Orin The Great Ch. 03

Orin shook off his silence. "I would sample one, if I could."

She looked him directly in the eyes again. "You can get one at the banquet table, if you wish." With a quick, deliberate turn, she gave him her back and marched away.

"She refused me a cookie!" Orin complained to Bartram. "Can you believe that?"

"That is not what she did." The archer replied.

"Then what did she do?"

"Is there nothing in that head of yours besides a great lump of jelly? Think, man, think."

Orin replayed the events in his thoughts, until realization dawned within him. "The bump she gave me; that was an accident, yes? But after that, she gave me a long look. I noticed that. And then she looked me square in the eyes and told me to get my own cookie at the banquet table."

"Because..." Bartram tried to draw the implication out of him.

"Because she will be at the banquet table?"

"Ah!" The archer exclaimed. "There is hope for you yet!"

"Like those fleeting kisses Sundri told me about." Orin compared. "To keep one wanting more. Only this woman did it not with kisses, but with a defiant tone in her voice. How is such a tone supposed to work?"

"Do you want to know more about this woman? Does she intrigue you enough that you will find yourself at the banquet table soon?"

"Yes."

"Then her ploy has worked, has it not?" The archer grinned at him. "This is the way the game is played, Orin. While these other women have been trying to ply you by blatantly squeezing at your rump, this new woman had accomplished even more by using..."

"Tact and finesse." Orin finished for him. "Should I go to her now?"

"Oh, no." Bartram shook his head. "Now is much too soon. Ignore her for a time, have a few more drinks, walk in a perimeter around her, so that she can see you and wonder what you think of her. That is, if you intend to woo her or seduce her. I don't recommend it, as we will be gone by the time this feast is done with. You can do it for the practice, if you like."

Orin considered the words in his head, enough that he found himself no longer thinking of all the women that had been pestering his buttocks.

The banquet consisted of mutton and venison as the main courses, flavored with onions, garlic and herbs and served on trenchers. These were stale, flat pieces of bread, and could also be eaten if one so wished. Sides consisted of beans and peas, while fruits like apples, dates and pears were in abundance, and, Orin noted, even the much rarer grapes were being served.

Hippocras was being served now that the ceremony was over. This was an ancient mixture of wine, honey and herbs, and given out along with the more standard ale. Orin and Bartram both noticed that more and more people were arriving now that the wedding was over and the feast was being laid out. Of course, everyone stood as they ate and mingled about, for there were not enough stools available for such a large crowd.

What's more, a group of musicians had taken a small corner of the square. This group consisted of a pair of men playing hornpipes, which were made of both wood and hollowed out bull horns, a pair of drummers, one which played a small drum and carried a much larger drum on his back, which the second man played, a woman who played the harp, and finally, a man who played the hurdy-gurdy, which was a sort of handheld organ strapped around the neck, with a handle that was turned to produce a constant drone of noise, and strings that could be plucked.

Sundri found them just as the desserts were being set out. These were a pudding of almond milk, coffins, which were a mix of meat, herbs, dates, spices and eggs, and of course, cookies sweetened with honey and made of wheat flour.

The witch was picking at a bunch of grapes as she joined them. "How goes it, lovers of mine?"

"Orin hasn't enough coin to purchase a good bow." Bartram replied. "And he sorely needs one, else he'll soon have to resort to eating whatever he can catch with his bare hands."

"Bartram, I will not ask Sundri to buy a bow for me!" Orin balked.

"Orin, hold out your hand." Sundri said, calmly.

Thinking that she would offer him some of her grapes, he did. A moment later, he found his hand heavy with coins of gold and silver.

"I can't take this!" Orin told her, for what he held was no small amount of wealth.

Sundri smiled at him. "You can and you will."

"No, I won't!"

Before he could do anything further, Bartram scooped the currency out of his grasp.

"Now, to find that vendor again." The archer said, as he scurried away.

Orin turned to Sundri. "You didn't have to give me your money."

"Oh, I'll have you compensate me, later." She flirted. "While I'm on my back."

Orin blushed.

"Now, what have you two been up to while I've been gone?"

"Oh, just enjoying what there is to enjoy here." Orin replied. "The food, the company, the atmosphere, it's all been grand. I would ask you one thing, if I could. Would you be angry if I told you that I like a girl from here in the village?"

"I harbor no false illusions, my young lover." She said. "I know that one day, perhaps soon, perhaps not, you will turn your attention to a woman closer to your age. I only intend to enjoy your attention as long as you enjoy mine. Which girl is it? That blonde one there, who keeps telling the others to come and touch your buttocks, but who has not done so herself?"

Orin looked over, spotting the blonde, as he'd not yet realized she was the culprit behind so much of his 'trouble.' "No, not that one. Look there, at the banquet table, where the pastries have been set out. Do you see that girl there with the black hair?"

"Miriam?"

"You know her name already?"

"I do. The potion-maker here tells me that Miriam has a knack for certain forms of magic, and has the potential for greater things, if one were to take the time to teach her how to use her natural gifts properly."

"Miriam." Orin repeated, the word as sweet as honey in his mouth.

"Do you like her?"

"Truly, I don't know the answer." Orin admitted. "I would like to speak with her, if I could."

"Then go and speak with her."

"Even if we will be gone from this place tomorrow?"

"I see no harm in speaking." Sundri told him. "Only do not fall in love with her straightaway, for I do not intend to give you up just yet. Go, you can bring me a small bowl of pudding while you're there, and some cookies to dip into it."

"I will." Orin nodded, and he started off.

Miriam's gaze drifted about lazily, until she caught sight of Orin's approach. Then, her eyes were on his. She did not perk up, like another woman might, but she did focus her attention on him. Her gaze became cool, wary, but at the same time the young man saw the interest there. Had it not been for Bartram and Sundri, he would have otherwise noticed none of this.

"Hello, Miriam." He said, upon reaching the table.

"Hello, Orin." She answered.

Orin did not ask her how she had found out his name. He simply looked at her, studying her eyes and her form, as she was doing to him.

"You are not like other women, are you?" Orin sensed.

"And you are not like other men."

"No, I suppose I am not." Orin grinned back at her. He was unsure of what he should say further, for she seemed a puzzle to him. He had opened his mouth to speak, when a man's harsh and drunken voice cut him off. It was loud enough to be heard over the music. Several people in the crowd were seen to glance in the direction the voice had originated.

"That man there, he looks a bastard combination between man and turkey. He has a large beak for a nose, a gullet that would be the envy of any roost, and a hefty paunch reminiscent of an overfilled sack of potatoes."

Several voices were heard to guffaw at the insult.

"Give us another one, Henry." One man said.

"Let me see."

Miriam uttered a noise of contempt, and of frustration. "They were told to stay far from the wedding, but here they are, and they will ruin everything!"

"Who?" Orin asked.

"The Montefort brothers, and the men that come with them." Miriam revealed. "Their father was a disgraced knight who came to live here. Before the man passed, he taught his sons every wrong thing he knew. All they do is bully us and bring us torment."

"Here then, see that one." Henry was heard to say. "That one is a mere monkey of a man, who can terrorize children by merely furling and unfurling that large flap of flesh that lies between his nose and his upper lip. His ears are the size, color and texture of a split pumpkin, and even his hair looks to have hair of its own upon it."

Another great round of bellows ensued. The crowd gave way enough that Orin could see these men for themselves. There were six of them, three of the typical build, two tall and wide in the shoulders, and the last, Henry, was a stout pig of a man.

"Can nothing be done about them?" Orin asked.

Miriam shook her head. "They are too many and they are too strong. Every man that has tried to stand up to them is pummeled bloody."

Orin studied them further. Had he one or two more men on his side, to counter the size of the two brutes, he might have stepped to them himself. As it was, he stood alone.

"Look at that decrepit old woman, her skin is as tight as a hangman's noose!"

The crowd further shied away from the mob of laughing miscreants.

"And look at this hairless bastard," Henry ridiculed. "He is a womanly sort, whose dainty steps and stride would curl the toes of any real man. His features are as delicate as any found in a family of boars, and therefore, this man could only be entered into a pageant of the utterly absurd. Bring your bride to me, Derek, that I might show her what a real man keeps between his legs."

Orin found his anger rising. He looked back at Miriam briefly, before he took up a stride that set him between the onlookers and the ruffians. The young man saw the nervous form of Derek Tollson, who had apparently come out to pacify the ruffians, or to ask them to depart. The man no longer wore the robe of the wedding ceremony, but was dressed as modestly as many of the others were.

"Will you insult a man on his wedding day?" Orin barked at them.

"And why not?" Henry replied. "Step aside, you fluffed up dandy, as I've not yet finished with this mockery of masculinity yet. Bring your new wife to us, Derek, as I have a few choice words for her as well, and perhaps a roll in the hay, to remind her of what sleeping with a real man is like. Bead, go and fetch Derek for me."

Derek stepped back fearfully, as one of the bigger men took a stride toward him.

"See the coward!" Henry pointed, and all of his cohorts laughed along at his side, even the man who had been ordered to grab the groom.

There will be times when violence cannot be avoided, Orin's father had once told him, and Orin realized that this was one of those times. There will be times when words are not worth the breath it takes to utter them, and when action, and perhaps cruelty, will be necessary to quell whatever threat has arisen.

"That will be enough from you." Orin said, finally, conclusively. He would speak no more until it was done.

Henry laughed, but it was a hateful sound that escaped his lips. It was the sound of a man accustomed to having others grovel at his knees, and accustomed to humiliating others in order to build himself up.

Sundri now stood at his side, Orin saw.

"What, have you brought your grandmother to do battle with you, you imbecile?" Henry exploded with laughter, and still the others laughed with him.

"You would know me better as the witch from Devil's Crag." Sundri said, loud enough to be heard over the chortles.

This silenced a few, but not Henry. Never Henry.

"So, what of it? You mix potions to sell to lovelorn saps, and you wave your hands in the air and speak gibberish. That might frighten others, but I know that you are only a fraud!"

Sundri smiled at him, most wickedly.

Orin saw the confidence in her eyes, the maliciousness that she was about to unleash some unholy terror upon these haranguers, and it gave him courage to defy the power of six men. He did not need two or three strong men with him, only one sorceress, and that would be enough.

Orin removed his vest and handed it to Sundri. He pulled his tunic over his head and gave this to her as well, exposing his toned muscles, and his lean, imposing figure.

"Have some sport with him, Bead." Henry ordered. "The witch will do nothing, because she can do nothing."

This was the biggest of the men, this Bead. He was taller than Orin by a full head, and his arms were as thick as tree trunks. Bead rushed at Orin, while Orin braced himself for combat. Once this giant was near enough, some would say too near, Orin ducked under his reaching arms. Orin crushed his boot into the man's instep, shattering the delicate bones there, and he used the man's own momentum to send him tumbling into the ground and away from him.

Bead howled out in pain from his newly broken foot.

Standing beside Henry, four men drew their swords at once and came at Orin.

No, it was three, for an arrow sliced through the air and smashed into the chest of the largest of these attackers, driving him back in a grimacing, tight and mortal groan. That arrow must have come from Bartram, Orin knew, who'd come back with a fresh bow, and apparently, with fresh arrows as well.

Earlier, Orin and Bartram had trusted Sundri enough to give her their packs and their weapons. The witch sent their things into whatever unknown dimensions she had access to. In this way, the two men no longer had to worry about having the extra burden weighing them down. She said that all they had to do was to ask, and their items would be returned to them.

Orin didn't ask. He simply held his arm out. After but a moment, his short sword was in his grip. He went forward to meet his attackers.

The three swordsmen were clumsy, unused to fighting in close quarters and still trying to surround him as he met them. He feinted left, causing the man there to jump back, then crouched again and swept out his leg to trip the man in the middle. The man to the right had thrust his sword toward Orin's chest, but Orin was now near the ground. He parried the strike upward, exposing the man's belly, and sliced a sharp blow across it. As blood and the man's innards began to burst out, Orin went toward the man on the left, who was coming in again. Orin knew he only had a second or two before the man he'd tripped would be on his feet.

That is, until Bartram's arrow plunged in the neck of the man on the left, and sent the man reeling back.

This left Orin facing only the last man, who was straightening up before him. The odds were now much more balanced as Orin waited for the man's next attack. The scoundrel slashed at an angle, which Orin countered. The man thrust forward, while Orin swiped aside. The attacker grunted and rushed forward, only to have his blade deflected, and in his haste he ran into Orin's sword.

Orin pulled his sword free, taking a look at the five fallen. He discovered that no man was squirming or cursing or crying out in pain. They were all dead.

"I sucked the breath away from their bodies." Sundri revealed, as she stepped forward past the carnage, and toward the only man who still lived. "What of you, you cruel bastard? Should I turn you into a toad and feed you to a crow? Should I cause your eyes and tongue to stretch away from your face until blood spurts from your orifices? Do you realize what it means to taunt a witch such as I?"

Henry cringed back, but he was still largely in shock that his fellows had been dispatched so quickly and so devastatingly.

"You will be remembered, Henry, and remembered forever." Sundri decided. "I will make you a black seed, and you will grow into a black tree from which no fruit will ever grow. Here in this very square you will thrive as a dead, barren thing. Every man and woman that looks upon the tree you will become will know who you were, and what you have done here to merit this dark fate that you have so richly brought upon yourself. History will surely remember your name, Henry!"

With a wail, Henry turned to run.

The ground below him opened up and swallowed him whole, and closed up again once he was gone.

"Such a joyful occasion, marred for no good reason." Sundri took in the bodies of the dead, and the spilt blood that still ebbed from them. The witch turned toward Orin first, then toward Bartram. "Let us leave this place."

She started away, even as the terrified crowd parted for her, but she paused before Derek and handed him an item. It was a nugget of gold, half as large as his fist. "Here is our present for your wedding, Derek Tollson. Use this wisely. May your marriage be blessed and may your new wife bear you many children."

She walked away, and after a moment's reflection, Orin and Bartram followed. They did not stop until they reached the edge of the village, where Orin took his usual clothing back and dressed himself. Bartram presented him with his new bow, which was not the fanciest or the cheapest, but it was sturdy and strong and it would surely meet Orin's needs.

As they trudged on that same path that had brought them into Sleepy Glen, Sundri asked, "Is this what you envisioned, Orin, when you set out to find adventure?"

"Hardly."

"You should not find glory in the killing of men." Bartram said. "But at least on this occasion it was a necessity. You've done a good thing here, Orin."

"No, not just I." Orin corrected. "All of us. We've all done a good thing, even if it doesn't feel as a good thing at the moment."

"Where will you take us next, Orin?" Sundri asked.

He turned to her. "Do you mean you wish to come with us?"

"Well, I doubt I'll be welcome in Sleepy Glen, after what just happened there. And I was tiring of living at the Devil's Crag. A change of scenery would be good for me."

"And you, Bartram?"

"The road has always been my home." The archer said. "And I will admit that things are never boring whenever you're around. Besides, I still have many more lessons to teach you."

"In the art of women?"

"In the art of life, in the art of everything."

"I will be glad to have you along, as a friend and a mentor." Orin decided, before looking ahead. "We will go south, and to wherever this road will take us."

"As good a plan as any." Bartram grinned.

"And I expect a prompt repayment for the coin I lent you." Sundri flirted. "In cockles, of course. Bushels of cockles."

Orin smiled at the witch as the three traveled south, and tread steadily down that rough, oft-traveled road.

Back in Sleepy Glen, a young woman considered her own future, and of what she might expect from it if she were she to stay in that village, or if she were to try her luck elsewhere. Her name was Miriam, and of her we have not heard the last.

What can be said with most certainty is that the adventures of Orin were only at their beginning. In more than one place, the young man's exploits were already being immortalized in word and song, and would eventually lead to him being known as the legendary Orin the Great.