The Halfling

Chapter 2

The boy woke up. About him, nobody was there. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and searched the grove. Everything was in its right place—they had never been disturbed.

"Perhaps I dreamt it all up," said he. "What a strange dream, that is!"

He romped around the place, staying true to his routine of hunting and gathering foodstuff. He found, however, to his surprise, that his bag had been pillaged of the food it once contained.

Had he not forgotten that they feasted just yesterday, he might have attributed it to their hearty appetite. Instead, he blamed the critters that roved the turpentine loam of the forest. "But to eat all of them," he said, shaking his head, "it truly is a mystery what this forest contains."

He sat on a stump and noticed that the furniture he saw in his dreams were still there. "Strange," said he. "Not all of it must have been a dream."

"A dream," a voice asked.

The boy jumped. A short distance away, Amos stood.

"You're here," the boy said, blinking. "Not a dream."

"Yes, my friend, and yet you are not where you promised to be by the immediate strike of nine and thirty. Of course, you do remember that you are to meet the princess by ten?"

"But—"

"No buts." The wizard thwacked him in the head. "Read this."

Henceforth, I pledge to offer my life to helping Theresa Dervenstein journey Far East in order to reclaim Roen, land of the Brave, which now is haunted by the monstrous goliath, Pire. In return, the aforementioned master shall reward me with not less than a tenth of the share of the castle's riches, which shall serve me and progeny to come.

____________________

Affixed Signature

and Name

"A contract!" the halfling blurted. "I haven't got so much as ink here!"

"Here you go," said the wizard, shoving a quill in his palm. "Now, sign!"

He signed. The wizard stole the quill and the contract.

"Well! Get moving! And never stray from the path!"

"I've nothing with me! I haven't even packed my pouch!"

"Then you'll regret everything and nothing! So much the better!"

Lest he be thwacked again, the boy sallied towards the rising sun. His feet whirled through strewn pebbles, springing over fallen, moss-licked logs and twining roots. He crouched down ivy-scented boughs that deigned to reach the floor, slipped through bark-nipped trees that embraced each other, and hushed his feet over the muddy ground.

A bridge opened, sturdy, strong. Swishing all about. His feet thundered; the boards moaned.

His heart pounded in his ear, a great pounding that told him something of import was about to happen. His feet whipped; the minutes flew. The forest opened. He was through it.

There were no beasts that greeted him. Nothing of the kind. Just a beautiful scene.

Theresa was mounted on her horse, just about to guide the beast towards the endless plain that stood before them: an expanse of deep green that kissed the cerulean-white sky.

"What's the time," the boy asked, holding his knees. He breathed the air. It was good.

"A minute 'til ten," said Theresa. "You're just on time. Although I do wish you'd arrive earlier than is expected of you."