Page 19 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

“Chemists,” Morfran stated blankly.

“Oh yes.” Brim grinned, leaning against the barn door with his arms crossed. “We have chemists. We also have engineers and spies and ex–Ruthven soldiers who abandoned their posts once they saw reason.”

Morfran stiffened. The man was pointedly trying to agitate him. “They’re filth is what they are, for betraying their lord and abandoning their duties.”

“And you aren’t?”

Morfran glared at Brim as that same mischievous sparkle returned to his eyes. Morfran tipped his nose at him. “I didn’t join a bloody rebellion,” he said. “I bought a farm, which in no way harms Lord Morfran and his rule.”

Brim was still smiling. “Well, now you can say you are directly harming him. As our battle strategist, you’ll be squeezed dry of everything you know about tactics they use and how we will counter them, as well as any personal weaknesses of generals we can exploit later down the road. You’ll be instrumental in bringing down Lord Morfran.”

Morfran scowled. It’s not me you ought to be worried about. It was Ravana. Whenever the two of them stumbled upon a colony of ants littering the cobblestone walkways leading to their lake house, she always took pleasure in taking a crystal vase full of lemonade and drowning the ants with a mere tip of her hand. She would do the same to these forest folk. Only these ants were armed with powerful weapons and explosives. Just what would happen now?

“But don’t forget.” Brim kicked away from the door, his casual grin and the spark in his eye vanishing like the sun being doused by storm clouds. “We are not just some podunk peasants living off boot leather and berries out here. We may not come from cities and wear fancy clothes, but we know when a person’s intentions are true.” He drew closer, his face fierce. Morfran found himself feeling as though a mountain were about to stomp on him. “And if we get any inkling that you’re trying to deceive us, my men will finish what they started and you’ll go to your grave a blind man.”

Morfran just blinked.

Brim rolled his eyes and added, “And I’ll finish what I started with your goat.”

Beni. He really was threatening to hold a goat hostage. The worst part of it was that it worked, as Morfran went from mild alarm to deep, fretful panic. “Fine,” he snapped. “But I’m a bit rusty with battle prowess, and you may find that I don’t have as much pizzazz in me as I used to. I retired to become a goat farmer, for gods’ sakes.”

“Welcome to un-retirement, then.” He slapped Morfran on the back, hard.

Morfran winced.

After seeing the barn armory, Morfran was “politely” guided by Gueldefore up into the trees, onto the skywalk, and towards the little hut shaped like a witch’s hat, which belonged to the crusty old fellow Morfran previously met who everyone called “Grandfather Tortoise.”

“Is he as stupid as his nickname?” Morfran asked broodily. He was in a bad mood, and everything sounded stupid to him. He imagined a cutesy origin story of a grandchild calling the old man Tortoise and immediately wanted to cast insults. “Grandfather Turtle?”

“It’s Tortoise. And that’s his birth name, you buffoon.” Gueldefore pushed him forward on the skywalk. The bridge swayed with each of Morfran’s steps, which he took gingerly, as his ribs were aching quite painfully now, and his left eye was swollen to the point that he could hardly see out of it.

“What idiot parent names their son after an amphibian?”

“Reptile,” he replied. “Tortoises are reptiles. Gods, and you supposedly once led a portion of Morfran’s army? I’m of the mind to shove you over the edge right now.”

Morfran had half a mind to jump and take Knight Butt Chin with him.

Luckily, they reached the more solidly built platform upon which the hut sat, and Morfran was greeted by a warm spiced scent coming from the open pelt flap. Before Gueldefore could shove him again, Morfran took a step inside.

It wasn’t a large hut, but it was cozy. A single room, with fur pelts lining the floor and glass lanterns strung up at varying lengths from the ceiling, which had the effect of looking like floating stars. It was occupied by a small bed, a few wooden chairs, and several desks, upon which were myriad items: jars of aquamarine seaweed, crushed herbs, peach-pink seashells. Garlands of garlic, fat stalks of rhubarb, a large taxidermy squirrel that was eyeing them with suspicion.

Sitting at a desk was the old man, Grandfather Tortoise. Beside him, swinging her little legs in a smaller chair, was Drezella. And standing over them both was Bronwen, watching as the old man’s hands mixed a paste with a mortar and pestle. Drezella spotted them first, giving a little gasp before tugging on Bronwen’s sleeve and pointing.

“Bronwen,” Gueldefore said when she looked over. Gone was his acidic tone. It was warm like butter, righteous like justice. “You’re looking lovely as a woodland nymph amid the cascading lantern light.”

Morfran snorted. Gueldefore smacked him forward, right on the bruise on his shoulder, before saying, “Your father wished me to bring this wad of horse dung to Grandfather Tortoise. He limps like a lame man and can’t see out of one eye. A session is needed.” He paused, sniffed, and said, “A change of clothes as well. He smells unsavory.”

Bronwen gave an exasperated sigh. Whether at Gueldefore, Morfran, or the situation, he didn’t know.

“I can help him,” Drezella offered, but as to what she meant, Morfran didn’t know.

Bronwen just shook her head, an empathetic look softening her face. “I’m fairly certain his ribs are nearly broken. Better if Grandfather Tortoise does it. We need him fully healed for what we need him to do.”

Drezella wilted.

“Well?” Grandfather Tortoise called out, his gaze settled just a tad bit lower than Morfran’s eyes. “If you want my services, bring the man in. I can’t help him if he just hovers in the doorway, can I?”

Morfran went to sit on the nearest chair draped with a pelt, when Gueldefore grabbed his shoulder with tight, clawlike fingers. “Uh-uh. You pissed yourself, didn’t you? You have to stand. We don’t want anything getting dirty in here, now, do we?”