The Hautchkinses

  Herbert Hautchkins woke to the erratic ringing of his arm and groaned as he rose out of bed. The middle-aged man’s stiff bones were popping and creaking as he sighed, removed his covers, and kicked his legs over the side. As he gnced over his shoulder, he saw that his love, Anora, had already risen, probably just before he did. She always seemed to beat that damn arm.

  He slipped his feet into his bedside slippers and shuffled to the washroom to freshen himself up before returning to make his bed. After getting dressed in his usual denim suspenders and blue pid shirt, he ventured downstairs to find his whole family already awake.

  Mi and Avdol, his pride and joy, were at the dining room table, getting ready to head to the schoolhouse. They were around the same ages as the Ashflow kids. Mi was eagerly reciting the alphabet as his eldest, Avdol, was reading a book. Herbert came over and ruffled their hair before going to his wife, who was working the range, and kissing her on the cheek.

  “Morning, beautiful,” Herbert cooed before patting Anora on the rump. She rewarded him with yelping and giggling.

  “Good morning, my love.” Anora shooed him away with a dishcloth. “Your breakfast is almost ready. Sit down; I’ll get you your coffee in a moment.” She smiled warmly at him before she turned to a pot of boiling water.

  Herbert nodded and joined his children. Sitting beside Avdol, he asked, “What’re you reading, boy?”

  His son gnced up from the pages. “I’m readin’ the adventures of Koln Woodweaver.” Avdol closed the book and showed Herbert the cover, where a burly gocchi man squared off with a horde of menacing arachnoids. “Madam Drache referred me to this. It’s quite interesting.” Herbert held his hand out, and Avdol passed the book to him.

  His eyes skimmed a random page. For something as simple as a novel, and one given to a kid, this writing was quite expressive and eborate. Herbert had heard the name Koln Woodweaver once; he was a renowned adventurer from many decades ago. He closed the book and handed it back to his son.

  “I’m impressed you can understand it,” Herbert said with a light chuckle. “Madam Drache must be a good teacher.”

  Avdol smiled and nodded. “She sure is, Pa…” He then paused and looked at the grandfather clock. “Mi, it’s time we go.” Standing up, Avdol began to pack his schoolbag.

  The girl stopped singing mid-alphabet, turned to her brother, and nodded. “Okay!” She snatched her bag. “Bye-bye, Papa! Bye-bye, Momma!”

  Herbert couldn’t help but smile as Anora brought his coffee over. “See you after school, sweet pea,” he said with a chuckle, then thanked his dear and sipped his coffee.

  Anora gave each of the children a hug. “Now, you all go straight for the schoolhouse; no dallying!”

  As the two left the house and the door shut, a silence fell over the room. Herbert took a moment to savor the peacefulness before he turned his attention back to his drink. Anora came over with his breakfast and kissed his cheek. As she turned away, she said, “Oh, don’t forget the Ashflow kids will be stopping by this afternoon with bread.”

  Ah, that was right. The other day, he allowed that elf fellow, Slyran, to use his mill in return for some fresh bread from his wife. Good folk. A bit… different than the other vilge folk, but pleasant, nonetheless. The kids, though, piqued his interest, especially their youngest, Luna.

  The girl was only six years old, the same age as Mi, and yet she spoke and presented herself like her mother. He had heard the Ashflow kids were homeschooled. Some out-of-towner serelli by the name of Soza was staying in their home and teaching them. Serelli must be tyrants in the cssroom, he thought as he ate.

  “Do you think the Ashflows are a bit too hard on the kids?” Herbert asked his wife after he finished his breakfast and got up from the table.

  She turned to him with a bit of confusion. “What makes you think that?” she asked.

  Herbert frowned; he knew it was a dumb question, but of course his mouth spoke before his brain could stop him. He shrugged. “I dunno. The girl, Luna. She seems a bit… too mature for her age, if you get what I mean.”

  Anora thought about it. “If I recall correctly, Cailynn told me back at the weaving competition that she used to attend Heddingway over in Galry. Knowing how strict that school is, it wouldn’t surprise me if the little girl was treated the same way.”

  He blinked for a second. “Is that so?” He stroked his chin. “Well, that expins a lot.” He ughed. “I don’t think I could survive a single day around all those stuffy magisters.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling. “I’m sure you wouldn’t, love.”

  Herbert nodded but then frowned. “Though the girl does take a lot after her brother. I’ve seen those two wrestling and climbing trees the few times I passed by their home.”

  Anora shrugged. “She’s still young, Herbet; the girl seems fine to me, dear. Now you’ve got to leave. The mill’s gears will not oil themselves.”

  Herbert came closer, but she pushed him away, and he yelped. In the middle of pying, Anora abruptly stopped. “Oh, one more thing, actually.” She looked up at him. “Did you set aside your dirty clothes?”

  He thought for a second. “Yeah, I did. You should find a basket near the bedroom door.” Anora smiled and nodded before patting him on the side, signaling he could go.

  Herbert groaned and tossed the sack of flour onto the back of the wagon with a deep huff. “There we go, girl!” he wheezed as the nd strider chirped loudly. “Forty-five elems a bag, and you got twenty of them!” He came over to the two-legged dragon, which was hitched and ready to ride—all she needed was the driver.

  “Alright, Opal, we’ll be taking these down to Mr. Olson’s shop,” he said to the strider as he climbed onto the front of the cart. “You remember where Olson’s shop is, right?” Opal lifted her head and let out a booming call.

  Herbert winced and rubbed his ears saying, “I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckled and took the reins. “Now, now, let’s go easy this time, okay?” He flicked his wrists and Opal bolted forth, nearly knocking him back into the wagon. “Waaah—waaait!” Herbert shouted, desperately trying to regain control of the strider. The cart swayed dangerously as Opal lunged at full speed, ignoring his pleas. With a mixture of fear and determination, Herbert held on tight and braced himself for the wild ride ahead.

  Opal had calmed down a little by the time they made it to Oren. Herbert regained control as the constabury blew their whistles and ordered him to slow down. “You’ll damn near kill someone with that strider of yours, Mr. Hautchkins!” one constable shouted as his strider trotted by.

  “Apologies, Mr. Ashflow!” Herbert called over his shoulder. “She’s still learning!” The gruff elven man shook his head, fixed the wide brimmed hat on his head, and turned away as Herbert ughingly turned back to Opal. “Girl, you better keep yourself together or you’ll get me locked up and you sent off to the butchery.”

  The wagon turned down Main Street, which was bustling. After all, it was Dawn’s Day, the first day of the week, when everyone was piling into the market square. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, enticing passersby with its inviting warmth. Opal’s eyes widened as she took in the colorful array of fruits and vegetables in the market stalls, her mouth watering at the sight of ripe, juicy prickle berries.

  “Oi, focus on the road!” Herbert tsked and flicked the reins. “You have plenty of feed at home.” He squinted to see Olson’s general store up ahead, its weathered sign swinging gently in the breeze. Opal reluctantly tore her gaze away from the market and refocused on their destination.

  Out front, Herbert saw Olson himself, a stout, dwarfen man with a beard that nearly dragged across the ground. He was emptying his chamber pot into a refuse barrel. Opal let off a squawk at the scent as they drew near, and Herbert wrinkled his nose.

  “Good morning, Mr. Olson!” he called. The dwarf turned to Herbert after pounding the pot against the barrel, then wiped his hand on his apron and smiled. “I hope you pn to wash your hands before handling my wares.”

  Olson chuckled heartily, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. “Don’t you worry, young Herbert,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “I always make sure to give my hands a thorough scrubbing before touching anything delicate.” As he spoke, he tossed the pot aside and gestured towards a small basin of water nearby filled with fragrant herbs and soap.

  The dwarf waddled over to the basin and dipped his hands into it. “I see you brought me the flour I requested,” he said as he scrubbed his hands. “Have you brought the requested amount?”

  “Aye, I did.” Herbert pulled on Opal’s reins, bringing the wagon to a stop in front of the store. “Twenty bags that are forty-five elems each; it’s a bit more than what you normally buy.”

  Olson dried his hands on a nearby cloth. “Aye, it is.” He then turned away and cupped his hands over his mouth. “Tufen! Bazet! Get your stinking arses over here! We have a delivery!” Immediately, two smaller, younger dwarfen boys came rushing out of the shop.

  They were panting heavily as they approached the wagon, their eyes widening at the sight of the twenty bags. “What’s all this for, Pa?” Tufen asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

  Olson chuckled and patted his son’s head. “It’s a special order from Hossler,” he said as Herbert hopped off the wagon and went around to the back.

  “Hossler?” Herbert asked, beginning to unload. “General Hossler?”

  “Aye!” Olson grunted as he caught the first one and passed it to his boys. “Easy, Herbert, hand them over! My legs and back aren’t what they used to be!”

  “Apologies, Mr. Olson. Here you go.” He started handling them more gently. “If the General wanted all this flour, why is he ordering it through you and not me?” Herbert couldn’t help but feel cheated. He was no stranger to major buyers requesting his services, and usually, such contracts paid very well.

  The question made Olson hesitate. Slowly he passed his bag to Tufen, then held his breath, his face uneasy. The dwarf looked around the busy street before bringing a hand up to his mouth and whispering just loud enough for Herbert to hear.

  “Word from the guild has it that war is on the horizon, dumi,” Olson said. “Dumi” was his species’s term for non-dwarfs.

  Herbert frowned. War?

  He was skeptical. “What do you mean?” he asked as he started passing the flour once more.

  “What else would I mean, Mr. Hautchkins? War! Armies, front lines—”

  “I know what war is, Mr. Olson, but why? The Global Alliance has maintained peace for gods know how long. Why would war suddenly spring up now?”

  “Because it is what the merchant guild has witnessed, dumi. You can learn a lot about a nation and its people based solely on what they’re buying, and what goods are being moved.” Olson expined. “Weapons, food, and archeo devices. That’s what’s trading hands. In secret, or so they thought.”

  “Aren’t those items the military usually buys, though?”

  Another bag was passed to the sons. “Aye, but not to this level. Mr. Hautchkins, I’m talking rge quantities of weapons and food, enough to support armies, sieges, and front lines. Stockpiles and reserves. Heinmarr and the rest of the Global Allied Nations are preparing for something massive.”

  Herbert slowly nodded as he said, “Mr. Olson, you need to be careful with this doom speech.”

  “This is not doomsay!” Olson was firm. “Believe me when I say this, dumi. The merchants are aware. We’ve been predicting events like this for millennia. Last Rest Day, a caravanner mentioned a border crossing near the Stricknd Line. Thirty Veilnd soldiers crossed the border and caused a commotion with the locals, and another caravan confirmed that story just yesterday. Merchants travel; we hear and see things.”

  The st flour bag was handed to Olson, who grunted and set it down at his feet. “I don’t want to scare you, Mr. Hautchkins. I must caution you, though. Your family and mine have assisted each other for many years. I consider you a friend as well as a business partner.” He ughed. “Recent events, like this one, are just that: recent. Nations must prepare for war for years, but I want you to be aware of this so that you can prepare right now. Our way as Dumauri is to always have a pn.”

  Herbert sighed as he hopped off the wagon and closed it up. “Now, humoring that thought,” he said, “if things do get hot and a war does erupt, where do you pn on going?”

  Olson said, “To home!” He hoisted the bag on his shoulder and began to walk inside, motioning for Herbert to follow him. “Back to Khannatore, the mountains southwest of here. In times of crisis, Dumauri always return to the Mountain Homes. Prepare, recuperate, and fight back against the darkness! We did it back in the Twilight War, and we’ll do it again!” He chuckled as the two men, along with Olson’s children, went inside.

  The general store was quaint, with shelves lined with canned and jarred goods of all varieties. The faint smell of loki smoke lingered in the air. Olson carried the bag over to the counter, where the rest had been stacked on or around its base. With the help of his sons, he hoisted it up on top and sighed.

  “You should find a nice summer home too, Mr. Hautchkins. If things get bad, you and your family can pack up and go west. Away from the border.” Olson’s words hung in the air.

  Herbert nodded, his eyes reflecting a change. “That’s a wise suggestion, Mr. Olson,” he replied. “I’ll definitely consider it.”

  Olson then snapped his fingers and said, “Or better yet! Come with us! My wife and the other Dumauri might not be so keen on having dumis like yourselves…” He smiled and held his finger up. “But the rest of the Olson family can certainly vouch for you. The mountains are safe, warm, and beautiful. You and your family could be safe with us.” He let off a belly ugh.

  Herbert shook his head and smiled. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Olson. If things ever get tough, I’ll be sure to reach out.”

  Olson nodded. “My boys and I have always said, meet up at the Kencha River just south of town and follow it down to the ke and cross over to Johanneson.”

  “Sounds like a pn, Mr. Olson. Anyway—”

  “Ah, that’s right!” Olson snapped his fingers again. “The rest of your pay.” He sauntered behind the counter for a few moments and came back around with a small purse. “Four Heinmarrian gold pieces.”

  Herbert blinked. “Four? I thought it was three,” he said, shocked. Heinmarrian gold, let alone any nation’s gold, was immensely valuable. A single piece was equal to a farmer’s weekly pay. Getting a full month’s wage for a job like this was well worth it.

  “Aye, you did me well and got the job done quickly. I think that makes it worth an extra piece,” Olson said as he handed Herbert the coin purse. “If you want it broken down to silver, let me know.”

  “Ah, no, thank you, this is just fine.” Herbert smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Olson; it was a pleasure doing business.”

  “Aye, same to you, young Hautchkins!” Olson waved to Herbert and turned to his kids. “Alright, you fly eaters, get on with it! Take it all to the celr!”

  Herbert chuckled, turned away, and headed back to his wagon as the dwarfs scurried to the back of their shop. Opal was patiently waiting for him. He patted her on the nose and whispered, “Good girl, Opal. Ready to head home?” Opal growled softly in response as if understanding every word Herbert said. With a smile on his face and a heart full of gratitude, Herbert climbed onto the wagon and guided Opal towards home. His mind lingering on Olson’s words along the way.

  By decree of the Global Allied Nations, it is agreed that we must take an oath to defend the Great Wall. To watch the mists that pgue the southern nds and vow to fight to the very end if it ever comes to it. We agree that if a foreign entity, or something within, assaults the wall, that in itself coincides with Article III. For an attack on the wall is an attack on all.

  —Codes of Peace, Article II.