Never do a favor for a wizard

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. They migrated, like giant stupid birds, so as long as you weren’t there during the two weeks the dragons stopped to eat everything in sight and leave great heaps of shit, Gorelin Vale was as safe and boring as it got.

So of course—of course—the migratory dragons were in residence today despite it being too early in the season for them, and what should have been a stealthy creep through the back door of Gorelin Town was now a smelly, nerve-racking belly crawl through the woods. This is where associating with wizards got you.

Filla readjusted her sword, trying to get it to stay on her back without slipping to the side and getting tangled or having the hilt smack the base of her skull as she stayed low, crawling from bush to bush. She’d wrapped Jondur’s book in oilskin and jammed it down the front of her jacket as that seemed like the safest place but now the corner of the book periodically jabbed her in the breast. It did provide a little cushion for the three hours she was face down under an embankment watching a clawed orange foot move back and forth over a pile of goat bones.

As she waited out the dragon, she thought about the goats that lived on the ridge, the goats that brought the dragons here. How many goats could there possibly be? How were they not wiped out? It wasn’t like dragons were skilled in animal husbandry. A claw came perilously close to her hiding place and her thoughts turned back to her own misfortune (as all thoughts do). Yes, she owed Jondur a favor for that whole Diamedies mess but after this she was Done. Done being roped into his nonsense and definitely, absolutely Done sleeping with him. Probably.

The monster finally lumbered off leaving a trail of cast off goat bits. Quick and quiet, her face and arms and hair covered in a miasma of dragon poop and churned mud, Filla wiggled her way to the river and let it carry her down out of the Vale. Floating down the river was a quicker and less disgusting way to get out of dragon territory but it took her farther from town and farther from being done with this whole mess. She rinsed off as much as she could, sat on the bank, and tried to reassemble herself for the long, soggy walk ahead of her.

She cursed at the book as she dislodged it from her lungs. It didn’t even look like a magic book. It was brownish and had almost no pictures, and despite her best efforts, the cover was now wet. Making a fire was out of the question as there wasn’t a dry piece of wood anyway in the county. She tried to fan the book dry, realized she didn’t give a damn if it was wet, and started towards where the road should be. Her boots squeshled with each step. Her feet were going to grow mushrooms if she didn’t get out of the woods soon.

It was only a mile before Filla saw the ribbon of reddish earth that wound its way from Tarlington and the ports, up through the fertile river basin to the jutting rocks of the Ougenthalls. She doubted anyone would offer a ride to her in the state she was but it was worth a try. Jondur’s fucking book was strapped under her jacket again and she picked her way through the undergrowth down to the road.

An unusually bright midday sun helped dry her off and cheered her up a bit. The birds were chirping, no dragons, another few hours and she could dump the book, take a bath, punch Jondur in the face and get obnoxiously drunk. It would all be fine. Another story for the Many Adventures of Fearless Filla.

Hoof beats.

Not a cart or a farmer. This was fast. There was nothing here at the edge of the Ougenthalls that was fast, and no reason to be fast. Gorelin wasn’t much more than a village, and if the road didn’t pass by it, it wouldn’t even be on a map.

A destrier. Big and dark, ridden by a man, also big and dark. Not good. Maybe worse than the dragon. Filla stepped to the side, tried to look uninteresting, and hoped whatever was so urgent would discourage the rider from a rape and murder detour. The horse thundered by. When it was almost out of sight at the top of the next rise, the rider slowed and turned. Shit. She loosened the fastenings that held her sword on her back. Shit. Shit. Boot knife, check. Sleeve knife, check. She lost the needle she kept in her hair somewhere during her crawl, but she was not defenseless. Knife in her waistband, check.

The rider trotted back, casual and slow, drawing out the terror. When he was 20 feet away, the man pushed his cloak back and started laughing. Full, belly laughs that brought tears to his eyes. “I thought—it looked like you but—you’re fucking filthy—have you been screwing your way through the pig farmers—I can’t….” and off he went again in peals of laughter.

Filla glared. She took her jacket off, unwound the bindings, and threw the book directly at Jondur’s head. He caught it and smiled that smile of his that always meant trouble. “That’s it. I am done. Done getting shit on by dragons and held hostage and arrested and punched in the face and…” her breath and anger ran out and she stood, hands on knees, trying not to keel over.

Jondur’s laughter stopped but his smile remained. “Ah well, I forgive you. Wondered what was taking you so long so I came looking, you do get yourself into trouble. But we always get there in the end.” He patted the back of his horse and extended his hand to her. “Why did you go through the Vale when there were dragons?” he said, his expression turning puzzled.

“It’s not dragon season for…” she started to yell but what was the point. She was done. Absolutely done. But she didn’t fancy walking to Gorelin. She sighed and heaved herself up behind Jondur.

“Dear god you smell,” he said, and started laughing again. She poked him in the ribs with the hilt of her boot knife. Then, almost against her will, her arms snaked around his waist and he softly stroked the inside of her wrists, “Come, let’s get you in a bath.” Sighing inwardly, she rested her head against his broad back as he spurred the horse forward.

"Once you're cleaned up we'll translate the rest of the Scroll of Pithhia- thanks for sneaking out my book, Love."

Filla noted he completely ignored the fact she had almost died having to secretly transport the book out of town for him. She asked what the purpose of this fun little exercise was. And then wished she hadn't.

"We're going to raise a god."