Ch: 212 That Way Madness Lies

Sir Klyburn’s horse was a real charmer, But he silently refused to let her come up the trail from the river side battle site, where his squire Gerald, was waiting with the other horses. Petunia had some opinions on the matter but she kept them to herself…

She made her displeasure known by refusing to accept a proffered carrot from her bonded rider, delicately selecting one from Shai’s hand instead.

“Hester isn’t letting anyone, not even Rolf up that hill without a fight to the death… I’m ok with her watching over that thing.” Gary mused to himself, while helping the others saddle up and ready their mounts. Rolf was on a remount from Klyburn’s small string, she was Amaryllis, a pretty and sweet natured brown mare with the most delicate stride.

Once they were back by the River Road, the small knight with the dreamy, horse smitten expression on his face woke up a little. He touched his jaw below the silver earcuff her wore and nodded to no one. “We signaled an Adventure band, everything here is resolved… We will be in camp by nightfall…” He paused for a moment and nodded again. “No, all is well. Expect us before full dark.” He looked back to the group and smiled in a way even Tawny failed to recognize… he looked absolutely at peace with the world. “Gary, can we pull some of your tricks out, there are injured that could use a soaking in your bath… Naiomi and Otho seem adamant on that matter.”

“Ghaa… Redcap weapons are super gross… they leave all kinds of nasty diseases and parasites behind… filthy things.” Gary complained. “I’ll play nice, cause the enemy of my enemy is my... We’re still not on speaking terms.” He winked at Klyburn, who had yet to say a single word to any of them.

“I’m not worried about letting you see my abilities, I just don’t like being watched… at least, not when I’m working.”

He straddled his strange ‘stick horse’ while the red haired giantess did the same, together they started whistling a sprightly tune accompanied by his thumb bell and her singing hips.

They hurtled down the River Road, dragging the mounted folks along behind. Their horses seemed more than willing to seize the trailing, tangling, tempting threads of musical magic and follow wherever they led. They led there fast.

A flock of starlings followed along singing the melody to “Lovely Maid In The Morning’, a lilting folk tune that had been popular for centuries.

Come, sway, dance with me…

Sing, pray, among the trees.

Here where none can see…

They crested a rise a few fast flying miles later and found themselves overlooking the ducal barges. The encampment of pavilions and tents covered a full two acres, even with their efficient and compact layout.

Order was the closest to the noble pavilions and barges, with War hovering nearby. Adventure lingered on the outskirts among the horselines and latrine pits, of course.

Shai spotted the team’s tents among the avenues of plain canvas structures first, before Gary finished gawping at the sudden transformation of a stretch of river they had ridden through several times.

Wide avenues crossed the tent city, though none led directly to the center of camp. Two paths led to the large pavilions set up beside the barges, each one passing through the distinct camps of War and Order The Adventure guild forces mingled freely at the edges of the War encampment in general, while one small, shady, boggy, low lying section remained quiet.

Shai took the lead, guiding her boy off to the small block of his fanciful creations. Among the common, triangular shelters of the camp, the noble pavilions were all bright colors and rippling silk and waving pennants in house colors. Their destination was a patch of small, low bright colored domes and odd geometric shapes, built of stretched cloth, cordage and bamboo rods.

They rode up to the small patch of cheerful dome and pup tents, over near the horse lines and latrine trenches, with fresh breezes drifting from each, to sweeten the atmosphere and make the wet, squishy ground underfoot even less pleasant.

“So, how’d we wind up in the back forty?” Gary asked, while stowing the bikes. They had drawn way too many unfamiliar eyes as they rode up for his comfort.

“This is baron Eglund Fallon’s domain… his second is here in nominal command of the expedition. I think he bears a grudge against Tawny for some reason.” Rolf said softly. “My own team is nearby as well, so I am also not in good odor with house Fallon…” He giggled at his little joke and sighed. “On the bright side, it will be a short walk to the privy.”

“Well screw those guys…” Gary grumbled as he tuned up a few toys. “Everybody’s watching, are they expecting something?”

“Boy, everyone has been whispering wild rumors about ‘Belen’s new mad wizard’ for months.” A familiar voice called.

“Angus?” Shai whooped, as she dashed over to hug her fourth cousin, the human muscle pile. Even her long arms could barely enclose her shorter, much wider relative.

“I was in Wheatford for a new position, as lead cleric in the barony of Hillreach.” He spoke more softly as he joined the group of new arrivals, while the rest of the family boiled out of the tents to welcome them. “I’ll be providing much needed spiritual and secular guidance to young baron Holloman… we’ll talk later.”

A tide of exhausted, disheveled and less than completely fresh smelling friends washed over them, pouring out important questions between hugs… ‘where is the inn going to be?’, ‘how soon will my laundry be done?’ and ‘when’s dinner?’ were all popular demands.

The little ones were especially cranky, they had been napping when orders came to move the Bather’s camp to the outskirts. Wilf was not a fan of an interrupted nap and the other two were… as always, in solidarity with the quiet, serious boy.

“Some douche said we had’ta move… I didn’t like him at all... Even though we are closer to the horsies…” Amy complained, while her face was buried in Shai’s skirts.

“That was lord Duchea, sweetie…” Angie corrected her gently.

“S’wat I said, lord of the douches.” She grumbled, while Rio rattled a little roll and rimshot for her and Wilf struck his ‘hype man’ pose, silently standing by, with both finger guns firing wildly at his sister.

“Should we mess with them? Just a little?” Gary asked gently, as his kids settled down. The little monsters smiled and nodded happily.

“Weirdos keep coming by, tryin’a talk to us…” Amy complained. “I don’t like them! We wanna have a bath too, this place is stinky and Annie is really upset over her lodgings.”

“Weirdos?” Gary asked dangerously. “I laid down some ground rules early on… someone has been pushing my boundaries, kids. It’s time we pushed back.”

Wilf nodded firmly, he looked unhappy still, but resigned. “No snake?”

“No, sorry kiddo… it’s complicated, we’ll talk about that once we have a bath ok?” Gary hugged his boy close and whispered softly just for the little ones. “The one guarding it now is really special… you’re gonna love her. Trust me?”

“Trust you.” Wilf sighed, unhappily.

“Tell ya what… you decide how we’re messing with them. Tonight, Wilford chooses.”

“Creedence.” He said in a tone that felt like the fall of a gavel. “Down On The Corner.”

Gary grinned and began to strum. “The rules?” He asked the somber boy.

“Family only.” He had a hard and inflexible look in his eye; it said Wilf was done with all of this.

“That’s gonna make some rich people mad…” Gary warned the boy, with a finger waggle that said ‘no, no’ but a grin that said ‘oh yes, please’.

“Family time.” The verdict was in, there was no appeal.

#

Most of the rank and file troopers had heard the wild stories from the Wheatford and Flintspire contingents… Most of the encampments were from Port Fallon’s barracks and extensive temples of War and Order. They had only wild rumors and speculation to go on, mostly Angus’ particular brand of tall tales. He planned to spread more of them, for his own amusement.

Angus had a satisfied strut to his walk, as he went back to the fancy side of the camp. “I’ll leave you kids alone, I get the feeling that all the action will be in the central camp tonight…”

#

A runner came in and whispered in Duke Belen’s ear, during lord Duchea’s briefing on camp readiness. The man was well organized and ran a tight camp… but he could bore the moss off a tree stump. Belen whispered to Rummel, who passed it on to Mubarak.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Lord Argent Duchea was busily trying to scold Vera Anglin over her ‘porous border’ with the Wheatford Adventurer contingent, his real complaint was the presence of a commoner in the meeting.

“... encourages lax discipline! I even found a band of… those types, settling in near the inner ring! They even brought their squalling brats with them… Camp followers among the quality, not on my watch young lady!” He paused just in time, giving Vera a few valuable seconds to control her breathing.

“What is that noise?” Lord Duchea demanded, cocking his head to the side. “Who the deuce are, ‘Willie and the Poor Boys’?” He seemed confused and deeply annoyed by the raucous and strange song coming from the outer camp, by the waterside.

“Most likely, it’s those camp followers you were complaining about…” Duke Belen muttered happily.

“I heard they were setting up some kind of inn near the water…” Julius offered. “Some commoner’s trick probably… someone should pop down and regulate them.”

“My brother dukes, Mubarak, Belen and Rummel, would you like to accompany me on an inspection tour?” Lucius Holloman asked with an innocent smile. “You haven’t seen my barge yet! The foredeck should provide a spectacular view of… whatever is going on.” Four dukes strolled off to tour, ‘Tastes The Golden Spray’, Lucius Holloman’s enormous green and gold luxury barge. Even fitted for war, with a bank of hefty balistae fore and aft, she was more dayboat than dreadnought.

“We’ll have tea and watch how things turn out from above!” Lucuis chattered happily, while lord Duchea’s heart sank into his boots.

#

They rounded out the set with ‘Up Around The Bend’ and ‘Lookin Out My Back Door’. They let Liam and Tawny keep playing to amuse themselves, while the kids got ready for an early dinner and an early bedtime. Wilf was smiling like his old self at the end, letting everybody know with a wild flute solo that got just a little too far out there.

“Wilf, why do you like Gary’s old man music so much?” Amy gasped, after three high energy songs. He just smiled and shrugged.

“Come on, boys… I’m ready for a bath.” She sighed, taking her brothers by the hands.

Poor Gary was really dragging, all bloated and tired looking. But he went down into the workshop instead… the big silly.

#

Gary had a dirty secret… Down in the workshop, three huge stone tubs were swirling and bubbling away. Large mesh bags covered with magical inscriptions floated in the bubbling water, as the musician slowly stirred and turned them over and around. A blunt bronze hook on the other end of his paddle let him fish the bags out, when he judged they were done. He pulled a bag up and hung it on a hook over the vat to drain the excess liquid away.

Unbuttoning the flap released a wad of wet laundry onto a slanted table, which drained back into the pool. He worked briskly, unwadding and arranging everything. In a minute and a half he had it all neatly folded.

A half hour’s work had the whole lot sorted and piled in neatly folded stacks for each member of the family, along with mesh bags of underwear and socks. He opened the basement windows and with a gust of will, all the not exactly water blew away in a cloud of herbal scented stream, leaving clean, dry, neatly folded clothes.

The magic was in his big laundry bags. Finding a network of runes and sigils that could allow the water through, while maintaining a false animus in the clothing was difficult. The tiny charms that excluded dirt, sweat, blood and other contaminants from that protection were far simpler. Crud and grime floated off and dissolved in the waters, while the clothing remained; safe in the protective net of his ensorceled laundry bags.

He had a smile of pure pleasure as he worked his arts for the people upstairs in his home.

Tonight, his hedges and walls were higher, the warding charms much stronger and the house was buttoned down tight.

Grace Sheng was floating in his greatly expanded grotto, as were the injured members of Rolf’s team and a number of Tawny’s personal ‘guests’. Only those with invitations were coming in tonight, that was Wilford’s rule. Family time.

The public baths were there, outside the gate. The changing rooms were spartan and lacked the fluffy self warming towels and robes that his returning visitors expected…

There was no passage from the wide, shallow and noticeably cooler public baths into the private pool, nor was there an open gateway into the garden.

The closed gate and intimidating wall were back with a vengeance. Coils and loops of toxic thorns crawled over the top of the wall, while clusters of acidic, stinging berries drooped temptingly. A long barn stretched off along the wall, accommodating the team’s horses and extending those amenities to the rest of the herd.

The grizzled old horsemaster watching over Wheatford’s mounts just shook his head and sat down on a stump, while Annie and her friends sorted out the horses. Khan, Luna and Becky rearranged things at the massive horse’s direction, turning the orderly horse lines into a rope corral with plenty of room to roam; the familiars among them kept things nicely calm and orderly.

The latrines remained, they just stopped stinking. Some white mass of spongy fungal growth had taken over the trenches, absorbing the battalion’s ‘output’ without the usual aromas.

The colossal mound of corpses remained as well, a grisly and unpleasant reminder of the business at hand, sitting by the roadside a hundred yards off.

Gary could feel its oppressive weight and the remnants of violent endings echoing in the gathering night. He tuned it out, that was a matter for later. Gary turned back to his task, Pocketing! all the laundry and closing his eyes in deep concentration. Moving things around in the house took a lot of effort for him… almost more effort than roaming the halls for a few minutes and dropping it all off like a normie.

“Everything is cultivation…” He murmured, while his Mana refilled. It was taking forever to grow his mana pool, the Etheric pool was growing faster, relatively anyway…

Luna’s new rule was no musical mischief during household chores.

He had to use magical means whenever possible and recover without any help from old man rhythm at all.

“That’s what is going to push your limits, boy, not whistling up more magic and taking an easy path…” He could hear her nagging voice in his head, slowly becoming a toe-tapping, sing-song, lilting cadence that… “Aww man… this is tough!”

#

He stumbled up, bleary eyed and hungry, right into a hushed and tense discussion. “...Just pure luck he hasn’t come upstairs yet… Somebody needs to distract hi…” Becky’s earnest speech to Ivy, Tallum and Liam faltered when he emerged, right into their planning sesh.

“Gary!” Liam said, with false enthusiasm. “I was just coming to get you for… guitar practice… Show me that solo from ‘Black Dog’ again. Led Zeppelin still eludes me.”

“Yeah, sure, after I check out what you’re trying so hard to hide…” He sounded cranky, so Becky decided to be proactive. She gave a sharp whistle and Shai came trotting over in a hurry.

“Gary, There be an entanglement wi the nobles… Tawny hae it well in hand…” Shai came bouncing over, smiling and working hard to distract him, but he had the scent of trouble in his nostrils. He kept heading for the gate and the sound of voices.

“It be a misunderstanding, is all…” Shai said firmly, over the sound of a man yelling.

“…not tolerate whores and bawds in my encampment! Disease, debauchery and debt, that’s all this house of ill repute offers!”

Shai could feel him boiling with rage, ready to burst from the stresses of the last few days… “Boy, He dinnae ken who Tawny be… an four friendly dukes be watching the play frae the barge yonder… including sweet, much abused Tawny’s papa…”

Her desperate, urgent words cut through his fury finally as she whispered: “I would watch the man dig his own grave; aye, an tuck the clay in all round hisself too.”

Gary couldn’t see the play, only hear it. The man was demanding the house be demolished and they be run out of camp, after a thorough search for contraband and stolen goods, of course.

He could tell by Tawny’s voice, she had her veil on and was working the ‘humble acolyte of Dana, the goddess of healing’, angle. She was skilled at it and this Duchea was tired, stressed and being watched by his superiors, from a great height.

Marshal of Port Fallon was a position of some power and visibility, a wise office holder could go far… Able administrators who can manage warbands are always in demand.

The evening had all the ingredients for a foolish man’s spectacular fall, from a moderate height.

“Who is this? Your pimp?” The voice demanded, as Gary felt a familiar suit of mail march up from the central camp.

“My lord Duchea, assure you… this is all a misunderstanding. We have a special dispens-…”

Rolf’s calm, reasonableness ended with the sound of a brief scuffle. The young knight was still wearing Gary’s experimental armor, so the musical loon decided to take a magical peek.

He closed his eyes and took a calming breath, feeling for the intricate network of enchanted rings, each one individually enspelled with fragments of his own essence.

Training suit mark three was innovative, if he did say so himself. Rather than a suit of mail, it was a suit of individual magic rings, entangled and entrained by his gifts and fragmentary soul.

He watched in his mind’s eye, on instant magic replay, as Rolf gently slipped his weight to the left and flexed his hips, letting the outraged lord’s gauntleted slap pass by. The smaller man delicately reached out and nudged his aggressor in the shoulder, while sweeping a toe past the man’s weight bearing ankle… There wasn’t enough force behind the whole sequence of events to muss Wilford’s hair, but the larger, armored man folded up like a card table under a thanksgiving turkey.

Even the noise was pleasant, a nice dull thudding, it sounded really embarrassing and meaty.

All was silence save for a strained, groaning sound… The sound of a man who has fallen down in a suit of armor that needed adjustment and rebuilding thirty pounds ago.

As entertaining as that was, Gary was lost in the success of his project… his tired, frustrated, ‘picked up and disposed of way too many dead bodies today’ mind, shut down while mulling over Rolf’s moves. It felt like tai-chi with a serious aggression problem. “I’m gonna let Rolf wear that suit for a while…” He murmured sleepily. “Put me to bed lover, before I make bad choices.”

He kept his eyes closed as Shai kissed him goodnight… He was watching Rolf gently release the pudgy lord from the carapace of his much fitter self… like a fat grub being stuffed back into its chrysalis, played in reverse. That was amusing. The man came away shamed, battered and bruised by his own metal suit.

#

The young knight came inside and hugged his sister and Shai in turn a while later.

“I must say, this armor is remarkable… I haven’t had cause to test it properly, but I honestly forgot I was wearing it…” Rolf said as he hung the shining mail and his arming suit on the rack in his quarters. “Do you think he’d sell it, or take a commission?” He asked, once he was in a slightly more comfy robe.

“Nae, he will scrap the whole thing soon, an remake it anew.” She murmured happily, feeling her boy upstairs, peacefully asleep with the kids. “He does pursue some matter of craft wi great fervor. Tis some tradition of his lost home… some great knight known as ‘Iron Man’ or some such… an whatever ‘mecha’ be.”

#

It was a full house… Wilford’s ‘Family Time’ rule was enforced by Gary’s enchantments and his wards on the grounds. Those he didn’t consider family were gently shunted away, only receiving actual resistance in the form of a spiritual malaise, if they ventured too close.

It was Gary’s enchantments though… his definition of ‘family’ had broadened since landing in Wheatford, that meant it was still a very full house.

Meanwhile, the public pool remained very public, there was no chance he was missing the opportunity to soak a few new backsides in Eau De Wardé. Even in his sleep, he smiled as plots thickened.

#

All through the evening and until an hour past eighth bell, the house was busy with welcome and friendly faces. The few nosey, curious and entitled snoopers found the area around the only gate to be highly unwelcoming. The persistent were met by Tallum or Liam at the door and encouraged to explore elsewhere. The noble callers were met by Tawny and Rolf, with similar results.

Even sir Klyburn, official Gary-minder from the council, found himself in a tent near the gate, while his mount was comfy in the stables…

After the appointed hour, Shai declared that any ‘decent house’ would close, she put out the lights beside the doors and shuffled her guests off to bed, or off the grounds and into the camp outside.

Within the garden proper, she was lady of the manor, challenge that fact at your peril.

#

Rolf’s familiar armor was scattered across his workbench, arranged in careful order, one that made sense only to him. He gently filed, ground, cut and riveted his way through the complicated and remarkably well crafted suit. Gary was no great armorer, so he treated it the way he would a musical instrument, searching for signs of uneven wear, misadjustment and pinch points.

He dabbed bright colored tempera paint on the trouble spots and began the laborious process of removing all the straps, buckles, linings and fasteners.

He idly whistled the theme to ‘The A-team’ as he worked, reflecting on unlikely armored vehicles and wildly inaccurate shooting. He kept rolling through Tv theme songs from ages past, relics of his time in foster care and juvie.

Every dayroom and foster home had the tv set to those old shows… they were pervasive in his memories, especially the music, those silly, inescapably memorable songs. The Andy Grifith show was the first actual melody he learned, whistling it from his crib; while mom tried to improve her english by chatting along with the show and her son.

Those thoughts and feelings crept down his fingers, and into his work, as he repaired and adjusted the abused armor. Starting with a new set of straps and buckles cut from tough, flexible and low stretch, wallowbear hide.

Waxed linen cord and bronze rivets flowed across his fingers, as he slipped farther into the job, easing his tension away through the quiet meditation of his crafts.

Finally, all that was left was the breastplate and the long, shallow gouges carved into the well tempered spring steel by the troll’s claws. That was going to require some fancy welding from Tallum or Shai… The rest stood ready, mounted on an armor stand with a fresh suit of padded underlayers, new made, in tough and resilient spider silk, straight from his sewing machine and magical fingies.

He sprawled back on a conjured sofa, feeling tired enough to go back to bed for the last two hours before dawn… or he could start something new…

#