Artifact of Evil

"I know, sir, but I am confused. You are hunters, the boldest-looking hunters we have ever seen in Tusham! We know that you've come to slay the tuskers – maybe get the devil-pig himself – and we heard you speak of ru

"Shad, did you hear that?" Gellor asked.

Shad gri

"Hmmm," the bard said, stroking his chin. "You are as keen-eared as an owl. You must not mention any of what you heard ever again. Shad? Thatch? Understood?"

Both lads agreed readily enough, and Thatch added, "We'll help you get it, and that way we won't be around others to tell them the secret." Gellor shook his head at that. "No, my good lads, we could never expose you to the dangers we must face for the journey, let alone the conclusion – the treasure, shall we say. In the morning you must go home.

"Yes, sir," Thatch said with a downcast expression.

"But, Thatch," the smaller lad cried in disbelief, "we can't go back to Tusham without a trophy – and maybe even with one we can't. Clydebo kill us for sure!"

"Now you shut your chop-trap, Shad, or I'll – "

"Enough of that, m'lads!" the bard thundered. Thatch had stood up as he spoke and clenched his fists. Shad had been ready to fight too, when the command came. Both plopped back to the leaf-covered ground, sheepishly looking at their hands. "We're friends here, and we don't squabble and fight like a flock of jackdaws. Mind your ma

"Shad means Clydebo, the Chief Hunter. We… ah… borrowed some of his… things so we could come with you."

Gellor looked sternly at the two. "Borrowed? Do you mean you stole something belonging to this Clydebo?"

"I… I guess you'd say that, sir. But we'll bring everything back – won't we, Thatch?" said the small lad in a pleading voice.

Thatch decided to make a clean breast of it. "We knew that you'd kill many boars – even the one that's a devil! We'll never get to be hunters unless someone like you will let us learn. Else I have to be a thatcher, just like my name, and Shad there'll end up as a tailor."

"What did you take?" asked the one-eyed bard gently.

"Boar-spears, some old leggings, a lodencloak, a flatchet, and a rucksack," the tall lad ticked off the list.

"We needn't any of his other stuff, for I'd taken a leather poke full of grub and a big knife from my uncle already," volunteered Shad.

At that Gord had to laugh. Thatch scowled at his small friend. Before he could say anything about this addition, Shad went on.

"Don't be cross, Thatch. I didn't say anything about the stuff you took from your master!"

"Master, you say? Are you a prenticed boy?" interjected Gellor.

"Aye, both Shad and I are. He to his kinfolk, though, and I to old Reed."

Stealing was bad – bad enough to get the boys flogged and bound to their victims to work out twice the value of the stolen goods, recovered or no. Stealing things from a master by an apprentice was worse still. If the master chose, he could sell the thief into slavery in redress for the crime. Worst of all, the theft from Clydebo was of relatively high value, and the goods taken were those of his livelihood. That usually meant hanging. All three of the adventurers looked at the lads in wonderment. What could these boys have been thinking of?

"That won't matter, you see," Thatch said almost as if he had read the men's minds. "The prentice-breaking nor the borrowing of the stuff, that is. You're going to kill wild boars aplenty. The devil-pig that's got everyone in Tusham scared to go into the woods, too! We'll help, and the whole village will call us heroes! We'll give everything back, and Clydebo will have a trophy from us to boot. Then we can be hunters!"

"No, we can't!" countered little Shad glumly. "Don't you recall that they said they weren't going to look to pig-sticking? We got in trouble for naught, Thatch."

Gellor looked grim. "Where was this Clydebo the hunter when you made free with his gear?" he asked.

"Out after game, sir," said Thatch weakly.

"They could sneak back into the village before anyone's up," Gord said. "Then, after replacing what they stole from Clydebo, they can creep back to their own homes. They'll have to take a few whacks, that's sure. But a few commons or a silver noble even will soothe any feelings of anger. Besides, they can claim we forced them to show us the way through the forest and made them take the food, too."

Chert looked doubtful. "That's pretty thin, Gord," he said.

"It's all we've got."

"No argument there," interjected Gellor. "But I like it not. The story is likely to be questioned, and these two know about… other things, shall we say."

"We'd never, never betray the truth about you hunting for treasure, not boar," Thatch said earnestly.

"We can't go back, though," Shad chimed in, '"cause we saw Clydebo in the afternoon heading back to Tusham. He's found his spears and equipment missing for certain, and tomorrow he'll be on our trail with a vengeance."

"That tears it! What on Oerth are we to do with you two?!" the bard demanded, his tone halfway between mirth and anger.

"Why, that's easy!" Thatch shot back with abroad, wholesome grin. "We'll help you get the treasure, Shad and I. Even with just a little share of it, a small part suited to boys like us, we'll be the wealthiest folk in the whole village. We'll tell them all how we used the spears to help kill the evil dragon that guarded the gold, and Clydebo will hang the pair on his wall in honor! We'll pay ten times the – "

"Enough, enough," Gellor said in exasperation. "Bring your gear to the fire and bed down with us. We'll settle the matter in the morning. A good sleep will clear the muzziness of your tangled scheme from my head, and I'll be able to solve the problem then."

Standing proudly as men, but still sheepish about their predicament, the two lads hurried off to bring in their weapons, provisions, and bedrolls.

"How did you net these two slippery little fish?" Chert asked the one-eyed man.

Gellor covered himself with his cloak, getting ready for sleep, as he replied. "I saw someone outside the firelight – thanks to a peep with my enchanted orb. My music has certain powers, and when I played and sang, I drew them in with a warm feeling of home and good friends. Had they been ogres, I doubt they'd have behaved differently."

"Well," Gord opined, "these lads are not ogres, and we can't leave them to their fate."

"Would you rather they died with us fighting hardened soldiers and fell spell-binders?" Gellor grumped from his bed of leaves.

"At least with us they'll have a chance," the barbarian said just before the two boys reappeared bearing armloads of gear. That ended the conversation for the night.

While the others were readying for travel the next morning, Gord took a scrap of paper and wrote out a message.

"To Clydebo the Hunter," it read. "Be made aware that we have need of the service of two boys, Thatch and Shad by name. One of these electrum pieces is to cover what was taken from you, with another just like it for good measure. And there are two more luckies here, one for each of the boy's masters. Give them to their rightful owners. We will return soon to learn if you did!" He signed it "The Three Who Hunt Devils."

Gord tucked the message and the electrum pieces in a place where it would be evident to a keen-eyed woodsman, and made a small blaze above it just to be sure. Gellor gave a small cough, and Gord looked up, startled. Gellor pretended to be relieving himself on the tree, but the bard's expression showed that he'd seen the whole thing. Gord gave a small shrug, and Gellor returned a disapproving look.