Empirical Gnollage: Installment 116 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment116.png]
BONG-BONG! BONG-BONG! BONG-BONG!
A streak of yellow smoke shot into the sky above the wall, ending in a flash of golden light and a larger cloud of the smoke.
"Whoa!" Wikwocket breathed, "I love fireworks! Is that for us?"
"I sure hope not," said Al, "Let's just stay out in the open and keep walking, and try not to look threatening."
"No problem! Come, beast!" Wikwocket giggled, tugging on the rope tucked under Gruntle's collar - gently, so that she wouldn't pull it loose. Gruntle obligingly dropped to all fours, walking on the palms of his short-fingered hands. Something about Gruntle's toothy grin seemed unusual to Al, until he finally realized the gnoll seemed unexpectedly amused, which up to that point hadn't been an emotional state he could associate with such a creature, despite having seen it once on their first meeting.
That's just weird. If he starts giggling, it will probably break my mind completely.
The gates to the city were barely visible at this distance, but Al could just make out the frantic activity happening in front of them as they opened. A small crowd of figures emerged from the opened gates and milled about in front. Some of them went back inside and more came out a few minutes later on horses. The indistinct sound of orders being shouted faintly carried over the distance. A cluster of at least a dozen riders arranged themselves into a wide wedge formation and set out towards them, banners raised above them on long poles. The glint of metal at the ends suggested lances. At least they were moving at a trot rather than a gallop, so Al didn't think they were being reckless or panicked despite the alarm bells still ringing out from the city.
And that's a good thing, since at this point there's no way this fuss isn't about us. Why, though? There are only four of us, what kind of threat could we be?
Al reached in to retrieve the letter of introduction from the inner pockets of his robe so he'd have it ready when the guards got close enough.
"All right, just keep walking towards them at a steady pace, and don't do anything sudden. Just do what they say and don't scare them," Al said, watching the approaching riders.
"Don't worry, we'll be on our best behavior mister magical sword hero, sir!" Wikwocket promised with an awkward salute.
"Might be better if you were on someone else's best behavior," Al muttered, getting a laugh from Wikwocket in return.
The riders spread out as they drew nearer. The rider at the front called a halt some distance away and raised something to their face. A looking-glass? Al guessed. The rider lowered it, then raised it again, then scanned across the entire field from left to right. The rider lowered the looking-glass again and turned back to shout angrily behind them. One of the riders wheeled around and galloped back in the direction of the city. The rest resumed their approach at a slower walk. By the time the two groups had closed the distance enough to hear each other, the bells in the city had ceased, and a rider could be seen galloping back. The horses began to fidget nervously.
"Halt!" the man at the head of the riders called out, pulling back gently on the reins of his own worried horse. "Is that an actual gnoll?".
He and the rest of the riders stopped, and the ones surrounding him lowered their lances. Al was relieved to see the tips dipped below where they were pointing at them, though they could be quickly brought into position if the order was given to charge.
Al wasn't consciously aware of it, but the year of behavioral conditioning in the militia made him stop and stand at attention before answering. He groaned inwardly as he spotted Wikwocket in his peripheral vision sloppily saluting with her left hand as she stopped, still holding the other end of Gruntle's simulated leash in her right.
"Yes he is, sir," Al called back. Al thought the man seemed to relax, just a little.
"Where are the rest of them?" the man asked.
"This is the only one I'm aware of, sir."
"That seems unlikely. We have reason to believe there are more of them."
Before Al could answer, several of the riders moved their horses aside for another to get through. The horse they'd seen galloping back from the city was carrying two riders wearing the same shackles-and-wall heraldry as the others. The man in front brought the horse to a stop and dismounted to help the woman behind him do the same. The dark-haired young woman had some severe scarring across her face and moved with some difficulty as if still suffering from old injuries. Across her uniform, she had a belt slung over her shoulder with several large leather pouches strung along it.
"I'll save the questions about how you managed to capture one alive and how you keep it docile for later," the riders' leader said. "I assume you're some sort of wizard. For now, are you certain you have it safely under control?"
"As long as nobody provokes him at least, sir."
The man gave Al an intensely scrutinizing stare. "Are you militia?" he finally asked.
"Not currently, sir."
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"Then you can quit calling me sir, I work for a living."
The man looked back - but not so far that he couldn't keep an eye on Gruntle, Al noticed - to speak to the woman who was now walking forward with the aid of a cane in one hand as the other hand unbuckled one of the pouches and reached inside.
"Well, Diana," the man said, "the wizard here says this one they've somehow captured alive is the only one they've seen, and I certainly don't see any more of them. Any chance your little invention isn't working right?"
Diana pulled a short-necked ball-shaped glass bottle from the pouch and held it up in the late-afternoon sunlight. A clear pink liquid inside roiled vigorously as if boiling, causing the tuft of hair or fur and the sharp tooth inside to bounce around in the flow.
"If something was wrong with it," she answered in a scratchy voice, "it would work less well, not too well. This much reaction is too strong to be less than at least a scouting party of ordinary gnolls, not just one. There's never just one gnoll."
"He's... not exactly an ordinary gnoll," Al tried to explain. "I've noticed some changes in him during the time we've been traveling together." A scattering of startled and disbelieving noises came from various of the assembled city guards. Diana took a worried, stumbling step back away from them and the captain's face showed disbelief that he'd heard correctly.
"Did you say traveling together?" the captain asked, incredulous. "You didn't capture it here? You don't expect me to believe you've been walking around with a gnoll for days, with nothing more than a rope tied around its neck to keep it under control, do you?"
"It's been a few weeks now, actually," Al admitted. The captain didn't seem to believe him.
"And why exactly hasn't it eaten you yet?"
Wikwocket giggled in anticipation as Gruntle looked up to meet the captain's eyes and opened his jaws. He ignored the lances that raised up to point in his direction as he spoke.
"Our... potent clan shaman...," Gruntle began with some mental effort.
"It talks!" the startled captain exclaimed.
"... would be... vexed... if someone is... in-a-propriately... consumed... without permission," Gruntle finished.
Wikwocket's laughter and the barking noise that seemed to pass as laughter for Gruntle echoed out, agitating the horses while Al held up his hands in a desperate plea for calm.
"It's all right, it's all right, don't worry, he just thinks he's funny!"
"Would anyone like to explain to me exactly what kind of farce I'm in the middle of here?" the captain demanded, watching the gnome and the gnoll bump fists.
"Uh, sir, if I may," one of the other riders offered as he tried to get his horse calmed down, "I heard a rumor that someone transformed into a gnoll has been staying at Hell's Bathtub. Maybe that's him?"
"Well?" the captain directed at Al.
"He is the one they're talking about, yes, but..."
"Are you aware that shapechanging magic is illegal in Southwall?" the captain said sternly. He nodded at Diana.
"Yes, sir, I do. It's a little complicated to explain," Al replied, as Diana put her alchemical gnoll-detector back in its pouch, then opened another one. With a triumphant smirk, she held out another round glass bottle, this one filled with colorless clear liquid, with a layer of tiny glittering flakes of some substance settled into the bottom. She held it out towards Gruntle.
The triumphant smirk slipped when the contents of the bottle just sat there undisturbed. Diana hobbled closer on her cane and the smirk faded completely as she got closer and saw no change. She shuffled her way backwards again, and shook her head at the captain.
"You see, when we got to Hell's Bathtub," Al said, "everyone just assumed since I was a wizard that I'd transformed him into that, and I thought it would avoid causing a panic if we just went along with it. I don't think we could have gotten him a bath otherwise."
The captain closed his eyes tightly for a moment. "That just brings up more things that need explanation than I want to deal with right now. How about you just explain why you're bringing it here to my city?"
"Someone we met in Hell's Bathtub said the steward of the penal arena was interested in hiring him. I have this letter," Al answered, holding out the letter. The guard captain took it, broke the wax seal, and unrolled it to read it without waiting for permission.
"Date on this says it was written yesterday," said the captain without looking up from his reading. "How did you get here so fast?"
"Um... I'm a wizard, and there was magic involved," Al hedged.
"Right, of course. Oh. it's him." The captain rolled the letter back up. "Cyrus?"
"Yes, that's right," Al answered. "You know him?"
"Not personally, but I know he seems to get himself involved with some strange things from time to time. A legitimate merchant otherwise as far as I know."
He handed the letter off to one of the other riders.
"You, take this to Patrick, and meet us back at the gate to tell us what he says. You five there, with me, we're escorting these people and their gnoll prisoner to the city. The rest of you can head back and get back to the manhunt."
All but six of the riders trotted back towards the city. The captain and the five others he'd chosen formed up as closely as they could ahead, behind, and to the sides of the party and their donkey-pulled cart. The horses were well-trained, but still clearly uncomfortable being anywhere near a gnoll. The captain's efforts to stay close enough to talk normally became too much effort, and he finally handed the reins of his horse off to another rider and hopped off to approach Al on foot.
"How about you explain a little more about what's going on here. We'll walk in the back so I can keep an eye on your dangerous beast there."
Al laughed. "Sorry, not laughing at you, it's just... that's exactly the way I felt, too, when we set out. I'm not exactly sure why or how I got over that, but it's like he's just one of us now, as weird as that sounds."
"Us? How can you consider a thing like... He's loose!" the captain shouted, seeing Gruntle pluck the end of the rope out from under his collar and hand it back to Wikwocket. Startled riders hurried to get some distance and then wheel around to point lances in their direction.
"Wait! Wait! We just did that so nobody would panic, he was never actually tied up to begin with!" Al quickly explained.
"You brought an unrestrained live actual gnoll to my city?"
"Please, he's been among other people before, there's no need for panic! He's actually well-known in Silveroak and Henhaven!"
"Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds? Do you have any other crazy things to tell me?"
"Actually... ," Wikwocket began.
Oh, no...
"...We made a dead guy! Will you give us any money for him?"