[size=150]Chapter 20: Path Through The Woods[/size]
___Portunista certainly hadn’t expected a casual humming!
___Moments later, a short man rounded the path. His broad face exhibited plenty of smile marks, especially near his deeply twinkling eyes. Short black hair receded smoothly from his forehead, going well with dark gray trousers and field-jacket.
___He tromped to a stop, loudly threshing leaves in his way.
___“Oh me! Oh my!” He popped his hands theatrically.
___“Onto what have I stumbled here?”—by his jerky pacing and pitch, he wasn’t surprised in the least. Then his speech smoothed out, while keeping its tenored edge: “Four shady-lookin’ gentl’men, a lady whose squint could kill—ease up, doll, or those lines’ll be permanent, trust me on this—an’…lessee…” Not even moving his eyes, he kicked a pebble into the brush—eliciting a grunt. “Oh, yeah, a jaaa-guar!” Seifas rose from the brush like a spectre. “Haven’t seen one o’ yous in a while; good t’ see ya now. Don’t go gettin’ cat-a-stro-phic on me, ‘kay? I jus’ wanna see the people I’m talkin’ to. ‘Sides, that shrub couldn’t’a’been comft’ble.” The short man grinned and rubbed his hands, as if deciding what order they all should be eaten in.
___“This wouldn’t be Qarfax by any chance,” Gaekwar muttered to Seifas; who snorted: “Not even close.”
___“Qarfax…Qaaar-faax…” The man darted his eyes above their heads, as if searching his memory. “Can’t say I ever heard th’ name.” He perked, standing an inch or two straighter—not that this came to much—and tipped his head to the side. “Does he have somethin’ to do with th’ buildin’ down there in th’ lake?”
___Portunista wasn’t sure that she could spot a fellow apprentice, set loose by the chaos of the Culling; but she didn’t think this man possessed the underlying aura of a Cadrist’s power.
___“He looks more like a thug.” She eyed him head to foot with some distaste.
___His eyebrows twitched with his faltering smile, before he resumed that unsettling grin.
___“Nice voice! Betcha sing pretty good when y’re in th’ mood. At least, I betcha keep time pretty good, eh?” He grinned even wider and winked.
___“WHAT!” she bellowed—was that an innuendo…?!
___But, “Tickety-tockety-lickety-split,” he chattered while snapping his fingers; then “BAM!” he pointed at a tree. “Or, th’ like,” he shrugged. “‘Sides, y’re th’ only one here ‘thout an obvious weapon, an’ no off’nse, y’ain’t got many places t’ hide one.”
___The maga blushed with fury: her shirt and breeches weren’t that tight!
___“Don’t zap me, doll; that was a com-pli-ment, case y’hadn’t noticed. Okay, so, who’s in charge?”
___“The doll,” Othon rumbled.
___“Ah.” The stranger nodded; then bowed to Portunista. “It’s really quite…um…fetching. Really. I’m sure it’s entirely practical; it looks practical! Just…um…well-cut, yeah…help me out here, guys, I’m dyin’…”
___Portunista didn’t expect—or want!—for someone to help the little weasel…! She was thinking of “fetching” the remains of his hair to test a jotting theory of hers—but…
___“You mentioned something about a lake, I think,” Jian offered.
___“Yeah! A lake! Right! Like I was sayin’…” The slightly stocky man hustled over to the treeline’s edge. “Thanks, pal,” he muttered, before he continued: “As y’c’n see, what we have here is a lake…‘xcept,” he shook his head amused in wonder, “there ain’t no lake.”
___And he changed the shake of his head to a satisfied nod.
___Again, silence.
___He looked around, guarding his expression.
___“I take it from sap-boy’s snappy save, that yous didn’t know this was s’posed t’ be a lake, hm? Now, either yous wand’red out here in th’ middle o’ Eyeforsaken nowh—” He cut himself short with a “sorry,” and a harrumph. It occurred to Portunista that he was trying to “spare her,” as the “lady” of the group, from his profanity.
___Now she thought that steam might be emitting out her ears…!
___“—wander’d out here in th’ middle of nowhere, ‘thout a map,” he continued, “or, yous know a bit o’ somethin’ ‘bout this place I don’t. So…” he shrugged elaborately, and walked a few steps back into the woods along the path, turning to face them again. “So what’s th’ scoop here? Hm?”
___“We don’t know you, and you’re not in any position to ask us anything,” Portunista declared. He didn’t wilt beneath her glare, but did hold up his hands.
___“Okay! No need t’ get hos-tile. I’ll go first.”
___He cleared his throat. “My name…” He paused, and looked around at everyone in turn. “…is Pooralay.”
___Dagon snickered. “Well; that’s inoffensive enough!”
___“Yeah, well, I’m an inoff’nsive kinda guy. So kiss off, doll-boy.”
___Dagon choked and Portunista watched him turn a lovely shade of reddish purple! But before the Krygian could act…
___“Hi! I’m Jian.” The fair man walked to meet the stranger with a smile and outstretched hand.
___“Uh…yeah…call me Poo, I guess…” He shook Jian’s hand. “Yeesh, guys, where’d y’find this clown? Is he simple, or what?”
___“Expendable,” muttered Dagon.
___“Actually,” chuckled Gaekwar, “he found us.”
___“Ah.” Pooralay carefully watched as Jian, who shrugged, resumed his place in the line. Then he squinted his beady eyes, and tilted his head. “Do I know you?”
___Portunista’s temper doused in shock; her hearing felt as sharp as knives…Know Jian??
___The fair man thought on this a moment. “I am certain,” he replied—very carefully—“that we have never met, and that I don’t know you.”
___This didn’t seem to satisfy the little man, but with a muttered “Yeah…okay…my mistake, I guess,” he turned back to the others in the group. “Um…okay; wristboy, how ‘bout you?”
___“Uh-uh,” Gaekwar corrected. “Now you tell us why you’re here.” He emphasized this with his disker-laden arm.
___“Okay…I c’n unnerstand y’bein’ nervous ‘n all…but howsabout pointin’ that thing somewhere po-lite b’fore I get annoyed.”
___Gaekwar didn’t move; but Pooralay did. With a fatalistic shrug, he sauntered over to the ‘cowherd’, putting his torso inches from the disker.
___“Now y’re sure t’ hit me. Feel any better?”
___—a blurring hand—
___—the disker’s springy whine—!
___Gaekwar gasped and caught himself from leaping backward.
___Pooralay had stuck a short thin knife between the disker’s channeled metal slots, blocking the shuttling mechanism.
___Instantly plenty of weapons were leveled…but Jian only watched while stroking his beard.
___“Kinda jumpy, aincha?” Pooralay grinned. “Don’t move, or y’might get stuck. I ain’t nicked y’r arm—yet. Like I said,” the short man flicked his eyes around at them, “I jus’ don’t like t’ be annoyed, is all.” Pushing the disker gently to the side, with a “Watchit,” Pooralay pulled the knife from the works. The disc spat weakly out. “Prob’ly gonna need to check those springs,” the stranger suggested—Gaekwar looked as though he had swallowed his tonsils. “So big guy, how ‘bout you?” Pooralay turned to face the spiky end of an edged mace. “You gotta name, or are y’gonna be imp’lite to someone who’s ver-ti-cal-ly challeng’d?”
___The “big guy” squinted, and then replaced his mace inside the wooden frame upon his back. “Othon.”
___“Fair ‘nuff; you ‘n th’ kid with th’ sap on his back’re all okay in my book. You too,” he nodded to Seifas. “I’m okay with jaguars on gen’r’l prin-ci-ple.” He stepped five paces back, to regard them all again. “Okay, so y’wanna know why I’m here.”
___He paused, and then inhaled.
___“I’m lookin’…f’r the Well at th’ End of th’ Wood.”
Next chapter
), so I kept the trip to the Tower a minimal flashback, and focused more on the developing Jian/Portunista relationship en route.
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