Page 48 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

You are carrying something of extraordinary value already, Morf, he imagined Beni saying to him. Y’know that sword of yours? You could fork that over to pay for an army, if you’d only stop being such an egotistical jerk.

Why are you so mean to me? he thought back. Imaginary Beni was ruder than the actual Beni, who was in the following caravan, which trailed behind them by a few miles.

It’d been the three little flossy-haired pests who’d come up to him before they hit the road: Tad, Drezella, and Toothless. They’d offered to watch Beni and her kids, since the leading caravan was the one that took the biggest risk of being ambushed.

“I’ll keep Minny and Jak safe with me,” Drezella had said, skipping at his side as he wandered towards the village well to fill his water flasks. “I’ll even teach them the alphabet, if you’d like.”

Morfran had no idea who Minny and Jak were, or why the alphabet was of any importance to them. “Who?”

“The two baby goats,” she replied. “Both their names come from their mama’s name.”

How did she derive those names from Benjamin…?

Oh.

He looked down at her, surprised that she didn’t just come up with names but good ones. “Minny and Jak,” he said, turning them over his tongue. Yeah. He liked it. But he wasn’t going to admit that to her. “Fine. I’ll pay you three copper pieces for Minny and Jak each, and a nickel for keeping Benjamin out of trouble.”

Tad punched the air with glee, but Drezella had shaken her head. “We’re part of the Fleet Foot Club. We don’t take money for doing good deeds.”

Her brothers wilted, and Morfran felt annoying guilt at the goodness of this little girl. To counter these feelings, he said, “Then let me at least treat you lot to pastries in Redmoth. There’s a bakery there I went to when I was young that sells strudel topped with white sugar—”

Drezella’s mouth popped open.

“—and if you say no, I’ll take offense. Part of being in an upstanding club like Fleet Foot is also knowing how to politely accept gratitude. If you can’t do that, get lost.”

The boys grinned at each other before dashing off, but Drezella had stayed long enough to grab his hand and squeeze it. “Deal.”

Morfran thought of that now, and found that his chest no longer ached, and that the scowl had withered away from his face. Though he missed her, Benjamin was in good hands. And if they did take Redmoth, he was looking forward to that strudel.

He wondered if Bronwen liked strudel. It might even cheer her up. He turned Dirtclobber around and began working backwards through the line until he spotted her on a brown mare.

Her golden-brown hair hung loose today, the laces of her bodice threaded through the wrong holes as if she’d vacantly dressed without much thought. He also noticed she was wearing mismatched boots.

“Morning, Bernard,” she murmured. “Good news for the rebellion, isn’t it?”

She was polite and distant. He hated it.

“Bronwen.” He paused, because he didn’t know what to say to her. To stop sulking? That she shouldn’t let this hex ruin her mood, because it could be much worse? That she ought to take his sword and lop off his head, because that’s what he’d done to her true love?

“I’ve been thinking about the hex,” he said. “More particularly, the way it was worded—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was tight. “There’s nothing that can be done to break it.”

He re-gripped his reins, looking forward. The knolls at all sides of them were growing larger, and soon they were passing through Pierre’s Pass, the blackened mountainside that the road cut through like a river through a canyon. The left side rose impossibly high, blotting out the sky, while the right leveled off twenty feet above them. The height and gloomy darkness of it made him feel claustrophobic. “Yes, but maybe you were right when you asked about a loophole of sorts.”

Judging by the frown on her face, he knew she doubted it.

He sighed again. “Look—” He’d been tossing an errant glance forward again, because her expression was bleak and hopeless and good goats, it bothered him, and that’s why he saw it before it happened.

A small, hunched shape that could’ve been mistaken for a boulder sat atop the right cliffside. Only it was moving, drawing something thin from its back, and while words blurted through Morfran’s mind as he tried to make sense of it—

troll goblin demon soldier

It’d drawn something back and sent a black streak flying through the air.

An arrow pierced the side of the messenger’s neck near Brim, and she fell, dead, from her mount.

The caravan was confused only for a brief moment.