Bored of the Rings by Beard Henry

Author:Beard, Henry [Beard, Henry]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: #genre
Published: 2010-10-03T13:00:00+00:00

VI

THE RIDERS OF ROI-TAN

For three days Arrowroot, Gimlet, and Legolam hunted the band of narcs, pausing in their relentless chase only for food, drink, sleep, a few hands of pinochle, and a couple of sightseeing detours. Tirelessly, the Ranger, dwarf, and elf pushed on after the captors of Moxie and Pepsi, often making a long march of up to three hundred yards before collapsing with apathy. Many times Stomper lost the scent, which was rather difficult since narcs are fond of collecting their droppings along the way into great, pungent mounds. These they carefully sculpted and molded into fearsome shapes as mute warning to any who might dare challenge their power.

But the narc mounds were growing fewer, indicating either that they had quickened their pace or had run out of roughage. In any case the trail grew fainter and the tall Ranger had to use his every skill to follow the barest traces of the company's passing, a worn ventilated shoe, a pair of loaded dice, and farther on, a pair of ventilated narcs.

The land was somber and flat, now populated only by scrub brushes and other stunted growths. Occasionally they would pass a deserted village, empty save for a stray dog or two, which bolstered the party's dwindling larder.

Slowly they descended into the bleak Plain of Roi-Tan, a hot, dry, and cheerless place. * [* Not unlike Passaic, New Jersey.] To their left were the dim peaks of the Mealey Mountains, and to their right and far away the sluggish Effluvium. To the south were the fabled lands of the Roi-Tanners, sheepmen of no mean skill aboard a fighting bull merino.

In earlier times the sheep-lords had been enemies of Sorhed and had fought bravely against him at Brylopad and Ipswitch. But now there were rumors of renegade bands of mounted sheepmen who ravaged northern Twodor, pillaging, raping, burning, killing, and raping.

Stomper halted in the march and let out a deep sigh of dread and boredom. The narcs were leaving them farther and farther behind. Carefully he unwrapped a square of the elvish magic zwieback and broke it into four equal pieces.

"Eat all, for this is the last we have," he said, palming the fourth piece for later.

Legolam and Gimlet chewed gravely and silently. All around them they felt the malicious presence of Serutan, the evil Wizard of Isinglass. His malignant influence hung heavy in the air, his secret forces impeding their search. Forces that took many forms, but for the present came as the runs.

Gimlet, who, if possible, liked Legolam even less than at Riv'n'dell, gagged on his portion of zwieback.

"A curse on the elves and their punk grub," he grumbled.

"And on the dwarves," returned Legolam, "whose taste is in their mouths."

For the twentieth time the pair drew weapons, lusting for each other's chitlins, but Stomper intervened lest one be killed. The food was gone anyway.

"Hold and cease, halt, avaunt, put up thy swords, refrain from thy quarrel and stay thy hands," he spake, raising a fringed glove.

"Buzz off, Hopalong," growled the dwarf.

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