Stump

Elowen charged to meet them.

The farmhouse door opened in time for the farmer and his family crowded behind him to see Elowen swing her sword horizontally and lop the head off the black-haired bandit leader. She took a small step to her left, avoiding a downward chopping sword, kicked a man in the balls and knocked aside a sword with her shield.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, but to Elowen it seemed to take minutes. They were so slow and she was so fast.

She'd kicked one of the bandits so hard in the balls that she shattered the snow shoe and lifted him a foot off the ground. He tumbled to the side clutching his groin, threw up all over himself and squealed like a stuck pig. It was doubtful he'd ever father any children after that thundering kick to the testicles.

One of the bandits suddenly sprouted a black fletched arrow from his neck and the last one took one in the eye. He died instantly while the other thrashed and clutched at his neck, his steaming blood pumped from the wound and soaked the snow crimson around him.

Four more bandits stepped out of the barn and rushed to aid their companions.

Stump fired two more arrows, missing one and winging another on the shoulder as he ducked behind one of the other rushing men. The spent arrow dangled from the man's thick coat. It hadn't pierced deep enough to wound.

The remaining snowshoe prevented Elowen from maneuvering the way she normally would. It forced her to stand her ground. If she didn't do something about that, she'd have to dispatch her enemies using only her shield and the strength of her sword arm. With four enemies dead before her, she took a step back and hammered her heel down through the snow and onto the frozen ground, smashing the snowshoe to splinters and giving herself freedom of movement.

She raised her shield, lifting an enemy's slashing sword harmlessly over her head and stabbed beneath it, driving the tip of her slender blade through a thick layer of clothes to sever a major artery on an enemy's leg. The man screeched and fell thrashing on the snow, clutching his leg in agony while bright red blood pumped between his clutching fingers to stain the trampled snow around him.

Her shield also briefly blocked her opponents from view but she knew instinctively what they'd do. They'd try to surround her.

Elowen ducked and swayed, avoiding a slash and a lunge. She drove her sword forward to stab a man in the face. The tip of her blade hit his cheekbone, slid up smoothly and plunged through his eye socket and six inches into his brain. She spun to avoid another slashing blade, pulling her blade out of the man's head and driving its razor sharp blade through another man's neck, sending his head flying through the air to land in a high snow drift piled high next to the farmhouse.

She saw the three men still standing bob and duck, avoiding Stump's hastily fired arrows.

A black fletched arrow struck a man in the chest but the man's thick coat and layers of clothes kept the arrow from going deep enough to kill him. It did strike hard enough to drive him back onto his backside. As he sat there blinking in surprise at his good fortune to still be alive, another arrow took him in the eye, killing him instantly. He fell limply onto his back, the black arrow standing upright from his face like a banner.

One of the two men still standing, slashed Elowen as she'd spun to decapitate one of his companions, slashing through her coat and slicing a deep eight inch long cut on her back.

Her back arched at the sudden pain, but her spin ended in a deep crouch on the trampled snow. She straightened her legs in a powerful explosive lunge and sent he shield smashing upward into the man's chin, driving his head back, smashing his jaw to shards and snapping his neck.

Gibbering and babbling in fear, the last man dropped his sword and raised his hands to Elowen in supplication. An arrow sunk with a dry snapping "thwok" in his forehead, sending him flopping backwards onto the snow like a marionette with its strings cut.

Stump lowered his bow, walked to the open farm door and nodded at the man standing there in shock with a woman, wide-eyed with fear, holding the sides of her dress out to either side, blocking the three children standing behind her from seeing the carnage outside.

"Jolar," Stum said amiably as he passed.

"Stump," the man replied, stunned at the death that had come quite literally to his doorstep.

The battle had taken barely 30 seconds.

"What just happened?" he asked in confusion.

Stump recounted everything since the moment they'd rounded the hill, talking loudly to be heard over the shrieking bandit rolling around on the snow clutching his groin.

As he talked, he shuffled over to the bandit, leaned down and casually sank his blade into the man's heart. The magic dagger slid keenly between the ribs, its tip coming out the other side.

Elowen would've stopped him but hadn't had the chance. He'd been so casual about it. She felt no qualms at the killing, but she'd wanted to question him.

When the farmer's shock finally wore off, he shooed his family back in the house and shut the door. He helped Stump and Elowen drag the bodies to a thick stand of trees far enough from the house where they'd feed the local wildlife... the circle of life and all that drivel. Elowen had insisted they bury them but the ground was too frozen to dig a grave, let alone ten of them.

Stump had searched the bodies so expertly that neither Elowen nor Jolar even saw him do it. Sewn in the bandit leader's coat lining, he found a beautiful silver ring mounted with a small emerald with gold flecks in its depths, it matched Elowen's eyes perfectly. Smiling to himself, he pocketed the bauble.

The farmer and his wife invited them inside, eager to thank them for their timely intervention. As they stood at the entrance to take off their snow-covered boots, Stump noticed the blood on Elowen's coat and the sliced shoulder blade beneath. He dragged and bullied her to sit on a stool next to the fire, clucking like a doting mother hen as he stripped off her coat and lifted the back of her tunic to expose the long gaping wound.

After gently cleaning it, he decided it needed to be stitched. It would heal quicker and cleaner that way, less chance of infection.

Elowen silently and stoically endured his ministrations. His deft hands were gentle and sure.

As when he'd tended her before, he boiled his instruments and used a thin bone needle and deer sinew to sew a dozen neat, straight stitches, skillfully joining the sliced muscle and skin together. He tenderly rubbed some of his soothing ointment on the wound, bandaged it and handed her a clean tunic.

It was getting late by then and Jolar and his wife invited them to spend the night.

Their three children, two girls and a boy, ages eight, ten and twelve, all shrieked in excitement at the news. The boy, who happened to be the middle child, ran off to one of the farmhouse's empty rooms and rummaged around, dragged out two thick straw-filled mats and laid them out near the fire.

The boy had to dig in the storeroom for another mat. Elowen was so tall she'd need two mats to stretch out comfortably.

They spent a merry evening. Stump recounted the story of how they met, leaving out the part of Elowen having two personalities, and then spent hours making the three adults and three children giggle at his outrageous stories. Some of them were even true.

Eventually, Mathie, Jolar's wife, herded the three children to their beds, got them settled and came back to sit across from her husband at the long table, she sat next to the tall woman and Jolar sat next to the old Goblin.

They talked late into the night. Their main topic of discussion was the long, deep winter. It was the coldest in living memory. None of them had every experienced such cold. The figured the bandits needed food and rather than beg or buy it, they'd decided to take what they wanted.

Neither Stump nor Elowen mentioned the dark haired bandit's words. They didn't feel the need to upset them any more than they already were.

Talk finally turned to their purpose for coming into town and the conversation turned even darker.

"There's been some strange happenings in town," Jolar said. "People say somethin's walking the streets at night..."

"Yeah, Jilla told me there's strange footprints on the snow every morning," Mathie said conspiratorially. "Nobody can make 'em out and when they track 'em, they start all of a sudden on a patch of trampled snow at the edge of the woods."

Her eyes were wide with fear and she shivered suddenly as she looked at each person in turn.

"I went into town a few days ago." Jolar said. "Everybody's scared."

"There was something else too..."

He paused dramatically.

"All the stray dogs disappeared," he whispered, "and the old man who lives alone in the house at the edge of town hasn't been seen in days."

"Game has been scarce too," he continued.

Stump and Elowen glanced across the table at each other, curiosity plainly written on their contrasting faces.

The married couple speculated wildly, proposing outrageous scenarios and conjuring up monsters from old childhood stories like ravening werewolves, snow demons, and even shambling undead corpses.

The couple shivered in dread and excitement at each prospect, glad they lived far from the town.

The dark seemed that much deeper around them when their talk came to a stop.

"I'm glad you're here," Mathie whispered in the sudden quiet, looking at their two guests.

Not long after, the couple left for their bed on the second floor loft which overlooked the main living room.

Elowen and Stump lay on either side of the fireplace. The three feet of wooden floor between them felt more like an ocean. They hadn't slept apart from each other in months. Each longed for the other's warmth, but neither moved to bridge the gap.

Elowen stared across at Stump's small form drowsily. Exhaustion from the battle and the wound, as well as the late night and the warm fire, worked their magic on her and she quickly fell asleep.

Her eyes snapped open only minutes later when Stump quietly threw his thick blankets aside and slipped off his sleeping mat. Even though he moved noiselessly, she was so attuned to him that she woke instantly when she felt him stir. She watched through slit eyes as he stepped over her, moved to the front door and began to put on his cold weather gear.

She sat up when she realized what he was doing.

"Where are you going?" she whispered. She felt her throat constrict and her heart lurch at the inexplicable thought that he'd leave and never come back.

She stood up in panic.

"I'm gonna look around outside to make sure everything's safe," he whispered calmly. He continued getting dressed, completely unaware of her panic. "We don't want any nasty surprises in the middle of the night."

"Go back to bed, I'll be right back."

"Hold on, I'm coming with you," she said, moving to his side and taking her coat from a peg on the wall.

He shook his head in frustration. She didn't need to come. He could handle it.

"Look 'ere, there's no need for you to come," he said. "Just stay in your bed all nice and warm. I'll be back in half an hour."

She ignored him, got dressed and stood staring down at him stubbornly.

He met her eyes, shrugged and walked out the door. She followed close behind.

Elowen's smashed and splintered snowshoes leaned next to his whole ones against house's outer wall.

Stump turned to look up at her and motioned at the broken snow shoes with his chin.

"Now will you go back to bed?" he said. "I'll have to fix those before we leave tomorrow."

The air was still and thick snowflakes fluttered down around them, adding another layer of powdery snow to the world, dulling and filling out all signs of the previous day's battle, covering the sprays and pools of blood which had turned to red ice in the frigid winter air.

"I'll just stand here and wait then," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame.

Stump couldn't resist. He smacked her rump playfully, dodged a slap that would've sent him rolling on the ground ten feet away with a painful imprint of her hand on his face... and possibly a broken nose and some missing teeth.

He laughed as he dashed out of her reach, grabbed his snow shoes and slipped them on. He waved at her cheerily and trudged into the night.

Elowen watched anxiously as the old Goblin disappeared into the darkness. The warm welcoming light coming from the windows lit only a few feet of the night's stifling gloom.

The falling snow and the snow carpeting the ground absorbed any sound he made. She knew how skilled he was at moving silently, but she could sense him out there. The strange inner sense that woke her when he got up earlier was always there. It hadn't existed before her head injury.

Had he done something to her? Cast an enchantment of some sort?

She dismissed those thoughts almost immediately. He wasn't a mage. There was magic about him, but it was a natural, passive kind of magic. He didn't have the power or the knowledge to perform something so complex.

She stood nervously gripping her sword hilt, focusing her senses, willing them to feel his presence, willing him to come back.

She felt a scream building in her throat and her heart beat wildly in her chest. She waited but only the silent, muffled darkness remained. This was the longest she'd been away from him in months.

Anxiety, fear and despair built inside her and she began to shiver as the frigid cold seeped into her bones.

What if he doesn't come back?

What if he's gone and left her behind?

What if he's dead and frozen on the snow?

She never cried, never, but now she felt tears welling in her eyes as those questions screamed and echoed in her head.

She jumped and squealed girlishly in surprise when Stump's voice spoke at her elbow. She'd been so absorbed in her inner turmoil, she hadn't sensed his return.

"Are you ready to go back inside now?" he asked. He thought she knew he was there. He hadn't tried to sneak up to her but the snow muffled every sound.

Her sword's sharp tip trembled against his skin. She'd drawn her weapon so smoothly and quickly that it appeared at his throat as if by magic. One second it wasn't there, the next it was.

Stump stared at the quivering blade. Its ice cold tip was pressed against his skin, just above the muffler wrapped around his scrawny neck.

He stood still and waited. Why wasn't she taking the sword away?

"I guess now's as good a time as any to tell you I'm not going to stop having sex with you when you're Gwen," he graveled, through a dry throat. "I tried but you, she, overpowers me every time. It doesn't take much, my will is weak."

Elowen's hand shook, not at his words, but at the fact that she'd almost just taken his life.

Then his words registered.

What could she possibly do about that? She'd threatened him. That didn't work. She could reason with him but that probably wouldn't work either.

He'd taken her virginity... or had he? From her body's reaction, she had a feeling she'd offered it to him on a golden platter, willingly and eagerly.

The sword stopped shaking and stood rock still.

He stood waiting, half expecting her to drive its sharp point into his throat, finally ending his miserable lonely existence. Well, it wasn't so miserable or lonely anymore, not since she'd come into his life.

Maybe it was time to move on to the next life. He'd lived a long adventurous life in this world.

He realized at that moment, that he loved the young woman towering over him, holding a sword to his throat. He loved her with a passion bordering on madness. The thought of not having her in his life made him want to step into the sword so he wouldn't have to deal with that loss when it came. And he knew it would come. It was a foregone conclusion.

What would he do if she left? What was there to live for? He could never go back to the way things were. He had wealth. Sacks of gold and silver gained in a life of adventure, betrayal and murder were buried near the cabin.

The last ten years of his life, before he'd retired to the woods to live the life of a hermit, were spent as an assassin. He'd murdered for money until he grew tired of the blood and the widows and orphans he left in his wake. What good was gold when a mountain of it couldn't buy the thing you most wanted?

Stump felt despair so deep and intense that, on a sudden impulse, he stepped into the blade.

Elowen watched curiously as a range of thoughts and emotions played over Stump's wrinkled old face, emotions she couldn't possibly decipher... except for the last one... despair. She saw his body tense and pulled her sword away in panic as he stepped into it, intent on plunging the blade into his neck.

She sheathed the sword, picked up the hunched old Goblin and held him trembling against her. Still holding him, she walked in the house and locked and barred the door behind her.

When she set him down, he had a look of such profound sadness on his wrinkled ugly old face that it made her heart lurch with pity and concern.

Wordlessly, they shed their coats and went back to their sleeping mats on either side of the fireplace. Stump took a moment to feed a few logs into the crackling fire and stood silently warming his hands. The tall warrior woman stood next to him, also holding her hands to the fire.

In mute accord, they dragged their mats together in front of the fire and lay shivering side by side under a pile of blankets and furs, arms touching. Eventually their shivering stopped.

"Why did you do that?" Elowen whispered, so faint it was almost just a breath.

"Do what?" Stump whispered back, though he knew what she meant.

"Why did you try to hurt yourself?"

He stayed silent for nearly half a minute, thinking, and then she felt him shrug.

"Seemed like the right thing to do at the moment."

She waited several heartbeats, expecting more, and when he didn't continue, she prodded him sharply with an elbow.

"Don't do it again."

Stump didn't respond.

They stared at the ceiling, watching the firelight dance merrily on the rafters.

-----------------------------------

Mathie woke when the front door opened and got up just in time to see their two guests close the door behind them as they stepped outside. She stood at the edge of the loft, looking down at the large living space.

She knew they didn't leave for good since their packs were still stacked next to the door.

She was curious about the odd pair.

She'd seen the old Goblin before but never met him. Jolar told her the wrinkled old monster liked to keep to himself and she should stay away from him and keep the children away from him too. She'd had no problem with that. He was an ugly twisted little creature.

She'd feared the twisted old troll and found him repulsive. Whenever he walked by, which wasn't often, she'd immediately gather the children and hustle them into the house.

Every time he shuffled by their house on the way to and from town, she'd felt his bulging jaundiced eyes on her. She could see the lust in them. It was plain as day to her and it always made her shiver with a combination of horror and excitement.

She made love to her husband wildly on those days, picturing the old Goblin's intense bulging eyes looking down at her instead of her husband's. It was confusing and she felt disgusted with herself afterwards.

This day, she'd had the opportunity to see him as a person. He was brutally honest and had a quick wit. She could sense there was more to him, a deeper well of life experiences she'd never learn about and put her fear of him behind her. Besides, he didn't stare at her with lust anymore. He seemed... different somehow.