“I tell you the tale of a fisherman knight

Who was mocked in the ring of Fort Bastil’s fight

Noble his heart, but humble his state

He managed to engender Dalain Thiery’s hate

For the sword master’s blade did shatter and break

The crown of victory our hero did rise and take

Fort Bastil’s tournament well and truly over

And our champion is but one, Judd LaMogre!”

Giordi sighed and ran his hands through his golden curls.

“LaMogre…over…”

“It doesn’t rhyme.” Caste ground out between gritted teeth.

“That all songs must rhyme is a fallacy,” Giordi returned lightly which only served to make Caste’s aggravation that much more pronounced, “but it lacks something in its weight, in its address…quite frankly, it is simply not my best.”

“I see what you did there.” Judd laughed.

They were crossing the southern foothills that heralded the start of the ‘Hump’, the mountain range Fort Faine was tucked into the north of. The air was fresh, losing some of its warmth due to their southern trek yet there was no lazy wind that might turn fresh into chill. This was because they were surrounded by a forest that was similar to the one where Judd had fought the goblins. However, those trees were spread out and there was plenty of room between them. This far south, the trees were closer, their leaves were green, not amber and there was a great deal of undergrowth.

Judd LaMogre’s little party of five had to stick to a path that wound its way through the shallow valleys of the foothills, heading for the western coast of the continent. Quell and Zeke, their newly acquired horses walked happily alongside them, the leash of their harnesses clutched in Judd and Verne’s hands. Their docile eyes took in the world that was unfolding around them, never having known anything other than the stables and the stone walls of Fort Bastil.

Aalis picked leaves from bushes as she passed them, crushing them between her fingers and smelling their aroma, sometimes pausing to gather more and other times eating what she gathered. Not many were willing to try her vegetation diet. Because she was not in anyone’s company other than those she travelled with, she had let her hood fall back and tied her dreadlocks into a crown of silvery white.

Caste, despite being unencumbered by his clerical pack which weighed more than all of their swags combined, was lamenting their nomadic minstrel’s poetic musings. His copper red hair was darkened in the shadow of the forest, becoming a bold, red hue which only served to make his fair skin paler by comparison and his freckles stood out brightly.

Giordi, with his lute strapped to his back, had been practicing his lyrics for some time, his golden curls catching any sunlight they could, his handsome face almost angelic. “It is simply that LaMogre is not the easiest name with which to rhyme.” Giordi lamented. “All I have been able to come up with is ‘ogre’.”

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“I did kill one of those.”

“Yes but I can hardly include such a feat into every song I write. It would quickly be identified as lazy writing.”

“It’s not lazy if that’s all there is.” Verne pointed out.

“What about…ochre?” Aalis offered.

“It is a forgivable relative rather than a rhyming sibling…but I suppose I could yield to a fair lady’s suggestion.” Giordi winked at her.

“Well, if it does not have to be a sibling rhyme and just a close relative,” Verne murmured, “what about…odour?”

Judd gave Verne an unimpressed glance. “Really?”

“Stoker?”

“What is that?”

“Bloater. Choker. Poker…floater…”

“There once was a fisherman floater, who was known as Judd LaMogre…”

“Really…just…shut up.” Judd sighed.

“What does LaMogre mean?” Giordi asked.

“I know that!” Caste snorted. “It means boring.”

“That is unfortunate,” Giordi admitted as Judd groaned, “for while a great deal rhymes with boring, it is not the sort of thing I am looking for in my lyrics. No, I will have to venture far from rhymes and irritate you a little more, Caste.”

“Cleric Caste to you.”

As their bickering continued, Aalis skipped ahead a few paces to join Judd at the front of the procession.

“I’m starting to regret allowing Gavoli to join us.” Judd said softly and only half jokingly. “Caste is going to have a stroke if this keeps up.”

“It took Caste a while to become used to me. He will settle down.”

“I don’t think Caste got used to you. I think others came along that took his scathing attention away from just you.” Judd sighed. “When Giordi asked to accompany us, I thought we’d be singing songs around campfires and that it would be a bonding time…”

“I am not sure that Giordi is deliberately goading Caste…but even if he is, Caste will simply have to learn to ignore him.” Aalis plucked a purple frond from a bush and rubbed it between her fingers, smelling it. “Lavender…beautiful.”

“I get a little worried when you just pick and eat things.” Judd glanced at her. “How do you know it’s not going to make you sick or possibly kill you?”

“Trial and error.” He raised his eyebrows and she smiled. He chuckled then froze when she grabbed his arm. “Judd…look.”

A parade of wild turkeys was marching across the path they were on. Their plump black feathered bodies contrasted with the red of their necks and the wide frill of their tail. They were either unaware or uninterested at the attention they were receiving.

“What’s the hold up?” Caste groused from behind.

“Ah, turkey meat…delicious with crushed cranberries in fermented wine…” Giordi sighed.

Judd looked at Aalis. “You’re thinking…supper?”

“We have been travelling for four days now and our food supplies are growing bleak…unless you want another helping of barley nettle soup.” Aalis said pointedly.

“Yeah…” Judd shuddered. “Verne,” he jerked his head, “time to put your bow to the test.”

Verne slid an arrow into his grasp and eyed down the shaft at the walking buffet but just as he fired, Quell jerked her head and whinnied and the turkeys darted away, the arrow striking the ground. The turkeys were now startled and began to cluck and gobble, their awkward walking becoming faster and faster, fleeing the hungry travellers.

Judd swore, unsheathing his sword. “All of you! Quick!”

“Wait!” But Aalis’ cry was lost as Judd and Giordi darted forward, lunging at the turkeys.

Immediately the flock scattered, gobbling with mad indignation, their legs scampering and their claws scraping the ground. There were feathers, screeches, yells of fury and despite the humans being that much larger than them, the turkeys didn’t just flee…they fought back.

Judd’s hands narrowly missed one turkey, skidding into the dirt then felt another on his back, pecking his head.

“Ow! Get off me you fowl!”

“Foul fowl? Ow!” Giordi screeched as three turkeys attacked his legs.

“I can’t get a clear shot!” Verne lamented.

“I don’t care if you hit me…shoot one of them!” Giordi howled, running as the turkeys chased him.

Judd was now covered with turkeys, his sword lost as he cowered his face with his hands, feeling the aggressive birds jab him all over. He couldn’t risk one of them pecking his eyes out.

Suddenly there was a sound like an instant and over in the blink of an eye shower of rain…and for one glorious moment, the turkeys stopped attacking him. The next, they were gone. Judd sat up, seeing the turkeys run at Aalis who had scattered a handful of barley at her feet. The turkeys clamoured around her, greedily pecking at the grains. Even the turkeys that had chased Giordi were arrested at the sound of food and gathered around her.

Giordi, panting and huffing, along with Verne who holstered his bow and folded his arms, stood with Judd as Aalis looked up and smiled.

“I think we can take our pick of the flock now.”

“Never underestimate the power of the feminine mind.” Giordi breathed.