Ник О'Донохью - Kender, Gully Dwarves, and Gnomes

“You’re so handsome, I must hold you,” she said brazenly. As the stunned Gorath backed up, she moved toward him out of the shadows. That’s when Gorath saw how she was garbed.

“Ah, I ... I see you are a black-robed magic-user,” he said, somewhat relieved. “Then we are both servants of the Queen of Darkness.”

The old woman stopped in her tracks upon hearing Gorath’s remarks. “You are mistaken, my darling,” she replied humbly, her teeth chattering annoyingly. “I am just Zorna, a poor and forgotten old woman. This robe was discarded in the forest by a sorceress who was passing through. I took it because I had nothing to wear.”

“You don’t know how to perform magic?” asked Gorath skeptically.

“I swear I am no sorceress. But I have other talents, darling. I can cook the finest slug stew you’ve tasted in your life. Won’t you be my guest?”

Gorath didn’t know what to make of this weird woman. He wanted to laugh at her invitation, run her through with his sword, and ransack her shack for anything of value. But he kept his distance, not fully convinced she wasn’t a blackrobed magic-user. “I have no time to waste with you,” he told her coldly. “Now I must find the woman who betrayed me and slay the scoundrel who stole her from me.”

“Forget your woman!” Zorna shrieked. “She doesn’t love you. I love you. And I’ll cook, and clean, and care for you for the rest of your life ... if you will let me ... darling.”

“Enough, you batty crone,” snapped Gorath, remembering how he had tried without success to force Meadow to say such words to him. “Only one thing matters: Revenge! I want revenge!”

Before Zorna could protest, Gorath wheeled around and walked down the path that brought him into her lonely life. He felt her sad eyes upon him and heard her pitiful, bloodcurdling wail of anguish. He laughed.

Gorath returned to where the trail into the forest divided. This time there were no mysterious gusts of wind to prevent him from going in the direction he intended. So he followed the left path, the one Meadow and Starglow had taken.

He walked quickly, anticipating the kill. Soon he came to a large clearing. There he spotted Meadow and Starglow standing by a fallen vallenwood, about twenty feet from a deep ravine. The lovely young woman and handsome tribesman were locked in an embrace.

Drawing his sword, Gorath charged from the bushes toward the lovers. “Gorath!” Meadow screamed in terror. “He’s found us!”

Starglow eyed his sword, which was resting on the ground near the far end of the fallen tree. He made a dash for it, but wasn’t quick enough. As the fingers of his right hand touched the handle, Gorath’s sword slashed his wrist, causing blood to spurt and the young warrior to grimace in pain. Meadow screamed and ran toward her stricken lover. “Meadow!” Starglow shouted. “Stay back!”

Starglow’s agony was great, but his desire to protect Meadow was much greater. So he again reached for the sword. Just as he lifted it, Gorath’s heavy boot smashed into his hand. The sword flew out of Starglow’s weak grip and landed by Meadow’s feet. Without hesitating, she picked up the weapon and ran to Starglow’s side. Surprised, Gorath backed up a few feet to contemplate the situation. He certainly hadn’t expected Meadow to put up any physical resistance.

Starglow reached for the sword Meadow held. “No!” she said firmly. “You’re hurt.” When he started to protest, she calmly said: “I am a woman and your lover, Starglow. But don’t forget that I am also a warrior like you.”

Starglow nodded and smiled slightly. He kissed her trembling lips and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Together they bravely waited for Gorath to approach them. They were going to resist to the death even though they had little chance to defeat the mighty Gorath.

“We’re ready,” said Meadow boldly. As she looked at Gorath, revulsion showed clearly in her beautiful green eyes. She had withstood his drunkenness and savage nature long enough. She preferred to die here with her beloved Starglow by her side rather than return to Gorath’s cabin. Never again would she be a slave to him, endure his beatings, or have him clutch her in his filthy arms.

Gorath’s eyes were sour and mean. He laughed cruelly. “So you want to die together. How touching! I’ll grant your wish as long as you die first, Starglow, so Meadow can watch the blood pour from your body. Revenge! I want revenge!”

Gorath began to drool as he walked toward the lovers, who pulled closer together. He lifted his sword higher and higher. Meadow dug her feet into the soil and held the sword in front of her, gripping it with both hands.

All at once Gorath noticed that an intruder sat between him and his intended victims.

He stopped and tried to figure out where this large, mangy dog had come from. There had been no dog in this clearing just a moment before. And what a strange dog it was. Gorath suspected it was a red-rover, but it was the only red-rover he’d ever seen sporting a shaggy tail with a snow-white tip.

The dog sat perfectly still, its tongue hanging out the right side of its mouth.

“Call off your dog, Starglow,” Gorath threatened, “or I’ll chop it into a million pieces!”

“But I have no dog,” replied Starglow, puzzled.

“Wh ... what dog?” asked Meadow, also bewildered.

“Very well, you had your chance!” Gorath shouted as he attacked the animal. He swung his sword with all his might at the dog’s head, expecting to see it rolling in the sand. But the dog easily dodged the blow. Now Gorath aimed for the shaggy tail with the snow-white tip. Gorath’s sword whistled through the air repeatedly. The dog moved from side to side, causing the brute to miss by a hair, a shaggy hair, each time.

Gorath’s frustration increased because he could sense that the dog was actually enjoying itself, as if it were unaware its life was in danger. It barked happily and playfully nipped at Gorath’s feet. When Gorath raised his sword above his head, the dog jumped up, put its front paws on his chest, and licked his face several times.

Gorath lost all patience. He shoved the dog away and simultaneously swung the sword with all his might. He missed badly. He also lost his balance. So when the big dog jumped back up on his chest to continue their game, it knocked Gorath back a few steps toward the ravine. Again the dog jumped up. Again Gorath was knocked backward, his curses shattering the quiet of the forest. This happened several more times. Each time, the force of the dog’s paws increased, and Gorath was knocked farther back. Then came the mightiest blow of all.

Suddenly, Gorath found himself somersaulting backward through the air, falling helplessly into the deep, deep ravine. Gorath expected to see his life flash before his eyes, but for some reason he had a vision of Zorna’s old, ugly face instead. He screamed. Then everything went black.

When Gorath opened his eyes, he was looking directly into Zorna’s face. Only this time it was no vision. It really was Zorna. He screamed again.

She attempted to comfort him, wiping the sweat off his feverish brow with her icy hand. “There, there, darling,” she whispered into his ear. “I’ll make you feel better.”

Gorath realized he was strapped to a chair. But where was he? He looked around. He was in Zorna’s cold, musty house. It was as inviting as a tomb. It was too dark to see clearly, but he could make out some crooked furniture in the shadows, some heavy pots hanging from cobweb-infested walls, and a large bubbling kettle by the fireplace. There was a horrible stench in the air, and Gorath suspected Zorna was still preparing slug stew. “How did I get here, old woman?” he snapped.