A Pointed Lesson

It was a warm summer evening. Haruchai had ridden to meet his friend Dogei Matur at the Spiritwood Inn. Despite a cultural misunderstanding which had led to the innkeeper striding through his own front door to plant his astonished face firmly under the tail of Jaga (whom Haruchai, being a good Monggol and devoted to his horse, had brought to drink with them) the two friends were in fine fettle and soon moved off to the unaga ger to practice. Banter and the sounds of sword play filled the balmy air as the crickets chirped incessantly. ('Tis strange how the sounds of insects are so much louder to the ear in Felucca. Most remarkable).

As Haruchai began goading and teasing Dogei about the sash he wore proudly (having beaten all the hans to become the first Master of Words - a wondrous irony given Dogei can scarcely string two words of Britannian into a comprehensible sentence) a green-garbed figure scuttled into the hunting lodge next door. The two thought little of it.

Moments later, Haruchai felt a rustling in his pack and the green robed woman appeared as if by magic behind him. She bolted, and the young Monggol caught a glimpse of his kryss disappearing into her voluminous robe. He shrugged, knowing it was almost beyond repair. Dogei however, grinned wildly. "We kill?" he urged, for the law of the land gave them that right.

Haruchai nodded and they sprinted after the thief, bows in hand. Yet, as they half suspected, the thief had gone to ground and was nowhere to be seen. The two er-huns trotted back to the Spiritwood Inn and collected their horses. As they stepped out of the stables, the thief was walking up the road, bold as brass.

Haruchai grinned. "Bidagu" he whispered - Monggol for stupid. Dogei hefted his bow and nodded. The thief, evidently bereft of wisdom, ran up to them and shoved her hand into Dogei's pack, searching for his arrows. Both Monggols swung their horses around and took aim, but the thief jumped behind a house and slid from view.

This occurred twice, Haruchai managing to loose one arrow as he dodged the quick fingered thief, but missing in his haste. The thief stayed hidden this time. Bored, the warriors trotted away towards the shop where Dogei often slept. Haruchai was to be friended here, so he might have a place to rest also. Though it was some way from the Inn, as they approached they saw the bright green flash of the persistent rogue.

Dogei yawned and went to get the shop owner, but Haruchai was getting annoyed. The thief, wearing a wide smile, ran lightly up to him and stretched out a hand as if she had some right to Haruchai's few possessions.

He watched her come, his bow hanging lightly by his off-side, concealed from view. This time he did not dodge or try to get away. This time, whatever she stole was going to be restored to him. She grinned at his inactivity, perhaps assuming that he was otherwise occupied. She reached, and at that moment, Haruchai lifted his bow and planted an arrow deep in her exposed neck.

Her grin changed to a rictus of agony and she stumbled away. No longer the clever, weaving wisp that sought to break line of sight and hide, she was a wounded animal staggering in a straight line to a non-existent safety. Her cockiness drained from her frightened eyes as the blood drained from her wound. Haruchai notched another arrow and dispassionately shot her in the back. The arrow snapped her spine in twain and she dropped like a bag of turnips.

He trotted up to her broken body and stripped it clean in the manner of his people. Apart from his kryss, she owned little, but enough to indicate she had not expected to die that fine evening. He was mildly surprised that she had fallen to only two arrows, but he was getting much better as an archer. She was certainly no dragon, he thought grimly to himself. The young unaga trotted back to his friend where there was kumis and laughter waiting for him.

© 2001 Pól-MichelSeachra AnDaingean