Forged in Fire

Chapter 2-2

“I didn’t know ladies could be in the army,” Paul said.

“I never heard of such a thing,” Dahlia replied, “and I don’t like it either. If she wasn’t sassy before she got that fancy coat, she sure is sassy now.”

“And no help at all,” Paul pointed out.

“No. But help from some Imperials would have been very nice.”

“So now what? We should go after the cattle ourselves. I’m not afraid.”

“You should be.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Even Imperials, if they have any sense, pause before they jump into the jungle on a goblin trail.”

“We could find some Imperials. Some pensioners, at least. We could pay them to help.”

Dahlia looked at Paul for a moment, then reached out and ruffled his hair.

“You’re a smart boy, you know? I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Although…I don’t know how we’d pay them, or if we could find any that aren’t crippled or bent with age, or even where we’d even find such men.”

“A man at the hostel said something about a tavern down on the beach. I bet there’s pensioners that go there for a drink or two.”

“Cripples and degenerates.”

“But they might know someone,” Paul insisted. “We have to try, Ma, if you don’t want us to go into the jungle ourselves.”

Dahlia looked back and forth across the square. A dog wandered out of one alley and down another. Nothing else moved.

“We can give it a try. We don’t have a lot of other choices.”

The tavern, such as it was, tottered on the edge of the beach. There was a precarious three-legged table that served as a bar, with three stone jugs of liquor and four chipped mugs sitting on the table. The barkeep was a crone who sat on a stool behind the bar and gave Dahlia the evil eye as she approached. Another table was surrounded by a half-dozen stools, and each stool held a pensioner. The men were grizzled and shaggy and all sporting a sort of uniform: barefoot, tattered pants cut off at the knee, and fading blue tunics. They were all drinking and betting loudly on a game of stones and twigs. The whole establishment was shaded by a rickety frame overlaid with dried out palm branches.

Off to the side a lone pensioner with a peg in place of a foot sat on the sand, nursing a mug of grog, and staring out over the sea. Dahlia picked the loner, going over and sitting next to him on the grass. Paul followed and sat next to her.

“I’m Dahlia Rancher,” she said, pulling a copper piece out of her purse and handing it to him. “Let me buy your next round.”

“Thank you,” the man said, taking the piece, and giving her a sidelong glance. “I’m Ector Cobbler. Dahlia,” he said, “you were married to Bert Rancher.”

“He was a good man. Gone these four years. Taken by the war.”

“Aren’t we all, one way or another? But I always heard Bert was a good man. Sorry about your loss, ma’am. Can I do something for you? I don’t expect you didn’t bring your boy here for the hooch or the company.”

“This is Paul, my youngest. Bert’s only son. And yes, I need help, bad. It’s been hard to keep the ranch going since Bert went away. The widow’s fund helped a bit, but not much. We’ve kept body and soul together, though. But two days ago, a band of goblins came through and drove off all our steers. Forty head. Everything we had ready to go to market. We’ll have no cash to pay taxes, or to pay the help, or…or anything.”

“And the mayor was no help, eh?” Ector said.

“The police are busy, the militia can’t be called out again this year, and on and on. No help at all. So, I need to hire someone to help me track down those goblins and get back as many of those steers as I can get.”

Ector pointed to where his ankle ended in a peg. “I wish I could help, but as you can see, I wouldn’t be much good tracking out in the jungle.”

“You know men, though. Someone who could help. Pensioners, maybe? My hired folk would be willing to go too. They’re brave enough, but not skilled with weapons. I need soldiers.”

Ector sat and thought for a moment, then mused,

“I could introduce you to thirty or more pensioners, but most of them would be drunk or crippled or both. Others would be old men who served their twenty years in the quartermaster’s company and never swung a sword in anger the whole time.”

Dahlia felt her heart sink deeper in her chest. First the mayor, then the strange provost inspector, now this. Scraping the bottom of the barrel for help, but the bottom seemed empty. She shook her head, trying to fight back tears that suddenly threatened.

Quam curse it all, she thought irreverently. I lost two Quamcursed days coming to this Quamcursed town for a lot of nothing.

Quam curse it all,I lost two Quamcursed days coming to this Quamcursed town for a lot of nothing.“Or,” Ector murmured, “or I could point you towards a few men who are genuinely dangerous.”

Dahlia’s head came up and she looked Ector in the eye.

“How dangerous?” she asked.

“To you? That’s hard to say, ma’am. The only ex-soldiers who aren’t cripples or used up old men…the only kind that’s still dangerous…tend to be outlaws. They’re in Orzan because they don’t want to be found, and they’re south of Dangritown because they really don’t want to be found.”

reallyDahlia took a deep breath.

“I want that kind, then. The more dangerous the better. I want someone who will get my cows back and make the goblins stay away from my ranch for a generation.”

“You sure?” Ector raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“There are a few, mostly out in the jungle prospecting or farming. But if you want the most dangerous…you know where Pipe Clay Creek is?”

“I do. There’s a little village by that name beside the creek. It’s on the road to my ranch.”

“I tell you what, you want to find these lads, you take that side road through the village and on up into the mountains. Probably a pretty rough road, but you’re used to that I suppose. I’ve never been up that way, so I don’t know if the road forks or not, but I think if you stay along the creek, you’ll find them eventually. Or more likely, they’ll find you.”

“How will I know them?”

“Oh, they’re distinct enough. One’s a big brownie, good-looking as hell, but don’t get your hopes up, he’s a monk of some sort. Yellow robe and everything. Other one’s a scarred little greenie. All chewed up, like a jaguar gnawed on his face for a while. Meaner than a box of devils.”

“There’s only two of them?”

“Word is the greenie took on half a dozen provincials all by himself and turned them into dog meat. I think two is all you’ll need.”

Dahlia shuddered a bit, then nodded.

“Thank you, Ector.” She took another copper out and held it towards him. He waved it away.

“I’m drunk enough. Save your coin to hire those killers.”

“I owe you a favor, then. Any time you’re down south you drop on by the ranch and we’ll feed you well.”

“Don’t get out much,” Ector said, pointing at his peg leg, “but thank you, ma’am. Quam favor your search for good help.”

“Quam favor you as well,” she returned the blessing. “Come on, Paul, we’d better get going. It’ll be almost evening by the time we find these men.”