the first man. “You’re talking utter nonsense.”
“You’re not listening,” said the second man.
“Are you absolutely certain it’s me that’s not listening?” said the first fellow.
“Yes, I’m sure. Pay attention,” said the second and glared his companion. “Are you stupid?”
“I don’t think so,” said his companion and scratched his head.
“And yet you’re of the opinion that we are the same as animals?”
“I don’t actually recall saying that,” said the first man.
“Will you two shut-up,” said a third voice from around the fire. I’m trying to get pleasantly drunk before I have to go home to my wife and six kids. Personally, I don’t mind being out here in the dark waiting for some dwarf maniac warrior to come and kill the Fire God. It’s safer than home!”
With that everyone around the fire laughed heartily, slapping their knees and toasting one another, “Here’s to marauding dwarves, may they often grace us with their presence!” and such inanities. The men around the fire continued to entertain each other as the hours of the night slowly went by, and they did not notice as Petra slowly approached on the little mule she borrowed from Dol just an hour ago. She managed to maneuver the beast all the way up to the campfire before one of the men noticed.
“Hey, you there!” shouted one of them and tried to pull his short sword from its scabbard but only managed to entangle it in between his legs so that he stumbled towards her. “What are you doing here?”
Petra pulled up the little mule with a quick yank of the reins and smiled down on the men, “I’m a witchy woman from the north villages. I heard there was need for my concoctions in these regions. Potions of courage, elixirs of strength, and the such.”
The men around the campfire, at least the ones not curled up and snoring on bedrolls, looked at each other back and forth, and then the leader eventually shrugged his shoulders and managed to pull out the sword, “Now that you mention it we might be in need of a few such potions. There is a great dwarf warrior come to slay the mighty God of Fire in the volcano and we are tasked with stopping him!”
“You’ll need potions of strength at least,” said Petra and dismounted. “How many of you are there? I can give you a better price if we just mix them into the stew and you all drink. If I have to sell you each a potion it will cost more.”
“I might need some courage,” said one thin man with a little moustache and a shy smile. “I raise chickens mostly.” He fingered a little dirk at his side, shrugged his shoulders, and tilted his head to the side, “I can cut a chicken’s throat but I’m afraid I’d piss myself if someone came at me with a sword.”
“That’s all right, dearie,” said Petra and came over to pat him on the shoulder. “You’re probably not the only one here who isn’t a soldier and could use a brace of courage. I make the finest potions for a hundred miles in all directions. One sip of my courage elixir and you’ll be ready to take on an army.”
The man smiled at Petra and scratched his head, “Maybe I’d be best off running away instead of towards an angry dwarf with an axe?”
“You might be right there,” said Petra with a laugh, and the men around guffawed loudly enough to wake even the drunkest passed out around the fire. “But, you’ve got a job to do and if you run away then you’ll be found in the end. The priests with their magic can tell if a man is lying or not.”
“It’s true,” murmured several voices from the darkness. “They can make you talk. If we run away then the priests will get it out of us in the end. Then when the baron gets back with the soldiers he’ll put our heads on pikes.”
“He’s a right bastard is our baron,” said one of the gruffest of the group. He wore a heavy leather jerkin, and a long blade hung in a scabbard from his side. “We’ll fight and do our best, don’t you worry Jocuso. Better to die standing up like a man than captured and in chains. Maybe this dwarf won’t come at all. What fool takes on a God?”
Petra looked up at the rough character and nodded her head, “A big one,” she said.
“A big dwarf or a big fool,” said Jocuso in a tremulous voice which elicited a burst of laughter from the men around the campfire.
“Maybe both,” replied Petra. “Now, how many are in for the potions; the more the better price I offer.”
“Do we need two potions? One for strength and one for courage?” said a voice from the crowd.
“I can mix them together easily enough,” said Petra with a broad grin and she began to unpack the various tools of her trade from the mule. There were dozens of little flasks, several small bundles of strange herbs that gave off intoxicating odors, little bags of powdered substances, a mortar and pestle, and a few other pieces of equipment of varying shapes and sizes. Petra busied herself unpacking all the items and setting them into precise positions on a felt mat as the men began to crowd around her and gaze at her preparations.
“Who is paying for this?” said Petra as she continued her work without abatement.
The gathered men immediately began to reach into pockets and the sound of metallic coins clinking came through the crisp air. Various discussions and bargains came and went from the men as to who should pay more and who should pay less. Some arguments as to the weight of the imbiber and the potential for that person requiring an increased amount stalled the negotiations for a while as Petra began to mix various ingredients in a large bowl. Eventually the men sorted out their differences and the gruff member of the group came over with a hand full of coins, mainly silver but a few of copper and other base metals. He put them on the felt to the side of Petra’s preparations, “There you go, witch. That should be enough to take care of us all.”
Petra looked at the pathetic little pile of coins and thought about the heavy gold in her own purse and the gemstones that jangled next to them. She realized not more than a couple of months ago this sort of sale would keep her in food and supplies for months and shook her head, snorted, and smiled broadly.
“Is it not enough?” questioned the man and reached into his pocket.
“No, no,” said Petra shaking her head, “I’m sorry. I was thinking about the last time I saw coins like this,” she said and reached into the pile to pull at one of the pieces that looked different than the rest. It showed a green jungle like environment on one side and a topless woman carrying a spear on the other.
“That’s from the jungle kingdoms,” said one of the men peering over her shoulder as she examined the coin. “I got it from a northern trader. They say there are jungles a thousand miles long in the northlands. That spear woman is a goddesses of their land I think but I don’t remember her name.” The man, he wasn’t particularly tall but had a thick neck and a heavy build to go along with thinning hair and a flat, pug nose. “Do you think the dwarf will really try to kill the Great Fire God?”
Petra shrugged, “It’s possible, best to have your courage up just in case, right?”
“Oh, I don’t mind that, I’m old now and my, cough, cough, my lungs are filling up all the time. My father died even younger than me. I’m going to die anyways. I just worry about my children if the Fire God is dead. Who will drag the sun across the sky, who will tease the seedlings out so they can grow?”
“Who teased the seedlings before the Fire God resided in the volcano?” said Petra as she continued to mix her ingredients carefully.
“Is that nightshade?” said a voice from the back as Petra continued her work.
“Just a smidge,” said the woman dumping a healthy clump into the mix. “For courage.”
“Isn’t nightshade poisonous?” questioned the voice.
“Only in large doses,” said Petra and immediately began to put a ground purple powder into the mix. “Besides, it’s counteracted by this Passion flower. Nothing to worry about.”
“I’ve never seen herbs like those,” said another voice looming over her shoulder. “I’m a gardener and those aren’t from around here.”
Petra suddenly looked up with her eyes huge and half-bugged out. “Get away,” she screeched, “get away from the witch or I’ll curse you all.”
The men immediately backed away and began bickering among themselves, “See what you did?”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You can’t tell a witch how to brew a potion any more than you can tell a blacksmith how to hammer a horseshoe.”
“They’re crazy, those witches, one of them cursed my sister-in-law, and she grew an extra arm out her back.”
“That’s horse dung,” said another voice. “People don’t grow extra arms out of their backs.”
“I’ve seen it,” said another voice. “My missus is the midwife, you know, and sometimes them babies come out all deformed with extra parts and missing parts. She has to dispose of them, you know, but she always tells
