Page 23 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

Morfran paused, then began jotting down more.

Benjamin is doing well. One of the stipulations of helping them is I get to keep her close by, and so she and the kids are with my traveling group. I’m still working on naming the children. Who thought names could be so hard? So far Oaksmasher, Battlethumper, Arrowwhipper, and Craig are what I’ve come up with. Oh. Have to go. Gueldefore of the stupidly majestic butt chin is looking my way.

Morfran dropped his journal into his bag and continued along the dirt road. It jerked along like a rugged streak of lightning, washed out by spitting rain, and was flanked by dead fields of dreary gray-purple heather. The sky was no more cheery: slate-gray and chock-full of heavy clouds. If it started a downpour just to spite him, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Gueldefore trotted up alongside him on a gorgeous steed the color of prestigious copper and at least sixteen hands high. Of course the man had a nice horse. Most of the villagers had to walk on foot (including Morfran), while a few lucky ones got to sit in carts hauling the battle gear. It wouldn’t have bothered him much that Gueldefore had a horse and was clearly widely admired and loved, except for the fact that the jerk was a knight.

Once, when Morfran was so small he still had morals, he wanted to be a knight. He even had an action figure of the kingdom-renowned Knight Knathan. Knight Knathan was honorable. He was chivalrous. He wore a long blue cloak and gave pretty ladies flowers and massacred other knights in jousting tournaments. In other words, he was everything that Morfran had wanted to be, before Morfran had the chance encounter of meeting him when the man was coming out of the outhouse wiping his hands on his cloak and Morfran just happened to be standing in front of the outhouse door.

Knight Knathan had yelped. “How long have you been standing there?”

Morfran stared up at him with eyes that still sparkled with childlike wonder. “For all of it.”

Knight Knathan’s face expressed alarmed disgust that child-Morfran interpreted to mean he was impressed. “Well. I’ll be on my way, then.”

“Wait!” Morfran thrust out a quill and paper. “Can I get your autograph?”

Knight Knathan paused. He looked Morfran over like he was an ambiguous gray thing that’d attached itself to the bottom of his boot. Morfran took that as a compliment. “I don’t sign autographs for just anyone.”

Morfran was slightly taken aback. “But I’m not just anyone. I’m a big fan! I have your action figure back at home. I saw you skewer Knight Knicholas like he was a marshmallow! It was phenomenal!”

For a moment, Knight Knathan said nothing. Then a strange smile passed over his lips, and he held out his hand. “Then sure. I’ll sign it. Hand it over.”

Thrilled, Morfran obeyed. Then he proceeded to watch his hero snap the quill, snort like an ox, and hack a giant loogie right onto Morfran’s paper.

He wasn’t finished. The next thing Morfran knew, Knight Knathan had slammed the snot-laden paper right into Morfran’s face, smearing it whilst pronouncing, “Kids like you are the least savory part of this job. Go back to raking horse dung and stay out of us knights’ way, you pillbox.”

It hadn’t been the exact reason Morfran had added Dark Lord to his five-year career path, but that snotty experience had certainly set him on the road.

“What are you writing?” Gueldefore asked from high atop his mount. Strapped to his back was Morfran’s new crossbow.

Morfran wished he could ignore him. There was no dignity to this catty little squabble Gueldefore was dedicated to forging between them, and as such he kept his eyes on the bleak, gray horizon. “My grocery list.”

“Lies.”

“Fine. It’s a confession of my darkest sins, which includes slaughtering every knight in sight and feeding their carcasses to my goats,” Morfran said, nudging his chin behind him. Beni was attached to his pack by a rope, and her kids were in his makeshift baby carrier across his chest. When they first set out, Brim’s men had gawked at him, right before erupting into laughter. Their derision was palpable, if he had to endure it. What he couldn’t bear was them thinking he was incompetent.

Before Gueldefore could reply, Morfran added, “If all you’re going to do is think I’ll betray you, then what is the point in having me be the man with the plan?”

Knight Butt Chin sniffed dismissively before speeding his horse up a few steps, where Bronwen was walking alone.

Morfran had spent the majority of the time on the road behind her. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he was worried she was indeed a legitimate assassin and he didn’t want her behind him. Perhaps it was the way her long braid swung back and forth like a pendulum, annoyingly mesmerizing even as it reminded him of the impending battle. At these times he’d wanted to reach out and grab it—partially to stop its constant swishing, partially because it looked like burnished gold silk in the sunlight and he wanted to…what? Stroke it? Unravel it to see what it looked like unbound?

It’s just hair, Morfran, he scolded himself. Go shove your head in a cold river if you must.

While Morfran glumly slogged behind, Gueldefore began serenading her, even plucking up a nearby daffodil to pass into her hand. “My dear Bronwen, you look radiantly flush with this exertion of walking,” he said. “I do love it when ladies get their exercise for the day. But as you’ve been walking so terribly long now, perhaps you’d care to sit with me atop my stallion, Theopold?”

Morfran bristled, a grudge already blooming. That was actually a fine name for a horse. How come such things came easy for him?

“No,” Bronwen replied forcefully. “I’d much rather walk.”

“What was that? You’d much rather ride? I couldn’t hear you from so high up here on my noble steed.”

“I said—”

“He’s sturdy enough for both of us. Why, he once carried myself and two other women across the fields of Conatra when I rescued them from rakish warlords. Ho ho ho. That is quite the story. Let me start from the beginning…”

Morfran tipped his head back and huffed at the sky.