Tarl caught his jaw before it dropped, turned away, hands stuffed in pockets. "Lucky stiff," he mumbled, kicking at the road.
"I missed you," Sharna said, holding Orlon tight, then she looked at the others, blushed, and quickly said, "All. I missed you all."
"I thought you were dead," Orlon said, oblivious to anything but the two of them.
"So did I," she brought her eyes back to him.
"How…?" he stumbled over the question on everyone’s mind.
"I landed in a lake."
Orlon, and everyone but Tarl, who still brooded over missing out on a hug, gave her a double-take. They had crossed the twin rivers, but no one remembered even seeing a sign of a lake around Tibtarnitallimardarian’s mountainous lair. Then again, it was a mountain and they were only on one side of it, so…
"I fell a long way," she went on, "bracing myself for a fatal landing amongst stone and earth, when I hit the lake’s icy waters. I didn’t even get a chance to take in a breath before I sank deep beneath the surface, and I feared I was done for. But I refused to give up, fought against a swift undercurrent to reach the surface. My chest ached, my lungs desperately pleading for air, but I refused to give in, to take in the breath that would surely mean my end.
"When I finally surfaced I found myself being swept away on a river that snaked its way through a forest. My first concern was to reach a bank, which the swift current made hard to achieve, but I did it.
"I lay there on the bank, weak as a kitten, sucking in air. Twilight came before I arose to look around me, my only concern whether you…all survived the Eunuchs. My only desire was to rejoin you…all, if you had. With no idea how far the river had swept me away from the mountain, I had to decide whether I should try to get back it, or find my way back to Dwarf Road in hopes of running into you…all. I decided on the latter, obviously, and I am glad I did." She brought her attention back to Orlon, smiling. "That I found you."
"I am, too," Orlon said.
"Yeah, I bet you are," Tarl groused over a shoulder, kicked at the road again.
"We are all glad to see you still live," Shing said, after the briefest of glances at the pudgy Midget. "That you are with us to…"
"…escort our charge, Orlon, here, home in conclusion of our long ordeal to save the world from evil’s clutches," Grash cut in to finish.
"Sh-shu-shu-shu-shall w-wu-wu-w-w-we thu-thu-then," Tarftenrott rolled his eyes.
With that, they started down Dwarf Road toward the farm community Orlon and Tarl Bimbo called home—and within just a few steps a cleared throat stopped them. The Party looked at Orlon, still nestled in Sharna’s arms. She brought her eyes down to meet his.
"Um, I think you can put me down now," he said.
"Uh, oh, yes," she stammered and set him on his feet. "Sorry about that."
"No problem," he assured her with a smile.
Tarl grumbled under his breath, stuffed his hands further into his pockets, which meant one hand went straight through the gnawed open pocket. That surprise, and reminder of a lost opportunity with the little woman, as well as his other hand pressing into his depleted money pouch, did not help his mood one bit.
And they renewed their journey down the road.
His bad mood kept Tarl shuffling along behind his fellow travelers, hands still stuffed in pockets, eyes on the road. When he glanced up he saw the farm community that had been his lifelong home ahead. He sighed. Seeing it signified the end of the quest, his opportunity to see what was out there. He spat. The very idea of returning to a drab life on the farm put a bad taste in his mouth. The crease in his brow depended even more as he began to wonder why…
A shift in those ahead of him drew his attention. To a man, and woman, the Party began to whistle, eyes to the heavens, which confused him, briefly. His eyes darted southward, to the old Winslo place, and he gulped. The house looked as they left it with front door broken in, revealing its dark interior…. Was that a whispered call from within its dark confines? A tuneless whistle burst from his lips, his eyes averted.
Orlon, on the other hand, felt his spirits lifted upon seeing the farm community he called home. His neighbor farmers were out and about on late afternoon business, and seeing them made him smile. But when he eyed their healthy, four-days-in-the-growing crops he felt a little sick at the stomach. He had figured they could handle the damage of a crop neglected for a little while. Four days was not a little while, and with Jujay’s death they would be shorthanded in trying to make up for all that neglect.
Concern over the abandoned acre on his farm was lost in startlement when they reached the old Winslo place. He fought to subdue both his unease and a desire to look at the accursed house. His success in accomplishing the latter only led to his startlement growing into spine tingling fear, as he watched the farmers point at them, conversing excitedly, then gather on the road and approach them in a mumbling-amongst-themselves mob.
The two groups met, and the mob fell silent. They eyed each other questioningly, and no one was more filled with question than Orlon and Tarl. The two Midgets wondered why their fellow farmers would accost them so. And the answer to that came in an outburst of questions from the famers concerning where they had gotten off to.
Listening to them brought Tarl Bimbo out of his bad mood—and right into a greedy mood.
While funding the return trip, he figured he would recoup his expenditure once he got home. Two options had been on his mind to accomplish this task. A lucky run with his dice could win it back for him, or he could use the quest to expand the book he was writing. Yet he was aware of the flaw with both ways: with his usual luck gambling the former was very chancy at best and the latter would take too much time not only in completing but selling the manuscript.
A smile creased his pudgy face. Out of the blue a sure fire moneymaker had been handed to him on a silver platter. The story could be told…for a price.
He rubbed his hands together, a sly grin on his face. Yes, that was a marvelous idea, if the price was reasonable. Then he froze when a small problem that might very well ruin the scheme popped into his head. The story could only be told by one person—he cast a judgmental eye on his best friend—and he wondered if Orlon would be willing to do it.
With an inward giggle he brushed such silliness away, reminding himself just how gullible his best friend was. Convincing him to do this would be a carefully worded walk in the park. A twitch of Ty the Parson’s shoulders drew his attention, and the Parson opened his mouth to speak…
"Gentlemen, and ladies," Tarl stepped forward, raising his hands to quiet the mob. "So many questions to answer, and we’d love to answer them all for you, but we have traveled a long way over the last four days…"
"How far did you go?" Sleen Manibeen asked.
"Oh," Tarl said, bringing a finger to his chin," we must’ve traveled a mile…"
"Ooh."
"…or two…"
"Ah."
"…or even three."
"Oh my!"
Tarl felt like a fisherman toying with a catch. All he had to do was await the right moment, sink the hook home and reel it in. That moment came quickly.
"Tell us about it, please."
"I’ll catch up," he said over a shoulder, then spread his arms wide and began herding the farmers off the road. "I’ll tell you," he said to them, "what I’m going to do…"