Twenty-Seven: The Korreds' Tower Assault

  “What on earth are those?” Freydis asked.

  “Boggarts,” Ko-Rethal said. “I can’t believe they’re here. The boors of the Stillwold. Selfish, shallow, hostile halfwits. Miserable bogtrotters. Did you know we actually use them as a verb? To boggart something is to foul it up. ‘The kobolds capsized their manure barge and boggarted the east branch of the Spelepike,’ that sort of thing.”

  “I can see they are not favorites of yours.”

  “They have long been our foes. They’ll dig up shadechokes when they find them and smash the roots, just to ruin them for us. I could go on. And they’re ugly brutes, aren’t they?”

  Suddenly the boggarts’ shouting got louder.

  We raised our heads back over the top of the stairs to watch the argument in front of the fireplace. One of the boggarts actually had his hands around another’s throat, now, while the others tried to either intervene or else assist in the choking. All of them were yelling, which echoed around the hall. The knot of them surged from side to side.

  “Do you reckon they live in here?” I whispered.

  “I would assume so,” Ko-Rethal said. “They don’t build shelters themselves if they can avoid it. They find somewhere already built to roost.” He shook his head.

  “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s plan this.” We dropped down again, out of the boggarts’ view.

  Ko-Rethal now made a fist.

  “We’ll get everyone up here, and rush them. We’ll just spear them all.”

  “What??”

  “And you can help!” he said. “We brought those knives of yours! See? We’re looking out for you!” As he said this, he reached out and patted my arm. “We’ll bring all the others up here! And you, young lady,” he said to Caiside. “We didn’t see that you had one of those fine Elven knives in your pack, but you can join us and – perhaps strike them down with a crutch.”

  “This is where a ball flail would be handy,” Caiside said.

  “Caiside, come on,” Freydis said. “We’re not beating those little things.”

  I said:

  “Ko-Rethal, I can’t support that plan of yours.”

  “We’ll overwhelm them!”

  “There could be dozens more, up in that tower,” I said.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “That would be all of them. They can’t resist joining a fight. Any others would have gathered around, by now. Like gutbirds to a drowned muskrat.”

  “Like what? But look, we’re not fighting. As much as we’d like to help you chase away that apparition. We didn’t come here to get into battles with these things.”

  “If you won’t help us,” he declared, “we’ll take your map! We’ve hidden it, and you’ll never get it back! And we’ll go try to fetch whatever it leads to, ourselves!”

  “Go ahead,” Freydis said. “It’s not that important. We’re not joining a bloodbath for some feud of yours.”

  Ko-Rethal looked taken aback.

  “You’ll give up so easily on – whatever you were doing with that treasure map?”

  “We’re not fighting,” I told him.

  His face fell. It was clear that it really hit him, then, that our map – in which he had been putting so much faith as a bargaining chip – was suddenly valueless.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said. “Why did we bother?” He was silent, and chewed his bottom lip for a moment. The other korreds gathered around us on the stairs waited, all with their eyes fixed on him.

  “Well, all right, then,” he said. “We can still take these cretins. You know what we’ll do? We’ll sing them out.”

  “Sing? Them out?”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “That’s right. They despise our music. It seems to disturb them deeply. We’ll flush them out of here like a river flood. Will you help? I don’t suppose singing is too confrontational for you?” He asked this with obvious sarcasm.

  “We’ll help sing, sure.”

  “Very well then. We’ll still need all hands. Aethelflaed,” he said to his daughter, “run down and bring everyone up. Make sure the boats are all pulled in.

  “Now then,” he resumed. “What song to use. How about – do the three of you know Take Me Back to the Stankpool?”

  “I – do not,” I said. “I think I speak for the others as well?”

  Caiside and Freydis shook their heads.

  “Very well,” Ko-Rethal said. “How about Mud Nap?”

  “No . . . not that one either.”

  “You might know it by a different name – Swamp Maid Minuet.”

  I couldn’t even respond to that.

  “Bump - bump bump bump - do raa, raa, bump raa,” he sang the tune for me. “ ‘And spin her in the shallows.’ You don’t recognize that?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “You’re a musician, aren’t you?” Ko-Rethal demanded. “Weddings, and such? I thought you said you were – ?”

  “I am. But I’m not recognizing those songs from what we play. I mean, what we’re asked to play.” I tried to choose my words carefully so as not to insult him with any implications of the different tastes of the people of Enkel Kanindal.

  “Hmm. Very well, then. How about Midnight Star? I mean, seriously now, if you haven’t played that one – ”

  “I have,” I said. “An old favorite.”

  “Good, good. Our words are a bit different. Completely different, actually. The music is not really the same, either. Join us on the choruses. Are we ready?”

  By now all the remaining korreds had joined our group, and they crowded the stairs. They arrghed in assent.

  “Up we go, then. Line it up.”

  They rushed up the stairs, the ones below us darting past us, evidently very eager to get there and sing; even the former boat-watchers who had been skittish about coming above at all. Once out in the hall, they spread into two wide lines. We were all facing the boggarts, and pretty hard to miss, but the fight by the fireplace continued while the korreds lined up. They had all brought their spears, and now they struck the butt-ends of their spears on the floor, in rhythm. Caiside listened for a moment and then joined in with one of her crutches.

  They started singing – an impressive roar, again given their sizes:

  You’re in Ovart Turn, you’re gonna clear it out!

  Korreds are back, that’s what this song’s about!

  –and here they paused and all banged their spears on the floor again.

  Boggart altercations, we’ve got no use for them!

  All the cultured nations, thumb-down your lame mayhem!

  Korreds hate you less than kobolds, dwarves or elves,

  and we truly hate you – we loathe your savage selves.

  Oafish swinish loudmouths, a stain on the Stillwold,

  it’s time to take yourselves a stroll,

  and get your carcasses moving!

  and get your carcasses moving!

  -And now the two lines of korreds moved up closer to the boggarts, in unison. The boggarts, for their part, had stopped their arguing; they still had their hands gripped around each others’ wrists, and necks, but they stared wide-eyed at the korreds. And at Caiside; she had joined their rear line.

  The irony is, we’re forced to look up to you!

  For everyone else, you’re stuck in their gutter view!

  Spectral apparitions -- we guess you scared them out!

  Ghosts in those conditions, still cannot take you louts!

  Korreds hate you less than firbolgs, men or elves,

  and we truly hate you – we loathe your savage selves.

  Oafish, loutish, swinish, a stain on the Stillwold,

  it’s time to take yourselves a stroll,

  and get your carcasses moving!

  and get your carcasses moving!

  With this, the korreds advanced again, and they kept moving as they repeated the song. Their voices and spear-smacks filled the hall.

  The boggarts appeared very concerned, or even fearful, now, and they backed up. I noticed that they looked in some consternation at Caiside, as well as their korred adversaries; she presented quite a picture, advancing toward them with her waving crutch, flowing skirt, and, honestly, her somewhat crazed eyes. She was enjoying herself, clearly. Freydis and I hung back; we joined in the chorus, a bit, but we couldn’t match the korreds’ enthusiasm.

  And now the boggarts all broke and ran to their right, to the side of the hall. The korreds charged after them. Freydis and I followed, and saw that there was a doorway there. The boggarts had flung it open and rushed away, down the steps and into the forest.