“How will you cross the river?” Augustus asked. He poked the coals of their campfire with a long stick. Little sparks fluttered into the air. “There are only three options: cross the bridge, take a ferry, or travel north and trek the foothills of the Eerie Peaks. Little Bend joins the Westward Rush in the south. So, if you can’t fly, and you can’t teleport, but you won’t settle for any of the three, how will you cross the river?”
Padair shrugged and tilted his head slightly. “There are other paths, my friend.” He said no more.
How is it that this damnable creature won’t stop speaking until I ask him what I want to know? “I’ve told you everything about myself,” Augustus said. “Why won’t you share this one secret?”
Padair laughed, bleating in his goatish way. “You have my name and my friendship. What more could you want?”
“I want to understand your magic,” Augustus admitted. He pulled the thick woolen cloak wrapped around his shoulders closer.
“In revealing my secrets, I would betray all my kin,” the goat man said.
Augustus stared into the smoldering embers and black charred wood. He nodded. “I think I understand.” He stood. “Well, good luck with that secret path. I will meet you on the other side of the Bend.”
“Good luck with your crossing. Don’t linger so long this time. It gets boring waiting around for you,” Padair said. He lifted himself onto his furry legs. “Until our paths cross again!” Padair plodded through the clearing where they made camp beneath a canopy of ancient oaks. The goat man disappeared into a thicket of thorny bushes.
I’ll take a stroll over a bridge any day. Gus packed up his belongings. He strode down the Western Road, walking stick thumping against the cobbles. The sun hung high. He felt its sting through the crystal-clear sky, even so late in the year. Topping a knoll, he looked down on gentle hillsides, tumbling down into a basin where buildings sat together by the riverside like lumps of stone gathered at the bottom of a freshly shoveled hole. He followed the cobbles. Travelers of every kind passed him by, heading East: farmers, merchants, minstrels, and more. The road smoothed out at the base of the basin. The town embraced him, buildings surrounded on every side. Age and weather discolored their pale timber. Stones cracked and crumbled. The Western Road sunk into puddles of standing water and mud. The floor of the riverside basin was muck, trampled by beasts of burden and a ceaseless march of travel and trade. Moving bodies packed the streets. Worst of all, a sour smell permeated, no doubt the discards of livestock and a general lack of proper sanitation.
He looked for an inn–mostly to escape the smell that soiled everything.
Augustus traveled to the town center, where a bazaar of local tradesmen and peddlers sold their goods. A stone well stood in the center. Across from Augustus, a large four-story inn stood. The Bent Burrow, he recalled. I haven’t seen it since I was a child. I doubt it’s changed. Gus pushed through a throng of people, moving across the bazaar. He paused at the well to allow a farmer and his wagon full of produce to pass. A curious sight caught his eye–a large steel cage on the eastern edge. The cage sat on a platform, overlooking the bazaar, held aloft by crisscrossed scaffolding. Two hangmen’s nooses dangled from thick beams of dark timber–at either end of the platform. Three prisoners sat behind the steel bars, awaiting the gallows. You? Gus recognized them. A woman with long red hair, curly and lively. Two dwarves: a man with a braided black beard and a woman with red, short-shorn hair. The Moonlit Mysterium?
He stood at the well, gawking like a fool. A youngster ran up to the cage and threw a cabbage at Skiggi’s head. The cabbage bounced off the dwarf and rolled back onto the street. Skiggi didn’t even flinch. A bulking man picked the boy up and slung him across his shoulder. Gus couldn’t hear what the man said, but he looked angry. What happened to them? He stalked across the bazaar, keeping a fair distance from the cage and the raised platform. Thankfully, there were plenty of bodies to hide behind. They did not spot him in the crowd. Then again, they weren’t looking, either. The Moonlit Mysterium sat solemnly in their cell, eyes cast to the floor.
“She looks like a witch,” a nearby woman said. The woman looked like a dirty peasant, wearing a worn brown dress with multiple patches of varying colors and designs, her stringy hair a rat's nest.
They’ve been accused of witchcraft!
“I can’t wait to watch her hang,” another peasant said. “They say Father Alexander will oversee the consecration. It’s a shame he should waste his time on the short ones.”
The words caused Gus blind anger, for he had no face to connect the words to. He refused to look at her. She wasn’t worth remembering. So eager to watch something die. Gus scanned the platform and the bazaar. Three guards paced the gallows, while a half-dozen patrolled the bazaar. They abandoned me. I don’t owe these criminals anything. A breeze swept past, rustling his magical cloak. But I know I can save them.
Augustus cut a path to the Bent Burrow and secured a room overlooking the market square. Night settled on the little riverside town. Trade died down and the traffic flow slowed to a few drunks stumbling in and out of taverns and alehouses. Gus lay in his warm bed, thinking about the Moonlit Mysterium and their present misery. The world stilled. In those early hours past midnight, he crept out of his window on the third story. His magical cloak made him invisible to the human eye. Gus stood on the shingled roof, overlooking the empty square–just hours before a bustling marketplace. He leaped into the air. The magical fibers of the gray cloak caught in a stiff wind, which carried him gliding down to the platform. He landed without a sound. The cage was nearby.
Below, four guardsmen stood watch in the square. They stood on a street corner conversing. Gus slipped across the platform–more gliding than stepping–until he knelt beside the cage. He stared at Rose, who slept, her chin buried in her chest. Skiggi was closest to him. “Hey!” he whispered. The dwarf did not stir.
Gus put a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. A thick hand clasped it. “Hey…” a deep voice rasped. It was dry and weak.
“It’s Gus,” he whispered.
“Gus?” Skiggi's head snapped around, and the metal beads of his beard jingled. Gus looked over his shoulder. The guards paid no. “Gus?”
“The bard you left in Goldhill,” he explained to the dwarf.
“Oh. Right. Gus.” The dwarf huffed. He shook his head, then leaned it slowly back against the bars of his cage. He shook his head. "We're done for, lad. Best you don't get yourself wrapped up in this mess. Stay out of it."
“Here.” Augustus lifted a flask of water and reached his arm into the cage. “Drink.” Skiggi grabbed the flask and took three deep swigs. “What happened?” Gus asked.
“Never mind that.” Skiggi groaned. “Get out of here.”
“I'm going to get you all out of here,” Gus said. "Hang tight. And keep the flask." He untied a sack from his belt, stuffed with two loaves of bread, three apples, and a pouch of nuts. He shoved the sack through the steel bars. “Hide that. Share it with the others, rest up, and regain some strength. Tomorrow, I’m getting you all out of here. Are your supplies in the wagon?”
“The wagon?” Skiggi looked around the cage. “The money!”
“Lower your voice!” a guardsman shouted from below. All four watchmen stood peering up at the platform. “He’s just delirious,” the voice assured.
Augustus waited for the guardsmen to return to their conversation. “Where's the Mysterium?”
“You’ll rob us,” Skiggi shook his head.
The accusation jabbed Gus’s heart. Here I am trying to save people who don’t even trust me. They think I’m like them–that I’d abandon them. He pushed the insult and injury aside. “When they hang you, would you rather the town guard split the purse? After they disassemble your wagon for firewood. I mean, who’s going to buy something like that? Whoever has it is probably tired of looking at it already. They’re thinking of ways to rid themselves of that pile of lumber.” Gus looked over his shoulder, but the guardsmen paid them no mind.
“Okay, Gus,” Skiggi sighed, crossing his arms. “You win.”
“Gus?” Rose stirred.
“Keep quiet,” Gus whispered.
“Oh…” Rose moaned as she shifted her weight. “My neck is stiff.”
Skiggi pointed at the gallows. “That’ll loosen you up.”
Rose didn’t smile. “Help us,” she pleaded. “I heard the guardsman say a Father of the Holy Order will arrive any day now! They’re going to kill us and burn our bodies!”
“Tomorrow night,” Gus said. “But, if you want your belongings–your money–you’ll have to tell me where the Mysterium is.”
Rose held her tongue.
For goodness’ sake! Gus glared at them both. “Do you want my help or not?”
Gus took breakfast in his room, staring out his little window, down into the square below. Around noon, he went to the bazaar to scout the streets. The little town hid many winding passages. The central well drew as much traffic as the trade and denizens needed routes to move. The local garrison boasted a meager force. Their late-night patrols would be sporadic. A plan formulated in his head, but he would need help to pull it off. The real trouble was their wagon. There’s no way to get it across the bridge without being seen. And the ferries don’t operate at night, except the secret ones. Perhaps the Fischer Family could help me smuggle the wagon out of town, but I doubt they have a ferry big enough for the Mysterium. Besides, there’s little hope I could trust them. They would pick the wagon clean and blame the guards for the theft. I need someone I can trust.
The sun settled on the western horizon. I may as well forget the wagon. It would be hard enough to get them out of their cage, and out of town, without the big red Mysterium. Who could help me secure their supplies? Who can I trust? Wait!
“You’ve helped me escape before!” Gus pleaded.
The goat man plodded the plank floor of the rental room, pacing back and forth with his arms crossed. “I already feel trapped!”
“You can leave anytime you wish,” Augustus said. He wobbled the mug in his hand, circling the rim of its flattened base across the surface of a little square table beside a candle and a lonely prayer stone.
“Okay.” Padair closed his eyes. He raised a hand and formed a fist, ready to disappear at the snap of his fingers.
“Stop!”
Padair opened his eyes. “You said anytime I wish. You, Gus, are a liar. And I take great offense to that.” But he didn’t leave.
The remark stung Gus more than it should have. He stood. “I didn’t think you, of all people, would abandon a friend. Rose is locked up out there–just outside the window.” Gus walked across the room and leaned against the windowsill.
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“I'm no longer friends with that woman,” Padair said. “They abandoned you in Goldhill!”
Gus eyed the satyr. And what does that mean to you exactly? He motioned for Padair to join him at the window. The goat man stepped beside him. “We humans have a harder time making up our minds. I know they abandoned me when I needed them, but I don’t want them to die for it. I have the strength to help them, so I feel the responsibility to do so.”
Padair gazed out the window, looking at their three wayward companions. “Life is a precious thing.”
“Let’s do what we can to protect it,” Augustus said.
The stubborn old goat grunted. “Fine.”
They left the inn after dark, while the town slept, seeking a stable near the riverfront. To avoid suspicious eyes, Padair snapped his fingers and disappeared. Gus met him in an alley beside the inn. The town watch had confiscated the performer’s wagon. Not knowing what to do with the massive, crimson-covered machine, with its gold-painted signs reading “the Moonlit Mysterium,” they stuffed it in an empty stall and left it parked–indefinitely. With all its secret compartments, the guards likely looked over their stowed-away valuables. “Do you remember the plan?” Gus asked, slipping through the shadows.
“Get the gold, get the goods, get out of town!” Thankfully, the muck caking the cobbles muffled the clacking of his hooves. He moved somewhat quietly. “I haven’t done something like this in a long time, Gus! It’s exhilarating!”
“Sh!” Gus crossed his lips with a finger. “Take the gold with you, and some supplies from the Mysterium. I’ll free the others and meet you on the other side of the river.”
“Gotcha!” Padair answered.
They weaved in and out of alleys, crossing the sleepy town. Gus knew them well enough by now to lead them to the riverside, where a large stable stood. It loomed on a rise of earth, looking over an empty square with a small well at its center. No one stirred. Gus heard the occasional stomp of a horse’s foot and a pig's snort, but no voices, no forks at work. “The wagon’s in there,” Gus pointed. “Stay close.” Augustus flared his magical cloak and spun. The threads of the fabric shined a pure silver radiance. He turned invisible. He dashed across the open square. He approached the stable door, leaned against the timber, and listened for signs of human life, as Padair’s hooves clopped in the shadows. Gus opened the stable door and the pair slid inside. It was dark. The thick musk of straw and animals filled the air.
The goat man turned about, searching the darkness. “It feels like a slaughterhouse. Why’d you have to drag me into this?”
“I need your help,” Augustus said.
“And what about all these fine folk?” Padair questioned. “You humans can’t feel their sorrow, their fear, their hurt?" The satyr sighed. "You don’t care.” He approached a stall full of huddled hogs. They stirred and snorted, pushing and shoving against one another. Leaning against the stall, he spoke: “Where are you from?” The hogs snorted and snickered. “That’s a good trot. You traveled a long way to get here.” He leaned closer. “You don’t say? Pork goes for that much these days? Well, aren’t you popular?”
“Padair?” Gus interrupted. “We’re working with limited time.”
A fat pig squealed.
“He is rude!” Padair agreed.
Gus shook his head. “Come on, we can’t save everyone.” He paused. A new idea formed in his mind. “Actually…” He thumbed his chin. August smiled. “That’s it!” he clapped his furry friend on his narrow back. “Padair, we have a new plan!”
The goat man turned to the hogs and knocked his horned head with the knuckles of his fist. “He thinks I’m a stupid animal! What? No! Well, I meant no offense!”
Augustus sat on the roof of the Bent Burrow, looking over dark buildings. None were as tall as the old inn. He had a commanding view, almost to the riverside itself. A faint orange glow rose from the riverside, illuminating distant roofs. That's my signal. He leaped off the roof, his cloak gliding him across the square and onto the gallows. He crept over to the cage where the Mysterium sat silent. “I’m back,” he whispered. “It’s almost time. Be ready!”
Rose stirred. She lifted her eyes to meet Gus. “Did you get our money?”
“Of course!” Augustus assured.
A voice cried out, far away. Soon, others joined. The guards stationed in the trade square stirred, looking at each other for answers. Finally, a man came running down the Western Road, cutting through the middle of town. “Fire!” he shouted. “Fire!” He ran straight through the square. “Fire!”
The guards exchanged glances, and then looked at the prisoners in their cage. Two watchmen left the square, heading west towards the riverside. Damn! Gus had hoped they would all run to the fire. Gus watched the remaining men–nervous, pacing about, talking loudly. One was much younger than the other. They wanted to see the excitement. They just needed a little more encouragement. A rumble swelled–a slow thunder that rolled across the open square. A horse neighed. It streaked through the square, hooves pounding the cobbles. A mass of hogs, horses, oxen, chickens, goats, geese, and sheep stampeded over empty stalls, tearing down tarps and canvases, crushing everything in their path. Their cries of freedom filled the air with a cacophony of contradicting voices. One horse, a spotted mare with a sleek coat, slid past the veteran guardsman, knocking him to the ground. “Hey!” the veteran shouted. He struggled to regain his feet. His comrade offered him a hand, but he knocked it away. “We need to find the stablemaster!”
“I bet he’s fighting that fire!” the other offered.
“Well, let’s go!” The veteran shouted. He ran.
“Wait!” the young guard shouted, stepping after his comrade. He glanced at their prisoners, then sprinted after his companion. “Wait for me!”
Not a moment later, a crowd of men left the Bent Burrow and stumbled into the square, taking stock of the damage. “What happened?” a man questioned. They rummaged around in the wreckage of a tradesman’s stall, muttering and grumbling to themselves. The innkeeper poked his bald head out the door, then slipped back inside. “A fire!” someone cried. “By the Maker! A fire! Let’s go!” The men rallied together to meet the threat.
Augustus scanned the broken bazaar and spotted no one. “Now's the time!” He drew his bone-handled dagger. Its pointed pommel drew blood from his thumb and the silver blade glowed pale blue with heat. “Stay away from the bars!”
The steel bars melted beneath the blazing silver, turning to orange liquid fire. It dropped on the wood of the platform and sizzled, leaving black charred specks burned into the fine-grained timber. Gus removed the bars one by one, while Rose, Skiggi, and Dori huddled in the back corner of the cage. He laid the last bar down and motioned the others onward. “We have little time!” The Moonlit Mysterium slipped through the shredded bars of their cage and onto the platform. Gus leaped off the back side. “Follow me!”
“I can’t make that jump!” cried Dori.
“I’ll catch you!” Gus shouted.
Rose scampered over the platform's edge and climbed down the scaffolding. “It’s not really that high!” she assured her dwarven companion. “You can make it!”
Dori looked at her husband with pleading eyes. “I’m no tumbler!” Skiggi walked up to her and took both her hands in his own. Gus didn’t hear what the dwarf said to his wife, but she straightened her shoulders and took a leap of faith over the edge. They fell, hand in hand, to the ground. They hit the dirt hard, rolling upon impact. The dwarves stood and dusted themselves off. Dori laughed. “That was kind of fun!”
“Come on,” Gus commanded. He stalked down a back alley, moving swiftly and silently, carried by his cloak. He paused at the end. Looking around the corner, he searched the street ahead. It was empty.
Rose fell in close behind. “Where’s our money?”
“With our friend,” Gus said.
“Oh?” Rose asked. “Two horns, blocks for eyes, obnoxious loudmouth?”
“The very same,” Gus answered.
“I suppose it’s safer with him than anyone else,” she said.
Especially you, Gus knew she wanted to add. “Let’s worry about escaping with our lives before we worry about the money,” he said. He moved across the street–a phantom in the wind--and found an alley. On the other side, he motioned over to Rose. She sprinted across and joined him. Next came Dori. Skiggi burst from the alley, his feet pumping, his beaded braids jingling. Midway across the street, a voice cut through the night. “You there!” Skiggi froze. “The fire’s this way! Come on!” The dwarf looked at his companions hiding in the alleyway. He stared at them.
Skiggi looked up the street, towards a man Gus could not see. “My buckets are back here! Go ahead! I’m right behind you!" There was no answer, but Skiggi shuffled across the street and joined them in the alley. He wiped a sweat-lathed brow. “That was close!”
Augustus led them through the maze of alleyways, leading south and west, towards the riverside–and the fire.
“Where are we going?” Rose asked.
“The Fischers run a small smuggling trade downriver from the bridge,” Gus explained. “That’s where we’ll find Padair and your money.”
Rose tugged at Gus’ cloak. He stopped. “The Fischers are the reason we were locked up in the first place!”
Gus’s guts turned to knots. “What?”
Rose placed her hands on either side of her head. “And you sent the satyr to them with a sack full of circlings? Our life savings!”
“What happened?” Gus asked.
Skiggi coughed. “The youngest brother has sharp eyes, he does. Caught me skimming cards.”
“After they caught Skiggi cheating, there was a minor scuffle, and then they accused me and Dori of witchcraft,” Rose explained. “I guess if you can’t beat them, hang them.” She shrugged. “Bastards.”
Gus smoothed over his fuzzy cheek. “Well, let’s just hope Padair is clever enough to outwit the Fischers.”
“How are we going to get across the river?” Dori asked.
Gus looked at Skiggi. “Have you ever operated a ferry?” The dwarf shook his head. “I have,” Gus assured. “But The river’s current is strong. I can’t fight it alone.”
“Then it’s high time I learned,” Skiggi concluded.
Once there had been walls built around the town. Many times. After one army or another tore them down, time and time again, eventually they stayed down. Stone fences, built upon the foundations of those old walls, now marked the town's boundaries. They climbed over the old stone fence and came to where the cobbles ended, and a slog of thick muck began. Augustus worked out a plan in his head while they traveled silently across the slippery land. North, upriver, the muck gave way to thick grass and water reeds. A thicket of trees covered a distant rise. Gus led them over one slump of the ground, then another, stopping at the border of the high wood. When the others joined him, he whispered: “If they ambush us, hit the dirt and make yourselves small.”
“You think we can’t fight?” Skiggi's thick brows furrowed.
“Just trust me for once,” Gus said. “I have a plan.”
He explained his plans and adhered to their advice when it seemed wise. When everyone knew their part, Gus led them up the hillside. They waited at the edge of the thicket while Gus pushed past low-hanging limbs and thick bushes. A small campfire burned just past the undergrowth. He entered a clearing. Three men sat around the campfire. They looked at Gus with narrow, suspicious eyes. “You’re late,” an old man with long gray hair and beard spoke. He bore a scar across his right cheek.
Gus approached. “Where’s my friend? The satyr?”
“He crossed hours ago,” a young man, sporting a short brown beard and hair, spoke. “He was tired of waiting.”
“Oh,” Gus said.
“Come and sit down,” the old Fischer offered. He motioned towards a spot in the dirt by their fire. “And tell your friends to come, too. Where are they, anyway? Aren’t we supposed to be ferrying them?”
Gus scanned the tree line. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something is off. He strode toward the campfire. “We’re just being cautious.”
“Strange, I’d say,” the young Fischer countered. “Tell them to come on out.”
“Did Padair pay you?” Gus asked.
“He had plenty to go around,” the young Fischer smiled.
Gus’s heart heaved, then settled. That old goat has faced worse than this bunch of crooks. He knelt by the fire and warmed his hands. “Did I tell you who you are aiding?” he asked. “A band of performers–minstrels. The best storytellers I have ever met. The best liars, too.” Gus looked up from the flames and met the young Fischer’s dark eyes. “You are not a good liar.” Their eyes locked in a struggle of wills.
The wind rustled the dry autumn leaves. The old Fischer chuckled. “I suppose our ruse is up.”
The young Fischer jumped to his feet, swinging a club at Gus’s head. Gus dodged the blow and delivered a few solid punches to his assailant. The third Fischer joined his kinsmen, bearing an ax. Gus leaped back and regarded them, drawing his bone-handled dagger. “Get him, boys!” the young Fischer shouted.
Shadows sprang out of the tree line, and a dozen or more men charged him from every side. Gus leaped into the air, carried high by his magical cloak, and spun. He turned invisible while simultaneously sending a powerful gust of wind to sweep the clearing. The men tumbled, shouting curses. The campfire scattered into a pile of ash and embers. Darkness enveloped them all. Gus landed on the high limb of a nearby tree. He clutched his magic dagger. I hope they listened to me. Pointing the tip of his blade at the young Fischer and his metal ax, Gus pierced his thumb with the pointed pommel and watched the dagger glow blue. A streak of lightning split the air. Thunder erupted, shaking the boughs of the tree. The young Fischer hit the ground with a thud.
“Witchcraft!” a man shouted.
“Run!” another cried. Shadows darted across the hilltop, fumbling in the dark, tripping over roots, falling over one another, and clambering to get away. They cleared out like a litter of mice fleeing a fat cat. Gus sat at the top of the tree, waiting, watching for any that remained.
Convinced, Gus glided to the ground and called for his companions. “Come out!"
Three shadows crawled out of a tall bush and crossed the clearing to join Gus. “Where’s Padair?” asked Rose.
“I’m over here!” the goat man crawled out from behind a fallen tree and plodded across the clearing. "I was waiting for a chance to ambush them!"
“Were you hiding there the whole time?” Skiggi asked.
“Not the whole time,” Padair said. He brushed dry grass from his fuzzy shoulders. “When Gus called my name, I sought him out. Augustus respects my name.” He eyed Rose with two blocks.
“I thought I sensed someone suddenly arrive–almost like they just popped into existence,” Rose said.
There she goes talking about ‘sensing’ things again, Gus pondered. “Is there a connection between elvish magic and satyr magic?”
“She’s more like you than me.” Padair crossed his arms.
“We’ll have time to pontificate on the powers of the universe later," Rose said. "Some things are more important.” She squinted her eyes and stared down her nose at the goat man. “Where’s our money?”
Padair scratched the base of a horn. “What did I do with that? Oh, yeah!” The satyr snapped his fingers. A large brown sack materialized, bending the shimmering air, and hovering over the palm of his outstretched hand. “Here it is!” He handed the sack of circlings to Rose, who snatched it away.
“Woah!” Dori exclaimed. “How’d you do that?”
Good luck getting an answer to that, Gus mused.
Skiggi shuffled his feet, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and eyed the goat man. “You wouldn’t happen to be hiding a wagon in the other hand, would you?”