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An upturned wagon lay smoking by the side of the road. There was a little red puddle surrounded by scorch marks and the head of a very surprised pony. Morra growled and clenched her axe.

‘Reavers…’

She peaked through the bushes, wheeling her eye two and fro.

‘Bana! Can you make anything out?’ she said in a whisper. Bana peered through the smoke, trying to ignore the scent of deep-fried mare.

‘We’ve got three people gagged and tied to that tree. By the look of them, Mum, Dad, and a kid.’
…
By the cart stood a tiny goblin. He trembled and clutched a poleaxe three sizes too big for him. Acne, spots, and moles smothered his face, and on his breastplate was a piece of parchment announcing, ‘Hi, my name is Gary!’

His captives whimpered, the kid sniffling under her gag. Gary shuffled his feet.

‘I never wanted to be a bandit. For Arwan’s sake, I majored in alchemy!’

It had been a fantastic course, everything he’d ever dreamed of. Fiery cauldrons, bubbling beakers, and the taste of powdered unicorn. Just a pity it was bloody useless in the goblin job market.

‘You got to do what you got to do, especially in this economy.’ Gary glanced at his comrades' blackened, charred ribs pinned in the oak tree. The boss said he wanted to leave no evidence behind. They’d fry the cart first and sort out their captive later. Gary told him six barrels of gunpowder were overkill for a pony. In retrospect, the boss may have agreed with him.

‘You know what, let’s pretend this never happened. Let me cut you loose.’ he said, lifting his weapon.
…
The dastardly bandit raised his poleaxe, no doubt intent on smiting his defenceless captives. Morra clutched her axe.

‘Right. He’s dead!’ Bana grabbed her arm and heaved, trying to hold her back.

‘Easy big girl! Remember that mess with the frost giant and the dam-’. *
…
A shadow loomed over Gary, and he turned just in time to see a ton-and-a-half of screaming kelpie plummeting towards him, swinging a battle axe six times the size of his head. The blade hit its mark. His arm went flying.

‘YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! Me’ arm! Me’ bloody arm!’ He tumbled to the ground, howling and writhing.

‘Serves you right, you dick!’ said Morra as she strode over to the hostages, whipped off their gags, and bowed.

‘You guys are safe. He didn’t hurt you, did-’ The mum lunged forward, giving her a glare that would freeze the piss of Thor himself.

‘He was about to free us, you big Nimord!’

‘Oh.’ Morra dropped her weapon. She bolted to Garry’s side.

‘Shit! I’m so sorry, just, well, you, the poleaxe, I kind of panicked, eh, you okay?’

‘What the fuck does it look like?!’

‘It’s okay, okay, we’re going to fix this, I, I can fix this….’ What had they done that time Jock McTavish got trampled by that cow? Something about putting pressure on the wound. She thrust her claws on the leftovers of his arm, pressing till her shoulders ached. It burst open, drenching them in a torrent of blood, chunks of muscle, and splinters of radius and ulna. Gary screamed and unleashed a flood of four-letter words.

‘Shit, shit, shit… Bana, help!’ Bana finished disentangling herself from the bush under the sign for Hector’s House of Helping Hands Morag had launched her into. She gave herself a shake, fluttered over, crossed her arms, and frowned.

‘I can stop the bleeding, no problem…’ she said, lifting her wand as wisps of pixie dust fluttered around it.

‘Great, let’s go with that!’ Morra seized Bana’s wand arm and aimed it at Gary. There was a puff of smoke, and he vanished. A few seconds later, he reappeared, and his hand was good as new. Except it was on backward. It dangled from the pinkie, stuck to the shoulder by a ribbon of skin.

‘… But the arm’s going to take time.’ Bana said.

Morra’s heart pounded. Rattlesnakes wriggled in her belly as she gasped in and out.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger, what are we going to do now?’

‘First, we carefully remove the arm-‘ Morra pulled at it, snapping the sliver of flesh holding it to his shoulder. Gary winced.

‘Stop helping arsehole!’

‘Oh, sorry. We, we’ll have that fixed in a sec.’

To be continued...

* Duke Thomas Nixon had promised a field of gold and a plantation of mammoths to the brave soul whoever 'Turned that humbug of a waterhorse to glue!'

Description

Previous:

Next:

An upturned wagon lay smoking by the side of the road. There was a little red puddle surrounded by scorch marks and the head of a very surprised pony. Morra growled and clenched her axe.

‘Reavers…’

She peaked through the bushes, wheeling her eye two and fro.

‘Bana! Can you make anything out?’ she said in a whisper. Bana peered through the smoke, trying to ignore the scent of deep-fried mare.

‘We’ve got three people gagged and tied to that tree. By the look of them, Mum, Dad, and a kid.’
…
By the cart stood a tiny goblin. He trembled and clutched a poleaxe three sizes too big for him. Acne, spots, and moles smothered his face, and on his breastplate was a piece of parchment announcing, ‘Hi, my name is Gary!’

His captives whimpered, the kid sniffling under her gag. Gary shuffled his feet.

‘I never wanted to be a bandit. For Arwan’s sake, I majored in alchemy!’

It had been a fantastic course, everything he’d ever dreamed of. Fiery cauldrons, bubbling beakers, and the taste of powdered unicorn. Just a pity it was bloody useless in the goblin job market.

‘You got to do what you got to do, especially in this economy.’ Gary glanced at his comrades' blackened, charred ribs pinned in the oak tree. The boss said he wanted to leave no evidence behind. They’d fry the cart first and sort out their captive later. Gary told him six barrels of gunpowder were overkill for a pony. In retrospect, the boss may have agreed with him.

‘You know what, let’s pretend this never happened. Let me cut you loose.’ he said, lifting his weapon.
…
The dastardly bandit raised his poleaxe, no doubt intent on smiting his defenceless captives. Morra clutched her axe.

‘Right. He’s dead!’ Bana grabbed her arm and heaved, trying to hold her back.

‘Easy big girl! Remember that mess with the frost giant and the dam-’. *
…
A shadow loomed over Gary, and he turned just in time to see a ton-and-a-half of screaming kelpie plummeting towards him, swinging a battle axe six times the size of his head. The blade hit its mark. His arm went flying.

‘YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! Me’ arm! Me’ bloody arm!’ He tumbled to the ground, howling and writhing.

‘Serves you right, you dick!’ said Morra as she strode over to the hostages, whipped off their gags, and bowed.

‘You guys are safe. He didn’t hurt you, did-’ The mum lunged forward, giving her a glare that would freeze the piss of Thor himself.

‘He was about to free us, you big Nimord!’

‘Oh.’ Morra dropped her weapon. She bolted to Garry’s side.

‘Shit! I’m so sorry, just, well, you, the poleaxe, I kind of panicked, eh, you okay?’

‘What the fuck does it look like?!’

‘It’s okay, okay, we’re going to fix this, I, I can fix this….’ What had they done that time Jock McTavish got trampled by that cow? Something about putting pressure on the wound. She thrust her claws on the leftovers of his arm, pressing till her shoulders ached. It burst open, drenching them in a torrent of blood, chunks of muscle, and splinters of radius and ulna. Gary screamed and unleashed a flood of four-letter words.

‘Shit, shit, shit… Bana, help!’ Bana finished disentangling herself from the bush under the sign for Hector’s House of Helping Hands Morag had launched her into. She gave herself a shake, fluttered over, crossed her arms, and frowned.

‘I can stop the bleeding, no problem…’ she said, lifting her wand as wisps of pixie dust fluttered around it.

‘Great, let’s go with that!’ Morra seized Bana’s wand arm and aimed it at Gary. There was a puff of smoke, and he vanished. A few seconds later, he reappeared, and his hand was good as new. Except it was on backward. It dangled from the pinkie, stuck to the shoulder by a ribbon of skin.

‘… But the arm’s going to take time.’ Bana said.

Morra’s heart pounded. Rattlesnakes wriggled in her belly as she gasped in and out.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger, what are we going to do now?’

‘First, we carefully remove the arm-‘ Morra pulled at it, snapping the sliver of flesh holding it to his shoulder. Gary winced.

‘Stop helping arsehole!’

‘Oh, sorry. We, we’ll have that fixed in a sec.’

To be continued...

* Duke Thomas Nixon had promised a field of gold and a plantation of mammoths to the brave soul whoever 'Turned that humbug of a waterhorse to glue!'