Orlon watched his best friend usher the mob clear of the road. Though he could not hear what Tarl, whose voice had dropped to a whisper, said, it did not really matter. His nape hairs were astir and he knew why. Oh, he had noticed the judgmental cast of eyes upon him earlier—had presumed what it meant. The pudgy Midget was up to one of his schemes and the cast of his eyes meant he expected Orlon to be a part of it…. Well, he was no longer a gullible child to be easily talked into anything, so Tarl would have his work cut out for him when the time came.
"Orlon, come."
Snapped from his reverie, he turned to find the Party was heading down the road without him. Sharna was at the line’s end, looking back over a shoulder, waving a hand for him to follow. He did as requested, quick-stepping his way to her side, and on down the road they went.
With each step Orlon felt happier and happier to be home after his journey. He looked from farm to farm, now occupied by wives and children busy with chores, and smiled. Not even the healthy crops troubled him this time, although disgruntled glances from the wives, first at him then the neglectful farmers and back again, did send a chill along his spine. Still, it was so nice to be around so much familiarity.
Why, he was so thankful to be home he breathed deeply, reveling in the sweet scents of the farmland. A coughing fit gripped him, yet his smile did not waver. Even the foulness of farmland air was a pleasure…this time around.
Then he saw his four-days-unattended acre—and he stumbled over his own feet.
A little rainfall during his absence had had its effect on the plowed acre, and its biggest effect was filling the acre with weeds. He grumbled under his breath. What he saw was a whole lot of work in the coming days for him and Tarl Bimbo, who was not the best of workers. What he felt was a tingling fear they might have no crop to offer the Buyer at season’s end, leaving them with no income for the future.
He jerked his eyes away from the acre, and all the hard labor it represented, and let them come to rest on the simple white walled, thatched roofed farmhouse he called home. After being away so long, he was so happy to see it he smiled brightly. Sure, he noticed the lawn needed trimmed and weeded, but that did not matter to him at the moment. He was home!
They stopped on the road before Orlon’s house, and he stepped up into the yard, turned to face his traveling companions. He opened his mouth to speak…
"The kidnapped is returned after ransom is paid! The caterpillar after metamorphosis! I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party have brought you home safely after your triumphant deed led to a new era of peace and tranquility free of the grip of evil," Ty the Parson said in a flail of arms. "The kicker who scores the game winning goal! We owe you gratitude, Orlon, the pure, for what you have done to save the world."
Crimson crawled up Orlon’s cheeks and he clasped his hands behind his back, stretched a toe out to brush through the grass. "Gosh, I—" he started.
"The son finds himself on porch, bags in hand, door striking his bottom, on his eighteenth birthday! The seed pod flies free from mother plant! Now that our quest is at its end, I, Ty, the Parson, must be off to seek out places to give birth to new quests performing good deeds."
And with that, he was off down the road.
"It was an honor serving with you," Grash said with a salute.
Orlon found himself caught in a web of uncertainty. The quest was over, he was home and it was time for goodbyes, yet… Here was a character—a man from the book he was reading. Already he had heard him tell a story or two…well, parts of a story or two, as each was interrupted in the name of the quest. This was his one chance to hear a full story or two, or more, if he could coax the old warrior to stay a while.
Before he could make up his mind what to do Grash was gone, hot on the heels of the Parson.
"Farewell, little one," Shing said and was off as well.
Though he lost the opportunity to bid the Oriental Ranger goodbye, he did get the chance to wave farewell to the battered and broken warrior he carried in a sack on his back. Expendendale gave him a crooked smile and somehow found a way to work an index finger up to return the wave.
"S-su-su-s-s-su-so l-lu-lu-l-l-lu-long," Tarftenrott spun and pushed the cart after the others.
Since his hand was already up, Orlon pointlessly waved farewell to the stuttering warrior’s back. He blinked. Now that all his surviving male traveling companions had departed, that left only his self proclaimed protector—a woman—to go. He gulped. His lifelong bashfulness when it came to the opposite sex sent a quiver through him.
Then he thought of the experience in the tunnel of Tibtarni—whatever’s lair, when he watched her fall to her apparent death while trying to protect him… He remembered the elation he felt when he discovered she had survived that fall… With a pang in his heart, and a bit of confusion over that pang, he realized he would momentarily be losing her again. He tried to console himself with the thought he knew all along they would part ways at quest’s end. It did not help much.
He turned to face her, felt a blast of heat course through his body. Sharna was so beautiful standing there in her tight white shirt, short black breeches and knee high black boots. Framed in long, wavy blonde-brown hair, her face was exquisite. He looked into her wanting brown eyes and saw in them the sorrow he felt at the idea of parting. And he did not know how to say goodbye to her. She apparently had no problem putting it into words, saying:
"See you later."
"S-see you," he found himself saying as he watched her hurry after the others.
Once she—the Party was beyond sight Orlon sighed and felt weariness bear down on him like a ton of stones. Not only the day’s walk, but the harrowing events of the last four days had worn him to a frazzle. He sagged, weak at the knees, rallied back with a reminder of where he was. There would be no sleeping outdoors this night. He stood on the front lawn of his own property, just a short stroll from the comfort of his own bed.
First, he looked west to find the sun kissing the horizon in a splendor of crimson, and he thought of the just-departed Party. Would it not have been wiser for them to have taken rooms at an inn or tavern until morning? Remembering their lack of funds answered that question, as well as made him wish he had asked them to stay at his house. He shrugged. Oh, well. They were, after all, journeymen, and -woman, so they must like camping out.
Then he looked at Tarl, who still talked animatedly to the mob of farmers. His eyes went to the heavens. Whatever scheme his best friend was cooking up must be a big one. Well, he had no intention to wait for him to finish, and he about-faced, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
The little farmhouse looked like paradise to the Midget, despite its unattended surroundings. With half-lidded eyes, he walked toward it, aware of the tall grass brushing against his legs, the weed infested acre in his peripheral vision, but he did not care about that.
He stepped onto the porch, took hold of the door knob, and a sigh escaped his lips. When he stepped through the door it would signify the true end of a journey he never imagined he would have taken. That sure sounded good to him. He opened the door and stepped in, shutting it behind him. Once his eyes adjusted to the inner dimness, he groaned. What he saw before him was even more work in the form of a four day layer of dust that covered everything.
"Tomorrow," he murmured. "I’ll deal with it all tomorrow."
And his eyes landed on the book, still nestled in the quilt where he left it the perplexing night of Ty the Parson’s initial visit. Behind his eyes was a mind filled with the image of Grash in full storytelling stance, surrounded by echoing stories partially told by the old warrior, and a desire to read, read, read… Yet that desire was met by an irresistible force. Orlon yawned a wide mouthed, back bowing, arm stretching yawn. He was tired!