2nd of Arah, Second month of Winter
Do not anger my wife. Always start with the Important bits of the story. She’ll still be angry, but more forgiving that way.
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“So, let me get this straight; you and Grendel went hunting for the elemental from the well?” Brianna asked, a peaceful smile on her face.
“Yes dear.” Maxwell answered.
“Then you followed the signal down into the sewer?” Bri continued.
“Yes dear.”
“Then, instead of doing any reconnaissance, you charged into its lair?”
“Yes dear.”
“It killed you.”
“Yes?”
“Then, when you came back, instead of first checking on Grendel, you unleashed white fire on it?
“…um…yes?”
“And our Chi…Grendel GOT CAUGHT IN THE BACKBLAST?”
“He…he was fine?”
“YOU SAID YOU HAD TO HEAL MOST OF HIS FACE AND THE REST OF HIS BODY.”
“I…I claimed him as my son afterwards?”
“…” Bri’s mind switched gears. “WHY DIDN’T YOU START WITH THAT?”
-
Grendel was in his room. Max and Bri were having a fight in their bedroom, and he had decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and had retreated there. He couldn’t hear the fight, but the mood of the place when he and Max had returned had been palpable, especially after Bri had asked after his clothes.
As he lay on the bed, he felt the mood in the place shift to one of…confusion; then to joy. He sat up, I’ve never felt that so clearly? He thought. Then his door burst open.
Bri came through, followed by Max, and the two of them embraced him on the bed. Tears may have run down his face as the called him son, he called them mom and dad.
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3rd of Arah,
Adoption papers have been sent to the capital. Aside from him being designated a lord, there isn’t much I can do for Gren- my son. When he leaves the nest I will give him some inheritance, but that is about it. It’s not like he can inherit, due to me not being able to die. I will just have to be a better dad.
We have begun making preparations to leave town. There isn’t much left to do. The magical signature of the elemental core matched the one left at the last murder. Conclusion is that it was responsible for all the deaths. I’m glad that’s over with.
7th of Arah,
We will be leaving town in the morning. Grendel has said goodbye to the orphan children. They will be taken care of at the new orphanage that Bri set up. And funded.
Bought a new wagon and oxen for the trip. I will be glad to be on the road again. We will be taking the north road to Whitlemeay, a bit east of north from Dragon. It’s around 45 miles or so. With just the three of us, it will take about three days at a leisurely pace.
8th of Arah,
The road has flown by as only time and roads can. The wind is cold, and there is some snow the farther from the coast we get. We are camping in the wagon tonight. I have missed this.
10th of Arah,
We will arrive in Whitlemeay in the morning. It has been a happy three days of family time. I never realized how much I missed having a child. My heart longs for more, but tradition demands that we wait. Tradition might just go hang…
11th of Arah,
Whitlemeay is a city of some 4500 souls packed inside fortified walls that are a third of a mile across. The area outside the walls if farmland, and past that is forest. Most of the trees are deciduous, and few evergreens. From here we will be heading across the border, which is about a day and a half’s ride east.
13th of Arah,
We reached the border. Customs were very polite. Bri made everyone lunch.
-
“Smithson family?” The bored border guard asked, stifling a yawn. “Do you have any goods to declare?”
“Thank you for asking so politely!” Max smiled at the guard. “Now please go and get your boss, you don’t deserve the paperwork that is going to need to be filed.”
Suddenly quite awake, the guard looked intently at Max, his wife and son. Then he placed a monocle over his left eye and looked inside the wagon again. Human male, glowing slightly. Elven woman, several magic items. Male human child, also magical items. New wagon. Oxen in excellent condition. Nothing “to” out of the ordinary, except that elves don’t marry humans, and the child looks nothing like either parent. Also, that trunk is glowing like an artifact… Oh. Shit. “Sgt? Code Heretic! I repeat, CODE HERETIC! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”
-
Several hours later, a very tired guard, his Sgt, his Lieutenant, and his Captain sat around a table, looking at the remains of the meal that the wife of “High-Lord Maxwell Smithson, Small god of retired people who want to be left alone, Friend of Bjorn, Enemy of gods, The Founder and abstentia god-king of Demonia – may he never return, right hand of Tristan the Hero, Glasser of infected islands, The Heretic”. They stared at each other for a while before the guard, one Private George, opened his mouth. “Um…Sir’s? Can I go home now? My shift is done?”
The sergeant and pair of officers looked at him, then laughed. “Son, you have just joined a small, secluded, almost secret, military fraternity.” The captain said. “Welcome to the Heretic Squad.” The other two men laughed a mirthless laugh.
“What does that mean?” Private George asked.
“It means you’re being promoted to Sargant, being given command of your own customs checkpoint, and will be tasked with writing a report about what happened here today.”
“Do I get a pay raise?” The new Sgt. George asked.
The other men laughed, “Double normal, plus hazard pay.”
George’s eyes bulged, “Hazard pay?”
“The Heretic has been known to blow up customs offices in the past.” The captain replied.
A Mixed Bag". It's a collection of shorts I've written that I wanted collected somewhere easy to find and read. I plan to include first chapters for other projects, and unfinished stuff that just didn't go anywhere.
