The Puppethead War #2

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@J. A. Platt, thanks for the feedback :)

Everyone else, I know there isn't a lot of action in this part but, trust me, there will be some later.

Ferran and Talon were to meet with their travelling party at an inn on the outskirts of Arten. The town sat at the feet of the mountains and on the whole was not much bigger than Yerz, however, Arten appeared to be much more important to travellers between North and South. Even at sundown that day, the two messengers found the sloping main street pulsing with activity, whether the people were locals cleaning up their market stalls or rowdy groups of traders in search of a drink.

As they passed through the central square, lined by buildings up to three stories high, Talon spotted the Tanslan brothers. Though they were several years older than him, Talon had been friends with them when they'd learnt arithmetic from the Niatese teacher Garth. Names like Garth and Mithy had always seemed alien to Talon – now that he was setting off the farthest he'd ever been before, he associated those names with imagined foreign lands. Conversely, catching the Tanslans as they headed home would be a fitting touchstone before everything lost its familiarity.

'Hey Tean, Yoh!' he shouted across the cobbled space. Yoh lifted his head from the tray of fish that he was packing carefully into an icebox.

'Talon! What are you and the old man doing here?'

As the youth made his way towards their stall, Ferran frowned. The fisherman didn't need to be reminded that his half-century was only three years away, however young he felt.

'We've got to warn Carpol about the puppetheads,' Talon said. 'You guys won't be overwhelmed if a few come up while we're gone?'

Tean ruffled Talon's hair. 'Ha. We could handle this little invasion all by ourselves! Wish I'd been there for the first one,' he made jabbing motions with his right hand. 'Woulda skewered it and we'd have monster calamari barbecue.'

'Yeah right,' Yoh stood up beside him and raised his fists theatrically. 'More like, you getting taken over while I go hand to hand with it in your body.'

The two brothers devolved into trading harmless insults and Ferran grabbed Talon's right shoulder.

'We have to keep going,' he said. 'They'll be waiting for us.'

The youth sighed and they said their goodbyes before continuing down the road.

***

The montigers appeared to be getting restless. Before long, the humans gathered their things and prepared to move on again. Daiv adjusted Durga's saddle before bringing up the very rear of the group, racing through the rugged paths that took them around the expansive western lake.

His mount was a sufficiently intelligent animal, not to mention fast, but the rider was still learning to control its sheer power and cat-like arrogance. 'No, I assure you it's this way,' the montiger sometimes seemed to say, steering with its own objective and only occasionally lenient to Daiv sitting helplessly on its back.

To make matters worse, he'd had these many hours to think about what to say to the boatmen near the Floating Village, with nothing particularly useful coming to mind. We bring grave news that you're sitting on an enemy stronghold? We're not sure when but the monsters under the lake might attack?

All too late, he thought. Shortly they would be rounding the cliffs that went down to the boatman's hut on the shore.

We'll be there very soon.

***

Hanging above the door to the entirely wooden, A-shaped inn was a sign declaring for itself “Bedbug's Bunk”, with happily sleeping insect included. Talon opened the door slowly and they tramped in, the door slamming hard in a sudden gust of wind. From here on the villagers were satisfied not to be in the storm that battered the little inn on the hill.

Inside was a typical central dining room, bereft of clientele apart from a couple in the corner who looked on edge and three wildly varying figures at one end, being tended to by a smartly dressed bartender. Talon ignored the nervous glance from the man in the corner, instead following Ferran to the bar.

'Do we look intimidating?' he asked quietly, but the fisherman was too concerned with the trio before them. Immediately Talon recognised on the left the light brown coat and pompous hat that the Big Honch was wont to be seen in, but he couldn't pick the the others who faced away from them.

'Ah, you've arrived,' the Honch said jovially. For this Talon immediately assumed that he was partially inebriated. 'Allow me to introduce you to our gracious transporters, Leyh and Ogard.'

The youth turned to the others. Leyh must not have been much older than him, a woman with long, dark red hair and – for some reason – carrying a short bow on her back. She grinned with just a hint of power as he offered his hand.

'Do you speak?' she said. 'Has a griphion got your tongue?'

'Talon,' he said, trying not to make eye contact.

'Looks like we've got a mumbler here, Oge.' She nudged her companion.

The man was very tall and heavily built, wearing brown-green overalls. Opposed to Leyh, Ogard carried a round lute-like instrument. His grin was amiable enough to outshine the woman's sharpness and Talon's entire body went up and down with the goodwill of his handshake.

'Oge doesn't say much either,' Leyh said, 'but don't get cocky and try to stop the train; that balalyre isn't just for show.'

Ogard shrugged and Ferran introduced himself, likewise shaking with the musician's large-handed hello.

'So you're traders?' the fisherman asked. 'What's “the train”?'

'That's what you call the three-limbed trade route from north of here, Niamyt and down to Carpol,' Leyh said without a pause. 'Most of the central Old Ryndians don't like selling to what they call rebel separatists, so we go the long way round, and then back over the mountains.'

'They've offered to take us down through the country,' said the Honch. He began to feel the heat of Talon's gaze. 'What's your problem?'

'You need to start telling us what you know about this invasion.'

The intake of breath to their right was just audible.

'What invasion?' Leyh said.

The Big Honch grabbed Talon by his ear and led him away from the bar.

'You have to know when to keep your mouth shut. Get upstairs and take the third room. Stay there until I or Ferran comes to get you.'

'You're not my father,' the youth growled. 'I don't have to do what you say.'

Ferran's face appeared beside the Honch.

'Talon, you'd best get out of here.'

He nodded and the Honch let go of his ear. Turning back to the bar, the man said, 'silly boy. Don't know why he'd say something like that.'