A merry old inn

Baughb’s feet flew across the forest floor, and he couldn’t help wonder if he was more intent on saving Filis or getting out of Dodge.

There was something about living among elves. He had been born an elf, raised an elf, and spent most of his life as an elf. After he fell through a faerie gate, he had struggled with all his might to retun to the world of elves. There was no other life for him but an elf life.

But living in other worlds had broadened his horizons considerably.

And now the familiar became tedious. Traditions lost their luster. The world he had once pined for seemed to him now a never-ending renaissance festival. He loved his fellow elves, but he still felt like a tourist, a dumpy fellow in an Hawaiian shirt, with a camera around his neck and a cigarette in his mouth.

He waved at the children outside a small red elf schoolhouse, as he sprinted through the next clearing. They recognized the floppy-hatted hero from the storybooks, and ran along with him until he disappeared into the forest, again. Don’t worry, he wanted to tell them, I’ll be back.

He slid down a small rock slope and ran past a purple waterfall and made it to the northern edge of the forest by evening time.

Only a fragment this time--I'm moving, and I just haven't had time or the presence of mind to finish this up, the last couple of days. Updates will resume Monday or Tuesday, hopefully. I'm looking forward to this; Baughb is going to get to do a lot more flirting this time around! :D

But this has been and continues to be a very hard move, since we're doing it under duress and with very little money. I have to continue to appeal to readers to donate a few bucks, if possible. Anything helps, because even a little will help us keep gas in the pickup truck we're borrowing.

Things will pick up, so don't feel bad. I've finally listened to long-ignored advice of friends and family to apply for disability, because of my back and eyes. The interview went well (hope it's OK to say that), and if it works out, I will finally have a chance to get on my feet. Thanks, everybody, for your continued support and prayers!

Borrowed boots

[Cars, here--sorry to mention this here, but some people don't read the blog--I'm moving this week, and would really appreciate anything you can donate, even a couple of bucks. Thanks!]

“Dot’s all right. Calm down, little alfie,” Ar’roogah told Filis. “Promise not to bite, kick, hit, gouge, or jump on poor old Ar’roogah.”

Filis held her tongue. The human was setting her free. Although her first instinct was to continue battering him, her intellect reminded her that it might be smarter not to make him change his mind and tie her up, again.

“Those were cesspool elves,” she said.

“Ya. Der shame of it,” Ar’roogah said. “I vas vorking for dem, for money. But dis job isn’t vorth it. I should have known to take on der famous Bub der alf. Even if he is a voman.”

Filis wrinkled her nose at Ar’roogah’s thick accent, which she couldn’t quite place. One of nature’s gifts to elves was the ability to speak and hear through vibrations of meaning. This allowed them to adapt very quickly to the world of man, after their own world crumbled away. This special hearing usually smoothed over accents and other regional affectations, unless the speaker was particularly disaffected from the world around him. Refugees, loners, and artists at times shared this fear. She rubbed her wrists where the rope had burned.

“Wait a minute,” Filis said, suddenly. “Baughb the elf? You think I’m Baughb the elf?”

“Don’t tell me I snatched der wrong alf,” Ar’roogah said, falling back on his hindquarters. “Vell, vhattaya know. I vas sure you vere Bub, you vere such a savage varrior. You vere everyting I heard he vas. Dangerous und tricky, resourceful und relentless. A real fighting machine.”

Filis erupted into a glorious smile. “You really think so?”

“You might even be as good as old Gladfiddle,” Ar’roogah said. “He’s anudder alf who you vouldn’t vant to meet in a dark alley.”

Filis snapped out of it. “Why were you trying to kidnap Baughb?”

“Dese homely elves only tell me dot dey vant to capture dis Bub alive,” Ar’roogah said. “Vun vay or anudder. You know dis Bub?”

“He’s a local idiot,” Filis said. “But you can’t have him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Dot vas my paycheck riding avay,” Ar’roogah said. “Dere’s no job, now.”

“You should have made them pay you in advance.”

Ar’roogah sheepishly nodded. It seemed like a terrible way to earn a living, as far as Filis was concerned. But Ar’roogah admitted that he had fallen on hard times. Younger barbarians got all the good jobs these days. The most competitive were younger barbarians with advanced degrees from Criminea University (Criminea being his pagan homeland, and the source of his unusual accent). It wasn’t enough just to wield a sword. Now you had to be able to understand the angles and degrees of your swordplay; you had to explain the different arteries that you sliced; which attack would cause the most pain, and which would cause the quickest death. There wasn’t much call for an old hack n’ slash man like himself. He was hoping his latest lead would pan out, a job in the south at a carnival, working for a wizard. Until then, he was skint.

Filis thought hard about Ar’roogah’s predicament. “Why don’t you just rob somebody,” Filis asked.

Ar’roogah breathed through his nostrils and held his chin up. He would be a villain for profit, but he would never stoop to robbery. You had to have some standards.

“I’ve got it,” Filis said. “We’ll get some money from Baughb. He’s got scads of it.”

Ar’roogah protested.

“But you don’t understand,” Filis said. “It wouldn’t be robbery. It’ll be extortion. You’ll promise not to capture him for the cesspool elves.”

“But dot vould be a lie,” Ar’roogah said.

“Sort of,” Filis said, “but it’s not robbery!”

Ar’roogah weighed it in his mind. Why not, he figured. He did want to meet the elf he’d heard so much about.

Filis grinned gleefully. She had found an excellent opportunity to put one over on Baughb. And, after all, he had it coming.

But poking around his cottage, they could find no sign of him. Filis didn’t find as much money as she expected; just a small bag, probably for out-of-pocket expenses. But she found a nice sword under his bed, along with an old helmet and some chainmail. The whole outfit was tarnished and kind of ratty, but she couldn’t resist trying it on. She left her dress on Baughb’s bed and forgot about it, a mistake which would make trouble for her, later.

Ar’roogah was in Baughb’s parlor, afraid to touch anything, when Filis came clomping down the stairs in borrowed boots. It was surprising that they fit so well; it was almost as if they had shrunk to fit her. She did not know that they were army issue from the old world, and were designed to accomodate the soldier, so that only one size ever had to be issued.

“What do you think,” she said, waving the sword around with one gloved hand. She had tied her hair back underneath the helmet’s mail aventail, and the flat nasal in front obscured most of her face. Her girlish figure was a little harder to disguise, even underneath the mail tunic, but she reckoned herself a fearsome sight.

“Vhat,” Ar’roogah said, “ve got to fight him for der money?”

Filis tossed him the bundle. “Sorry there’s not more.”

Ar’roogah opened the bag slightly and immediately caught sight of gold, and praised his ancestors. “But, vait--” he began.

“It’s all right,” Filis said. “You didn’t steal it. I did.”

Ar’roogah made a face. He didn’t like violating his principles, but he was painfully hungry.

Filis asked Ar’roogah where he was bound. He’d have to go north to leave the forest, he said. There was an inn where he had been sleeping--not in a room, but in the stable. Tonight, though, he thought to himself, weighing the sack of gold in his hand, he might just get himself a room. Maybe some company, too.

“I’ll come with you,” Filis said. Ar’roogah stumbled out of his musings. “I’ve had it with this life. I want some adventure,” Filis said.

“Nothing ever happens around here.”

Crisis planning

Bound and gagged, Filis kept struggling, every step of the way. She wasn’t going to make it easy for the barbarian to kidnap her. Ar’roogah could hear her still mouthing unintelligible curses and obscenities at him,  at the top of her lungs, even through the gag. Little by little, though, he finally reached his horse, tied to a tree near the clearing where the rendezvous was planned. He freed the rope tethering his borrowed steed, and flung the elf and himself onto its back.

“Aha! The barbarian at last,” Phatuous said.

Phatuous was regent of Froth, and had a big medallion on his cloak to prove it. He was personally leading the cesspool invasion, despite protests from the military. However, since the Frothian military consisted of nothing more than one belligerent, self-appointed general, the military was easily overruled. Phatuous knew that Froth did not have the resources to mount a full-scale attack, so cunning and wile would have to win the day.

His agent, Phoeble, sat dejectedly on the horse next to his, eyes downcast. Battered and bruised, and sporting a terrific shiner, he would not admit to the circumstances behind his injuries.

“Don’t worry, son,” Phatuous assured him. “We’ll punish the monster who did this to you. See? Ar’roogah has the elf trussed and bundled, ready for our triumphant journey home.”

Phoeble raised his head slightly, and squinted at the approaching horse. Why was the elf wearing white? He had been wearing black, the last time he had seen him. Filis’ eyes raised and met his.

Phoeble opened his mouth as if to scream, but nothing would come out, he was so terrified. Phatuous noticed his distress. Even their horses started acting nervous.

Halfway across the clearing, Filis finally managed to swing herself around in a position to raise her legs, and raise she did--kicking the surprised barbarian square in the face, and toppling the mighty Ar’roogah off his horse.  The horse panicked and cantered in the other direction. Filis slipped off, and managed to land on her feet, and immediately began kicking the confused human in the ribs.

“It’s her,” Phoeble managed to scream, at last. “The she demon! Flee! Flee!” In no time flat, Phoeble had turned his horse around and rode away as fast as his horse would run.

Phatuous was confused, and didn’t know which direction to send his horse. When Ar’roogah finally managed to get his face out of the dirt, he tried to grab Filis’ leg, but she was too quick and jumped up on top of his back,  hard, and kept on jumping, trying to kill him with her feet.

Phatuous’ horse overtook Phoeble’s as they both charged past Baughb’s cottage, shouting at the other cesspool elves to save themselves. A runner shouted after Phatuous, saying that General Phlint was awaiting orders. Phatuous called back and told him that it was a rout. Back to Froth, back to Froth!

Ar’roogah saw the cesspool elves bolting, and became more concerned with his loss of income than the small elf hopping on his back. He charged upwards from the ground, toppling Filis off, trying to chase after his employers on foot.

But it was no use. They were gone. The barbarian picked up a handful of dirt and pebbles, and threw it down in disgust. “Scheichtzenhimmel!” he cursed. From now on, he would just have to insist on payment in advance. He had been hired by the cesspoolians in an inn outside of the forest. If he could catch up with them there, perhaps he could still collect his fee. But what to do with the elf?

Filis smarted, having landed right on her butt after being thrown from Ar’roogah’s back. She glared at him warily as he returned, rubbing his chin. She wasn’t entirely sure she could outrun him; her better option was to try to kill him, again.

But then Ar’roogah’s one good eye widened, approaching Filis from the front. “Vat in der vorld are doze?” He said, leaning in to inspect her modest but unmistakable bosom. “Holy mudder, Baughb der alf is a voman!”

Baughb and Airek searched the cliffs until they found the little sprite, who was fretting over Filis’ abduction. He ran one way, and then another, and then back the other way; and he had kept this up for at least ten minutes, until the elves found him.

When the barbarian had first snatched blondie (as he called her) he sprung into action and wrestled him down to the ground, only the big human didn’t seem to notice. Then the sprite chased after him, kicking him in the foot. But despite his Herculean attempts to rescue blondie, the barbarian just kept walking away as if he hadn’t even noticed that he had been defeated in mortal combat.

“Filis abducted,” Airek said, holding his head.

“There’s only one way out of this forest for humans,” Baughb said, “apart from the sea.”

Airek was still panicking. “What’ll we do? What’ll we do?”

“Listen to me,” Baughb said. “Don’t panic.  If a human has Filis, he’s going to be running to the northern pass. What’s out there, past the forest?”

“There’s an inn,” Airek said, “between the forest and the sea. Farmland all around that and beyond. Fishermen up the coast.”

“The inn will be the first place to look. Maybe I can learn something there, anyway.” Baughb had a pleasant thought. “Maybe I can get some real beer while I’m at it.”

“Don’t joke,” Airek blurted.

“Never underestimate beer. Especially when dealing with humans. Half the world’s problems could be solved with beer, if folks gave good beer half a chance. The only drawback is that the other half of the world would be a drunken brawl.”

“Stop blithering,” Airek yelled, pulling at his hair.

“Oh, right. Anyway, you go get some elves together, pronto. Send some to comb the edge of the forest to the west, make sure that there aren’t any ships nearby. But then, General Airek,” Baughb said, putting his hand firmly on Airek’s sloped shoulder. “You have to reassemble the army. There’s no telling when or where the cesspool elves will attack.”

Airek’s eyes bugged out. “General? Army? Attack?”

“In a nutshell,” Baughb said. “I’m using the powers vested in me when we fought off the viking hordes. Commander of the Elven Forces of New Alfheim.”

“But there are no Elven Forces of New Alfheim,” Airek objected. “Not any more!”

“Right,” Baughb said. “That’s why I need you to reassemble them.”

Airek gritted his teeth. “What,” he hissed. “All five of them?”

“At least,” Baughb said. “Look, Airek. I’m serious. This abduction has to be a diversion. The cesspool elves are slippery. I know they’re up to something. Don’t go to the council asking for help, if that’s what you were thinking; sound the general alarm.”

Baughb turned and saw the sprite. “And you,” Baughb said, winking, “watch over him and keep him safe, will you?” With that, Baughb bolted down the cliffs, bound for the northern pass.

“Great,” Airek said, sneering at the sprite. “My little sergeant-at-arms.”

The sprite saluted.

Filis bound

The first blow Filis delivered to Phoeble gave him a black eye.

The sprite, who had been nodding off, suddenly bolted upright and asked if the war had started already, and why nobody bothered to wake him up for it.

After that, Phoeble held his arms up over his head to protect him from the pelting blows. Somehow, Filis got ahold of the scroll again, and started hitting him in the head, in the stomach, in the back, in the groin. Then her foot came up and kicked him in the seat of the pants, sending him sprawling and clamoring for the forest.

“What kind of elf do you think I am?” she roared.

Battered and bruised, the cesspool elf turned and delivered one final threat.

“Mark my words,” he said. “Today begins the end the world as you know it.” With that bit of predictable melodrama out of the way, he scrambled into the underbrush and disappeared.

Filis took a deep breath and let it all out. “Asking me to do something like that,” she growled. “I’ll kill Baughb the elf when I damn well feel like it.”

“Well,” Airek said, picking the scroll up once again, and rolling it up neatly. “Maybe there’s still a chance to talk with them. These negotiations can always become a bit heated.”

Filis was still angry. She spun around, ready to lay into Baughb himself, then spun around again and remembered that he had run away with a bucket on his head. “Some hero,” she said.

“I’ll deliver this to the elders. They’ll probably want to send an emissary to talk with the cesspool--I mean, the Frothians. It’s probably nothing,” he said. “Maybe we can clear this up with some kind of a public apology, or something. Er, you wouldn’t happen to want to--”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Filis said. She didn’t like seeing the elders. The geezers always gave her the heeby jeebies and the hairy eyeball. She knew they had it in for her; they would see her, and shift around in their seats uncomfortably and mumble at each other. “I’m going up to the cliffs to gambol,” she growled.

“Pardon?”

“I’m going to go gambol, damn it.”

Gambolling was a popular elf activity that Filis felt she should embrace, but somehow always failed to hold her interest. She found a particular beautiful spot overlooking the valley, and did a few requisite turns in her delicate slippers, but presently found herself in a funk, sitting and watching the billowy clouds drift by. The sprite, who had followed her, sat on a little rock, watching with her.

“It’s not fair,” she said out loud. “A long time ago, the world was full of goblins and faeries and dragons. You could be a hero, back then.”

The sprite closed one eye and dug in his ear with his little finger.

“What chance does somebody like me have? If you live in a small, dull world, you live a small, dull life.” Even the clouds were against her, briefly forming the shape of a slender-snouted elf with a big, floppy hat.

A human eye squinted at the elf maiden from the nearby forest. “Blonde alf,” he said. “Dot must be der vun.” His name was Roogah, son of Ar.

Ar’Roogah the barbarian.

He let loose the clasp of his Frothian-issue cloak. It would get in the way if there was a fight, and he didn’t particularly care for sneaking around, anyway. Worst of all was working for elves. And even worse than worst of all was working for homely, ill-tempered elves.

Still, he needed the money. He was getting up in years, and the work didn’t pay as well as it used to. He was still muscular, but he had put on some weight. He was still keen and agile, but he didn’t see with his one good eye as well as he used to. He adjusted his eyepatch and wiped the sweat off of his upper lip. He had heard that Baughb the elf could be dangerous, but to him he looked rather small and effeminate. What elves considered fearsome might not be great shakes.

Ar’Roogah crouched and ran. The elf was preoccupied with daydreaming, and he managed a clean snatch.

Filis suddenly found herself lifted off the ground by huge, bare arms. She flung herself around in protest and caught a glimpse of the horrid human head looming over her, thick necked and stupid-looking.

A sharp scream tore through the valley.

Airek heard the scream and yelled, himself, when Baughb rounded a tree and collided with him, sending the neatly-rolled scroll unrolling through the air.

“Airek,” Baughb said, bracing him on the shoulder. “Did you hear that?”

“That howl? What was that, some kind of monster?”

“It came from that way,” Baughb said, putting his free arm around Airek’s back. “Come on, let’s go!”

“But the scroll--” Airek protested, in vain, trying to make his small legs move fast enough to keep up with Baughb’s.

Ar’Roogah kept on bellowing until he managed to remove Filis’ teeth from his fingers, and pushed her face down on the ground. “Dot von’t hoppen again,” he promised. “Dey said you vas a terror, und I can see dey veren’t kidding.” He pulled a rope from his belt and quickly lashed Filis’ flailing arms behind her back, then used the cloth from around his own head to gag her mouth. Still kicking, he tucked her under his arm and carried her off to claim his prize.

Art gallery

“Oggie,” Baughb yelped at the sight of the huge nose, which, from his angle, seemed to fill the room. Still sprawled on the ground, his face flushed with embarrassment, he apologized for his mistake. “Aedulf, sir, excuse me.” The old elf had been nicknamed Oggie--in the old world, when he was a mute child, and Baughb his foster father. Since Baughb’s re-emergence from the faerie gates, their relationship had changed in a most awkward way.

“I'm sorry, Baughb,” the knobbled old elf said, holding out one hand. “I didn't mean to take you by surprise.”

“It's all right,” Baughb said, “my nerves are on edge, that's all. What are you doing in here?”

“Where else should I be but where I am?” The old elf chuckled. Nothing could annoy Baughb more than repeating one of his own Baughbisms at him. “Besides, what are you doing here?”

Baughb rifled through the displays. Unfortunately, most of the items were medals and other useless bric a brac. “The last painting is almost finished,” he said, almost absent-mindedly.

“Well, then,” Aedulf said. “I’m here to look at it.”

“I don’t have it with me,” Baughb said, sizing up with his hands bits of the armor, then dismissing any of it as a source of weaponry.

 “You’re in one of your fits again,” Aedulf said, hooking his arm into Baughb’s. Baughb protested. “I insist,” Aedulf said. “You’ve done a marvelous job putting this gallery together. You’ve successfully--what was your word, again?--repurposed the shrine for a new era.” The two elves entered the galleries above the well, where hundreds of portraits were hung in neat rows. Aedulf excused himself for a moment, set his staff against the railing, and clapped his hands sharply. “Sprites,” he called out. “More light!”

The drawer of a very small cabinet creaked open, and an impossible number of shimmering sprites flew out, in formation. Their flight path repeated several times over, as they lit a multitude of points of light throughout the hall. These points already hung in the air, dimly, but as the sprites flew through them, the lights brightened and brightened. At first glance, it may have looked as if the hall was overflowing with endlessly tiered chandeliers; but the lights simply hung in the air, like an array of small, indoor stars. When they finished, the sprites filed back into the drawer, single file. One of their number broke rank and glided to the gallery. “Hey, it’s you,” he said to Baughb. “Have you seen what’s-his-name?” Sprites weren’t good with names.

Baughb smiled. “He’s on a job for me,” he said. “he sends his regards.”

“Just so long as he’s taking care of himself,” the sprite said. “Tell him the hive always welcomes his return.” With that, the last sprite joined the others in the tiny drawer, which snapped shut behind him.

Aedulf had already retrieved his staff, and was studying the paintings with honest admiration. “Amazing,” he said. “I would never have thought of this. A gallery of heroes to replace the one hero. A celebration of survival.”

Baughb turned his attention to the paintings, as well. “They say I was sent here to save the world. I don’t know of a better way of doing it than to show everyone that they’ve already done it, themselves. It’s heroes like this that make a world. Not temples and castles and towers--”

“But,” Aedulf interrupted. “There are those who still yearn for those things. A return to the greatness of Old Alfheim.”

“Greatness. I’ve seen that greatness close up. I sometimes think we’re better off without those things,” he said. “Still, who’s to say we won’t build that kind of world, once again? The point is, the farmer doesn’t need those things. The elfwife, baking delicious pies, what use does she have for royalty?”

“The village layabout,” Aedulf said, tapping with his staff on a painting of a particularly fat and jolly elf. “Telling dirty jokes down in the pub, no doubt. Your definition of hero is eccentric.”

“Where would we be without comedians and story tellers,” Baughb asked, laughing. “This old fellow reminds me of my father. He was a gardener, you know. Told some real roarers in his day. I don’t think mother ever understood any of his jokes. She just loved being around so much laughter and good humor.” He found himself tugging absent-mindedly at the suit of the black prince that he was wearing. He promised his mother he would wear it one day, but he was glad to never have to return to the old kingdom she told him about. From the way she described the place, it was as black and somber and pompous a kingdom as his costume. Little wonder she risked banishment for the sake of a good laugh.

“You’ve done very well, Baughb. I’m proud of you.”

“You might not be,” Baughb said, “after I tell you that the cesspool elves are back.”

“Eh? The who?”

“I am such an idiot,” Baughb said. “I hired them to paint all of these pictures, and I didn’t even realize who they were. Now that I think of it, they must have ALL been cesspool elves. In disguise.”

“You mean those odd fellows with the pointy heads and the snap-dragon teeth? Their disguises must have been magical, indeed, to take in an experienced warrior like you.”

Baughb nodded meekly in assent. In truth, there was little about magic that elves truly understood themselves. Whenever something embarrassing or difficult to explain cropped up, it was a simple matter to blame magic. But as Baughb pictured Zoot Alors’ army of assistants in his head, he realized that he had been taken in by a lot of bad wigs.

“Well, come along,” Aedulf said, retrieving a key from his black robe. “Time to show you what I’ve been up to in the meantime.” Aedulf pushed open the door and motioned Baughb to go in.

Baughb stuttered. “It’s me.” The small cell was a tribute to Baughb the elf, dominated by a life-size figure on a pedestal, wearing Baughb’s old green togs, his hat, and his old stomping boots. On the wall, his old sword and shield hung, as well as other memorabilia from adventures long ago.

Baughb still kept a small sword at home for emergencies, but he was officially retired. After the viking invasion, the forest had been quiet. Since then, he had been trying very hard to blend into contemporary elven society. He had been wearing fashionable vests and chains, even though he felt like a prisoner in his own clothes. Filis had even made him give up his cherished floppy hat, telling him that it was out-of-date and ridiculous.

“Now, before you object,” Aedulf said, “this is a small room. The hall is no longer a tribute to you, but there’s no reason why one small room cannot remain dedicated to your honor. A small celebration of, er...”

“No objections at all, Oggie,” Baughb grinned broadly, his floppy hat flung comfortably over his head. He quickly disrobed the mannequin, then started pulling off his own royal garments. “I think this thing would look better in black, don’t you?”

Outside of Baughb’s cottage, a small group of cloaked elves conferred nervously. A very tall, broad creature in a cloak hung back in the shadows. Another runner with a pointed head came sprinting out of the forest.

“Well,” one of the elves demanded. “Is he coming?”

“I don’t know, my liege,” the runner stuttered. “He gave us the slip.”

The cloaked elf pulled down his hood, revealing beady black eyes that shifted back and forth under an overgrowth of brow while he was thinking. “He was observed leaving, weaponless. Taken by surprise, he has to come back here for his sword. So well planned, yet still a glancing chance of mishap. You there,” he said, motioning to the tall creature. “Barbarian! Go track the blonde elf and capture him, if you can. You others stay here, just in case. We will take him alive, one way or another, then meet at the appointed place. Now, go!”