[While on a rescue mission gone crazed, a holy warrior and a rogue fight bandits, demons, and the urge to rip each other's clothes off.]
The mission, rescuing a princess, could be going better.
Séa is an earnest paladin, honest and gullible. Tash is...
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The sturdy young woman inhaled deeply. Among and around the scents of cow patties, pig dung, and chicken poo lurked hints of fresh air. Affectionately, she swatted a sleepy sow's rump. The huge mother pig blurted a basso protest but rolled off the low step. Once the way cleared, the human climbed up the nine steps that ascended the stone-and-mortar wall, lifting the hem of her rough spun monk robes to avoid tripping.
From the wall's top, the view expanded to include the horizon. Evening twilight outlined distant mountains and forested hills. The thin crescent of the messenger moon hung weightless in the west, over vague outlines of village rooftops. The young woman caught her breath as she drank in the scenic wonder. Light as a summer zephyr, a sigh of longing trickled from her parted lips.
She widened her stance and clasped hands behind her back. Her gaze drifted higher, and her gray eyes scanned for a glimpse of the first star.
From the odiferous yard behind her arose a baritone squawk. "Beshrew thee, monstrous pork!" The grumbling continued, at a quieter volume. "My knees can't take this any longer. Pigs underfoot all day, pigs underfoot all night." A plump shadow flapped its way toward the woman's observing station. It was Friar Obel, who should have been the last to complain about an overabundance of pigs. His appetite for pork sparked legends.
As he heaved his well-fed bulk up the short flight of steps, the woman spoke in placid tones. "Looking for me, Friar?"
"Yes, Séa. Yes, indeed."
"Why?" A moment later, her heart took a leap within her chest. An irrational sensation of weightlessness made the world fall away. She felt as if she stood on clouds. Her lips trembled on the impossible words. "The Crusade? They answered my letter?"
Friar Obel concentrated on his feet. Stability, for him, required concentration. The wall was not high, but he was neither young nor athletic. Offhandedly, he replied, "No, Séa."
The clouds beneath Séa's feet turned back to stone, but her heart, roused from its slumber, hammered away, reluctant to sleep again. Her shoulders slumped.
The Friar, now securely parked, swiveled his merry face to hers. "Something better, probably. A letter." He plunged a hand into his vestments. "A missive bearing the King's seal." He added, under his breath, "Probably got pig shit on it. Sorry. Here."
"For me?" Her face lengthened with incomprehension. "How? Why?"
"Believe me, I'm as stunned as you are." Friar Obel shook his hand, and the parchment fluttered.
Séa took it and broke the royal wax seal.
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