The unlikely travelling companions were courting nightfall by the time the wheel had been fixed.

Fortunately, Merhim had been spinning yarns about his many ventures through the Longwalk Woods for the past hour or so. If Holsley hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn the gnome had planted the trees himself from the way he told his stories. Still, he had no choice but to trust his judgement, and allow him to lead the way.

Merhim led them to a small clearing for the night. Judging by the ashen branches lying in the pit and the way the wooden logs had been arranged for comfortable seating, they weren’t the first travellers to make use of this place. In fact, Merhim confessed to having been here several times before.

They had arrived at the right time. Holsley couldn’t help noticing how dark and twisted the trees had become. Overgrown branches reached towards them like outstretched fingers, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. Best to be in the safety of camp then. He set his mind to ease by gathering some kindling.

After a few short trips in and out of the woods, they had enough spindly sticks to start a fire. Merhim, who had been playing around with a pot and a sack full of vegetables, did the honours himself. He retrieved a peculiar metallic device from his pockets that Holsley knew as a firestarter. Upon the press of a button, it brought a small flame to life, which Merhim used to get the blaze going.

‘Bet you’ve never seen one of these before, eh?’ Merhim presented the firestarter for Holsley’s inspection, but the bard turned it away. ‘Ah yes, pride of gnomish manufacturing, this. While humans and elves are busy rubbing two sticks together, us gnomes can get on well enough with our love of invention. Sarwolia, be blessed.’

‘I’ve seen one before,’ Holsley said glumly. ‘A long time ago.’

Merhim fed his vegetables to the pot, which he then simmered over the fire. Holsley watched him do it as his thoughts turned to Roland. They probably hadn’t even fed him. Every time he had been to an execution, which was rare, the men standing on those platforms looked skinny as rakes. Starved. He had a tough time imagining Roland in that kind of state.

‘So, why you heading to Tressa all of a sudden, kid?’ Merhim’s question cut through the silence. Holsley’s thoughts returned to the present moment as he watched the gnome stir their dinner with a wooden spoon. ‘I thought you didn’t much like Tressa, eh?’

‘I don’t.’ That’s all the answer Holsley wanted to give, but he pressed on to elaborate — he owed the gnome at least that much for misplacing the crossbow. ‘A friend of mine has got himself into trouble. I’m going to try and help him.’

‘Trouble?’ The gnome raised an eyebrow. ‘What kind of trouble?’

‘The kind that gets you hanged,’ replied Holsley.

‘Is he a pirate?’

That was a good question, but Holsley didn’t have a good answer. Instead, he shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Tressa hates pirates at the moment. They’ll execute them quicker than they can say parlay.’ The gnome snickered, then stole a tentative slip of the simmering broth and promptly pulled a face. ‘That needs a few more minutes. What is it you’re planning on doing then, kid?’

‘Well, Darynell told me about the Law of Appeal,’ said Holsley. ‘I’m going to try to—’

‘Waste of time.’ Merhim shrugged the rest of Holsley’s words away. ‘Many have tried. None have succeeded. Tressa doesn’t like its criminals, and believe me, the criminals don’t like it either. You must be close to this friend of yours, though, since you got yourself locked in a trunk for him.’

‘I was, uh…am,’ Holsley said awkwardly. ‘Haven’t seen him for a few years, though.’

‘Is he innocent, do you think?’

Holsley digested those words for a moment as the gnome took another chance at sampling the broth. It was another good question. He’d never thought of Roland as being innocent, as such, but he certainly didn’t deserve to die. Roland wasn’t a bad person. Holsley supposed that his innocence wasn’t really important, just as long as Roland hadn’t done anything too bad.

He was being hung for piracy. That meant, most likely, he’d become a pirate. They just did things like steal from other ships, right? Like thieving. Roland had always been a thief, a really good one, too. It just meant that now he was a thief on the water instead of the land.

‘What does desertion mean?’ Holsley asked then, recalling the word from Roland’s poster. ‘I think he’s being hung for that too.’

‘It’s when a person abandons their position in the military,’ replied Merhim without looking back at him. ‘Your friend must have escaped from mandatory military service. I’ve heard Tressa offers that to first-time offenders.’

Holsley was desperately trying to piece together the last three years of Roland’s life, but he had very few clues to go on. Somehow, his friend had become a pirate, and it must have been after he deserted his post in the Tressan military. Maybe becoming a pirate was why he had abandoned his post in the first place.

So many questions.

‘When was the last time you saw him?’ Merhim pulled the spoon to his mouth, this time, seeming content with the results, and hurriedly prepared bowls to share the broth. It was a simple meal, but it smelled delicious. Incredibly delicious. Holsley’s belly growled with anticipation. He hadn’t eaten anything all day.

The young bard knew it had been three years, but was trying to recall the last time he had seen Roland. It must have been in the Tressan markets after the incident with Kythos. He could remember them getting into hysterics over how angry the brutish tiefling had become from their bout of mischief. He smiled at the thought, then frowned. It had been the same day as—

‘Here.’ The gnome thrust the bowl in Holsley’s direction and broke the spell his memories had cast over him. ‘Get this down you, eh. Got a few days to Tressa yet.’

Hunks of carrot, lettuce, potato, and leek swam happily together in the brown, watery liquid beneath his senses. From how his nostrils were stinging, it wasn’t a leap to guess that the gnome had added some spices to the brew to bring out the flavour. He smelled sweet coriander, spicy cumin, and a little garlic.

It wasn’t the best meal he had ever had. Not by a long shot, but it was certainly functional and tasty, even if the broth was too busy, in his opinion. There was too much going on with the spices, vegetables, and flavour. Still, he hungrily wolfed it down, remembering the old adage that beggars can’t be choosers.

The pair sat uneasily together as they munched their dinner, slurping down the broth and chewing on the vegetables. Merhim had positioned himself on the log directly opposite the fire, leaving Holsley to glance over at him through the flames. The day was waning, and soon they’d be asleep, but there was one thing that Holsley wanted to know of the gnome. One thing that, if he didn’t ask, he’d soon regret.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

‘Okay, uh…’ he began, grinding the carrot pieces slowly in his mouth, ‘…about those paintings.’

Merhim stopped chewing and glanced up at Holsley. ‘So…you did see them then?’

‘I mean, I may have caught sight of them when that thief I mentioned was running off with them,’ said Holsley, leaning a little closer towards the gnome. ‘I’ve got to ask, uh, why? Why do they exist?’

‘Painting is my passion, Holsley,’ the gnome said simply, with a shrug. ‘Have you ever seen a magical item before, lad?’

The young bard blinked.

Holsley didn’t need to think long about what the gnome had asked because he had seen a magical item before. Back in Donathal, the elves used magical items for practically everything. From defending their borders against mountain monsters to propping up wobbly chairs and beyond. So much that they had become a little boring.

There was something else, however. An item he had known in his youth. A lute — a magical lute — that was nothing less than a masterpiece of craftsmanship. It could play beautifully and could only be played beautifully. The instrument was made from an enriching crimson wood that shone in even the darkest of places, and no matter what you did to it, it could never be scratched or broken.

Just thinking about it made Holsley ache to see it again.

‘Yeah,’ he said, finally. ‘I’ve seen magical items before.’

‘I bet you haven’t seen anything like this, though.’

Merhim reached into the inner pocket of his scraggly coat and pulled from it an old paintbrush. ‘I bought this from a market stall in Port Ral’Endas. It may not look like much, but it’s magical. All you need to do is think of a colour and tap its brush against an object. Whatever you touch will, for a time, become that colour. You can also paint with it like you’ve got a never-ending supply. Look, watch this.’

The gnome touched the tip to his jacket, which was currently a dark green. Suddenly, it turned a vibrant blue, then a crimson red, and finally a gravestone grey. ‘I found my passion for painting after buying this brush.’

‘Okay,’ said Holsley. ‘But, uh, what about the nature of your paintings? The, um, nudity in them?’

‘Humans! You’re all so prudish!’ Merhim folded the paintbrush back inside his jacket pocket and crossed his arms over the breast. ‘You can’t handle the peak gnome form, eh? You think I should be painting mountains and forests and the like? Boring. Grossly boring.’

Holsley watched him stomp over to his unfurled bedroll. A part of him wished he hadn’t asked about it. Asking it hadn’t even yielded an answer. Wisely, he decided to change the subject. ‘Do you think those goblins will come looking for us?’

‘Nah,’ said Merhim, sliding into the woollen bag. ‘Goblins don’t attack the same people twice. Far too cowardly. Now, let me get some sleep, kid. I want an early start to make up for lost time.’

The young bard finished the last few bites of his meal and then positioned himself far enough away from the fire that he could still feel it without being near it. Then, as he often did when he struggled to sleep, he counted sheep in his head until unconsciousness found him.

----------------------------------------

A gnome’s scream was far more effective than any alarm.

Holsley hadn’t known how many hours had passed since he had reached the land of nod, but he did know two things. The first was that it was still dark, but the moons had moved some way across the sky, meaning hours had passed. The second was that the gnome was threatening to bash his face in with a spare tree branch he had stolen from the ground.

‘You braindead bard!’ he seethed, shaking him awake. ‘You incompetent idiot. You maddening minstrel! You—’

‘I get it!’ Holsley forced the gnome off him. ‘What are—’

‘YOU were supposed to be keeping watch for trouble, eh,’ shouted the gnome. ‘You’re the hired security! Why weren’t you awake? This could’ve been avoided easily if you were bloody awake!’

‘What?’ Holsley rubbed his head, confused. ‘What are you—’

He reached for his lute, as he often did when he needed something to comfort his nerves. Holsley’s fingers found nothing instead. Eyes wide, he searched the dirt for the instrument. It had been right there, just next to where he had been sleeping. His gut twisted. It only dawned on him what had happened when he looked for the cart, the ale, the horse, and anything else they had brought with them. It was gone. Everything was gone. ‘What happened?’

‘We were robbed, eh.’ Merhim kicked the half-empty pot, which did little more than scatter what remained of the stew and stub his toe. He hopped on it angrily. ‘You were supposed to be keeping watch!’

‘I didn’t know that!?’ Holsley had never felt so affronted in all of his life. He’d never served as security on a journey before, and, if he were being honest, he didn’t even know the extent to which he was serving as security on this journey. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Oh, what good are excuses now?’ Merhim moaned, dropping to his knees. ‘I spent what little I had left on that bloody ale, and now I’ve got nothing. Not a damned thing, eh.’

‘I need that lute.’ Holsley found his feet and straightened his back. ‘I can’t go to Tressa without that lute.’

‘Good luck with that, kid.’ Merhim sat down on one of the logs and then buried his face into his hands. His palms obscured any other words he spoke, but Holsley could imagine what his muttering amounted to. So, he stopped listening. Instead, he went to see the patch of flattened grass where the cart had once been.

It was too dark to see it properly, but he could conjure a light to see the area better. It was one of the minor spells that the elves had taught him. These minor spells, or cantrips as they were more commonly called, could be cast with minimal effort and without even the use of a lute — although their total power remained up to his ability.

Holsley took a fallen branch from the ground and whistled a simple tune. This one had taken some time to master but was simple enough to conjure at a moment’s notice. As he whistled, a small bauble of light grew from the top end of the stick. It wasn’t terribly bright, but it was enough to illuminate the area. The tracks were obvious. The heavy wheels had flattened the grass and left a trail they could follow into the woods.

‘I’ve found something,’ he called over to Merhim. ‘Maybe we could follow these tracks?’

‘Follow them and do what?’ Merhim glanced up over his palms. ‘We’ve got no weapons, and we’re probably up against bandits, kid. Right now, I’d bet anything they’re sitting about having a good old drink on my coin. Probably while rummaging through our belongings…well, my belongings.’

The gnome had a good point.

There was no telling what awaited them at the other end of these tracks. To him, it was a simple matter of his need for the lute outweighing any potential pending danger. Holsley simply could not abandon the instrument and reach Tressa without it. It was his only weapon for one thing, and for another, it was just about the only thing he had left in this world.

‘I’m following them,’ he said firmly, holding his makeshift torch a little higher — it should last at least an hour. ‘You can come if you want?’

‘Do you have any idea how dangerous these woods are, eh?’ The gnome straightened and set his eyebrows to stern. ‘I ain’t blindly walking through the trees hoping we come across the men who robbed us so we can politely ask them to return our things. What do you expect to do here exactly? You don’t even have a weapon?’

What would Marlin Mandrovi do? Holsley knew the answer, of course. The magnificent minstrel would charge into the forest without a care for the danger and find the villains that had robbed him. He wouldn’t fight them, though. No, he’d find a way to outsmart them. Trick them into handing back his things. Could Holsley pull something like that off?

He was no Marlin Mandrovi, but it was worth at least seeing where their things had ended up, right?

‘Listen, I’m not going to go charging in demanding our stuff back,’ replied Holsley, shining the light towards Merhim so he could catch the gnome’s expression. It wasn’t reassuring. ‘There’s little harm in seeing what we’re up against. Uh, I think. Maybe we might find an opportunity to take everything back?’

‘Suppose that’s reasonable,’ Merhim sighed. ‘But if it’s a bandit camp, chances are they’ll be looking out for intruders. They’ll have a patrol set up.’

‘I don’t think it’s bandits or anything human-sized anyway,’ replied Holsley. The young bard beckoned Merhim over to inspect the grass with him. ‘My boots have left prints in the grass and the mud, look. There’s very clear evidence of me and even clear evidence of you, and we’re not that heavy. Why are there no other tracks then? Not one footprint?’

‘That’s a good catch, kid,’ said Merhim thoughtfully. ‘Our thieves must be quite light then.’

With a deep breath caught in his lungs, Holsley took the first step forward. Following the tracks would be easy, as obscuring a heavy cart was no easy task in an environment like this —even in the dark. The hard part would be keeping himself moving.

In truth, Holsley’s nerves were on edge, especially when it felt like all this darkness was closing in on him. Danger lurked everywhere, he knew, and every step past a tree or brush of a leaf might set off a life-threatening trap. It was a stupid decision made in desperation, but he needed that instrument back.

He couldn’t see Roland without it.