Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dawn, when darkness reluctantly releases its grip on the world in the face of the sun’s relentless return, was Delmarf’s favorite time of the day. One of the pleasures of having a nomadic lifestyle is that he is often privileged to watch this daily occurrence. Of course, he usually enjoys it on a more firm surface. He will never be a water person. This trip has made that clear. Mastering the rivers seemed so easy before he actually tried it. It’s the morning of the second day since leaving Awktowon and they should’ve already reached Boknor, but Delmarf’s expertise on the skiff had resulted in them taking twice as long to reach their destination. He had gotten them stuck on the banks of the Mirator more times than he would like to think about, and then there was his intimate visit with the Mirator. Yesterday, just before dark, his pole got caught on some underwater obstruction and jerked him off-balance. He frantically grabbed for Arto, who decided that he didn’t need a bath and took a step back, allowing Delmarf to get personally acquainted with the Mirator. It was fortunate that alongside the bank was a small clearing. They pulled the skiff up onshore and built a fire so Delmarf could dry off. Since they were already relaxed, he decided they should get a little sleep here before completing the trip. The only good thing resulting from his dip in the cold river was Wemael’s laughter. She had slept fitfully that first night and had been solemn and withdrawn most of the day. She had begun to warm up to him just before he fell into the river, and the sweet sound of her uncontrollable laughter blunted his frustration enough to allow him to join her in the mirth. She helped him set up the fire and tended to Arto. It was interesting to see her with Arto. The stubborn mule was not cooperative very often, but Wemael spoke to him and it seemed like Arto would have done anything for the girl. Eager to visit his friends and find some true help for Wemael, he started back on the river a few hours later, having gotten a quick nap.
Now with the sun brightening the morning sky, he could see Boknor in the near distance. He had seen the docks a few times, as his friends were river folk. He always smiled when he saw Boknor. It was a small town putting on the airs of a big city. The ruler of this town was Lord Bok, a giant. He was 9 feet tall, standing far above any of the residents of Boknor, but he was a runt. He came from a family of giants that were normally 12 to 15 feet tall. When it became obvious that he would not live up to their standards in size, they rejected him. They felt he was a failure for something that he had absolutely no control over. He moved on, wandered aimlessly for a few years until he found a small village by the Mirator. The residents were in awe of him. They had never seen anyone that big and he was stronger than anyone in their village. He enjoyed their admiration, and found ways to impress them. He soon became the person they looked to for advice for any problem they faced. Even though he often had no personal experience in solving these problems, he came up with solutions. When his solutions worked, they praised him, when they didn’t; they thought that the problem couldn’t be solved. It didn’t take long for Bok to become their leader, then their ruler. He was not a harsh ruler, but the little village soon became his own town, not theirs. He changed the name to Boknor, “the home of Bok”. The residents stayed happy because he was constantly looking for ways to improve the town. He wanted to have the greatest city in the world, and then his family would know that they were the ones that were unworthy. His ambition was further fueled by the wife he chose. He married an orc named Oogi. She had spent many years working for the dwarves of White Mountain. The White Dwarfs were as renowned for their skill with stone working, as they were for their complete lack of pigmentation. She loved the fortress the White Dwarfs built into the side of White Mountain, and she drove her new husband to attempt to build something more impressive. Lord Bok and Lady Oogi had a problem though, this was not White Mountain and the folks living here were not White Dwarfs. There were skilled carpenters and stone masons and they strove hard to create a magnificent city, but they just couldn’t pull it off. The materials needed to build the city that the ruling couple desired just didn’t exist anywhere in the surrounding area and they could not afford to import all that much. So what Boknor ended up looking like was a piecemeal attempt at looking fancy. True, there was a great palace in the center of Boknor. Lord Bok used up all the available materials for this vital structure. The rest of the city was a hodgepodge of stone, carved wood, and simple wooded structures. The docks were a perfect example. The basic structure and design of the docks was impressive. There were mooring posts, beautifully engraved with the faces of Lord Bok and Lady Oogi, a loading area big enough to hold goods from a dozen fully laden ships. The warehouses though were crude wooden structures.
On the docks were a couple of guards, orcs in studded leather vests bearing the emblem of Lord Bok, a firtog tree. Lord Bok had chosen the firtog tree because it was the tallest tree known to exist anywhere. As he drifted within their view, Delmarf tapped his head once with his right hand and then tapped his left shoulder once; the guards returned the salute of Boknor, indicating that Lord Bok was head and shoulders above all his people.
Wemael woke as he was saluting. She stood and gave the salute also, something she had done many times before with her father. The guards seemed to be amused by her salute, and waved at her. She did not wave back, but scooted behind Delmarf a bit. There was very little activity on the docks this early. While work began early on the docks, it usually waited for the sun to be fully revealed on the horizon. They sailed passed the docks, Delmarf admiring one of boats docked there. He felt a tug on his shirt as they out the docks behind them.
“I thought you said we were going to Boknor, sir.”
“I am sorry, child. We are not going into the town, right now. My friends live just up ahead, that is where we are going.”
Delmarf could see Wemael straining to find a house or hovel anywhere ahead, but couldn’t see one. The expression on her face almost made him laugh, a little girl looking so serious and focused.
“Wemael, do you see where the river bends to the right up ahead?”
“Yes”
“My friends live on the island in the bend. Do you see that island?
Wemael scrunched up her nose and took a hard look ahead. “Yes, I see it.” She exclaimed with glee.
Wemael’s laughter was a welcome sound.
The left bank was gradually getting steeper, and would soon block any view of the walls of Boknor from his sight. The walls were another great example of Boknor’s true status. The bottom three to four rows were made of finely carved stone, followed by three or four rows of field stones, topped by spiked wooden planks.
By the time they had reached the island in the bend, the bank towered over them by about eight feet. The channel that ran between the island and the bank slowed down enough that Delmarf had to start using the pole again. He eased the skiff into the backwash behind the island and headed for the sand bar against the mainland bank. As they ground against the sand, Delmarf took note that his friend’s row boat was staked there, so he knew that he was home. He let Arto get off onto the sand, and the mule seemed as happy to be on solid ground as he was. Delmarf figured it would be some time before he would be able to coax his pack-toting friend onto anything that wasn’t firmly grounded on earth. Wemael got off the skiff cautiously, looking around, trying to understand where she was. Directly in front of them, there were steps carved into the side of the bank, leading to a large oak tree. Tied to the oak tree and spanning the backwash to a cypress tree was a bridge made of rope and wooden planks.
“Are we going up those steps?” Wemael quizzed?
“Yes, we are, but I need to do something first.” With that, Delmarf turned toward the island and shouted, “Flies are cool, but spiders make me drool.”
“Gross, why did you do that.’ Wemael asked with her face screwed up in a sour look.
“Wait a minute and you will see.”
After a minute or two, somewhere just back from the island edge came this response, “brrraup, spiders are my treat, brrraup, did you bring me some to eat, brrraup?”
Before Wemael could even think about questioning that response, the source came into view at the edge of the bridge. Wemael’s mouth fell open and her eyes widen. Standing, or rather squatting there looking at them was the strangest creature she had ever seen. She had seen similar creatures but much smaller, of course none of them could talk, and none wore any kind of clothes. The creature was about three feet tall, although since he seemed to be squatting, she was not completely sure. It had bright green skin with black spots. Starting at his green throat, a grayish stripe went down both sides of his body; the stripe also was punctuated with black spots. He had very large eyes which set up high on his head, almost on top of his head, with green eyelids. The green on his throat faded into a grayish-yellow as the color made its way down his chest. Across his upper body he wore a sash with some emblem that Wemael couldn’t make out and the lower half of his body was covered by some sort of wrap. She could not get over how much he looked like the little frogs that lived in the trees back home.
He suddenly leapt from where he had been observing them to right at Delmarf’s feet. Jumping the eight feet from the island to the sand bar took no more effort on his part than it took Wemael to scoot behind Delmarf.
“brrraup, Welcome friend, Delmarf and friend, Arto, brrraup, and you to, friend, little one, brrraup.”
“Good to see you again, friend, Fribble. It has been too long since we enjoyed a good spider stew.” Delmarf answered with a hearty chuckle.
This elicited such strange laughter; croaking and sounds that Wemael was sure that she would never hear anything to match.
“brrraup, you are a jester, friend, Delmarf, brrraup. Many times have I offered spider stew, brrraup, only to watch you settle for Mother’s daisy bread, brrraup.”
“Tis true, tis true, friend Fribble.” Delmarf managed through his laughter.
Regaining his composure, Delmarf introduced Wemael.
“Friend, Fribble, this is my new friend, Wemael. Black times have made new friends.”
“brrraup, sad to hear of black times, brrraup, but glad to meet a new friend. Welcome, friend Wemael, brrraup.”
“Wemael, this is my good friend, Fribble Riverjumper.”
Wemael had been hiding behind Delmarf, but the frivolity earlier had eased her uncertainty, so when Delmarf introduced Fribble, Wemael, stepped out to his side and curtseyed.
“brrraup, a lady, no less, friend Delmarf, brrraup, you bring me a lady for a visit.”
This brought a smile to Wemael’s face and lit it up.
“brrraup, shall we go now, friend Delmarf? brrraup, Mother and the tads will be most anxious to see our old friend and our sweet new one. brrraup.”
“Yes, friend Fribble, I am looking forward to seeing Riup and the tads.”
Delmarf removed his packs from Arto, putting them in a small cave near the steps that Wemael had not seen earlier, while Fribble jumped up to the oak tree and lowered a large sling. Wemael didn’t know how Arto was going to go up the steps, but then Delmarf led him to the sling and placed it under his belly. Arto might have resisted this, but he had done this many times before and while it was clear that Arto liked this about as much as a skiff ride, he endured it knowing that food was at the other end. Covering the cave with the vines that had hid it earlier, Delmarf led Wemael up the steps. When they got to the top, Delmarf helped Fribble crank the winch and raised Arto to them. Releasing Arto from the sling, Fribble slipped him a carrot, and then told him where a new patch of clover had grown since his last visit.
With Arto happily devouring clover, Fribble said, “brrraup, off we go to home and spider stew, brrraup.”
A new round of laughter accompanied them as they crossed the bridge.