Rambusco
By David Mason.
Copyright © Text David Mason.
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Chapter 1. Training, straight talking, and a new challenge.
CRASH!! The sword smashed into Rambusco’s shield,
making him stagger back. His opponent laughed, “Now I’ve
got you”, and swung his weapon again. Rambusco lifted sword
and shield together to meet the blow, taking the full force of it
without another step back. With his sword already raised, it
took the blink of an eye for him to lean forward, and lower the
point to his opponent’s throat. “Well done”, cried War, “Well
done,” and he meant it.
At six and a half feet tall, Rambusco towered over
War. Though neither wore armour at this practice, he appeared
to be the dominant figure. Of course, War had no need of such
physical strength, his magic leant power to his arm, just as it
protected him. As Rambusco felt the weight of the axe in his
belt, he wondered if War would have been able to resist its
force when thrown, as accurately. Rambusco smoothed his
rough, forest green tunic, which contrasted with the fine linen
of War’s decorated tabard.
He still had every reason to feel well pleased with
himself. After all, when one of the Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse pays you a compliment, that’s really something!
“Mind you, if I’d put all my strength in that first blow you
wouldn’t be standing now, it shows how skill can sometimes
overcome brute force. Well, I think we’ve done enough for
tonight. Death is cooking up some scheme or other, so we had
better have an early night. Make sure the horses are well fed
and watered for tomorrow. Remember, we leave for our
practice at dusk; I’ve got a feeling we’re going to have to work
hard this time, Goodnight Rambusco.”
“Goodnight War, leave it to me. The horses will be
ready when you are.”
All that hard training, and regular practice was now
paying off; his arm was stronger and his grip firm, he could
face any normal adversary with full confidence in his strength
and swordsmanship. Even against giants, trolls, and such like
creatures, he knew he could give a good account of himself.
Not that there were any creatures, fierce or otherwise, in his
own valley; but he knew that, beyond the first mile or so of the
forest, almost anything existed. A troublesome Giant, and
various Trolls lived in that part of the wood, but they were all
wary of Rambusco, not least through his connection with The
Four Horsemen. They knew the forest edge was Rambusco’s,
and left it to him. Whatever unpleasant, or bad tempered
individuals there were living nearby, they all knew how proud
Rambusco was of his home, his beautiful valley, and avoided
him accordingly.
He had been here nearly 300 years now and had loved
it from the first. Guarded by the forest, and fierce rugged
mountains, snow – capped even in summer. Watered by a
gentle stream, gurgling its way down from the forest, the
valley was always a great source of pleasure for him. Always
at his happiest working outside, clearing dead trees for
firewood, renewing fences.
A family of Dwarves had been the previous occupants
of his large, comfortable cave. When a fierce storm blew most
of the trees down, except one, by the entrance, the morning
sun shone directly into the cave. As is the nature of Dwarves,
they didn’t like too much sunlight; and to have the sun
streaming in, even to the remote corners, was too much for
them. It was not called ‘Skuldenriplogtangenrudd’ (Dark split
rock beneath Raven’s trees) for nothing. Rambusco snapped
up the bargain when he heard they would swap it for a new set
of digging tools. When they saw how captivated Rambusco
was, they showed that they were not always bad tempered by
re-naming the cave Lomhreddfristelstanbroom (New home by
the silver stream in the land of sweet meadows)
He smiled as he approached his cave; his wife would
have supper ready by now, and Drangora’s supper was always
something to look forward to. Sadly, his happy mood was
shattered on his first step over the threshold.
She was not pleased.
He flinched as his wife started on the subject of his
lack of success. “Well? Have you spoken to them about your
promotion?” Seeing the look on his face, she sighed,
“Rambusco. How much longer are you going to be the ‘first
reserve’? When are you going to be one of the team ?” He had
no need to speak, Drangora could read his face like a book.
Her dress matched the green of his tunic, and was covered by a
long apron. Long mainly because she was so slim, and a mere
half inch over four feet short. Although sharp of face, she was
far from ugly, and basically kind in nature. She had a way of
saying things, that made any criticism feel more effective than
a sledge hammer; and the object of her temper always visibly
shrank.
Most feared by those who knew her, was her shrill
voice; its biting edge quickly withered any opposition. It
towered over everyone. It was rumoured that once, many years
ago, a fire Dragon had fled before her tongue-lashing. Getting
lost in the wood, it had wandered into Rambusco’s valley.
Seeing the cave was occupied, and seeking directions, it had
coughed loudly to attract attention. Unfortunately this caused a
blowback, badly singeing the washing on the line. No one ever
knew what exactly it was she said to it, but no Dragon, of any
description, ever passed that way again.
Rambusco accepted Drangora’s vitriolic tongue; on
occasions it had been a powerful weapon in his defence. He
was resigned to playing second fiddle to his wife at home, she
was the organiser, the one who always got things done. He
braced himself for another assessment of his past labours.
“When you auditioned for the ‘Valkyrie Brothers’, the best
you could do was put on the application form that you’d once
knocked Zeus off his bike; you should have made up
something a lot more exciting then that.”
“But how could I have known Zeus was on the panel?
Honestly, being first reserve isn’t so bad. At least I didn’t get
kicked out like the triplets”
“Don’t change the subject, I’ll come to them later.
What you don’t see is ‘Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse‘
sounds stupid, everyone knows there should be seven. All the
really big things are in sevens; like the ‘Seven Hills of Rome’,
those ‘Seven Simpering Sisters of Virtue’, and ‘Seven Pillars
of Wisdom’, everyone has heard of them.”
“Aw, come on Drangora. I couldn’t help it when they
sacked the triplets; to be honest, I always knew they never
pulled their weight. I can’t remember them being any where
near the front when it came to a fight, so I for one don’t miss
them at work. Anyway, I can’t stop to argue, I’ve got Tracy
and Eleanor to see to”.
“That’s another thing. When are they going to let you
keep them with the other horses? They make such a mess in
the cave, and Grandma is getting fed up sweeping up after
them. Not like your old garwulff, at least it lives in a cage.”
“Now don’t you start on about Splatattack, he’s a good
pet, and it’s only once a month he gets hungry. I did tell
Grandpa not to open the door; but you know what he was like,
never took advice from anyone. You must admit, Grandma
doesn’t seem to miss him that much anyway; I suppose he was
getting to be a bit smelly.”
“All right, go and see to your rotten old horses, and
have a word with those losers. You should never have offered
them a corner when they lost their team places. I went to
school with their Mother, and used to help changing their
nappies. They were a whinging lot then. She always said that
given a choice, she would rather have had three of the Seven
Deadly Sins than that lot. “But then,” Drangora reflected, “but
then, I suppose she always was inclined a bit that way.
Anyway, while you’re at it, remind them their 100 years notice
is up, they should have been out by the Millennium. When the
Seven Horsemen of the Apocalypse took you on as first
reserve, I told you to watch out for the triplets. Let’s face it,
when everyone else was dumping on the Israelites, those three
went on holiday. No wonder the others voted them out. You’re
going to have to put your foot down.”
“By gum, you’re a hard woman Drangora.”
“I know. Maybe I should go for the jobs instead.”
Rambusco sighed, and made his way outside. Going
into his wide valley, he knew that in spite of not being the
spectacular success Drangora wanted of him, he was not doing
badly. He also knew that if she wasn’t really fond of him, she
wouldn’t still be doing all the washing and cooking. Behind
that tongue there was a loving companion, someone who even
had some compassion for those stupid triplets. ‘After all’ he
laughed to himself, ‘she’s still feeding them’.
He wasn’t too sure where The Four Horsemen lived, but
their horses roamed with Rambusco’s in his pasture. Going to
where the horses were grazing, he stroked Tracey’s neck
affectionately, “At least you don’t shout at me.” He sighed
deeply as he realised that Drangora talked a lot of sense; she
might shout and call him names, but he knew that if ever he
was in a tight spot, she would be at his side. But, his life did
have much compensation for all his hard work.
This lush, green haven away from the outside world; the
one place where he could relax. Standing within earshot of his
gently burbling stream, he could fall into a day dream at the
drop of a hat. And his home; it was too good just to be called a
cave, Drangora kept it so clean, warm, and comfortable, it was
a real pleasure to return to. A big chair by a roaring fire, his
little wife by his side; they spent many long hours simply
enjoying each other’s company. She was not what could be
called a ‘long winded nag’.
Slipping bridles on the horses, and tying them to the
gatepost, he cleaned the soil from their hooves, before leading
them home.
As he re-entered the cave deep in thought, he had to
acknowledge that his wife was probably right. It was pretty
unlikely that he would ever make the team. After all it would
be a very strange day if Death, War, Famine or Pestilence even
got injured, much less killed. So he was going to be first
reserve for a very long time; sometimes he got the feeling that
they had originally taken him on because they felt sorry for
him, but he knew he had since proved his worth.
“Watch where you’re taking them, we’re having our
tea here shortly.” Drangora’s crow like voice brought him
back to earth.
He mumbled “Sorry,” and led Tracy and Eleanor
through to their quarters. “There you go Tracy old girl,” he
said as he spread the straw for their beds, ignoring the snigger
from one of the triplets. As he came back, bringing the fodder,
the triplets were muttering, casting devious sidelong glances in
his direction; he knew their snide comments were directed at
him. Angry now, he turned on them. “Now listen you lot,
you’re lucky to be here. If Drangora had her way you’d be
back in the woods, and serve you right. Fancy going on
holiday when you knew there was a job coming up, everyone
else was having a go at the Israelites; but you knew you
wouldn’t even frighten them, so you went off to Ibiza! Listen
to me, Tracy and Eleanor stay here. Right??”
“All right Rambusco, you don’t have to go on so. If we
want to get back on the team, we have to have someone to
practise on, it’s nothing personal,” said Dragonbreath;
standing to face Rambusco.
“That’s right”, said Feltfeet, “nothing personal”. He
should have been called Fleetfeet, but his father couldn’t spell.
While the third triplet, Rearwind, simply nodded. He had a
similar problem, being given Rarewand as a birth name, his
father spoilt it when he registered it. Dyslexia is much more
widespread than most people realise. Yet, strangely, his name
suited him perfectly, due some sort of digestive problem.
Rambusco coughed, and stepped back from
Dragonbreath, turning his face from the fumes, “Yes. Well. So
long as you don’t upset the girls.”
“Have you reminded them that their notice is up?”
Drangora’s voice boomed from the front of the cave. “I don’t
care what the Trolls say about them, they’ll just have to put up
with those dim nincompoops; it’s not our fault they’ve
nowhere else to go but the forest. Now, come and help me
with these curtains. I want this place looking nice when our
Brandleburga comes next week.”
Rambusco groaned, he really didn’t like his sister-inlaw’s
visits. It wasn’t her so much, but her husband was
always going on about how he swam round the world at the
time of the great flood; insisting on repeating the names of all
the great mountains and continents he passed. Part of his
interminable rambling included the story of his escape from a
huge whirlpool; probably caused, by the sudden filling up of
an underground cavern. About to pull him into the depths of
the earth, the cavern must have filled up at the crucial moment.
The fierce vortex ceased, allowing him to swim onwards.
Rambusco forgot how many times he had wished that cavern
could have been a few hundred feet bigger.
“I’ve got to take Splatattack for his walk first, I’ll not
be long”. Fixing the heavy chain to the garwulff’s metal collar,
he braced himself as he led it to the cave entrance. He knew
that as soon as Splatattack saw the trees he would be pulled off
his feet, as his pet rushed to chew the branches. Recovering
from that first mad flight across the field, he straightened his
breastplate, settled his axe back into his belt and watched
happily as Splatattack chewed bark from all the lower
branches, grinding most of the smaller ones to sawdust.
The horses ate comfortably in that lush meadow, lifting
their heads occasionally to watch a couple of foals run, and
play together. There wasn’t a lot he could remember clearly
from his own childhood. Only a few happy times shone
through his rough, but, always lonely existence. There was
nothing in his memory to compare with the pleasure he got
from this place.
The spring air still had that hint of winter, and the
gentle breeze barely ruffled the new grass as it rustled the old
leaves on its way through the valley. Rambusco gazed about
him contentedly, giving his imagination free reign as he
watched the cloud ships over his head, sailing majestically by.
So it wasn’t surprising that, at first, he didn’t notice the
two Gnomes hiding behind a rock.
“It’s him”, one of them whispered excitedly, “I knew
we were coming the right way”.
“Looks very strange for a Warlock, just like any old
garwulff.”
“He’s not a proper Warlock. He just happens to be an
excellent catalyst.”
“Looks more like a monsterlyst if you ask me.”
“So, all we have to do is get him away from that funny
character. We’ll have to be careful; he looks fierce. Have you
seen the size of that axe in his belt? I wouldn’t like to get on
the wrong side of him.”
“Perhaps he’d sell the garwulff, or maybe we could tell
him it’s really ours that ran away.”
“No. If we’re going to kid him into letting the garwulff
go, it’s going to have to be a better story than that. He doesn’t
look daft to me,” stroking his beard as he looked thoughtfully
at Rambusco, “maybe it’s not a good idea to get the garwulff
away from him.”
“But we’ve got to take it back for the Grand
Whizzarde.”
“I don’t mean not to take it back. It’s just, well, I’d
forgotten how big and strong some of those garwulffs can be.
He seems to be able to handle it pretty well, so why don’t we
persuade him to come with us? At least we’d know the
garwulff would be all right with him looking after it.”
They were so busy discussing what to say to
Rambusco, that they forgot to keep whispering. The discussion
soon became an argument, and Rambusco began to wonder
what was going on behind the rock. Tying Splatattack to a
tree, he crept around behind the two Gnomes, and soon
discovered that his pet was the subject of their argument.
They looked pretty much the same as other gnomes
he’d met; their pointed hats bent over, and baggy trousers that
seemed to start from the neck instead of the waist. Looking as
fierce as he could, he grabbed them by the scruff of their
necks, lifted them off their feet, and growled, “Now, you two,
tell me why you want my garwulff, and no fairy stories.”
One gave a rather weak smile, and said, “I met a fairy
once.”
The other drew himself up to his full height, or as near
as he could while being held by the neck, “Be quiet Harbungi,
let me deal with this person. My name is Turungi the Truthful,
and I never tell fairy stories.”
“I know, that’s because you’re a Gnome,” said
Rambusco, “but that doesn’t mean that you always tell the
truth. Now tell me what you want with Spatattack, or I’ll bang
your heads together. Hard.”
The Gnomes looked at each other and burst out
laughing, so much so that Rambusco had to shake them hard to
make them stop, before he could ask what was so funny.
Turungi gasped, “You can’t call a garwulff Splatattack. It
should be called something fierce sounding, like Hekrat the
Slayer, or Bradnog the Deadly.”
This time Rambusco laughed. “You obviously haven’t
stood behind a garwulff after feeding time.” Seeing that the
Gnomes weren’t all that frightened of him, he knew he was
going to have to ask his questions very carefully, if he was
going to find out what they really wanted. Lifting them up so
their faces were level with his, he looked them both in the eye.
This was tricky, their particular tribe of Gnomes had an extra
eye in the centre of their forehead. He said, “If I put you down,
do you promise not to run away?”
“Oh. Yes,” they chorused.
“And, tell me what it is you want? On the Great
Gnomes Bones?”
They looked a bit crestfallen at this, but agreed, “Oh all
right, on the Great Gnomes Bones.”
“Now will you tell me what this is all about?”
They looked at each other and knew, having sworn
what was the most serious oath any gnome could say, they
would have to tell the truth. There was no other way out, or, in
this case, no other way down. Turungi hesitated before he
spoke, “Only if you promise to help.”
Rambusco was becoming irritated, “I can’t promise to
help, if I don’t know what this is all about. If you want me to
help, or whatever, you’re going to have to tell me the whole
story.”
”I suppose so. What do you think Harbungi? Do you
think he’ll keep our secret?”
“Well. I suppose we could trust him if he was to swear by his
Sainted Aunt.”
“Yes, that seems to be the strongest oath they have.”
“All right then, you ask him.”
“It was your idea”.
“But you’re the oldest, it’s your job.”
Feeling his blood getting close to boiling point,
Rambusco shouted, “Will you two stop waffling? I swear by
my Sainted Aunt that I will keep your secret. Now will you tell
me?”
Shaking his head to try and stop the ringing in his ears,
Turungi took a deep breath, and began, “It was only a couple
of years ago that the trouble started, and it gradually got
worse. Spells going wrong, Magic happening all by itself. It
got so that nobody could be sure of anything any more. The
Whizzardes were in a terrible quandary at the way things were
going.”
Harbungi broke in “Another year on, and they still
hadn’t solved the problem. It was young Merkle who found
the answer.”
“Yes, they all used to sneer at him for reading the old
books, but he discovered that it had happened once before.
Something to do with sun spots, the Magic somehow stops
going in straight lines,” said Turungi.
“So they’ve had to stop using Magic until it gets sorted
out. All the Spell checks have had to be erased.”
“And all Gnomes were sent out to search for the
necessary elements to get them re-aligned with one gigantic
spell.”
“So we got the job of searching for the grandson of the
Grand Whizzarde’s garwulff.”
“We think Splatattack is the one.”
“And we need hairs from his neck.”
“Back.”
“Neck!”
“Back!”
“Neck!”
Turungi sighed, “Now do you see why we need your
garwulff? We are going to have to take the whole animal just
to be on the safe side.”
Rambusco just stared in bewilderment, “Hmmm.
Sounds a bit like a fairy story to me, but I know you’ve sworn
to tell the truth, so I suppose I’ll have to trust you,” Rambusco
pondered for a few moments, and set them down. “Listen, I’ve
got a big job on tomorrow, it could be my big chance; it’s to
do with some of the Norse Gods being on holiday. Come along
to the practice session tonight, and I’ll ask the lads if I can
have a few years off. That way I could go back with you, in
case you have any trouble with those forest elves. I wouldn’t
be a bit surprised if the whole thing wasn’t something to do
with them in the first place. Now then, we’ll be in the Swiss
Mountains in the early evening. You can use my spare horse,
and we will leave here at dusk. So if you want my help, be
here in time, O.K.?”
The Gnomes faces lit up, “Right, see you later,” they
chorused, and, turning to face each other, they went on “From
his back.”
“From his neck.”
“Back.”
“Neck.”
Rambusco shook his head as he walked to where his
pet was chewing the last bits of bark from the tree. “Come on
Splatattack, let’s get home.”
It was just starting to get dark that evening when
Rambusco and the Gnomes arrived in the Swiss Mountains. As
soon as they landed Turungi whispered; “We’ll make
ourselves scarce, see you later,” and out loud, “Thanks for the
lift Rambusco,” as they went off and hid in a snowdrift. Even
Gnomes walked softly around The Four Horsemen.
Pestilence looked up from sorting his bottles,
“Evening, Rambusco.”
“Evening, Pesty.”
“Rambusco. How many times? I don’t like nicknames,
so cut it out.” Frowning, he squared his shoulders, and tugged
at the lapels of his white overall coat. Not that he needed it to
protect his clothes, every mixture was done by magic, but
Pestilence felt it made him look more intelligent, or perhaps
more educated, he could never decide which.
“Sorry Pestilence, it’s such a mouthful.”
“Lighten up, Pestilence,” said War, “he doesn’t mean
any harm by it. After all, it’s only between ourselves sweetie.”
“And you can stop that too”.
“All right you two,” Death interposed, “Anyway War’s
right, we might need Rambusco in the morning.” he paused.
“Anybody got any ideas on a plan? I reckon if we stick to the
old routine, we should be all right. They won’t be expecting us
on a Bank Holiday weekend, so we should be able to take
them by surprise.”
War looked thoughtful, “What about starting an hour
earlier? That should really catch them off guard.”
“Good idea”, said Pestilence, “and we must take
something to eat with us if we are going to have to be up too
early for breakfast.”
Rambusco spoke up; “I’ll get Drangora to make
sandwiches.”
“All right, but no onions this time,” said Pestilence,
“they make my breath smell something rotten.”
“Evening all.” Famine strolled into view, looking as
elegant as usual. Tall, slim and good-looking, he was always
smartly dressed, No one could wear armour quite like him,
he’d had it shaped like an ordinary suit. “What’s this? Not
started yet? We do need to practice more. What would happen
if one of us were disarmed?”
“Hit ‘em with me handbag of course,” said War.
“Oh. Very droll.”
“We are just arranging for packed lunches,” said
Death,” Without onions this time.”
“Oh! We’re not having one of those dreadful early
mornings again?” exclaimed Famine.
“As War said, if we get there really early, we’ll catch
them off guard. We’ll need the sandwiches if we are going to
miss breakfast.”
“But that’s my favourite,” said Famine, “best meal of
the day.”
“You stop other people enjoying it sometimes,” said
Pestilence with a sly look.
“That’s my job.”
Hoping to stop it getting to be an argument Rambusco
spoke up, “Right then sandwiches it is.”
“Better than her game pie, I hope,” laughed War.
“Yes. Fancy cooking rabbits with their jackets on!”
said Death, “and those feathers.”
Rambusco blushed, “Well, Drangora said if it was real
game pie it had to have a bird in somewhere; and she does like
to use all of the natural ingredients. Look boys, now that
you’re all here, can I ask a favour?”
“Don’t push your luck Rambusco,” Death interrupted,
“be happy with the catering contract.”
War said sympathetically, “Fair do’s lad, when your
Drangora did the buffet for the Celtic Club’s New Years bash,
they lost so many members, they are thinking of joining up
with the Druids.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Some people have asked me
to help them; they need Splatattack, and I’m the only one who
can handle him safely; it’s something they’re doing for the
Grand Whizzard, so it must be important. How about it? I
could do with a couple of years off.”
“I bet it’s involving those gnomes I saw you talking to
this morning . . . who are probably the ones hanging about on
the other side of that snowdrift,” said War, adding; “well, if
you remembered to get them to swear on the Great Gnomes
Bones, then you can rely on them. And if they need your help,
you can be sure they’ll look after you”.
“I don’t think Rambusco would ask unless it was
important,” said Death “anyway, he hasn’t had a holiday in
200 years, so I suppose he’s entitled to some time off.”
Famine looked around the group, “O.K. So we’ll give
Rambusco a couple of years off, after we get back from
Norway. Agreed?” The others nodded.
“Well, thank goodness that’s sorted out. I thought we
were going to be hiding in that snowdrift all night,” said
Turungi as he and Harbungi emerged, brushing snow off their
clothes, “it might be a good idea if we came with you
tomorrow, we could help Rambusco if he needed it.”
“Keep an eye on him, you mean,” said War smiling,
“told you they’d look after you Rambusco. Now let’s get some
serious practice in.” So the next couple of hours were spent
throwing huge boulders about and starting avalanches. Which
is one of the reasons why Switzerland looks as if it has been
knocked about a bit; because, as a practice ground, it has been
knocked about a bit, quite regularly.
Bright and early next morning saw all seven on their
horses, ready for the off. The Horsemen and Rambusco looked
very impressive, with their burnished armour and equipment
sparkling in the rays of the slowly rising sun. The horses began
pawing the ground, anxious to be off. As before, the Gnomes
were able to share Rambusco’s spare horse, and, with a great
deal of encouragement, were just about able to keep up with
the others as they flew across continents and seas on their
journey. Skimming the tops of the trees, startling the still
sleepy crows. People who were astir in the houses they passed
over looked out of their windows, wondering at the sudden
wind.
They were in for a disappointing time when they
arrived. Pestilence was upset because most of the plagues he
had brought with him died in the fierce cold, and Famine was
having a very difficult time of it, discovering that not only had
the harvest been safely gathered in, but that it had been a
particularly good one.
War and Death were preparing to do their worst, or
best, depending on how you looked at it, when, without any
warning, the Norse Gods rose up into the sky, all together.
The holiday had been cancelled!!
Weapons raised, they were all ready for action.
Odin flashed a mighty thunderbolt to cut off the
attacker’s retreat, Rambusco was in the line of fire; luckily the
Gnomes were able to foresee this, and pull him out of harms
way. Even so, the lightening missed him by a mere millimetre.
Hearing the noise and smelling the heat of battle, the
Ghouls, Spectres and Shades of the dark valleys gathered
around the battlefield. They came howling and screeching, like
banshees. With their vicious claws out and horrible black
wings flapping, some flew in the air above the warriors, urging
them on, they were only happy when blood was being spilt;
while others prowled the outskirts looking for wounded to tear
to pieces.
The battle raged back and forth for three days and
nights, neither side giving a step; all of them growing more
and more weary, as the time went by. Not being mortal, both
sides had that special protection which only Gods and special
deities have; none could be killed. Rambusco and the Gnomes
managed to creep away from the fighting, and snatch a few
hours sleep each night.
The fearsome weapons swung and clashed, making the
most terrible wounds, but these healed in seconds. The winner
was going to be the last one able to stand, and it was going to
take many days of fierce fighting to tire any of these
combatants to the stage where they could no longer remain
upright. War could see that the Norse Gods were fully up to
strength, and shouted, “We’re going to have to pull out, this is
not the time.”
“Never,” shouted Death, “I haven’t got my first victim
yet,” as he aimed his black net at Loki. As he was on the Norse
God’s second team Death thought he would be an easy target,
but the Goddess Freya froze the net in mid air, and caused a
huge icicle to grow on the end of Death’s nose. “Aaarrgh,” he
shouted, and threw his axe at her head. She made it go straight
through her, and it circled back to him; he caught it, and stuck
it back in his belt. He knew now they could not win, so, to
make a better excuse, he loosened part of his horse’s harness.
This caused what was left of the packed lunches to fall off.
War saw this, and called, “It’s no good, we’ll have to
go, we can’t beat them now.” Famine and Pestilence were
really hanging back; they weren’t happy about getting too
involved in this kind of icy fight, especially when their
particular speciality had failed. They didn’t mind uneven
numbers when fighting mere mortals, but being outnumbered
by Norse Gods was another matter.
“All right,” shouted Death, “I’ve managed to get one
victim, we can go now.” His so-called victim was a shepherd
who had been surprised by all the commotion over his head,
hadn’t looked where he was going, and fallen over a cliff.
What Death didn’t realise was that the shepherd’s daughter
happened to be at the foot of the cliff. She was able to carry
him home, and would soon be nursing him back to health.
The Four Horsemen turned and raced for home, with
Rambusco and the Gnomes close behind. Bolts of lightning
from Odin flashed near them, spurring them on. The sun was
high in the sky, and everything on the ground was basking in
its gentle warmth; for ordinary people it was another lovely
spring day. But when the fleeing group passed overhead,
people shivered, and said to each other, “I think someone’s
just walked over my grave.”
Over the mountains and wide seas they galloped
swiftly, leaving the raging Norse Gods far behind; heading for
that hidden valley at the edge of the forest. Landing safely in
the field where the horses grazed, Rambusco helped to take the
armour and equipment off the other horses, but kept his own
ready for his next journey.
The poor animals had rarely been ridden so hard, the
first thing they all did was head for the stream at the bottom of
the field, to wash down the special feed the Horsemen used
when fighting. As Famine watched them drink, he turned to
Rambusco, “Has your Drangora got any of that mead left? I
could drain a barrel right now.”
“Never mind that,” grumbled War, “we’ve got to have
a special meeting to find out what went wrong.”
“A council of War you mean,” laughed Pestilence.
“After 3,000 years, that’s not funny any more.”
“You don’t think it was a deliberate trap, do you?”
asked Rambusco.
“You might just be right, that occurred to me as well,”
said Death, looking speculatively at Rambusco, “well spotted.”
Rambusco flushed with pride, “It’s just that I’ve never
trusted that giant. He was the one who said some of the Norse
Gods were going to be away. Just because he’s big doesn’t
mean he’s always right.
“Maybe,” said Famine, “and maybe he wants to get in
with the Norse Gods, maybe he even wants to be on their
team, and thought this fiasco would impress them. Remember
that time he told us about Jericho? Then we found that the
Israelites had got there first, there wasn’t one stone standing
on top of another. I think Pestilence should pay him a visit one
dark night; that would teach him a lesson he won’t forget. We
can’t have people messing us about, it’s very bad for the
image; we must do something about it”
Turning to Rambusco, “Right Now that you’re leaving,
we all wish you success on your journey. When you get back
we might be able to fit you in the team. Try to remember,
when those Gnomes tell you to do something, however daft it
seems, just do it, they always know best. So. Goodbye and
good luck.” The others joined in the farewells. As this
involved a lot of hard handshakes and vigorous back slapping,
Rambusco was feeling quite sore by the time he left for home.
As he headed back to his cave, he smiled, and thought, ‘They
are not such a bad bunch after all’.
He had one task before he left, to tell Drangora he was
leaving. This brought the sort of reaction from her that he
expected. Not exactly what anyone could call a cry from the
heart, but it was a heartfelt cry “So what are Grandma and me
supposed to do now?” she screeched, “while you go wandering
off with those fairies.”
“They’re not fairies,” interrupted Rambusco, and
immediately felt a tremor run along his spine. He’d never
interrupted Drangora before, and it felt really strange. So,
before she could start again, “they are Gnomes on a special
mission for the Grand Master of the Whizzardes. Anyway you
still have the catering to do for The Horsemen; you know
you’re safe in the valley; and I’ll be safe with the Gnomes.
They need Splatattack for something special, so because he’s
my pet I have to take him to the Grand Master. Don’t worry,
I’ll be all right.”
By now Drangora had got her breath back, “What do
you mean ‘you’re going to be all right’? What about me? I’m
not going to be ‘all right’; and just how long do you think this
‘special mission’ is going to take?”
“Oh. Not that long. Just a couple of years or so,” he
said, edging around towards his pet’s cage.
“What!!??” with a screech that made Rambusco’s head
ring, “a couple of years or so! Just a couple of years he
says!!!”
Dashing past his wife, he grabbed Splatattack’s lead,
flipped the catch on his cage, and shouted, “Come on boy,”
running for the cave entrance before Drangora could start
throwing things. She was very good at that, so he knew she
really was going to be all right when he was away.
Running across to his horse he called back, “I’ll send
you a postcard,” and jumped astride his faithful mount,
dashing off to join the Gnomes who were waiting patiently at
the edge of the forest, ready, and mounted on Eleanor. Out of
breath, he could only nod when they asked if everything was
all right.
Chapter 2. Meanwhile, back at the ranch.
“Only a couple of years, he says”, grumbled Drangora,
“I’ll give him a couple of years to think about when he gets
back.” Working off her frustration with the stiff broom, she
worried away at the floor, even though it was shining; that
stone had never gleamed like this before.
The triplets knew that, in her present mood, Drangora
was to be avoided, come what may. Choosing their moments
carefully, they tried to sneak out singly, each time she was in a
darkened corner. Or, more accurately, they almost sneaked
out. The first two reached the great outdoors safely, but
Feltfeet managed to trip over Drangora’s broom on a
backward sweep. She reacted with her usual speed, and
ferocity, swinging the broom so hard and fast, it caught the
offender as he ran to join the others; now with a lump on his
head. “And don’t come back, none of you”, she called after
them.
When she saw Rambusco’s desperate run, Grandma
had decided that a quiet corner of Tracy’s living quarters was a
sensible place to be. She could stand a smell better than
Drangora’s ear bashing. Listening, but careful to stay out of
sight, she heard the triplets bid for freedom. “Two out of three
is pretty good going for them, might have known they
wouldn’t have the sense to lay low for a bit.”
There was nothing thought worthy in the shouting,
swearing, and the general grumballast that could be heard,
even that far back in the cave. But she also knew that it wasn’t
one of them, with more brag than sense, who was being
slamblasted by Drangora. Curiosity changed as the sharp chill
of fear crept through to her very bones.
Yes, she was sure now, those were Elvish voices.
“Elvish, Devilish”, she remembered her mothers words
clearly. If anything goes wrong, it is often because Elves have
found out something good is about to happen, and they spoil it.
That’s all they live for, upsetting the most careful plans gives
them great pleasure.
They must have seen Rambusco leave, she reasoned,
and now are trying to cause him trouble at home. Aware of
Drangora’s fierce reputation, as was the whole forest, they had
arrived in strength. Two of the triplets were quickly bound and
gagged, while the third lived up to his intended name, and hotfooted
it into the forest before he could be caught.
Drangora heard the general kerfuffle as the triplets
were disabled. Temper rising, she rushed outside ready to
shout at whoever was making so much noise; but was bound
and gagged in a trice by well practiced intruders. With a noose
and slip knot at the ready, two tripped her and bound her
ankles, while others tied the outstretched arms before she
realised what was happening. Opening her mouth to give them
a verbal roasting, a lump of rag silenced her.
Half a dozen then entered the cave on tip toe, believing
it to be empty. Pots and pans were tied into bed covers, and
carried off. Fortunately Grandma had been able to burrow
beneath Tracy’s straw, and emerged in time to see them carry
their captives and booty into the forest. She was amazed to see
that they were, in fact, dwarves dressed as elves
“I wouldn’t like to be in their shoes when Rambusco
hears about this,” as she shook her head at the audacious
foolishness of capturing Drangora. “I need a pot of tea to help
me think.”
An old kettle with holes that only let it hold one mug of
tea, was all the intruders had left, but it was enough to set
Grandma thinking, and muttering, starting with her mother’s
curse, “Elvish devilish. Why steal pots and pans?” Talking
aloud now, she went on, “Dwarves mine, and smelt the iron,
but elves are the ones who fashion the metal. They must want
Rambusco to think elves did this, for some reason; or, even,
for no reason.”
“That’s why they’ve put them down an old mine
shaft.” Feltfeet’s words startled her so, she almost spilt her tea.
“Stop creeping up on people like that, you gormless
gallump.” Then, as if hearing his words for the first time, “A
mine shaft? What? They’ve put my Drangora down a mine
shaft?”
“I don’t think it’s deep, I heard the leader telling
someone to drop a loaf down each day; he said the water down
there wasn’t nice, but wet enough for Rambusco’s wife.”
“That devil has bought himself more trouble than he
knows.”
“The leader seemed quite pleased, but one or two of
the others didn’t look very happy.”
“Happy? They will forget they’ve ever heard the word
by the time I’ve finished with them.”
Feltfeet brightened up, “Ooooh. Does that mean there’s
going to be a fight?”
“Yes, and you’re going to be right in the middle of it.”
“Brilliant. I’ve always wanted to be a hero.”
Grandma looked sideways at him, “Is that why the
Horsemen kicked you out?”
“I didn’t want to go on that holiday, but Dragonbreath
said I had to; anyway, Rearwind was paying, so I did what
they said.”
“And this time you’re going to do what I say. Right?”
“Right.”
“Now, you gather as much food as we can carry, while
I get some bed linen to carry it in. Come on now, quick
sticks.”
Looking for sheets and bed covers, reaching into the
back of a top storage shelf, Grandma pulled out, and dropped,
a cloth wrapped object. She was glad it just missed her foot, it
landed with a solid clunk! Even though in a hurry, her natural
curiosity made her investigate. What emerged from the
package made her eyes sparkle, and a wicked grin light up her
face.
Two beautifully matched pairs of throwing axes; so
bright they reflected what little light was in that dark corner,
and made Grandma’s face shine with joy.
One pair had been hers, and the other she had
presented to her daughter on her twelfth birthday. Drangora
had much admired her mother’s skill, and, with her new shiny
weapons practiced long, hard, and often. Soon she followed in
mother’s footsteps, winning many competitions. Her ability
was such, that, with an axe in each hand, she was never
defeated by swordsman or horseman.
It was at a county fair, watched by Rambusco, that she
sliced the lance of a charging horseman into matchwood,
prompting Rambusco’s companion to comment, “That girl
puts the demon into demonstration.” Rambusco was too
enthralled by the performance to reply; a completely new
sensation was working its way through his head. He startled
his friend by saying, “That’s the one for me.”
He entered the same competitions, and when, for the
third time, they were declared joint winners, she saw him in a
different way, ‘this is the one for me’, she thought. Their
mutual admiration grew to the strong bond they have today.
CHAPTER 3. The forest, and a new companion.
The trio were soon trotting through the forest at a fair
old pace, with Splatattack running from side to side of the
path. This was a grand day to be setting off on a venture, felt
Rambusco. The sun had dispelled the damp night chill from
under the trees, its light sparkling on the last few drops of mist
on the new leaves. He always took pleasure in the difference
between seasons, even enjoying the bitter cold of winter; it
made his home fire all the more welcome. Now he revelled in
the newness of spring; soon the forest floor would come alive,
and show the world its new many coloured cloak of flowers.
His horses carried their burdens well, only a subdued
thud of hooves was heard, on the carpet of leaves and twigs on
the forest path. A grand day indeed.
Coming near to the giant’s dwelling, they decided to
give it a wide berth, they didn’t want to get into a discussion
about the Horsemen’s raid; and would rather not come across
that unpleasant individual in any case. Rambusco wasn’t
particularly worried about meeting the Giant, but he knew that
any discussion, or more likely argument, knowing the giant’s
temperament, would only be a waste of time. Giants have a
reputation for being quite unreasonable, and if they thought it
was going to upset anyone, or in this case, delay Rambusco’s
journey, they would be very happy to do that, just to be
awkward.
Unfortunately, the giant was out hunting, and came
across our friends while they were resting their horses in a
clearing. With that sly look giants have, he asked how the raid
had gone, and had everyone got back safely. “Of course”, said
Rambusco, watching him carefully “we even got a victim or
two”.
This made the giant angry. “Well, I think I’ve got a
victim or two here,” lifting his club, ready to strike. Rambusco
had been expecting this sort of behaviour, and had his hand
ready on his sword. Even when standing, he only came up to
the giant’s kneecap, but he was able to draw his sword, and cut
the giant’s club in half. This made the Giant look quite silly
waving a little handle about. The giant started to roar, and hop
around, waving his arms. Rambusco thought this was a bit
over the top for just a club.
Then he realised that the giant had something else on
his mind. Splatattack had mistaken one of the giant’s legs for a
tree trunk, and, being bored with all the talking, decided to
have a snack. When Splatattack chewed, he chewed hard.
While the giant hopped around on one leg, Harbungi suggested
that this would be a good time to move on. Calling Splatattack
to him, Rambusco followed the Gnomes as they sped away
along the forest path.
When they stopped a few hours later, Turungi said,
“Perhaps we should let your garwulff have a nibble at one or
two trees, just in case he takes a fancy to one of us.”
Rambusco laughed, “He wouldn’t do that.”
“We heard about Granddad,” said Harbungi.
Rambusco sighed, he thought someone would bring
that up sooner or later, “As it happens Splatattack knew it was
his feeding day, I had got him a sheep, but his eyesight isn’t
too good, and he mistook Granddad for a sheep, that’s all.”
“I suppose that makes it all right then,” said Turungi
sarcastically, “all we have to do is make sure we don’t say
‘Baaa’. By the way, I meant to ask. Why are we going along
the path like this ? Wouldn’t it be much quicker if we flew
over the forest as we did this morning?”
“Of course. If only we could,” sighed Rambusco, “Not
being on official business as it were, we can only travel like
ordinary people. Sorry, but I’m only ‘first reserve’ you know.”
In the gentle breeze, the branches and leaves swayed,
dappling the soft mossy path with sparkles of sunlight.
Searching for food, the animals had kept the area around the
tree trunks pretty clear, giving the place a more open, friendly
feel about it. This was no dense, thick forest, more a breathing
woodland, full of life.
So it wasn’t long before they arrived at a pleasant
clearing, next to a small burn. It had been an exciting enough
day, they were all feeling in need of a good rest; and this
would be a good place to spend the night. Relieving the horses
of their armour and other gear, they watched while the animals
drank their fill and chewed contentedly at the grass, in
Splatattack’s case chewed at the trees. Rambusco sighed, and
his stomach rumbled. Turungi smiled, “Don’t worry, we won’t
go hungry. Look what I managed to save this morning,”
producing the packed lunches that Death had dropped. “I was
sure this would come in handy too,” bringing from the other
pocket of his travel jerkin a bottle of Drangora’s mead. “I
wondered why Death had such a large bottle, when I knew that
it was Pestilence who was supposed to have all the bottles. So
I thought I had better make sure it didn’t get broken by putting
it in my pocket instead.”
Rambusco’s eyes widened at this wonderful sight,
“I’ve heard stories about you folk, but I never imagined you
were as good as this. So long as Death doesn’t find out who
pinched his mead.”
“Don’t worry, he’d pinched it first, and he certainly
wasn’t going to share it with anyone.” Taking a sip from the
bottle, Turungi passed it round, all joining in the toast “Here’s
to a successful mission.”
Men and animals soon had eaten their fill, and the
mead was beginning to take its effect, making the travellers
feel quite drowsy. This was a pleasant little glade, and the
small stream made such a soothing sound, our friends
wouldn’t need rocking to sleep this night. The new green
tender shoots helped make a soft bed for everyone. The
Gnomes got the horses to lie down with their hooves facing
each other, so that our three heroes could wrap themselves in
their cloaks and snuggle down in the warm space between.
“Tell me,” said Rambusco, “how do you know the right
direction to take?”
“Instinct,” replied Turungi, “It’s something we all have
tucked away in a corner of our minds. For instance, everyone
has a pretty good idea where their home is. We use it a lot and
it doesn’t often let us down.”
“My Drangora has a lot of instinct,” said Rambusco.
“Really.”
“Oh, yes. If I’ve been out drinking with the boys
instead of training, she always knows.”
“That’s women for you,” and Turungi was careful not
to let his smile be seen. Rambusco remembered when he had
first made his own fire; that was probably his best memory; it
combined a great first achievement, with the taste of fresh
cooked meat. Hunting with his father had taught him a lot of
the basic skills of stalking, and trapping. Watching the way his
father had used his bow to heat wood shavings and moss, so
that it eventually gave a tiny flame, to be nurtured into a
comforting fire.
When he was a boy, the family used to go up onto the
high moors to gather the sheep, and bring them down to the
softer, sheltered, winter pastures. Camping in a different place
each night, meant the horses had to be unloaded, and loaded
daily. Their rudimentary shelter had to be erected each night,
sometimes against a large rock, or stone wall; sometimes they
simply slept under the stars.
Keeping the sheep together meant walking 20 miles for
every 10 miles of progress, even with dogs to help. Sheep have
no sense of direction; anyway, all they want to do, is eat all
day. That came to his mind as he thought of his verdant
grassland. “No”, he thought, “Much too good for sheep.”
They all soon drifted off into a deep sleep.
After a restful night, the whole party were ready to
press on next morning early. Turungi went to top up the mead
bottle from the burn, but it wouldn’t take even a few drops of
water. He quickly realised its value. Death must have used one
of Pestilence’s bottles, which always remained full of
whatever was put in. This was going to be really useful,
especially as it was full of mead! Carefully he wrapped the one
or two sandwiches left, tucking them all into his large pockets.
Washed, dressed, they were once again trotting merrily along
the road, the Gnomes alternatively taking the lead.
About early afternoon they were going to have a late
lunch, when Rambusco spotted a slender column of smoke in
the distance. Thinking it might be nice to have their meal in
civilised surroundings, and to hear what news there was, they
made their way towards the smoke. They rather hoped it might
be from a cooking fire. As they came closer to it, however, the
smoke grew darker, and thicker. “That’s no barbecue,” said
Rambusco, “I think we should be prepared for trouble,”
bringing his scabbard round, loosening the axe in his belt,
ready for action.
They were quite close to where the smoke was coming
from, when there was a sudden crashing in the bushes, and a
tall, slim youth jumped out. Shouting, “What have you done
with them?” threatening them with the sharp end of a broken
lance.
Rambusco’s sword was out in a flash, but Turungi held
up his hand saying, “Wait.” Then, as he got down from his
horse and walked up to him, holding his hands out to show he
was unarmed, “We mean you no harm. Tell us what happened
here.”
“I’ll kill you if you attack my village again,” said the
youth, stabbing with the broken lance towards the Gnome, “I
might not be a man but I can look after myself.”
“Have no fear, we did not attack your village. We saw
the smoke from a long way off, and came out of curiosity. If
your village has been attacked then there will be someone
there who needs our help to see to their wounds. Come along,
you can see we mean no harm.”
“What about him? And his monster”, the boy replied,
pointing to Rambusco.
“He only drew his sword because you threatened us
with that lance, and the monster is only his pet. Now put it
down, and take us to your village; we want to help you”.
Reluctantly he lowered his weapon as Turungi went up
to him. Suddenly his shoulders slumped, his eyes began to fill
with tears, and he cried his heart out on Turungi’s shoulder. “I
think they’ve killed everyone,” he sobbed, “I was out a long
way into the forest checking some traps when I saw the smoke.
By the time I got here everyone was gone. I’m sure it was the
Vikings. They attacked another village further on last year,
and left it burning; empty.” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve,
and stepped back.
“Come,” said Turungi, “Let’s see what happened here,
we do want to help”, and he walked forward, the others
following, alert for any danger.
As the group came around a corner they could see the
huts were all reduced to smouldering ashes. There was no sign
of life anywhere; not even a dog or a cat came to greet them.
Rambusco said, “Wait here, I’m going to have a good
look round”. He galloped right around the village, his sword
ready, but met no one. Reining in, in front of the others, he
reported, “It looks to me like they’ve taken them all prisoners.
I couldn’t see anyone wounded or dead. If they were Vikings
who raided, then I don’t think your people will come to too
much harm.” Speaking kindly. “The Vikings are always
raiding and capturing people, but they don’t kill them. They
take them to become servants, and put them to work in the
houses or on the land. From time to time, people escape, so the
Vikings have to keep on raiding to get more servants to do
their work for them.” He paused, then, turning to the others,
“there are signs that a large party have gone along the track
leading out of the far side of the village, that’s probably where
they will have gone. It might not be not quite the direction we
were going in, but if we all go together now, we might catch
up with them”.
“Catch up with them! What do you mean ‘catch up
with them’? I don’t want to catch up with them, thank you
very much!” cried Harbungi, “catch up with fierce Vikings
indeed. That doesn’t seem to be a very good idea to me.”
“Don’t you worry, I’ve had dealings with the Vikings
before,” said Rambusco. “They’re a pretty rough lot, but they
know me, and they know I’m not frightened of them; you stick
with me”.
“Then you won’t mind very much if I just watch?”
“In my position as ‘first reserve’ I’ve sometimes
carried messages from The Horsemen to them, so they are
always careful with me. Now with a little bit of luck, we might
just persuade them to let us have some, or maybe all, of their
prisoners. After all, what The Horsemen want, The Horsemen
usually get! Come on, let’s be on our way before the trail goes
cold.”
“Are you coming, boy?” asked Turungi.
“Yes. I must find my people. And my name is not
‘boy’ it’s Aruther”.
“Seems to me like you are starting to sound more like a
man”, said Harbungi. “What do you think, Aruther?”
Turning to look at the two Gnomes, his tearstained face
serious. He had come to an important decision. “I think you’re
right.” Then a thought came to him, “before we go I must get
my traps, and I have to see if my Uncle had made the arrows
he promised. Hang on, I won’t be long,” and he dashed to a
lean-to at the edge of the village, a thing too small for anyone
to bother burning. He was back with the others in a very few
minutes, with a quiver packed full of brand new arrows, and a
sack over his shoulder holding his traps. With a thick blanket
over his other shoulder, already in his tough, briar proof,
travelling clothes, he looked ready for anything; quite a change
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