Waxley the Bold Ch. 02

Waxley frowned at his friend.

Brandy pursed his lips distastefully. "Wills was under guard, but not within his home," he said. "He took his own life. Impaled himself upon a dagger."

Waxley sighed, shaking his head, eyes closed. "Alderlin's right," he said. "I need a drink."

*

Despite the somber circumstance regarding the victory of Waxley and Captain Alderlin over Calo and the goblins, a victory was still a victory, and Crawley's Crossing still stood. Once Corabell had used her healing magicks as much as she could upon the two men, Waxley and Alderlin headed to the tavern to join the celebration and bask in some much-deserved gratitude from the villagers. The burgomeister made Alderlin's promotion official, and recognized Waxley as the hero of the village, presenting him with a new badge, a new suit of leather armor fitted with Modsognir steel studs, and a new sense of pride. Then, of course, there was the bag of gold coins . . . .

The celebration lasted well into the night, and as the early morning hours crawled on, the villagers slowly returned to their homes. They gave Waxley and Alderlin their votes of sympathy and their thanks, and slowly, thanks to alcohol and this unabashed praise, Waxley began to feel better about himself. He reminded himself that he had not slain a friend; but an enemy who had masqueraded as one. Whatever Calo's madness, he had been a servant of evil; his death had been warranted.

Eventually, the tavern became empty, leaving only Waxley as he slowly nursed a bottle of whisky. Even Alderlin had left for home, escorted by a new pair of female 'friends' who wished to show their appreciation for his efforts in a more private fashion. Waxley had watched the man leave, a broad grin on the new captain's tired and haggard face. Alderlin muttered something about a 'dry spell coming to an end' as he was led out by the two giggling madchen.

Waxley could have followed suit, he knew; there had been an abundance of flirtations and advances from some of the other madchen in the village. But simple carnal pleasure was not on his mind; despite his realization that all he had done had been right, he still felt forlorn . . . And alone.

"Is there room for another in that bottle?" asked a soft voice over his shoulder.

Waxley turned with a start, and smiled upon seeing Corabell. She looked softly, affectionately, upon her hero, touched his shoulder with a tentative hand. Slowly, she eased onto the bench beside Waxley, staring at him with wide eyes and a flushed face.

"I would have come sooner--" she began.

Waxley cut her off with a vigorous shake of his head. His mind swam with the effects of alcohol. "'Tis best that you didn't," he said. "Luralee was dancing topless."

Corabell chuckled. "I suppose she wanted to show her appreciation in her own unique way," she said.

Waxley lifted the small glass of whisky to his lips. "Aye, well, when she wakes up tomorrow with Brandy in her bed she's bound to rethink her 'gesture of appreciation.'"

Corabell smiled. "You could just as easily have left with her," she said.

Waxley looked to Corabell with tired, bloodshot eyes. "True," he said, then moved as if to push away from the table. "Mayhap it is not too late--"

"Waxley!"

He chuckled drunkenly, stared at Corabell. Their eyes locked for a long moment. "I love you," he drawled.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, sure, now you say it, with half a bottle of Iron City Mash in your stomach."

"Do you think," began Waxley, swaying slightly in his seat. "That you could be married to an adventurer?"

Corabell smiled sweetly, stroked his matted hair. She kissed his cheek affectionately, then drew back. "No," she said at last.

Waxley nodded, head pivoting loosely on his neck. He turned back to his drink, tapping the rim of the glass. "I didn't think so."

"Waxley," she said in a sagely tone. "You are who you are, and I would never want you to be any different. I always knew you had an adventurer's heart, that you could never stay in this village overlong. Go out into the world, have your adventures. And when you're done . . . Come back to me. I'll wait."

Waxley frowned, looked back upon her. "That's asking too much," he said. "What if you find some tanner or livery . . . Liverist . . . Livery-boy . . . Attractive? You can't just remain chaste for me, not know. . . ing when I'll come back."

Corabell moved her face closer, smiling demurely. "A madchen can stay chaste," she said. "It's you herren who can't."

"What?" asked Waxley, offended in his state of inebriation. His frown deepened. He reeled back, eyes heavy. "I . . . I won't . . . I mean, I will stay--"

Corabell placed a finger on Waxley's whisky-moist lips, shushing him. "Don't say anything that will make you a liar," she said.

Waxley drunkenly kissed Corabell's finger before she pulled it away. "You think I can't?" he asked. "Why, I have many opportunities in this village, yet, I want . . . to stay . . . pure for you," he said with a sputtering of his lips.

Corabell winced at the expulsion of alcohol from Waxley's mouth, then leaned closer, her small button nose just an inch from his. Her eyes twinkled. "Well," she said softly. "Come home with me," she said, smiling. "I have some herbs that will purge this alcohol from your system . . . And then we'll see just how 'pure' you want to be."

Waxley stared for a moment, face blank. Then the meaning of Corabell's words registered in his mind, and his eyes grew wide, blinking profusely. His mouth fell slack. "Oh," he said.

With a girlish giggle, Corabell stood, then held out her hand for her hero. Laboriously, Waxley pushed himself to his feet. He swayed noticeably.

"Whoa," he gasped. "I haven't standed . . . stood . . . since . . . since Luralee, um . . . whew! It's been a while . . . ."

Corabell laughed, a tinkling sound that echoed in Waxley's ears. "Oh, Idunn," she said, looking upward and taking a deep breath. "I do hope my magic is strong enough."

--finis--