Margaret Weis: Heroes And Fools

The pole was held by Thrane Gunnar, who grinned wickedly after glancing upward and noticing the late afternoon light bouncing off of Tangletoe’s slitted eyes.

“Here boojum, boojum, boojum,” he called. The rest of the troop laughed, except for Khedriss Mennarling.

“Quiet,” the Dark Knight commander snapped. Behind him, the eight men and two women pulling the canvas-draped death machine on a small two-wheeled wooden cart hushed their catcalls. “According to the kender’s map we’re now well into boojum country. The monster could be anywhere. Be vigilant.”

“My m-m-map!” wailed Thistleknot mournfully from the rope end of the springy pole, his enunciation still beyond perfect control. “You owe me for th-that map. It’s my very besht one!”

Mennarling smiled without humor, his pale blue eyes resembling ice. He replied in a low voice that made the kender think of edged steel being pulled from a scabbard.

“You tried to steal our Queen’s experimental machine. I still wonder how, in your inebriated state and in such little time, you managed to work yourself under without loosening any of the ropes. But that’s a mystery I’ll save to ponder later. Meanwhile, you are making a valuable sacrifice toward the great goals of Her Dark Majesty. Remember that.”

“But. . but I wasn’t stheal-watch ou-oooofffff!”

A sudden shift of the pole in Gunnar’s hands brought the kender into unfriendly proximity with a tree. He tried to fend it off with his fists, but Gunnar jounced the pole and sent him whacking against the trunk not once, but twice. Tangletoe left some skin on its rough bark. His new abrasions stung. The pain helped his mind to clear a little.

“Ouch! Hey, I could help if I really wanted to. I know important information that could lead you right to-”

“Silence, kender,” Mennarling barked. “We have your precious map and all the meticulous notations you made on it. There’s only one more thing we require of you, and that’s to keep smelling like a kender. Bleed a little, and attract the boojum. . ”

Of course Tangletoe smelled like a kender, and mighty proud he was of it. But the bleeding he could do without. He used sore hands to fend off a branch trying to snag him.

“I don’t write everything down on my maps, you know. There isn’t always enough room, and-”

Without hesitation Gunnar whirled Thistleknot around and whacked him into the nearest large branch, temporarily stunning him. “Let’s try quiet bait,” he grinned.

“Don’t kill him. . yet,” one of the Dark Knights warned.

“If he dies, we could turn him into a kender projectile,” said Gunnar thoughtfully.

“I’ll consider that seriously,” Mennarling said softly, speaking mainly to Gunnar. “That would be an intriguing fallback.”

Gunnar momentarily spared a hand from grasping the pole to massage one ear. “He deserves all the punishment we can devise. My hearing will never be the same: his singing is worse than any screech owl.” His hand returned to the pole, and he gave the kender a harsh jolt.

“Ow! Hey! Who are you calling a screech owl?”

“Just making sure you’re still up there and on the job, boojum bait,” Gunnar chuckled.

“I worry that the fuel is not quite right,” Mennarling muttered, “and that the troop is not drilled well enough in the loading procedures.” Thistleknot strained to hear.

“You saw me train them,” Gunnar protested. “We trained for days. I ran them through the steps until it takes only moments to get ready. Every one of them can perform his or her duty. Even on a moonless night, I swear, they could do it backward if you ordered it. Nothing has been left to chance. All that remains is finding the boojum.”

“We may only have moments to react. By all reports, this boojum is fast for his size. And what if there are casualties among the operating squad?”

“You know these people,” stated Gunnar. “They’re among the best of the Dark Queen’s forces in Ansalon: loyal, quick, and dedicated. They’ll perform, and well.”

“But this is a weapon that has only been fired twice, and never during battle. . ”

That is when Mennarling’s hand in the air stopped the troop. He pulled Thistleknot’s map from the breast of his tunic and studied it before turning to them, his voice still pitched low. They leaned forward to hear every important word.

“According to the kender’s scribblings, we’ve reached the vicinity of this boojum’s lair. It is reputedly set with many traps. Be extra wary from now on. Anything can happen. I’m slowing the pace. We don’t want to lose Her Dark Majesty’s new death weapon to a pit trap.” He waited for the murmurs of assent to die down. “Right, then. Forward, carefully.”

They crept onward, picking their way gingerly down the path, stout sticks, bow ends, and spear butts waving like feelers on bugs. Dirt stirred into the air and coated them with pale dust sometimes festooned with long green tendrils of weed and fern.

Thistleknot was grinning from his overhead vantage. Preoccupied as they were, at least the pole held by Gunnar no longer slapped him against every tree they passed.

“Lieutenant.” A soft hail came from middle rank of the troop. Mennarling whirled, hand on the pommel of his sword, and sprinted back in that direction.

Relthas stood frozen with the wooden haft of her spear stuck deep into the dirt near the side of the path. With Mennarling watching, she pulled it up to show there was no resistance, and then stabbed around until she could trace the outline of a corner.

“Pit trap. Good work, Relthas. Proceed everyone, but be watchful.” The commander returned to the head of his troop as the others labored to maneuver the covered cart bearing the Dark Queen’s new death weapon safely past the hazard.

“Lieutenant.” Mennarling hurried to investigate again, this time finding an ingenious spring-snare covered with forest detritus. He peered upward into the arching trees, but couldn’t resolve anything sinister in the fading light.

“Lieutenant.” This time it was a partially hidden rope snaking off into the bracken. Mennarling didn’t investigate further. The soldiers gave it wide berth.

This boojum was wily. He would prove an excellent adversary, a perfect test target, if they could just lure him into sight.

“Looks like we got to the right place,” Gunnar said with a satisfied nod as Mennarling caught up to him again.

“Indeed. The map is excellent. I had expected traps, but not so many and so diverse.”

“You know, there’s a big outcropping of granite near the boojum’s cave,” Thistleknot said conversationally. “That’s how you know you’re getting really close.”

“Keep your mouth shut, kender. We’re busy,” snapped Gunnar. He’d almost forgotten the diminutive one. He gave the pole a whirl and a whack just for good measure.

Thistleknot grumbled, “Ow! I was just trying to be helpful.”

“We don’t need that kind of help from you,” replied Khedriss tartly. “What we need is the boojum.”

Now the soldiers wended their way in cautious silence. Late-day crickets fell silent, too, as did those little birds that normally chirped through anything save the fiercest thunderstorms and full darkness. The Dark Queen’s minions concentrated on avoiding the boojum’s traps and transporting their new weapon without dire incident.

Something, a peculiar clicking noise, made Thistleknot look up and to his right. His eyes widened at what he saw there, and he tried to clear his suddenly constricted throat. “Uh-”

“I told you to shut up, kender,” Gunnar ordered.

“But there’s-”

“When I want information from you, I’ll beat it out of your ugly little body,” the second-in-command thundered, beginning to jostle the pole in preparation to flinging the kender against another tree.