company.”
I’m not sure which worried me more, Brockhurst calling me “boss” or the spectre-like character who had just stepped up to our table.
FOR A MOMENT , I thought we were being confronted by skeleton. Then I looked closer and realized there really was skin stretched over the bones, though its dusty-white color made it seem very dead indeed.
The figure’s paleness was made even more corpse-like by the blue-black hooded robe that enshrouded it. It wasn’t until I noted the wrinkled face with a short, bristly white beard that I realized our visitor was actually a very old man ... very old.
He looked weak to the point of near-collapse, desperately clutching a twisted black walking staff which seemed to be the only thing keeping him erect. Still, his eyes were bright and his smile confident as he stood regarding us.
“Did I hear you boys right?” he asked in a crackling voice.
“I beg your pardon?” Brockhurst scowled at him.
The ancient figure sneered and raised his voice.
“Isaid, ‘Did I hear you boys right?!’” he barked. “What’s the matter? Are you deaf?”
“Um ... excuse me,” I interrupted hastily. “Before we can answer you, we have to know what you thought we said.”
The old man thought for a minute, then bobbed his head in a sudden nod.
“You know, yer right!” he cackled. “Pretty smart, young fella.”
Hebegan to list, but caught himself before he fell.
“Thought I heard you tell Pinko here you were looking for a force to take on an army,” he pronounced, jerking a thumb at Brockhurst.
“The name’s Brockhurst, not Pinko!” the Imp snarled.
“Alright, Bratwurst,” the old man nodded. “No need to get your dander up.”
“That’s Brockhurst!”
“You heard right,” I interrupted again, hoping the old man would go away as soon as his curiosity was satisfied.
“Good!” the man declared. “Count me in! Me and Blackie haven’t been in a good fight for a long time.”
“How long is that in centuries?” Brockhurst sneered.
“Watch your mouth, Bratwurst!” the old man warned. “We may be old, but we can still teach you a thing or two about winnin’ wars.”
“Who’s Blackie?” I asked, cutting off Brockhurst’s reply.
In reply, the old man drew himself erect ... well, nearly erect, and patted his walking staff.
“This is Blackie!” he announced proudly. “The finest bow ever to come from Archiah and that takes in a lot of fine bows!”
I realized with a start that the walking staff was a bow, unstrung, with its bowstring wrapped around it. It was unlike any bow I had ever seen, lumpy and uneven, but polished to a sheen that seemed to glimmer with a life all its own.
“Wait a minute!” Brockhurst was suddenly attentive. “Did you say you come from Archiah?”
“That I did,” the old man grinned. ‘‘Ajax’s the name, fighting’s my game. Ain’t seen a war yet that could lay old Ajax low, and I’ve seen a lot of ‘em.”
“Urn ... could you excuse us for just a minute, sir?” Brockhurst smiled apologetically.
“Sure, son,” Ajax nodded. “Take your time.”
I couldn’t understand the Imp’s sudden change in attitude, but he seemed quite intense as he jerked his head at me, so I leaned close to hear what he had to say.
“Hire him, boss!” he hissed in my ear.
“What?” I gasped, not believing I had heard him right.
“I said hire him!” the Imp repeated. “I may not have much to offer you, but I can give you advice. Right now, my advice is to hire him.”
“But he’s ...”
“He’s from Archiah!” Brockhurst interrupted. “Boss, that dimension invented archery. You don’t find many genuine Archers of any age for hire. If you’ve really got a war on your hands, hire him. He could tip the balance for us.”
“If he’s that good,” I whispered back, “can we afford him?”
“One gold piece will be adequate,” Ajax smiled toothily, adding his head to our conference. “I accept your
I’m not sure which worried me more, Brockhurst calling me “boss” or the spectre-like character who had just stepped up to our table.
FOR A MOMENT , I thought we were being confronted by skeleton. Then I looked closer and realized there really was skin stretched over the bones, though its dusty-white color made it seem very dead indeed.
The figure’s paleness was made even more corpse-like by the blue-black hooded robe that enshrouded it. It wasn’t until I noted the wrinkled face with a short, bristly white beard that I realized our visitor was actually a very old man ... very old.
He looked weak to the point of near-collapse, desperately clutching a twisted black walking staff which seemed to be the only thing keeping him erect. Still, his eyes were bright and his smile confident as he stood regarding us.
“Did I hear you boys right?” he asked in a crackling voice.
“I beg your pardon?” Brockhurst scowled at him.
The ancient figure sneered and raised his voice.
“Isaid, ‘Did I hear you boys right?!’” he barked. “What’s the matter? Are you deaf?”
“Um ... excuse me,” I interrupted hastily. “Before we can answer you, we have to know what you thought we said.”
The old man thought for a minute, then bobbed his head in a sudden nod.
“You know, yer right!” he cackled. “Pretty smart, young fella.”
Hebegan to list, but caught himself before he fell.
“Thought I heard you tell Pinko here you were looking for a force to take on an army,” he pronounced, jerking a thumb at Brockhurst.
“The name’s Brockhurst, not Pinko!” the Imp snarled.
“Alright, Bratwurst,” the old man nodded. “No need to get your dander up.”
“That’s Brockhurst!”
“You heard right,” I interrupted again, hoping the old man would go away as soon as his curiosity was satisfied.
“Good!” the man declared. “Count me in! Me and Blackie haven’t been in a good fight for a long time.”
“How long is that in centuries?” Brockhurst sneered.
“Watch your mouth, Bratwurst!” the old man warned. “We may be old, but we can still teach you a thing or two about winnin’ wars.”
“Who’s Blackie?” I asked, cutting off Brockhurst’s reply.
In reply, the old man drew himself erect ... well, nearly erect, and patted his walking staff.
“This is Blackie!” he announced proudly. “The finest bow ever to come from Archiah and that takes in a lot of fine bows!”
I realized with a start that the walking staff was a bow, unstrung, with its bowstring wrapped around it. It was unlike any bow I had ever seen, lumpy and uneven, but polished to a sheen that seemed to glimmer with a life all its own.
“Wait a minute!” Brockhurst was suddenly attentive. “Did you say you come from Archiah?”
“That I did,” the old man grinned. ‘‘Ajax’s the name, fighting’s my game. Ain’t seen a war yet that could lay old Ajax low, and I’ve seen a lot of ‘em.”
“Urn ... could you excuse us for just a minute, sir?” Brockhurst smiled apologetically.
“Sure, son,” Ajax nodded. “Take your time.”
I couldn’t understand the Imp’s sudden change in attitude, but he seemed quite intense as he jerked his head at me, so I leaned close to hear what he had to say.
“Hire him, boss!” he hissed in my ear.
“What?” I gasped, not believing I had heard him right.
“I said hire him!” the Imp repeated. “I may not have much to offer you, but I can give you advice. Right now, my advice is to hire him.”
“But he’s ...”
“He’s from Archiah!” Brockhurst interrupted. “Boss, that dimension invented archery. You don’t find many genuine Archers of any age for hire. If you’ve really got a war on your hands, hire him. He could tip the balance for us.”
“If he’s that good,” I whispered back, “can we afford him?”
“One gold piece will be adequate,” Ajax smiled toothily, adding his head to our conference. “I accept your
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