Chapter 22
'Never have I heard such music,' breathed one.
The other sat silently, still hearing the singing perhaps, and made no reply.
'What are your names?' the bard asked quietly.
'I am called Thatcher — or Thatch, as my friends say,' the taller of the two lads answered.
'And I am Shad, although the folk of the village make it to be Shadow, for I follow my friend Thatch,' the one who had been silent piped.
Gellor nodded and smiled. 'We are glad to have you at our fire, Thatch and Shad. Why did you follow us here?'
'Well, sir,' the gangling boy said with a nervous swallow, 'Shad and I want to be hunters. When we heard you speak of wild boar, we decided to join you… If you slay the devil-pig, you'll be famous hereabouts, and then so will we!'
The boy called Shadow bounced in eager agreement. 'We heard where you were going, so we cut through the forest and got ahead of you. When you passed it was easy to follow.'
Gord looked at Chert, and the big barbarian shrugged. Gellor had somehow brought the boys into their camp with his singing, that was clear Gord wanted to know if the bard knew when he began the melody that the boys, or somebody, was near. He had heard nothing, and it seemed that Chert had likewise been unaware of the presence of the two. The young thief remained silent, though, allowing Gellor to do all the talking. The one-eyed man was certainly getting answers.
'Why did you come so close?'
'We couldn’t make our own fire, so we had to be near yours for protection. There's things in the night, you know, which would gladly have us for their dinner,' Thatch responded. 'I am sorry we disturbed you by coming into the circle, but when you sang and played we just had to — ..'
'No matter, boys. We're pleased you joined us, aren't we?' and as he spoke the latter he glanced meaningfully at his comrades.
Chert rumbled a greeting, and Gord nodded and smiled.
'There,' Gellor said. 'We are all friends here. Tell me, what did you hear us talking about?'
'Oh…' Thatch said, and then he looked toward his friend for help. Shad looked away, shifting nervously.
Gellor looked at the bigger youth and prompted him to go on by saying, 'It's fine to say whatever you like when you're with boon company!'
'I know, sir, but I am confused. You are hunters, the boldest-looking hunters we have ever seen in Tusham! We know that you've come to slay the tuskers — maybe get the devil-pig himself — and we heard you speak of running from them,' Thatch said with a note of betrayal in his voice.
'Shad, did you hear that?' Gellor asked.
Shad grinned. 'I'm not a post! I heard everything,' and with that he turned to his taller friend and said, 'Thatch, I'll wager that it's treasure they're after! Why else get away from pigs when you're a hunter?' Thatch made no reply to that, so the eager-faced lad turned and looked at Chert, Gord, and finally Gellor as he asked, 'It is a treasure, isn't it? The key you talked about opens a big chest full of silver and gold, doesn't it? The evil place is where some dragon hides its hoard, right?'
'Hmmm,' the bard said, stroking his chin. 'You are as keen-eared as an owl. You must not mention any of what you heard ever again. Shad? Thatch? Understood?'
Both lads agreed readily enough, and Thatch added, 'We'll help you get it, and that way we won't be around others to tell them the secret.' Gellor shook his head at that. 'No, my good lads, we could never expose you to the dangers we must face for the journey, let alone the conclusion — the treasure, shall we say. In the morning you must go home.
'Yes, sir,' Thatch said with a downcast expression.
'But, Thatch,' the smaller lad cried in disbelief, 'we can't go back to Tusham without a trophy — and maybe even with one we can't. Clydebo kill us for sure!'
'Now you shut your chop-trap, Shad, or I'll — '
'Enough of that, m'lads!' the bard thundered. Thatch had stood up as he spoke and clenched his fists. Shad had been ready to fight too, when the command came. Both plopped back to the leaf-covered ground, sheepishly looking at their hands. 'We're friends here, and we don't squabble and fight like a flock of jackdaws. Mind your manners! Now, what's this about someone harming you?'
'Shad means Clydebo, the Chief Hunter. We… ah… borrowed some of his… things so we could come with you.'
Gellor looked sternly at the two. 'Borrowed? Do you mean you stole something belonging to this Clydebo?'
'I… I guess you'd say that, sir. But we'll bring everything back — won't we, Thatch?' said the small lad in a pleading voice.
Thatch decided to make a clean breast of it. 'We knew that you'd kill many boars — even the one that's a devil! We'll never get to be hunters unless someone like you will let us learn. Else I have to be a thatcher, just like my name, and Shad there'll end up as a tailor.'
'What did you take?' asked the one-eyed bard gently.
'Boar-spears, some old leggings, a lodencloak, a flatchet, and a rucksack,' the tall lad ticked off the list.
'We needn't any of his other stuff, for I'd taken a leather poke full of grub and a big knife from my uncle already,' volunteered Shad.
At that Gord had to laugh. Thatch scowled at his small friend. Before he could say anything about this addition, Shad went on.
'Don't be cross, Thatch. I didn't say anything about the stuff you took from your master!'
'Master, you say? Are you a prenticed boy?' interjected Gellor.
'Aye, both Shad and I are. He to his kinfolk, though, and I to old Reed.'
Stealing was bad — bad enough to get the boys flogged and bound to their victims to work out twice the value of the stolen goods, recovered or no. Stealing things from a master by an apprentice was worse still. If the master chose, he could sell the thief into slavery in redress for the crime. Worst of all, the theft from Clydebo was of relatively high value, and the goods taken were those of his livelihood. That usually meant hanging. All three of the adventurers looked at the lads in wonderment. What could these boys have been thinking of?
'That won't matter, you see,' Thatch said almost as if he had read the men's minds. 'The prentice-breaking nor the borrowing of the stuff, that is. You're going to kill wild boars aplenty. The devil-pig that's got everyone in Tusham scared to go into the woods, too! We'll help, and the whole village will call us heroes! We'll give everything back, and Clydebo will have a trophy from us to boot. Then we can be hunters!'
'No, we can't!' countered little Shad glumly. 'Don't you recall that they said they weren't going to look to pig-sticking? We got in trouble for naught, Thatch.'
Gellor looked grim. 'Where was this Clydebo the hunter when you made free with his gear?' he asked.
'Out after game, sir,' said Thatch weakly.
'They could sneak back into the village before anyone's up,' Gord said. 'Then, after replacing what they stole from Clydebo, they can creep back to their own homes. They'll have to take a few whacks, that's sure. But a few commons or a silver noble even will soothe any feelings of anger. Besides, they can claim we forced them to show us the way through the forest and made them take the food, too.'
Chert looked doubtful. 'That's pretty thin, Gord,' he said.
'It's all we've got.'
'No argument there,' interjected Gellor. 'But I like it not. The story is likely to be questioned, and these two know about… other things, shall we say.'
'We'd never, never betray the truth about you hunting for treasure, not boar,' Thatch said earnestly.
'We can't go back, though,' Shad chimed in, ''cause we saw Clydebo in the afternoon heading back to Tusham. He's found his spears and equipment missing for certain, and tomorrow he'll be on our trail with a vengeance.'
'That tears it! What on Oerth are we to do with you two?!' the bard demanded, his tone halfway between mirth and anger.
