Chapter 9
It
was discovered shortly thereafter that while Lokey had been using magic the way
most mages did, Drianna had been creating it. This information, along with the
tentative truce and Lokey's insatiable curiosity, was enough to keep things
peaceful between the two for a while. Lokey and Drianna compared notes and
bickered with each other into the wee hours of the night while Magbert and
Crystal sat blissfully gazing into each other's eyes most of the time. This
gave practically everyone something to do with their spare time.
Everyone,
that is, except for Ian.
In
essence, Ian had never truly been alone, however positive or negative that may
have been. For that reason, lonliness had never really come to call on him
before, even when he was with his tribe. However out of place he may have been,
he had definitely not suffered from a lack of "attention" from the
males of his tribe (attention from spiteful male ogres being not unlike having
attention from the average lynch mob). He had, however, been snubbed by the
females and he supposed that had hurt a little (snubbing from spiteful female
ogres being not unlike snubbing from the Mafia). After being routed out of his
home, he'd stumbled upon Magbert's company and then added Lokey to the party
and hadn't looked back since. Not once during that time had he ever been absent
of company.
But
now with Lokey busy and Magbert otherwise preoccupied, Ian felt the lack of
attention almost as strongly as he had with his tribe's females. Well, almost,
he thought. At least they would have had the common decency to beat him to an
unrecognizable pulp and technically rated as attention, too.
Perhaps
he wasn't needed anymore. Magbert and Crystal had each other and they could
fend for themselves. And Lokey had Drianna to argue with and they could fight
without help, too. Unlike his brethern, Ian could read as well as see the
writing on the wall.
He
wasn't wanted.
Thus,
without any ado or fuss, Ian picked up his broadsword and his pack with all his
worldly possesions and ambled off into the forest one night. He was tired and
sad, but not much of either. He was doing this for the common good and that
made him feel a little better. No one should have to bear the unwanted presence
of an ugly ogre, especially not his friends. And sleep was no problem. He could
do that when he got far enough away.
He'd
only been walking for an hour or so when he heard the sound of muffle crying.
It was definitely feminine, he decided, heading curiously in that direction. He
hoped she was being persecuted, because that would certainly be more fun to
watch for a while (at least until she died).
Ian
came upon the area where the crying was coming from and knelt down in the
underbrush to watch. There were four human men (soldiers, it seemed) who were
standing around in a circle laughing and looking down at the source of the
crying. The source, it seemed, was a small moving burlap bag, about the size of
an 10-year-old child. The bag was pleading with its captors to be set free
while they laughed, kicked and jabbed at it in derision.
Well,
this isn't any fun!, thought Ian irritably. I can't see the person at all.
Thorwing caution to the wind, he strode up and spoke, to the surprise of the
shorter and obviously less fearsome soldiers. "What's in the bag?" he
asked good-naturedly.
The
soldiers exchanged glances, then shrugged noncommitantly, deciding perhaps it
was just as well to stay friendly. "Some nymph half-breed that the duke's
son wants offed," said one, kicking at the bag.
"So
why's she in the bag?" asked Ian. "She dangerous?"
The
other soldiers laughed as the one who'd spoken answered. "Don't you know
anything, boy? This is a half-breed! All half-breeds have those witchy
eyes."
"They
stare at you 'til you're soul's theirs and they leave you for dead," said
another. "This one did it to the first Duke."
"And
he laid 'round in a stupor 'til he died," agreed another. The others
nodded warily, cowed by the memory of this great loss.
Ian
scoffed facially. "No nymph could kill a man just like that!" he
laughed.
"This
one can," said the first.
"I'd
like to see her try it," said Ian, and he knelt down to unknot the cord on
the bag. The soldiers, obviously terrified by the mere thought of letting this
dangerous beast loose, jumped for cover in the nearby vegetation while Ian
opened the bag. The burlap slid down around the figure of an incredibly small
humanoid girl. Her face, although tearstreaked and bruised, had no trace of
malicious intent whatsoever. Ian and this girl held each other's gaze for a
moment, her whole dilemna seeming to flow forth through her eyes. Presently, a
spark of chivalry drifted by and struck Ian rather forcefully in the heart and
he felt duly compelled to protect this wisp of a female at all costs.
"Don't worry," he said seriously. "I'll take care of this."
She
gently bit her somewhat bloodied bottom lip in worried response.
"Who
is responsible for this heinous act?" demanded Ian, glaring about him.
Three of the soldiers, suddenly recalling their field of expertise, jumped out
of the bushes for a full frontal attack.
Certainly
this was more like it, Ian grinned, drawing his broadsword and hacking into the
first soldier with relish. A heavy flatfooted kick in the breastplate sent the
other two soldiers backward into each other as Ian hammered the head of the
other with the flat of his sword before slashing through his flimsy chain mail.
The second soldier, extricating himself from the tangle of himself and his
comrade, put up a much better and livelier fight until Ian's sword swept his legs
out from underneath him and his head from above him. The other soldier
scrambled in unabashed panic after his friend in hiding, who'd mounted his
steed and was beating a hasty retreat.
At
last, Ian turned back to the girl. A lock of curly brown hair fell prettily
over her eyes, causing the spark of chivalry to ignite the huge heart it lay
in. She looked at him in true admiration and said, "Thank you for saving
me."
Ian,
at a loss for a worthy statement of modesty, shrugged with a wide grin.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Pandora,"
she said.
Ian
looked down at the burlap bag she'd been in, then around at the pandemonium
that had been and nodded.
"Kinda
figured," he replied, still grinning.