Dire Woods
Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The dwarf’s face had gone an ashy white. “Back?” he growled, “and she’s after you?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” the old woman answered.

Colour suffused the dwarf‘s face, swirling patches of deep red rising up his cheeks. “What exactly have you gotten yourself into, old woman?”

John Joseph inched onto a hard wooden chair. Welcomed wherever I go!

Mrs. Wickaby put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “This poor boy’s grandfather disappeared few years ago. Only a few weeks ago, his parents followed in his trail. With all his relatives gone, his aunt, Angerona, showed up to act as his guardian.” The old woman shuddered. “John Joseph discovered that she was responsible for the disappearance of his parents and that he was next on the list.”

The dwarf’s face softened. “Sorry for your misfortunes, lad, but the last thing we need is that deadly aunt of yours running amuck in the village again.”

John Joseph dropped his head into his hands

Dunston’s face softened. “I feel for you, no mistake,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t wish your aunt on anyone, but we survive here by staying out of trouble.”

Mrs. Wickaby’s back noticeably straightened; her normally pleasant face became a stony mask. “There was a day when the residents of Blighter’s Bend stood for something,” she said. “Stood for something much more important than staying out of trouble! Stood tall and strong for the right to be different and the right to be safe in those differences.” The old woman grabbed her staff from beside the chair and stood. “We’ll be going now. We wouldn’t want to cause you any hardship. Of course, we’d appreciate a bit of bread and cheese to eat on the road.”

Dunston looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean…” he mumbled.

“What exactly did you mean?” Emily cried, her cheeks blazing. “My grandmother said we could come here for help! But instead, you’re so worried about saving your own skin that you’d make a coat out of ours! It seems that Blighter‘s Bend is a village of cowards!”

The inn had gone deathly quiet. Emily Lavender had a very loud voice.

“That might not have been quite the right thing to say, my dear,” her grandmother whispered.

The dwarf cleared his throat. “No, she’s right. We’ve gotten comfortable over the years. Civilized.” He shivered and with quiet force, pushed Mrs. Wickaby down into her chair. “Sit down, you old biddy, I’ll get you some cider and then we’ll discuss what has to be done.”

He turned towards the villagers, who were open-mouthed in amazement. “What are you staring at?” he barked. “Never seen me apologize before?”

A bemused gnome slowly shook his head.

Ignoring his audience, Dunston strode behind the bar, sent the small, gaping server scurrying to the kitchen and filled four mugs of frothy cider. They sloshed down onto the table with a welcome bang. He pulled a chair from another table and slung his muscle-bound leg over it. “Now, what’s the plan?”

The old hedge witch fingered her staff and the air around them shimmered. “A bit of a buffer, just in case,” she informed them. “The fewer people who know where we’re going the better.”

Dunston grunted. “Those folks sitting behind you will be the ones defending you if this young man’s aunt shows up.”

“And I’ll appreciate their assistance,” Mrs. Wickaby said. “But still, the less people who know the particulars, the better.”

The dwarf grinned. “Are you planning on letting me in on this strategy of yours?” he asked. “Or am I just here to fill your bellies?”

The old woman disregarded the question. “We heading to Haven for help,” she said. “St. Francis Academy is the only place that has a concentration of wizards and witches strong enough to assist us.”

“Are you sure they’ll help?” Dunston asked.

“Not positive,” Mrs. Wickaby admitted and John Joseph felt his stomach lurch. “But once they know what Angerona Alabaster is up to, they’ll quickly realize it’s in their best interests to do so.”

“Saying you’re right,” the dwarf continued. “Say the mucky-mucks at St. Francis’ agree to help. How are you planning to get there?”

The old woman grinned. “Why we’ll be going through the Talon Mountains, of course.”

Cool apple cider splattered from the dwarf’s mouth. Emily brushed a droplet from her cheek.

“Are you mad, woman?” the dwarf sputtered. “Those mountains are crawling with Mountain Trolls! They’d as soon eat you as offer you a polite hello!”

“But there is a pass, isn’t there, Dunston?” the old woman continued quietly. “A little known pass that the dwarfs use when they follow their heritage and do a little mining.”

The dwarf didn’t have a chance to respond. Dinner arrived at precisely that moment. Esmer dropped heaping platters of steaming meat, herbed potatoes, some unknown greens and mouth-watering buns on the table. A small boy tottered behind her, his face hidden behind slabs of bloody steaks.

“We’ll discuss the particulars after we eat, Dunston.” Mrs. Wickaby said. “Right now, we dearly need to get some of this delicious looking food in our bellies.”

John Joseph felt too frightened to eat, but as the first savoury morsel passed his lips, he discovered that his stomach, for once, didn’t care that he was terrified.

The food was delicious. The roast was tender and juicy, the potatoes lovingly spiced, and the buns! Oh, they melted in his mouth. Even the green stuff was good.

Emily was as busy shoveling the food down her throat as fast he was. The old woman was also eating with gusto. “This is absolutely heavenly, Dunston,” she complimented him. “They say you serve the best food south of the Talon Mountains and I heartily agree.”

The dwarf was too busy scowling to comment.

Emily and John Joseph had two helpings. Mrs. Wickaby had three. “Anything for desert?” she asked. “I’m still feeling a little peckish and there’s nothing like a savoury and a sweet!”

Dunston waved Esmer back to the table. “Four servings of bumbleberry pie and more cider,” he ordered. “I need something to wash this taste out of my mouth.”

The young woman cleared the table efficiently and returned with four slabs of crumbling pie. Mrs. Wickaby dug in with gusto. John Joseph nibbled on his. It was so good, he couldn’t stop himself from finishing it off. He felt like he was going to explode.

Once the table was cleared, the dwarf led them into a large, private room at the back of the inn. There were fluffy feather pillows on benches under the window and on each of the wooden chairs. John Joseph sank into one, sighing in contentment.

The dwarf closed the door quietly behind them and placed a sturdy wooden bar across the door.

“Now,” he grunted. “How exactly did you hear about a pass through the Talon Mountains?”

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