer.”

Ferrell was touched that the two seemed to want to help, yet what sway could two old soldiers still have? Bowing his head, “I appreciate you both for listening. I am grateful for your offer to help as well. Yet…”

Ren’s face hardened. “Yet you know we be past use.” Grabbing the front of Ferrell’s shirt drawing the farmer’s face closer with surprising strength. “Yer wrong. Dead as a post wrong.”

“I don’t want to burden you with this. I am sorry.” Turning his head away, Ferrell twitched as Ren let him go.

Crossing her arms, barring the door as Ferrell rose to leave. Staring the farmer down easily.  “The burden. Ye speak oh’ burdens. Burden is not actin when ye should. Burden is not fighting for the things ye ‘old dear. Ye be lookin’ to fight, we wanna fight with ya!”

Ren slipped to his feet, cranking his neck until it popped.  “Got one good fight left in us. It be shameful to end me days an’ not use it.”

Abigail stuck her tongue out at her husband of many years, “Speak fer yourself, I got at least two left in me.”

Placing a hand on Ferrell’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze Ren whispered. “No one but us will help ye. Ye already know that.”

“A good farmer works with what is at hand. Why not? I accept your help.”  Ferrell sighed.

“That be the spirit!” Abigail chirped clamping a hug on the farmer. “We fight hard, we fight smart and we git to fight for love.”

“Come now, lad. Tell me all you can ‘bout the outer court. Guard numbers, weapons, armor, everything.” Ren instructed.

“Are you serious?” Ferrell asked incredulously as the couple sat the farmer down for a third time.

“Absolutely.” The elderly husband and wife said at the same time.

** *** **

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 part 8

Sylvia Ryan woke to the sounds of urgent knocking. Bleary eyed the Baroness yawn checking to see if she had the foresight to leave the screens up in front of the door to her chambers. Not that she cared if one saw her naked, it just tended to make things run smoother. Fortune was on her side; the screens were up in the proper position. “I am awake, enter!”

The door opened; a man’s voice sounded from the other side of the screen. “Your, Grace. We have a situation.”

Rolling Xavier on his side to quiet the Captain’s snoring the Baroness huffed, nursing a hangover. “Kin ye be any more vague?”

“Apologies your, Grace.  Captain Ren of the Wilson family and his wife Abigail Dervish request an audience.”

The names rattled around in her head somewhat familiar. Pouring herself a tankard of water as her legs made contact with the floor. “An’ I woulda know these two, how?”

“They are the commoners’ embodiment of the Goddess and God, your Grace.”

Spitting the water in an unladylike spray all over Xavier’s sleeping form, the Baroness gaped. “Oh, shite!”

Dumping the rest of the water on Xavier, Sylvia roused the man. “Get up! Up! Help me get dressed!”

Struggling into her clothes, Xavier’s fumbling fingers getting in the way only angered the Baroness. The situation was odd to say the least, running over every plot should could fathom only to come up empty as to why the couple would be here. The two were considered flesh forms of the Goddess of the Isles and the God of the Sea and had retained the title so long that the tradition was almost forgotten. To deny them anything would anger the gods and even more so, the common people along with many die hard nobles. They had only visited the castle a handful of times and none of them in the space of her twenty year reign.

Calling to the door the Baroness shouted, “Did they say what they wanted?”

“Just an audience with you and your court, your Grace.”

*** ** **

Sylvia met the pair in the middle of the hall floor, as the rest of the court crowded the edges of the room whispering. The two stood proudly, Ren in a worn yet still serviceable naval uniform, medals of accomplishments took up the entire side of his left breast and down the same arm. Sword of office at his side and his famous silver tankard in hand. Abigail wore banded leather armor instead of being topless as in days of the past. Her two handed cupped war hammer over her shoulders. Stories told of her being able to strike a man on the top of the head with the weapon and make that man squat out his own spine. Time had been delicate with the two, they were indeed older with more lines and their strength had diminished, yet they still had fire in their eyes. They had come and come armed. This did not allude to a good sign, their expressions of disproval made it doubly so.

Putting on a pleasant smile, the Baroness proceeded. “It is an honor to have aspects of the Goddess and God visit this humble court.”

Abigail snorted, causing Ren to shoot his wife a silencing glance. Smiling in return, the Captain spoke onward. “It is an honor to be here, in your humble court. Your Grace.”

Clasping her hands together Sylvia Ryan allowed herself to grow curious. “To what do we owe this…visit?”

Taking a draught of silver tankard Ren leaned casually on Abigail. His composure hauntingly cool. “We are here to support a petition for marriage. Our ranks are more than sufficient, I think. Your Grace.”

Blinking in surprise, the Baroness kept her smile.  “Of course. Whom are you supporting, I have heard of no propositions that would require the presence of, such…”

“Relics?” Abigail sneered cutting the Baroness off.

Taken aback Sylvia held up a gentle hand before carefully correcting Abigail. “Venerated individuals.”

Addressing the court, Ren walked the crowd obviously enjoying himself. “We support Ferrell of the Empire, for his bid for the shield maiden, Aideen Ryan’s hand in marriage.”

The Baroness felt light headed, blaming it on the collective gasps sucking all the air from the massive room. Grabbing the nearest historian, she hissed in the man’s ear. “Kin they do that?”

The man shrugged only to be shoved away by the Baroness. Turning back to the couple, “Please, honored guests. This is somewhat irregular may we break for a small recess?”

Clearing the room save for her trusted advisers and the pair of heroes, the Baroness sadly considered the two before speaking.

“I be appreciative of the old ways. They are the heart of our people. Ye be the heart of our common folk. To stand against ye would anger the hard working folk. To accept would be seen as the Empire taking ‘nother foot hold in our lands. This bind ye put upon me is vexing.”

Ren adjusted his stance, draining more of the tankard before answering. “We be aware of how ‘dis will change things. We be prepared to handle it.”

Abigail paced leering at the Baroness’s advisers, “Ain’t nothin’ to consider. It be Aideen’s choice as a woman! Nuff said!”

The Baroness nearly wept, “Please! Ye have been the spirit of the people for the longest but times change. Understand how this looks!”

The historian that Sylvia nearly throttled earlier whispered something to the Baroness. A bitter look consumed the noble woman, “By the word of this personal historian, yer titles are honorary unless ye kin prove to be able bodied in challenge.  If ye kin, I will allow the petition to pass to, Aideen.”

In unison the pair looked to the other, and nodded as if knowing this was coming, “We accept.”

Sighing, the Baroness held her head. Still she had to admire the pair for being beyond tough old birds. “Before you leave tell me, why do you support, Ferrell?”

Ren paused, a grin playing on the outer edge of his mouth, “When I look at Ferrell, I see the love that is in me wife’s eyes.”

Abigail shrugged with a sly wink. “When I look at Ferrell, I see my husband’s long ship filling me trenches.”

Baroness Sylvian Ryan yearned for a glass of wine in hand so she could drain it only to drop it. The two made their way out of the court with Abigail pausing to grab a pike from a castle guard, craving a quick rune into the haft with a knife before handing it back.

Leaning down to the historian, the Baroness spoke in panicked shock. “Summon Aideen immediately!”

** ** **

Ferrell the Farmer 5 Cont 3

Arriving early to Gorman Bridge, Aideen found Abbey already waiting. Arms crossed, in her tournament attire, the county woman tapped the hilt of her sword with impatience. The site was usually trafficked by soldiers on maneuvers, now devoid of anyone else but the two. Stopping a handful of paces away, Aideen felt a nervousness growing in her chest. Her friend was still angry and that often led to mistakes, sometimes deadly ones.

Turning from the glare of the sun, Aideen put a hand to the warm stone. “We donna have to do this.” The shield maiden offered.

“Sure, we do.” Came the reply, Abbey unbuckling her armor and casting it to the ground.

“I have no desire to hurt you.” Implored Aideen, following suit with her own gambeson.

“Ye done that already. Ye treat me like child cause ye stuck up in that there castle.” Abbey snapped back, drawing her sword.

Slowly pulling her own sword sadly, Aideen readied her stance. “I be under orders to keep an eye on Sir Ferrell.”

Barking a bitter laugh, Abbey spit over the side of the bridge. “It twas not even a social visit then? Ye knew he was there.”

Shaking her head, the shield maiden continued to try and talk her friend down. “Abbey this be idiotic, ye canna win. Surely ye see that.”

Coming at Aideen in a lunge point of sword leading the way. “Keep telling yerself that.”

Parrying the blow, Aideen returned the strike reluctantly. Batting the swing away, Abbey pivoted to the side, swiping down. Rocked on her heels, Aideen slammed metal back driving the country woman in a retreat. Blades weaving, Aideen cross locked the weapons getting close to Abbey.

“Abbey just stop!” The shield maiden said through gritted teeth, muscle strength being put to use in an attempt at dominance.

The county woman’s forehead shot forward, catching Aideen in the cheek. Falling back the maiden worked defensively, parrying and twisting aside the focused attacks of Abbey while working the stiffness of face. Coming in under Abbey’s guard, Aideen landed a light cut on the forearm of the county woman.

Hissing in pain, Abbey disengaged examining the damage. Blood trailed down her fingers. Aideen set her jaw, “Ye earned that one. Ye donna listen. Just end it now.”

Blowing hair from her face Abbey came in again, Aideen locking the swords, turning to wrench downwards trying to disarm the county woman. Abbey let the blade go, causing Aideen to overextend herself. Fist rocked into the shield maiden’s temple. Staggering, Aideen’s vision blurred, Abbey backhanded the sword from the maiden’s grasp.  Out of reflex Aideen clutched her hand though there was no pain.

Skipping back a step, Abbey shot forward, arm clubbing the shield maiden at the neck and chest in a vicious lariat with enough force it drove the county woman to her knees. Aideen felt turned inside out as the world flipped nearly upside down. Crashing on her back and shoulders, the wind driven from her lungs. Stars drifted in her vision, ears ringing. Steel scraped stone, Aideen sucked in wind vision clearing enough to see Abbey standing above her, sword pointed down at her chest.

Weakly putting up her hands, Aideen croak panted. “I yield.”

Abbey frowned, tears forming in anger. “And I miss me friend.” She said casting the sword down next to the fallen warrior with a clatter.

*** ** **

Ferrell slipped into the kitchen of the castle, going over the work he wanted to do the next day. Self inflicted tension ate at the man due to the environment. A building dislike for every stone of the structure he was all but forced to stay in. Gingerly staying out of the way of the bustle of cooks as the second course of the evening meal was shuttled to the attendees of the trade convention.

Discomfort flinched through the man. Rolling up a sleeve the farmer scratched at his arm. Helping Abbey fix a fallen section of pig fence before he let gifted him with splinters. Mocking dark flecks of wood in the underside of his arm, too small to get at with his fingertips and teeth.

Meriwether observed the man as she stood in a side hallway leading to the kitchen, her rescuer from a few nights ago. The uniform did not suit the man, too large. Appearing timid as he jumped at nearly any that approached. The man was also prone to theft, apples and wedges of cheese disappearing to the inside of his uniform as if too frightened to ask for what was freely given.

Walking forward, Meriwether headed towards the farmer. Eyes widened and then went downcast upon seeing the Baroness’s aide. Clearing her throat, “Might I have a word wit’ ye, sir?”

“Of course.” Came a very shy reply, the farmer pulled his sleeve back down.

Leading the man to a servants table out of the way, Meriwether sat down smoothing out her favored blue skirts. Ferrell took the chair opposite of her, waiting.

“Let me see that arm of yers.”  Meriwether said, taking out a small satchel she kept with her at all times.

Again, rolling the sleeve up, the man said nothing. Peering at the arm, turning his hand over in her own Meriwether opened the bundle. Working at the slivers with a pair of needles.

“Think they will ever catch that assassin they be looking fer?” Meriwether asked gently, removing another splinter.

Looking away Ferrell shuddered, “I know not of such things involving discernment, let alone assassins on the prowl.”

Applying ointment to spots after the dirty wood was removed, Meriwether kept her tone light. “I truly hope he gets away. He saved me from irreparable distress.”

Ferrell stirred, looking up briefly. “Do you think that person could escape the justice of the Baroness, M’Lady?”

Slowly rolling the cloth back down over Ferrell’s arm. Meriwether sighed, “I know not. I would just like him to know that me door will forever be open to him in time of need. That he need not steal cheese and apples like a rodent under sentence of death if caught.”

The farmer froze, Meriwether patted the man’s hand. “If ye see him before I could ye let him know that?”

Nodding slowly, the farmer bit the inside of his cheek. “If I happen across this person, I will do that, M’Lady.”

Rising from the table, Meriwether folded the sachet and turned to leave. Speaking her native tongue pleasantly. It twas good to speak with ye, night archer.

*** ** **

Aideen and Abbey sat back to back on the wide railing of the bridge, the cool air rippling the formerly still waters below.  Abbey took a draw from her pipe listening to her friend.

“How be the arm?” Aideen asked, eyes forward.

Letting the smoke curl out her nose, the county woman stifled a small laugh. “Same as the last eight times ye ask. Still works.”

Cradling her knees to her chest, looking out over the darkened waters. Aideen groaned. “I git so swamped with duty; I seldom get time to do much these days. This trade conference be different than the others. It vexes me as to why.”

“It be because Foster brought that Ferrell wit him. Everyone be poised to eat the man, just canna figure if he poisonous or not.” Replied Abbey.

Tossing a stone into the pond below, Aideen huffed. “Nothing makes sense ‘bout the man. Canna read, no know how to ride. Canna tell what end of a sword to use. Sleeps on the floor. Yet, he drops a man at seventy paces in the dark through the break in a stone balcony. Even the war masters be scratching their heads over that one.”

“Why snipe a man in the dark?” Abbey asked, curiously.

Biting her lip, Aideen looked about to assure they were alone. “The man he shot was trying to defile, Meriwether.”

Half turning, Abbey frowned. “And ye did not speak of this before, why?”

Rolling her head back towards the heavens. Aideen kept her voice low. “It not common knowledge of the attempt. Meriwether be fine, I be certain she would be wanting a visit from ye.”

“I be paying her one then.” Abbey said, resuming her pose.

Cupping her cheeks, Aideen leaned back against Abbey. “I be sorry for earlier. Just that Sir Ferrell be so…ugh! I canna even describe it.”

Taking another draw from her pipe, Abbey prodded her brow with the stem of the thing. “ Ye just needed a little reminder where ye come from, no harm. Ye and he got something in common.”

“I be finding that hard to believe, we be nothing alike.” Aideen replied growing confused.

Blowing out smoke from her mouth, Abbey yawned. “Well two things. Ye have a fancy of the other poorly hidden.”

Pausing her protest, Aideen chose to skip it. “What be the second thing then?”

Slipping from her perch, Abbey stretched, looking up at her friend. “Ye both have been hated for no good reason. Color of yer hair, color oh’ his clothes. Same result.”

Aideen fell into silent thought of the words of her friend, an old conflict raising its head.  Heart and duty, the last time the two came to blows she lost Silvanus. Seeing her friend walking away, Aideen called out to her. “I come by again soon, as friend.”

The country girl spun, snapping her fingers and pointing at the shield maiden, smiling. “Hold ye to it!”

*** ** **

Before dawn Ferrell woke as usual, rolling off the pile of blankets he arranged on the hard stone floor. Stuffing his backpack with clothing the farmer put on his uniform, not even bothering to buckle the front. Wandering out of the keep, he bid the guards a good morning. Once out of sight, Ferrell shucked the uniform top off and donned a simple brown tunic with a darker brown leather vest over the that. Stuffing the uniform in the pack, cinching it shut tightly.

Breaking into a light jog the farmer made his way to the north end of the city, towards the farming communities. The final harvests were beginning and there was work aplenty. Abbey was kind enough to introduce him to the other farmers, asking they speak in the Imperial dialect for ease.  Her arm was bandaged but it did not seem to slow or hinder her work, proclaiming it a weak scratch and not to mind it at all. Expressing obvious attraction to the farmer she refrained from inviting the farmer to her bed again, instead filling the role Ferrell needed more. A friend, to which the man was grateful.

Ferrell traded work for meals, secretly coveting the real reason he was there. The toiling made him feel alive, it helped with how much he missed his own home. Hauling wagons out of the mud, wrestling pigs, bundling wheat. The day passed too swiftly as the sun grew low in the sky, the wind growing colder chilling his sweat. With a final stroke of the scythe, the farmer planted the end in the ground victoriously.

Whispering to the rolling breeze, shouldering the aged farm tool on his shoulder. “Thank you, Abbey.”

Moon overhead after the family finished their meal with the stranger, Ferrell collected the names of the farms that still needed help. The castle loomed ahead, a stone sentinel where he would have to return. Days crept by, the time for his silence had ended yet, Ferrell did not want to confront his cousin. So, he did not, instead stealing away to be a farmer.

Ferrell listened to stories about the people of the Pyrat Isles, their culture was steeped in a strong leaning towards the gods. Most of their stories were about love, lost, found, forged, forgotten. Their marriage rituals were in themselves, some epic saga. If one was to petition for the hand of another, the challenger would have to defeat the kin of those the challenger pursued in some sort of ritual challenge.  Contests ranged from foot races, to drinking contests, to all out clan warfare.

Returning to the keep, Ferrell listened to the news of the day. Keeping her word, the Baroness had made thing right, the assassin had been found but if Rupert wanted to question the attempted murderer, he would have to share a cell with man as he would be imprisoned for attempted rape. During the proclamation the Empire emissary lost his temper grabbing the Baroness in court. She hacked his hand off and slapped him with it before banishing the Imperial.  What she used to cut his hand off with varied in the telling. A blade of light, a serrated cheese knife, hidden guillotine in the armrest of the throne, her own teeth! The Imperials were indeed on thin ice due to Rupert’s actions.

Rounding a corner Ferrell was grabbed by the shoulder and thrust up against a wall. Xavier snarled looking wild eyed at the farmer, the Captain’s curled locks looking frayed, breath reeking of stale ale. “Tell me. Tell your secret, Cousin! I can’t take this anymore, what technique did you use on her? Mullen? Destra’s Forty Waves? A Pyra variant? I must know!”

Struggling with his cousin trying to push the man away by the neck, “I do not know what you are talking about!” Ferrell replied trying not to panic.

Trying to pin Ferrell the Captain hiss sobbed, “The Baroness. I know you were with her. I satisfy her every inch and still she wears your clothing! What are you other than sturdy?!?!”

Ferrell relaxed his grip hoping his cousin would do the same, keeping his voice even. “She visited me ten nights ago.”

“I knew it!”

Holding up a hand to be heard, Ferrell glanced about, “She took my shirt in exchange for my silence on a matter still ongoing.  She did nothing else to me nor I to her. I swear it, Cousin.”

Narrowed eyed considered the oath, Xavier steadied his breathing. “A ploy? You were just a ploy?”

“Seems so, Cousin. I am sorry.”

Xavier let go of the farmer, hugging himself looking to the night sky while laughing bitterly. “Oh, happy day. She got me. I am willing to bet she slipped a dozen or two stipulations in our trade agreements with this distraction from the voting delegations I missed. While I studied the greatest lovers of our time. Looking for something that was no even there, just a shirt given and worn in the right way.”

Patting his cousin’s shoulder Ferrell consoled the Captain, “I am sure it was time well spent regardless.”

“That is what happens when you play the game, she got this one, the next outcome will be much different. Come let us get a drink and wake tub bearer, I could really use a bath. What have you been up to? You have been quite hard to find as of late.” Xavier babbled, a sliver of hope and sanity restored.

** ** **

Aideen drew her cloak about her. She had been following Sir Ferrell as per the Baroness’s instructions for the last seven days. He always came to the farming community and worked. The bruising on her chest for the duel with Abbey throbbed, her pride dented heavily. Still it was duty first, in service to the Baroness. Even after making up with the country woman, Aideen felt slightly shamed at her arrogance set straight.

Every family he visited she paid her own appearance to after the farmer left. He worked for no coin but took food when offered. He rarely gave his name and it was always just ‘Ferrell’ when he did. No, Sir Ferrell. He would work alone unless it had to do with gathering. Every family she spoke to wished they had a farm hand such as Ferrell, he knew the tools and the tasks being asked of him.

At the last house Aideen listened to the elderly couple go on about how they had a bigger crop than they had in years and Ferrell was there to handle it. They would have enough for the winter and even help out a few neighboring families if they did not. The wizened wife lay back in her chair, “Ye ask many questions ‘bout a man tryin’ to git ‘ome. He be jus’ a farmer.”

Aideen felt her brows knit in consideration, “How ye know what he be? A stranger that could be a spy or a danger in disguise?”

The couple laughed, the husband answering. “Ah, shield maiden we be always thankful for yer presence but we be knowing our own, nora matter where they come from. That man ye ask about, he be a farmer, nothing more.”

Thanking the family as she exited, the shield maiden adjusted her cloak. The elderly couple had a familiar presence though she could not quite place it. “Just a farmer? It makes no sense.” Still trying to convince herself there was more than was present, even after the thrashing she received at Abbey’s hands.

Mounting her horse, she counted the lights of the farms she had been to. He had helped all those people, her people. A grin formed but she pushed it back in, not fully trusting the intentions of a supposedly simple Imperial farmer residing in the castle she was raised. Time would tell…

 

*** ** ***

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 part 6

The farmer paced until the sun went down, taking up his pack with a heart light. Tonight, was a night for celebration as the last of the crops had been harvested and offerings made to their gods. Revelry was afoot and Ferrell could not wait!  Briefly checking in on his cousin Xavier, he found the Captain buried deep within his work, going over trade agreements. This had been the fourth time and to his cousin’s puzzlement the Baroness had not changed one item on the arrangement. Of course, this too had to be some sort of trick. Unable to help the farmer left the Captain to his plotting.

Working his uniform top off and walking the road while he replaced it with a far more comfortable tunic. Pulling his head through the hole, Ferrell stopped short. Aideen stood in the middle of the road; her face as beautifully serious as always. “Evening, Sir Ferrell.”

Stammering the farmer worked an arm into the tunic, “Evening, shield maiden Aideen.”

The shield maiden tapped her foot, “And ye be off to in such ah’ ‘urry?”

Taking a page out of his cousin’s book the farmer smiled, finishing putting the tunic on before donning the vest. “Why don’t you come with me and find out?”

“Ye know misrepresenting yerself to me people be frowned upon.”

Shaking his head, the farmer looked back to the castle, “No disrespect, but I think you have it backwards.”

Even when she frowned Ferrell felt captivated, “Is that so?” balancing a hand on her hip.

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“I could.”

Stepping past the shield maiden, the farmer began to trot on. “Well until you make up your mind, I am going this way.”

Watching the farmer move on left her confused and curious. What could be so important that he would carry on in that manner?

*** ** **

Reaching the gathering the farmers were already in the thick of celebration. Torches lined the outside of the throng, as music played. Baskets of bread and fruit were placed on hay bales. Squealing children taunted a goat, racing to see who could climb the tree to safety from the annoyed creature first. Upon a spit a farmer rotated a three legged pig, making jokes about how one does not eat a pig this smart all at once.

Aideen slowed her pace as Ferrell increased his. The crowd took notice of the shield maiden the volume of their clamor diminishing. Her arrival was obviously unexpected. One smiling Abbey took lead, offering her a wooden cup. “We are pleased to have ya!”

Hugging her friend briefly she nodded her thanks as she accepted the cup Aideen watched Ferrell. He fit in with them so well, just an every man with working people. They spoke in the Imperial tongue when he was in their company.  Moments passed as the crowd resumed its antics. Trying the drink, the maiden blinked, pulling away from the cup to eye it critically. It tasted like cider but it kicked like a mule settling into a warm spot in her stomach. She would definitely be wanting more.

Ferrell made his way through the crowd, clasping arms and exchanging hugs. “Ferrell! Pick us a tune!” said Abbey from the crowd changing to Imperial so the man could understand.

The band stopped causing the farmer to chew his lip as he was put on the spot. “Do you know, Dragon’s Lode?” The farmer asked, shaking off his nervousness.

Shakes of the head in the reply.

“Well how about Barrel of Hay?”

Again, they did not know that one either.

Scratching his cheek, Ferrell snapped his fingers, “Kick the Road.  Everyone knows that one.”

Cups were raised as the crowd laughed, “Kick the Road!”

The tune was a basic beat summed in four chords and all the lyrics were improvised; snippets of the life of the farmers. A portly woman started off, rattling the sides of her skirts, “Me husband be so lazy the boys’ wheel ‘im ‘ome in the wheel-barra. Drunk like a lord, I had me fill. Look ‘im in the eye and I tell ‘im…”

“What ye tell ‘im?” Someone from the crowd crowed.

Spinning on her heels the woman pulled her head back in a howl, “Kick the Road!”

‘She looked ‘im in the eye and told ‘im kick the road!’ The crowd chorused every last line of the lyric.

‘Me wife wanted a dress fine nuff for ah’ queen. So I ‘handed her ah’ shovel and I told her.’

‘Kick the road! He ‘handed her a shovel and told her kick the road!’

So, the song went on of wayward brothers to broken plows, feisty chickens, falling through rooves, funny laments, hilarious mishaps all being expressed and playfully celebrated. Even the stoic Aideen had to cover her mouth from spitting out the brew while laughing.

Finishing her second cup of the brew finally accepted an offer to dance. Awkward and coltish in her movements but no one seemed to notice. There was a freedom to the event. A safety and comfort Aideen had rarely felt. They were celebrating their lives, the gods, their work and each other with no motives of advancement or political leverage. Each time the shield maiden looked over the crowd she would find Ferrell looking her way briefly before smiling and returning to conversations or going back to some simple game.

Abbey appeared at the shield maiden’s elbow. “Ye should challenge him at that game.”

Taking another drink, Aideen giggled. “I would just take the man’s pride if I did so.”

Nudging her friend, Abbey nodded to Ferrell. “Oh? Glad to see he be ascended from an Imperial to a man. He be waiting for ye to come to him, perhaps ye be meeting him half way?”

Handing her cup over, Aideen stretched with a smile. “We shall see.”

Ferrell bowed to the crowd as he stood on the small square, wooden platform having pulled his opponent off their opposing platform using a length of rope. Both players would take the rope and attempt to get the other to step off the block of wood. If a foot touched the ground, that player lost. Likewise, with losing their end of the rope. The contest wasn’t just a test of one’s strength but also wit with a dash of luck. The rope drew firm signaling another player. Ferrell turned to see a smirking Aideen on the other end. Arching a brow, the farmer nodded, “Alright then.”

Bracing himself as the rope drew tight, hunching low to center his gravity. The crowd whooped their approval as the two traded back and forth, loosening their end, drawing the line back to them quickly. Neither made much progress trying to overpower the other. Changing tactics Ferrell feinted a wobble on the edge and Aideen took the bait. Putting her back into the pull, Ferrell let his end go slack. The shield maiden yelped, the back of her heels on the edge of the box teetering.

Ferrell gave a heaving tug on the rope saving the maiden from going off the rear of the box but over the front. Aideen staggered, momentum sending her into the farmer.  Strong arms were there to catch her as the farmer spun to the side, Aideen again found herself on the back of her heels again, this time looking up at Ferrell.  The farmer couldn’t hear the cheering people as his eyes locked with the shield maiden’s. Her look was one of vulnerability before growing amused again, her chin jutting out.

Leaning down Ferrell kissed the shield maiden, their lips brushing. Circling an arm around Ferrell’s neck Aideen hauled herself up, breaking the kiss and blushing shyly. Abbey gaped, hiding the look by drinking the rest of the cider laden mug. Playfully slapping at the farmer’s shoulder as the crowd laughed, “Ye dear sir be too bold!” said the maiden as she sorted through the sensation just experienced.

The country woman offered the shield maiden a cup, smirking, eyes expectant. “To wash that Imperial taste out?”

Staring down in the reflective liquid with mirth, the shield maiden laid the container down on the table. “Perhaps later.” Aideen said, cheeks still burning.

The merriment carried on; Aideen stayed out of reach of the farmer but she would not leave his company either. The shield maiden haggled for a clay jug of the Mule cider as the celebration drew to an end. Giggling, she walked the road home with Ferrell, looping his arm as she went on about the celebration, “T’was aah’ grand time! Ye good folk kin really get to it!”

Swallowing hard, the farmer broached the lion in the kingdom. “Aideen. About that…uh, earlier.”

Stopping at the crossroads leading to the castle, Aideen held up a hand for Ferrell to cease his words. Mischief encircled her eyes, fingers playing with the end of a braid. “Next time give a little warnin’.”

Ferrell felt his legs grow weak. “Next time?” The farmer asked nearly breathless.

Aideen’s arm swept around Ferrell’s shoulders, dipping the farmer as she returned the kiss given at the celebration. Lowering Ferrell to the ground before letting go of the kiss and releasing her hold on the farmer. Turning away to hide her face she began to walk away leaving the farmer on his back in the middle of the road, “Merry night, Ferrell.”

Rolling his eyes up he watched the maiden sashay away, losing sight as the road the shield maiden took dipped. Ferrell plucked an autumn flower from the side of the road and rest it on his chest, counting stars well until the ground grew too cold for any sensible person to take. “Merry night, indeed.”

Ferrell the Farmer 5 Cont.

Episode 5 part 4

Rupert Schumacher leaned heavily upon the wooden crutch, face red. The padded bandages upon his backside doing little to comfort the wound. He could not sit, he could not stand, the snickering looks of the assembled court adding to his humiliation. Baroness called for the court and those leaders involved with the Trade Conclave to attend in the early afternoon. The castle was abuzz with activity as room to room searches had been performed to root out the assassin throughout the night.

Xavier nursed a tankard of water, his movements hindered to the point Ferrell had to help his cousin to court. Adjusting his collar upwards to hide the rope burn on his neck left the farmer with more questions. In the broad room heavy scents of perfume and herbs were used to cover up other odors of the previous night.

Sylvia Ryan sat upon the throne, dressed in uncharacteristic heavy mail painted black, the circlet of her authority resting on a pillow that was placed on a stone pillar. A half dozen men at arms stood to the side of the throne along with Aideen.  The Baroness’s expression was dark and easily slid to irate as the room filled, increasing the volume of murmuring.

Cradling a training arrow in the crook of her arm Baroness Sylvia Ryan began, her voice building with wrath. “For over three hundred years we have held these gatherings. Last night violations took place. It has caused me to reconsider having them in the future.  Yet, I am getting ahead of myself. Violations to the pacts as they stand is to challenge MY sovereignty.”

Using the arrow to point at her golden circlet, Sylvia shot to her feet, showing she could move easily in the heavy armor. “Who ‘ere wants my seat? Who among ye wants these lands and duty? If challenge there be, step forward!”

Striding along the carpeted path the Baroness stared down all comers. Even Xavier found himself looking at the ground, her angry gaze shattering any resolve those in attendance had. Satisfied the Baroness again took her seat, twisting her hands around the arrow. “Now we ‘ave settled this. The next violation ends with expulsion ‘n black listing from the agreement for no less than end of my reign as Baroness.”

Murmurs rolled through those gathered, the idea of losing access to trade connections would be ruinous. Imperial emissary Rupert limp hopped with the crutch to address the Baroness, discomfort coating his words. “Your grace. There is still the matter of the attempt on my life. In addition, I do not see Lady Meriwether to corroborate my statement.”

The Baroness leaned forward on the throne, twirling the arrow lazily between her fingers, her face a hard neutral. “Regarding the circumstances, I granted her the solitude she petitioned for.  She need not be here.”

Rupert’s confusion shed into anger, “I insist upon her presence. I was nearly assassinated and this is how the matter is to be treated? It only marks Lady Meriwether as suspect!”

Tapping the fletching of the arrow on her cheek, eyes closing to slits once again, Sylvia Ryan nearly growled. “Why does this arrow smell like Imperial arse? Oh, I remember, because it been in one. Mind yer tone, lest I put it back where ‘twas found. Wit interest.”

Rupert could barely keep his feet, the wound throbbed. “You mock me? I a representative of the Undying Emperor! His armies could crush this place in a matter of days!”

Baroness Sylvia Ryan ground her teeth, “What are ye to say to yer, Emperor? That ye were stuck in the arse with a trainin’ arra as ye attempted to rape one of my vassals? No poison on the arra, an’ as my healers tell it the wound was three finger deep. Out of respect I will look into the matter.”

The Emissary fumed, “That is all I can ask, your Grace. This servant of the Emperor thanks you.”

*** ** **

Xavier still required help back to his room, Ferrell lent a shoulder to his cousin. “Well that went as expected.”  The Captain remarked; his voice carried amusement.

“How so, Cousin? She looked ready to kill someone.” Ferrell replied, almost wanting to look over his shoulder the hall they just left.

“Something you will never understand without exposure to court. She wasn’t going to kill anyone. That would invite trouble. Right now, she has the privilege to pry into any trade agreement being conducted as she investigates in search of this assassin. Whom ever attacked Rupert just gave the Baroness a standing position over the entire board.”  Xavier said with obvious envy.

“What do you think they will do when they capture the assassin?” Ferrell asked, keeping his voice low.

Thinking about it a moment Xavier shrugged briefly, “Well to save face she will likely have to execute the person responsible for the attack. The matter had been dropped but like an idiot Rupert stuck his ass in the fire. He will pay dearly for that in ways unseen but the attacker will have to die first.”

Ferrell felt his stomach drop, blood pounded in his ears. Numbly, he finished escorting his cousin to the room. Wandering the halls Ferrell wiped at his running nose, holding back tears that yearned to be set free. Finally reaching his own room the farmer dropped, sitting hunched over on the edge of the down mattress. Putting his face in his hands, Ferrell sighed deeply, the stress making his chest tight. “What is a man to do?”

“A man kin start by answerin’ some questions.” Replied the Baroness.

Jerking his head up seeing that Sylvia sitting at the table in the room, carving another slice of apple with a slender dagger. Judging by the remains of the meal she had been there a while. “I am curious to know why a man of the Empire would attack another from the same land. Care to answer, Sir Ferrell?”

Ferrell smoothed his hands over his face. “I didn’t see the color of his uniform. I saw the color of his heart and I chose to stop him.”

The Baroness’s brow furrowed, “I dinna expect that nature of answer. So, this be no internal conflict between the two of ye?”

“None, your Grace.”

Shifting to her feet, the Baroness adjusted her robes, her bare feet padding along the floor. Settling next to Ferrell her look one of pity, “Show me yer hands, Ferrell. Now tell me why yer cousin picked ye to come with ‘im.”

Holding out his hands, Ferrell shrugged. “I was the closest family member to answer the call so he says. That and people do not know me. I am just…”

“A farmer.  I thought I be mistaken when I shook ye hand.” The Baroness interrupted.

Tracing her slim fingers over the farmer’s warm calloused hands. “He brought a simple man to ah’ complicated arrangement. Awkward, honest an’ not too bad on the eyes. Sadly, yer cousin also knows ye be expendable.”

Frowning Ferrell tensed wanting to pull his hands away, “Cousin Xavier would never do that to me. Please, your Grace. What would have done in my place?”

Pushing the farmer onto his back, the Baroness straddled his hips quickly. Hair nearly obscuring her eyes as she considered Ferrell. Her voice grew husky with desire, “Woulda killed ‘im. Ye did ‘im a mercy an’ that shows a level of honor not seen in courts.”

Ferrell’s mind reeled as his body squirmed under the pin. The Baroness was everything a man could want and more, yet he just wanted to get away. “I ‘ave an inkling of yer feelings for Aideen. So, donna worry about me just takin’ ya. I do my best thinkin’ up here so tis noah personal.” The Baroness cooed, placing the farmers hands on her hips.

Arching her back, considering the ceiling her look came back down, eyes full of mirthful judgement. Trailing her hands over Ferrell’s chest and arms Sylvia sighed. Clenching her thighs her arms entangled around the farmer’s neck. “Ye be just a pawn in this long, very long game. Tis a rare moment when I git to move ah piece that my opponent wields. Promise me that ye will no speak of what happens ‘ere to yer cousin for three days and all will be set right.”

Ferrell ached in ways her never imagined as he agreed to the terms. In the end the Baroness claimed one of his tunics as a stipulation of the agreement. Sylvia made sure to be wearing it that evening as Xavier paid a visit to her chambers that night…

*** ** ***

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 part 5

The farmer cringed; arms laden with books as he kicked the door open to Xavier’s room. The Captain sat at his desk, back to the door, the purpose was pointed, his cousin was not happy with him. Taking a deep breath Ferrell waited at the door, this had been the third time today he was given a list to fetch tomes from the castle library. Laying the quill down, Xavier leaned back in his chair. “You may enter, Cousin. Put the books on the desk.” His tone was airy but it carried confused anger with it.

Doing as his cousin asked, Ferrell hoped to be dismissed quickly. Books lay strew about the desk top, feverish writings adorned loose papers. Scratching at the stubble on his face Xavier indicated the work, “Do you know what these books contain?”

Ferrell shook his head slowly. Whatever the books were about caused one librarian to look at him like some sort of unsavory demon and another to fan herself when she thought he was not looking. “No Cousin, I do not. I can not read.”

Xavier snapped an angry gaze upon Ferrell, studying the farmer, scrolling the look from head to toe, twice. Disbelief colored his eyes before snatching up the quill again. “You are dismissed, Ferrell.”

Ferrell sucked the inside of his cheek, concerned. “Is something troubling you, Cousin?”

Xavier glowered, “Nothing at all. I am glad to see that you and the Baroness are getting along so well.”

Compassion fell back into confusion as the farmer watched the Captain. “We rarely speak, Cousin.”

Dipping the quill Xavier opened another book, rapidly combing over the words. “I imagine you both don’t have much need for words.”

“I…” Ferrell began only to be cut off by his cousin.

“Dismissed!”

Hanging his head, the farmer reached the hallway closing the door nearly all the way. Sweeping an arm over part of the table to clear it, Xavier leapt to his feet, pacing in front of the mirror. Venting at his reflection, “I make a gentle inquiry and all she tells me of the encounter is that ‘He is sturdy’. Sturdy! Really! What does that even mean?  I am the greatest lover of the Titan Sea and lose to a man that is merely known as ‘sturdy’. There has to be more to this than I am seeing…”

*** ** ***

The farmer spent the remainder of the day hiding in his room. The intrigues of the place were far beyond the scope of anything he could imagine. It really was a game to them, and Ferrell had no idea how to play it. He had been cut off from the rock he saw in his cousin. Staring out his window Ferrell looked out over the city. The citizens of the land seemed to be happy at all hours, they even celebrated when someone died or so he had been told. Xavier at least informed him they would be staying through the winter as the seas were never favorable in freezing season.

Donning his uniform, the farmer, made his way into the night. The music cascading around him failed to lift his spirits. People on the streets either gave him a wide berth or a contemplable, harsh shoulder brush. Loneliness wrapped over his heart as he plodded his way up the stairs of a tavern. Placing a coin on the bar, he was reluctantly served. Even money could not wash away the distain others had for him.

Ferrell leaned heavily on the bar, the patrons singing around him. Merriment was alive and well it seemed. Prodding the stein, the farmer stared at his frowning reflection. Scratching upon neck of the ill fitting uniform, Ferrell pondered his life. In a strange land were everyone seemed to dislike him for the colors he wore. The place was quaint, near the docks and well away from the castle he loathed.

Giggling, a woman in country garb hopped on the stool next to the farmer. Musical words were directed at the farmer. Looking over, Ferrell took in the smiling face of the woman, her blue eyes holding a glint of interest. The gentle gap in her front teeth granting a more youthful appearance. Twining a finger in dirty blonde hair she stared at the Imperial expectantly.

“I am sorry, I do not speak your language.” Ferrell said, politely.

Laughing, the woman leaned closer. “It be alright. I speak Imperia’ too.”

“What did you say before?” Ferrell asked.

“Whatever it be, it canna be that bad.” The woman replied in teasing comfort.

Cracking a grin Ferrell chuckled despite himself. “I suppose not.”

Waving the barkeep down, the woman placed an order.  The barkeep flipped a mug on the end of a steel hook that replaced a hand before filling it with cider.  Setting it down in front of the woman, eyeing Ferrell almost warily as she moved on to the next patron.

“First time the Isles?” The woman asked, taking a heavy drain of the mug.

“First time anywhere.” Said Ferrell already feeling small once again.

Blue eyes studied the man next to her. “Well ye be no soldier, else ye be with the others in the corner there. Let me guess yer profession.”

“It is rather…” Ferrell began only to be shushed by the country woman.

Snapping her fingers, the woman grinned. “Ye be a painter.”

Looking away, Ferrell shook his head, though a grin replaced the frown. “No.”

“One of those tax workers?”

Snorting, almost spitting out the bitter ale. “No.” Ferrell said.

The woman pressed on, smiling wider. “I know! Ye be one yer Emperor’s personal fan bearers! I knew it!”

Ferrell threw his head back in a laugh, falling into the charms of the woman of country. “No!”

Patting the farmer’s shoulder, the woman drained the last of her cider. Dropping the mug to the bar top she sighed, “Seriously now. Ye be a country lad.”

“How can you tell?” Ferrell asked still smiling.

Having a second cider the woman gave Ferrell a half critical look. “We be knowing our own. Yer back, the shoulders and the hands give it away. I be guessin’ ye be a wheat farmer.”

“Oh, wonderful lady, what is your name?” Ferrell asked, delighted to be in the company of someone he held common life with.

“Abbey. Abbey Dunn. And ye?”

Ferrell shifted on his seat to face Abbey, “Ferrell. Ferrell Huber.  It is a pleasure to meet you, Abbey.” Feeling uncomfortable suddenly at using his full name.

Giggling again, Abbey tugged at Ferrell’s sleeve. “Come along. I wanna show ye something.”

Paying his tab, the farmer followed Abbey. Winding through the streets they departed the city at the northern gate. Cresting a rolling hill, Ferrell took in the night scape of the rolling moors of the island. The land dipped and spread out in a wide valley, farms carpeting the floor of the place. Abbey came to a stop, panning a hand.

“Here we be. Biggest crops we have had in cycles. If ye be missing home, we could use the help.” Abbey explained, making an offer to the man.

Ferrell’s smile faltered, “They would never accept my help.” Looking down at his uniform, crestfallen.

Abbey shook her head, undaunted. “Lose the colors, ye would fit spot on and in.”

“Is it not illegal to do such a thing?” Ferrell asked, already considering the idea.

Leaning on Ferrell, Abbey grinned. “I be no telling if ye do. Think it be good fer ya and it be helping us.”

“Why do I get the idea there is more than just one reason you brought me out here?” Ferrell asked, feeling Abbey rest her hand on his chest.

More giggling sounded from Abbey, “Last Imperial I met was not exactly a good sort. Perhaps I be looking to balance the scales?”

“I believe you have me at a disadvantage.” Replied Ferrell, though he was not averse to the idea proposed.

“I donna believe in playing fair. No fun in it.” Said the country farmer, pulling Ferrell along with her.

** ** **

The farmer woke to an empty bed, Abbey’s scent in the air, memories of the previous night shining into the day. Yawning the man rolled off the bed, scratching the side of his head, smiling. Redressing in his uniform Ferrell stepped over a sleeping dog, ears picking up on gleeful chatter in the next room. Opening the door, Ferrell stifled a yawn. Abbey’s smiling face swung his way.

“Fair morning there! Come, come, I want ye to meet someone. Aideen this is…” Abbey said only to be cut off by the shield maiden.

“Sir Ferrell.” Aideen muttered, her expression hardening as she looked between the two.

Swallowing hard, Ferrell did his best not to look away from the intense glare of the shield maiden. “Morning.” Was all the farmer could, manage?

Fake smile plastered on her face; Aideen set down the tankard of water. “Sir Ferrell would ye grant us a moment?”

Grateful for the reprieve Ferrell nodded, moving to head outside. “Of course.”

Picking up on the tension, Abbey called after Ferrell. “Donna wander far, there be breakfast to be had.”

Frowning the shield maiden looked to her friend. “What ye be doing wit him?” Words coming off as a demand more than question.

Taken aback, Abbey’s brow furrowed. “Found him at the Squared Circle. Pleasant fellow, not too hard on the eyes either.”

Lowering her voice, “Ye know who his cousin is?” Aideen asked while looking to the door.

Rolling her eyes, Abbey shrugged. “Nay. Who?”

Aideen prickled. “Foster. Xavier Foster.”

The name froze the county woman, brushing it off Abbey looked away. “Donna care. Comparing the two be like apples and potatoes.”

“I am warning ye away from him, Abbey. He be possibly dangerous.” Insisted Aideen, her aggression growing.

Once again, the eyes swept up in a roll. “Knock the chalk off would ye? He be a farmer.” Abbey set her gaze on her friend, ready to match intensity. “Wait. Ye have claim of him?”

Aideen balked with a start, suddenly the one off balance. “I…what? Me? No!”

Surging forward with her words, Abbey growing angry. “If ye do, say it. I be glad fer ye and I back out of it. No harm done.”

Blush of returning anger filled Aideen’s cheeks, “Ye lay wit’ him?” disbelief ringing in her words.

Abbey held up two fingers, implying more than one encounter. “Aye. No bad either. Sturdy fellow.”

Standing now, Aideen’s hands went to her hips. “I have concerns of this, Abbey.”

Rocketing up, getting nose to chin with her friend. Abbey fumed, “Nay. Ye be looking for me to apologize. Wonna do it.”

In a rare move, Aideen stepped back from her friend. Holding her voice steady. “Abbey, I am telling ye he be more than he seems. Dangerous, like all Imperials. Can ye not see reason in this?  I be just trying to protect ye.”

Abbey stared a hole in her friend. “Enough. Ye donna get to come into me home and speak down to me. Gorman Bridge, fifth bell, today!”

Blinking her surprise, “Ye gonna fight me for him?” Aideen asked nearly dumbfounded.

The country woman let Aideen listen to her own words in the building pause. Whether the shield maiden admitted it openly or not the interest was present. Shaking her head Abbey nearly snarled. “Nay. I am fightin’ ye cause yer being a stuck up bitch. Again.”

Sitting on a wooden bench near the pig pens, Ferrell worried. Aideen was here for a reason and it was likely him. Scratching the head of a curious piglet, the distraction bringing a fragile smile to his face as the creature leaned in for more attention. A bright red fireball stomped by, hand on the hilt of sword. Pointedly ignoring Ferrell, the shield maiden bothered not looking back, eyes ahead promising a bad time for all in her way.

“Me thinks she likes ye.” Came a voice from behind, steady and growing cheerful again.

Watching Aideen leave, Ferrell looked back to the piglet. Trying to figure out whom Abbey was speaking of. “Who?”

“Aye.” Abbey said cryptically.

“We start in the morrow, if ye be interested, still.” Abbey offered, warm, welcoming arm snaking around his shoulders. “Donna worry about her; she be needing some time to get her head sorted.” The country woman added.

“Alright then.”