Sage swirled the smooth dark liquid in his half-empty pewter mug as his eyes mirrored the color of the opaque depths. Then he closed one eye because of the reflection of light on its surface stung. The stupid drink should have better manners than that.
“I’magivin’ up the busss… iness hero, Toble,” he slurred and then took a gulp of the intoxicating beverage.
“You mean the hero business? You’ve said that before,” replied the white-haired Dryad man sitting across the wooden table from the rugged Huldra. His pointed ears stuck out from his head through the white mass he rarely ever combed. “You’re drunk. We should go before you cause trouble.”
“No, I meanit thisss time,” said Sage hanging his head so that his dark brown hair hung over his eyes. His usually kaleidoscopic eyes never changed colors from the black it had been for the last hour. His fox-like tail laid limp on the floor, and he leaned heavily against his elbows on the table. “I sssave thessse people’ss livesss five timess… just tahave ’em die on the ssix-th. What’ss the point anymore? Maldamien winss. He rules… the world, and I’ma nobody.”
Toble glanced around the small dark Sprite tavern for a way to distract Sage. It was a dilapidated two stories building with the barkeeper’s home on the second floor. The main room on the ground floor held only a dozen crowded wooden tables and a bar. Some Sprites with their translucent moth or dragonfly wings were staring at them, but the hum of conversations continued on around them.
The stares weren’t surprising. Sage had been an accidental hero of the people since he was nineteen years old. He was now fifty but didn’t look a day over thirty. It was the odd effect of the curse on the world. Sage would never age a day more, and Toble would never look a day younger than he did now.
“Sage, you’ll feel differently tomorrow,” said Toble pushing away his half-empty mug of brewed cinnamon tonic. “It was one failure. You have saved hundreds of lives over the years. You’re drunker than I think I have ever seen you and that means trouble. We need to go.”
Sage gulped down his drink, and Toble stood to pick up his massive canvas bag. Sage then grabbed Toble’s drink and pulled it to himself across the table.
“I’m… not… leaving… until they drag me outofhere,” said Sage with a wave of his arm. “I’m tired of runnin’.”
Toble sighed and sat back down.
A Nomad with a keffiyeh covering half his face stood from a dark table in the corner and walked up to Sage and Toble, drawing his massive curved sword. The swagger of the newcomer was silent from the soft leather boots strapped around the legs of his loose trousers, typical of Nomad attire.
“Are you Sage Goliad?” asked the stranger.
“Who asks?” Sage replied without looking up from the mug he had stolen from Toble.
“I was sent by your mortal enemy to kill you,” replied the stranger.
Sage wrinkled up his face and squinted up at the man.
“Which one?” asked Sage.
Toble rolled his eyes and left the table to talk to the barkeeper. The red-headed barkeeper with undersized wings began to whisper to Toble his concern about the fierce Nomad.
The Nomad stranger blinked slightly confused at Sage.
“How many mortal enemies do you have?” he asked.
Sage looked back down at his mug.
“Never had much time to count.”
The Nomad swung his sword at the same time Sage lifted the pewter mug. The sword clanged against the mug spilling the contents on Sage.
“Heeey!” said Sage.
The Nomad swore and lifted his sword to try again.
The door of the inn burst open and two huge grotesque Ogres in shiny silver armor came marching in. Their heavy stomps were natural considering their massive size. The tallest one had to stoop over to get through the doorway. Even the shorter one was nearly two feet taller than most of the Sprite men in the room. Everyone could tell they were from Maldamien’s army, and the room immediately became silent. The Nomad froze in the middle of his attack.
“Barkeeper, we’re here for your taxes,” demanded the slightly shorter one with the pig snout.
“I paid it two days ago,” said the barkeeper still standing across the bar from Toble.
Sage slammed down his empty mug and then tried to stand up. The attempt made tons of noise that ended up with him falling back into his chair.
The Nomad stranger tried to back into the shadows away from the Ogres but tripped over Sage’s outstretched legs. He fell back into a table surrounded by workmen.
“Hey what do you think you’re doing” shouted the group as the Nomad slid back on the rectangular table into the center of the plates and mugs.
“Yooou needto watch whered you’re goin’,” said Sage as he grabbed the top part of the curved blade still held by the flailing Nomad to get up.
“Shut up you stupid drunk,” growled the Nomad. “I’ll kill you for this.”
When the Nomad tried a second time to get back up, all the Sprite workmen start cursing and pushing him around. The Nomad loosened his grip on the curved blade. Sage stumbled backward with the sword in his hand.
“Well, lookyhere,” said Sage staring at the sword as though it appeared in his hand by magic. His eyes changed colors to green and his tail gave a quick swish of pleasure.
“Enough of this!” demanded the tall brownish Ogre as he slammed his fist down on the bar.
Everyone in the room jumped at the noise. Sage leaned forward to focus on the Ogres. Somewhere in the back of his foggy mind, he was certain the brown one was named George and the short one was named Pete. Then again he could have just made that up.
“We’re here for the taxes, and we aren’t going to leave without it,” said George.
The Nomad man was finally able to get up from the table. As the Nomad turned to Sage to get his sword back, all the Sprite workers at the rectangular table gave him a shove at the same time. This launched the Nomad into the Ogres at the bar.
“You’re the thief from Shenlong!” exclaimed Pete as the keffiyeh fell from the Nomad’s face from bumping into the wall of Ogre flesh. The tan man had a scar down the side of his face. Sage shook his head still not recognizing him. Pete grabbed onto the Nomad by the front of his tunic and lifted him a few inches off the floor. “There’s a reward for you. The misses will be happy for the extra cow that’ll buy us.”
During this time Sage slowly turned the blade in his hand around so that he was holding it by the handle. He looked back up at the Ogres.
“Georgy and Petey, good to see ya again,” Sage said and then tried to walk over to them. His progress was like that of a man on a violently rocking boat. He bumped into two tables before he made it to his destination.
The Ogres glanced at each other.
“I’m Oxblood and he’s Porkblade,” said George.
“Wait! That’s Sage Goliad!” said Pete to his companion and pointed to drunk Huldra with his free hand. “The reward on him is worth more than a year’s pay!”
Sage stopped and scratched his head with his free hand. “I’m shure you’re Georgy and Petey from downin Dwende… whenI knocked you out to sssave dose Gnomes. No. Wait. They might have been green-n-grey Ogres.”
“Sage, I think you should run,” said the barkeeper glancing from the Ogres back to Sage who was two feet shorter than them.
Sage blinked at the barkeeper stupidly.
“I’ve redired from da isiness bero,” said Sage as he swayed in place. “I… I don’t haveto run aaanymore.”
“Your retirement does erase your past,” said Toble with a sigh. He leaned against the bar and pointed his hand at the two Ogres before him. “So what are you going to do with that sword now that you’ve quit being a hero?”
Sage glanced down at the curved blade.
“Oh, just kill the idiot and let me go!” shouted the Nomad still struggling in Pete’s grip. “He’s worth more than me anyway!”
“Hush you,” said Pete shaking the Nomad. “Oxblood, get the drunk and let’s go. We’ll get the taxes later.”
“I don’t think that’s an doog igea atall, George,” said Sage with a shake of his head and then a groan. “Bood ibea… Toog ibea.”
“It’s Oxblood,” growled the tall brownish Ogre.
“Sage, what are you saying?” asked Toble.
“Idon’t know,” replied Sage with a sigh.
George rushed towards Sage, but Toble’s foot had transformed into a long root that tripped him. George stumbled forward and fell towards Sage. Instinctively, Sage held out his sword as the nine foot Ogre fell into him. They both crashed into the table behind Sage. The Sprite husband and wife who had been sitting at the table both screamed and jumped out of their seats before getting caught in the crash.
Pete drew his sword with his free hand while still holding onto the Nomad’s shirt. The barkeeper took the opportunity to slam a small bag of flour into Pete’s face.
The Nomad didn’t hesitate. He drew a dagger and stabbed Pete’s shoulder in the henge of his armor. Pete dropped the Nomad and roared in both pain and anger. The Nomad tried to escape, but the doorway was blocked by Sprite customers who were trying to flee the scene.
Sage, laying in the wooden debris that was once a table, pushed over George with the curved Nomad sword stabbed through him just blow the breastplate. It took Sage a full 5 seconds to study the dead foe and then wrestle his sword with both hands out of the heap of flesh.
“Sage, are you sure you’re retired?” asked Toble. “It seems to me you’re about to save the day again.” Toble pointed to the Nomad who was just caught by Pete. Pete held the Nomad in his left hand and lifted his sword with the right as though to kill him.
“I’m not heroing anymore, Doble… I mean Hoble,” said Sage.
Sage then glanced around the room as his eyes changed colors to yellow.
“Hey Petey!” shouted Sage as he stumbled to an open window on the other side of the broken table. “I’m about to escape!”
“I’m not Pete!” growled the flour covered Ogre. “I’m Pigblade!”
Pete turned to look at Sage as he spoke, giving the Nomad just enough time to escape the Ogre’s grip. Pete swung his sword, but it hit the low ceiling. The Nomad ran towards Sage and grabbed the dead Ogre’s sword on the way.
“I just shaved you,” said Sage pointing his sword at the approaching Nomad.
“That’s great, but your mortal enemy still wants you dead,” said the Nomad as he lifted the blade while rushing forward.
“Whit mordal enemy?” said Sage, swaying with his sword still held out.
At that moment, Pete had caught up to the Nomad and stabbed the Nomad through the middle.
Both Sage and the Nomad’s eyes widen. Then the Nomad collapsed to the ground dead.
“Danks Pete, but I never found out whit mordal enemy he was talking about,” said Sage as he bent over to study the dead body.
As he unsteadily stood back up, Sage pointed his curved sword down to the ground like he would lean against it. Pete swung his sword down to kill him, but Sage’s sword was three inches too short to lean against. So instead, Pete swung through the air, and Sage stumbled into the stairwell and got his head stuck in the bars of the banister.
The flour covered Ogre growled and stepped towards Sage, readying his sword for another lethal attempt.
“Are you going to help him out?” the barkeeper asked Toble.
Toble shrugged.
Pete lifted his sword to kill Sage while he was still trapped. Sage rolled onto his back to lay flat on the stairs and lifted his sword in one movement. They met blades with a loud clang. The new position also allowed Sage to get his head free. Sage sat up and blocked another attack by the Ogre.
“Dang it, I’m redired,” said Sage as he swayed and fought at the same time.
He tripped over furniture and stumbled around the room as though he was fighting during an earthquake.
“I’ll kill you and take your body to Maldamien myself,” growled Pete as he tried to strike his erratic target.
“You can’t help it,” shouted Toble from the bar. “You’ll never retire from this. You love it too much.”
“Love this? Whadabout you?” said Sage as the sword fight progressed to the center of the empty room. “Aren’t you going to help?”
Pete tripped forward into Sage.
“There,” said Toble retracting some of his roots covering the floor of the tavern.
Sage’s sword slid into the side of Pete’s breastplate and went deep as the Ogre fell. Sage dodged getting pulled down at the very last minute. Toble and the barkeeper rushed up to see the results. Sage leaned forward, barely balanced, to inspect the dead Ogre.
“I’m pretty sure it was Pete’s ghost,” said Sage as his eyes turned green.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” said the barkeeper with a snort.
“Why?” asked Sage slowly leaning closer to touch the flour covered face.
“Ghosts don’t bleed,” said the barkeeper.
“Oh,” said Sage as he continued to lean closer at a snail’s pace. “I dold him I’m not in the hus-iness dero anymore.”
Sage continued his progression forward in slow motion, altering his path to the right of the dead body until he collapsed unconscious in a drunken heap onto the floor.
THE END
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