Greyfax Grimwald (35 page)

“Halt and identify.”

Otter, without thinking, stopped in his tracks and blurted out his name. Out of the cover of night came another voice.

“Private” Kranz, with a prisoner for our intelligence corps.”

“Pass in,” replied the sentry.

Otter stopped a few paces off the road to see these new arrivals. A rather large, stout fellow came into the dim lantern glow of the guard post, followed by a soldier with his firearm at his captive’s back.

“Oww,” complained Bear, feeling the sharp bite of the rifle barrel in his now tender ribs. “I’m going on as quickly as “I’m able. No need poking me about like that”

There was something curiously familiar about the voice, Otter decided, and fell into step with the guard as he passed.

“Here, stand away. I’ve got a dangerous spy here,” growled the guard.

“He looks harmless enough to me,” said Otter, and whistling one of Bear’s old songs, he continued on beside the man.

The prisoner stopped dead, and the guard bumped headlong into him.

“Offf you oaf, I’ve banged my nose,” snarled the guard, and started to give Bear a good nudge with his rifle.

“Otter?” said Bear, squinting closely at the strange man shape of his old friend.

“Bear? Is that you, you silly ass?” giggled Otter, holding down the great urge to fast-nose-scamper between Bear’s legs to bowl him over.

“Get on, you,” snapped the soldier, raising his weapon, menace growing thick in his voice.

“I can explain everything if you’ll hold a moment, friend,” said Otter, twirling twice around and repeating the words. The guard looked stupidly down at the small gray creature standing on its hind paws before him, addressing him politely.

“You see,” Otter went on, “you have my friend Bear here, held captive, when he’s of no mind to harm anyone, and comes only in search of me.”

The guard looked up, directly into the great open jaws of the fully upright bear, who was rumble-chuckling low in his broad chest.

The soldier’s firearm clattered to the ground at his feet, his eyes wide, mouth pumping furiously open and closed.

“You see, I’m not a spy, but a bear,” carefully explained Bear, moving one huge forepaw in a general explanation of his large animal shape.

“And he’s found me, and we’re together now, and General Greymouse knows all about it, so thank you kindly for escorting my friend here,” went on Otter. “And now we’ve much to mull over and decide on, so we’ll leave you with our thanks.”

Bear bowed low. “One small courtesy before you return to your duties, friend,” said Bear, and he picked the stunned figure of the man up in one great paw, lifted him briskly off the ground, and landed a resounding thwack to the man’s backside.

“Our accounts are even, friend,” said Bear, depositing the man back on his feet and gingerly rubbing his own sore ribs.

“Now I think you had best return the way you came, friend. Your duty is done,” said Otter, placing the weapon back into the man’s clenched hands.

Bear and Otter dropped to all fours, and quickly trotted away toward the camp, leaving the numbed guard staring unbelievingly after them.

“Gor,” he said, trying to shake away the disturbing nightmare visions. “I’d better get right down to sick call. My mind has got the battle sickness.” he said, walking slowly after the now invisible figures of Otter and Bear, dragging his rifle along beside him by the barrel.

Passing quickly the sentries posted at the beginning of the company street, and leaving them standing and wiping then: eyes to dear away the standing sleep they had lapsed into, Otter and Bear entered the tent where the sleeping Flewingam lay.

Bear studied the man, growling. Who’s he? Another of the poke-ribs?”

Otter was frolicking about the floor at Bear’s feet, turning first one way, then the other, then under the bed. From over the sleeping Flewingam’s stomach, Otter’s gray-whiskered face popped up.

“He’s a friend,” chirped Otter, then scampering hard about the entire floor twice, he raced over and gave Bear a quick nip just above the big animal’s hind paw.

“Oooch, you little beast,” bellowed Bear, trying to catch and hold the scurrying gray creature. Otter giggled from his hiding place under a cot.

“So you followed along, after all,” he sniggered. “And where do I find you? Trapped as neatly as a silly ass of a bear could be, with a tin soldier marching you around on a string.”

“Otter,” growled Bear, swiping away the cot with a quick paw blow. The noise awakened Flewingam, who sat up quickly, thinking a shell had landed close by.

Otter’s head appeared from beneath the blanket that had been flung to the floor.

“Hullo, friend. Here’s Bear.” The head disappeared, leaving Flewingam wide-eyed with astonishment and terror, staring at Bear’s huge form.

Otter appeared from behind him, in man form once more.

“No need to worry, friend. He’s my comrade of old I was telling you of.”

Bear hastily returned to his clumsy man shape. “Bruinlen, friend,” he said, forgetting his anger at Otter for the moment and extending a hand-paw out to Flewingam.

“As I live and breathe,” gasped Flewingam. “I thought all your stories just tales to cheer me up, Otter.” He gingerly took Bear’s hand, looking down at what but a moment before had been the huge fur-covered paw of a great animal.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” he echoed.

Otter interrupted the two men.

“I’m sure you must be half starved, Bear, and thirsty, so I’ll run out and see what I can find for your supper. I think there’s still a pot or two of tea about here somewhere, so you two make yourselves acquainted, and I’ll be back in a wink.” Otter disappeared through the tent flap.

“So he was telling me truly all along,” went on Flewingam, watching as Bear carefully searched the tent for the tea Otter had mentioned.

“How came you to know my pesky little comrade, friend?” asked Bear between lifting or lowering anything that might conceal the promised drink.

Flewingam at last rose, put the small kettle on the camp stove, found the tea left over from their own supper, and quickly poured out a cup to the warmly grateful Bear. He related the story of their meeting as he worked about the stove.

“Ah, but that eases my pain a bit,” he said, sighing, and feeling the warmth slowly returning to his chilled body. “That’s a nasty business,” he continued. “Trolls and half-men roaming at will over the countryside. It’s a wonder you made it here. I myself brushed into some ugly fellows of that sort not more than a day ago, and only escaped by my wits, with the help of the darkness. I’ve seen fire and j destruction enough in all my travels, though I’ve never met a friend of any kind. Otter is fortunate to have you for a comrade.”

“Thank you, good Master Bear. Otter has spoken many times of you. I’m sure it is my good fortune to have the friendship of both of you.”

Bear quietly studied the man, who met his gaze evenly, not once looking away, or down, or in short, showing any symptoms or signs at all of an underlying meanness that might be covered over by a mannerly veneer. Bear decided he liked this man, Flewingam, and that perhaps Otter did, after all, have the sense to seek aid from a well-meaning sort. As a rule, Bear trusted no one who went about in the thin skin of a man, but Flewingam had something about him, something different he could not quite put his paw on.

Otter burst into the room, clink-bumping against Bear, his arms laden with a heaping stack of boxes and bottles, and he noisily placed his load upon the floor, spreading out his treasures. There was half a melon, and tinned beans, an almost whole crabapple pie, and three full loaves of freshly baked shortbread. As Otter placed the meal out, Bear sat hastily down bear fashion and attacked the pie, smacking and grunting his approval.

“There, old fellow. Fill yourself, and then we’ll catch up on your adventures. Since you’re busy, I’ll start with my own, first.” Otter drew up a camp stool and sat before Bear’s feast table, and Flewingam sat back on the bed with a fresh cup of tea he had made.

Starting with the attack of the werewolves, Otter began his long tale, while Bear greedily filled his agonized stomach with the still warm food, and between drafts of milk or tea, or bites of apple pie, he would raise a hand dripping with juice to ask something of Otter, or blow out his full cheeks in surprise, or belch loudly his approval of something or other Otter was saying. As Otter neared his meeting with Flewingam, Bear finished and sat back sighing, satisfied for the moment. He took a long sip from his cup, and nodded as Otter related his near escape with Flewingam from the raiders’ war camp.

Bear, his hunger gone, delighted in the two eager listeners as he took his turn at speaking.

Otter, upon hearing what had happened after he had fled the werewolves, chittered quickly.

“You mean you slew them, Bear?” he asked, looking on his old friend in a different light. Here before him was a changed Bear from the cheerful, peace-loving bear he had known in their quiet years in the valley. “I had no idea that you, Bear, of all fellows, would be much good as a warrior.”

“I wouldn’t have thought it of you either, dear fellow, if I hadn’t found you in a battle camp after chasing you from the valley to here until my feet have almost turned to travel dust.” Bear smiled, then continued his story, ending with his long forced march with the Worlugh army the previous night

Flewingam listened in silence as Bear related how he had been caught up by the ugly Worlugh sergeant and lashed into joining the column. He laughed now at what he must have looked like, galloping along with the ugly, misshapen horde.

“If they’d known they were marching a good-sized breakfast along with them, they’d probably be looking for me yet,” laughed Bear, the weary unpleasantness of the memory fast fading.

Flewingam stood suddenly up, a hand to his mustache, stroking it.

“They may still be, for all that, Bear. From what you say, it appears help has come to our enemies. General Greymouse must know of this at once.” Flewingam looked quickly to Otter.

“Will he receive you, Otter, on short notice?”

“If you think it important, I’m sure I could have a few minutes with him,” Otter said, puzzled and worried at Flewingam’s grave expression.

“I have to break up your reunion with ill tidings, but this may be dangerous indeed. With the enemy still holding the hill, most of our army will be busy at that, and our flanks left to be overrun like a dam burst. We must be quick.”

“Don’t leave me behind,” muttered Bear, following after them as they rushed from the tent. “You might need me.”

“Hurry, Bear,” coaxed Otter, impatiently waiting for Bear to catch up to them. The big fellow hurried along, still holding a half-empty bottle of tea.

“Oh, Bear, how can you fill your stomach when we’re hanging on the brink of ruin?” Then softening his voice, he reached out and touched the unfamiliar form of his old comrade. “But come, “I’m unkind. I’d forgotten you hadn’t eaten. Good health, and well met once more, for all of it. What matters is that we shall face any dangers now together.”

In the darkness before the tent, Bear gave Otter a quick, strong hug.

“We’ve gotten this far alone, I don’t see what’s to part us now that we’re united.”

“Hurry, we must see Greymouse. I fear the enemy is even now beginning to move. Look yonder.” Flewingam pointed back along the road that led downward into the foothills. A thousand or more torches blazed with a flickering, ugly red glow.

As the three companions hurried on toward Mithramuse’s tent, an alarm bugle, far away, began blowing wild, high, sharp notes of distress, and all along the besieged rear perimeter, other horns took up the desperate call.

Like a fiery, unstoppable wave of fire, the enemy was sweeping away the few defenders before them, advancing onward toward the sleeping camp, where Otter, Bear, and Flewingam were led into the tent of the wizard king, Mithramuse.

General Greymouse sat, more slouched and haggard than Otter remembered, and with a weary hand, he bade them enter.

Bear’s expression betrayed his disappointment at seeing the tired, gray-cloaked old man Froghorn Fairingay had sent them so far to find, and Bear, after all the days he had traveled, and after giving up his own home, and the knowledge of Dwarf’s imprisonment, and the dark wars that raged over every realm, grew saddened, and afraid. This kindly-looking wounded old man would not be of much aid, after all, he thought, and finding Otter would come to a bad end with the death of them all.

With those grim thoughts, Bear sat down with his friends before the desk to hear the words the old man was saying.

“G
rimwald,” exclaimed Lorini, surprised at her old friends’ unannounced entrance into her private study, a long, light-filled room lined with the sacred volumes of the lore of Windameir. “Whatever has come over you?” She softly scolded him as he angrily strode into the room and began pacing furiously up the spinning, light-dazzling carpets, his cloak trailing along behind him, stirring to life the colors and weaves of the most ancient of tapestries fashioned into coverings for Lorini’s marble floors.