A New Story Most Thursdays

In This Edition of Thursday Stories: Spoofing the Sword-and-Sandals!

Happy New Year, Friends and Neighbors, and welcome to Thursday Stories. Looking back over my herd of short stories, I realize that more than three dozen of the little rascals have appeared only in print. Some of you may have forked over the dough for this or that literary review, but I don’t expect everyone to buy all of the reviews all of the time. And so, drumroll please, I give you Thursday Stories. I’m not guaranteeing a new story every Thursday, but I will do my best until all the print-only tales have been set free.

You can find all of my stories and more at the Marco Etheridge Fiction Website:

Marco Etheridge Fiction

This week’s edition of Thursday Stories features The Contract, a send-up of sword-and-sandals fantasy. Action and hopefully a laugh or two. This story first appeared in the Dark Horses magazine, published in 2024. Now, without further ado, I give you another edition of Thursday Stories. I hope you enjoy it.

The Contract

by Marco Etheridge

Cloaked figures moved through the sacred forest, one leading and six following, two by two. Three pairs and one, a lucky number, or so they believed.

Somewhat behind the procession, three decidedly uncloaked and heavily laden men stalked through the darkness. A cloud of profanity hung about them, and the clank of heavy weapons. The three had their own notions about luck, which they kept to themselves.

They called themselves Spud, Pico, and Brawn. Whatever names they may have been given at birth, along with the names of their mothers, fathers if any, or land of their origins, had long since faded to uselessness.

Spud was the leader of the rough trio, fearless, good with a contract, and quick with a joke. But his primary talent lay in surviving. No one led for long unless they remained alive, a difficult task in their chosen profession.

Pico served as the technician, the clever one. He knew weapons, tactics, and possessed an unrivaled skill of sensing the who and what of a dangerous situation. The why did not concern him. That was Spud’s job.

Brawn needed no explanation. He stood a full head taller than the others, who were not small men. Brawn did the heavy lifting, throwing, and bashing.

Spud, Pico, and Brawn followed their weirdling employers through the eerie woods. They were not afraid. Sacred forests were all more or less the same. You got used to it. It was just another job. Afterward, there would be grog, and maybe some willing village wenches. If they survived.

The path twisted under hanging creepers and past gnarled trees. Limbs hung down like groping, dead fingers. The twisted trunks closed in until the trees formed a solid wall of intertwined branches. A narrow archway led into blackness. The leader paused.

The villagers called him Braqlei, both a name and a title. A priest, human under cloak and cowl, as were the six acolytes who followed him. Braqlei questioned the humanity of the hirelings, not that it mattered. Human or not, they were useful tools. For now.

The priest turned to face the others, his features invisible beneath the cowl.

“This is the point of no return. Let any who are afraid turn back now. There will be no other chance.”

The acolytes remained silent. At the back of the group, Pico muttered under his breath.

“Oh, fear and woe! Always the same, tired speech. Where do these rubes get this shit? Is there a manual somewhere?”

Spud jabbed an elbow into Pico’s ribs. Hard. Pico did not flinch.

“Leave it. These clowns don’t do this every day. Or night. Let them have their fun. Who cares as long as they pay up at the end of the job?”

“Sure, Spud, whatever. But I bet you five sovereigns the priest’s next words are…”

Braqlei raised his voice.

“Let all who are resolved follow me.”

“Dammit, the goofy bastard beat me to it.”

“Wouldn’t have taken the bet anyway. C’mon, Pico. Maybe we can be done with this before sunrise.”

The last of the acolytes ducked inside the gloomy arch and disappeared. Spud pushed his way into the tunnel. Pico and Brawn followed. Twigs and thorns crackled and snagged.

Spud emerged from the passage and stepped into a cramped glade. Moonlight glimmered and faded behind passing clouds. Weak silver light fell over a clearing not twenty paces wide. The moon was not the only source of light.

Dense forest ringed the glade on three sides. At the far end rose a sheer rock face ten fathoms high. A cave pierced the cliff wall. Barring the mouth of the cave, a rippling nebula pulsed purple and yellow. The eerie barrier shimmered and danced, casting a glow where no glow should be.

Braqlei stood to one side. His acolytes clustered around him like baby chicks. The priest turned to Spud, raised a bony hand, and pointed at the fell light.

“Behold, the evil. This is our sacred cave, the soul of our people. Now it is occupied by a malign presence. We can no longer perform our rituals, and the people suffer.”

Spud glazed at the light show and nodded.

“Got it, Broccoli. Douse the bad light, open the cave.”

The priest dropped his hand and glared.

“It’s Braq-Lei.”

“Sure it is. Sorry. Right, then. You guys stand clear.”

“I do not think you understand, Mister Spud. To enter the cave is to invite certain death.”

“Which is why you hired us, yes? Certain death is our specialty. Death is a certainty no matter how you slice it. That’s a fact. The trick lies in the timing. Delaying the inevitable is an art form. Now, if you would be so kind, please stand back and let us do the job you hired us for. Boyos, a conference please.”

The three stepped away from the priest and his minions. Out of earshot, they hunched into a tight huddle, arms around each other’s shoulders. Spud spoke in a harsh whisper.

“Which is it, Pico? Tentacles, spikes, or spooks?”

Pico lifted his head out of the huddle, peered at the undulating light show, then ducked back down.

“Most definitely spooks, or someone wanting us to think spooks.”

Spud nodded, nose-to-nose with his crew.

“Brawn, you ever seen an honest-to-dog spook?”

“No, Boss.”

“All these years we’ve been chasing monsters and demons, and you’ve never seen a spook, not one. Why is that do you suppose?”

Brawn’s face cracked into an enormous grin.

“Cause there ain’t none, Spud. Just people pretending.”

“The big man gets it in one. What’s the play, Pico?”

“Grab this priest fella by his nadgers and give a sharp twist.”

“I could do that, Boss.”

“Naw, Brawn, Pico don’t mean literally. He’s got a sneakier plan. Spill it, Lad.”

Moonlight glimmered and faded behind passing clouds. Pico whispered. Spud and Brawn nodded. Just beyond hearing, Braqlei paced and fretted. Then the huddle broke apart.

Spud turned to the acolytes. His voice filled the glade.

“I believe we’ll get this party started. Braqlei, things might get a tad exciting, so I’m asking you and your people to stand clear.”

Seven silhouettes milled about in the gloom. One of them disappeared into the deeper blackness beneath the trees. Spud appeared not to notice. He turned to his crew but spoke to the entire glade.

“Brawn, we’re going to need something that goes bang. A big bang. I’m guessing a number three should be about right.”

The giant rummaged in his bulging rucksack and produced a thick metal tube. He stood to full height, clutching the bomb in one meaty paw. In his other hand, he held a small device. He clicked the thing, and sparks flew into the gloom.

“Say the word, Boss.”

A heartbeat of silence, then another. Spud raised his hand. Braqlei took a step forward.

“Wait!”

“Something you wish to say, Broccoli?”

“Is that an explosive device?”

A look of surprise spread over Spud’s face. He turned to look at Brawn, then back to face the priest.

“Yes, of course. That’s a number three, just the thing for blasting a malign presence straight back to hell.”

The priest spluttered in anger.

“But… but… you cannot destroy the sacred cave!”

Spud’s expression of surprise morphed into one of quizzical innocence. He spread his arms wide, palms up as if in supplication.

“But surely the cave is solid rock? One quick boom and the evil whatever gets its ass blown to hell. You get your cave back, we get our money, and Robert’s your mother’s brother. Or is there some complication?”

Braqlei held up his hand. In the silence that followed, a careful listener might have heard mental gears whirring and clicking.

“The cave houses a priceless relic, the thighbone of Saint Nevadun. No harm must come to it. It is holy beyond reckoning.”

Spud dropped his arms and shook his head.

“Ah, I see. An honest omission, I’m sure. That said, there is the matter of our mutual contract.”

Braqlei waved a hand through the gloom as if swatting away a midnight insect.

“Yes, yes, your precious contract. What of it?”

“There is a rider in the contract that addresses relics, icons, and magical objects. A twenty-five percent rider, to be exact, said sum to be added to the total payoff. I believe you initialed the clause when you signed the deal.”

A weary sigh filled the pause.

“Of course, and we will honor our agreement. Now, perhaps you and your men will alter your present course of action?”

Spud clapped his hands together and beamed.

“Right you are, Governor. Brawn, belay that number three. A poof-bomb should do nicely. You’ll like this, Broccoli. A bright flash, a cloud of pretty streamers, and no harm done to anything except our evil spirits. Makes them wee their britches. Stand back, folks.”

He turned to his waiting crew.

“Alright, Boyos, let’s get cracking.”

*  *  *

“Five-second fuse, Brawn. Try for just inside the entrance like you’re bowling the jack.”

Brawn squeezed the handles of the ignitor. Flint scraped and sparks flew. The fuse caught, sputtered, then flared to life. He squared off to the cave mouth, crouched, and let go a lovely underhand toss with backspin. Fuse blazing white, the poof-bomb arced through the barrier of pulsing light and vanished.

“Everyone down!”

Two winks of silence, their faces pressed to the ground. WHUMP—the night flared silver, searing the eyes of any foolish enough to stare. Foil streamers flew from the cave mouth, dancing and swirling amongst the purple and yellow light.

The blinded acolytes staggered about like drunkards. Spud and the crew remained flat on the ground. They heard a portentous click, then a sliver of silence sliced very, very thin.

From the depths of the cave, a bowstring twanged louder than any weapon wielded by mortal hands. A quarrel the length of a spear rocketed from the cave mouth. The projectile screamed above the prone trio. The whistling scream ended with a wet, meaty smack and a dull, wooden thud. A single groan, a rasping death rattle, then silence.

Spud raised his head, peered at the cave mouth, then craned his neck to trace the path of the bolt. Something dangled from one of the gnarled tree trunks. It looked like a sack of meat.

“Pico, Brawn, you still breathing?”

Someone spit.

“Breathing moss, but yeah.”

“Okay, Brawn?”

“Here, Boss.”

“What do you reckon, Pico?”

“Booby trap. Probably a one-shot. I don’t hear anyone winding a windlass.”

Angry shouts cut short their ground-level conversation.

“You fools! You’ve killed Jakbar!”

Braqlei stood far out of harm’s way, pointing and shouting. Spud pushed himself to his feet. After a short pause and a glance at the cave to see if any other projectiles were forthcoming, Pico and Brawn rose as well.

Pico glanced at the angry priest, then turned to Spud.

“What in hell is a Jakbar?”

“The missing cowl or I’m a monkey. I saw one of the minions slip away just before all the excitement. Let’s sort this out.”

Spud led the way across the clearing. Braqlei and the remaining cowls had gathered in a tight cluster. None showed any interest in approaching poor dead Jakbar. The priest glared from under his cowl.

“Look what you’ve done!”

“Sorry, I’m not sure I understand. I told everyone to stand clear. Stand clear does not mean lurking about in the line of fire. That’s our job.”

“But Jakbar is dead.”

Spud peered through the gloom. Jakbar’s corpse dangled above the shadowed ground. The deadly bolt had skewered the monk and nailed him to a tree in the same instant. Spud shrugged and turned back to the priest.

“That does appear to be the case, but the fool killed himself.”

“Very well. We shall deal with this later. What do you intend to do now?”

“My associates and I intend to do exactly what we agreed to. We will remove the evil… presence from your cave. You will recall that I stated we prefer to work alone. This is a dangerous business. What’s left of Jakbar is a case in point.”

The priest raised an accusing finger, but Spud waved him off.

“Furthermore, the contract states that the Trio remains in charge once operations commence. Operations have commenced. Thus, with all due respect, I’m asking you to step back and let us do our job.”

*  *  * 

Pico tapped the thick wooden shaft and whistled low.

“That’s the biggest crossbow bolt I’ve ever seen. Must have been fired from a siege weapon. The damn thing nearly cut this boy in two.”

Spud examined the slumped corpse. The upper and lower halves did appear to be in danger of separating. Jakbar’s mortal remains were pinned to a tree trunk. His dangling feet did not touch the ground. Looking over his shoulder to the mouth of the cave, Spud reconstructed the trajectory of the quarrel. He did not like the mental image. 

“Got a job for you, Brawn. You wearing your vest?”

“Always, Boss.”

“Good. Stand between us and the mouth of that cave.”

“Okay, Boss.”

Something glimmered in the big man’s fist.

“What have you got there?”

“Found it on the ground where the dead guy was standing.”

“Gimme.”

Brawn held out a long dagger. The blade glimmered silver, revealing a sinister curve and a wicked tanto tip. Pico whistled.

“Look at that pig sticker, will you? And a monk, no less.” 

Spud shook his head at this flagrant breach of common decency.

“Pico, I smell a rat… or something.”

Pico pointed at Brawn.

“Sorry, Spud, it’s them vegetables they’s feeding us. My guts ain’t used to ‘em.”

“Whew! Good on you, lad. My eyes are watering and we’re outside.”

Spud fanned the tainted air, then pointed at Jakbar’s awkward corpse.

“But I’m talking about this dead rat. A monk sporting an assassin’s blade skewered to a tree. That’s not something you see every day.”

“Right, who just happened to be lurking about behind our backs. Theory one is as simple as Brawn. Jakbar was meant to deliver the coup de grâce.”

“You got a theory two, Pico?”

“I think maybe yes. A giant crossbow kills one or two of us. Jakbar finishes the job. But what if Jakbar aspired to higher office? Maybe had his eye on the priesthood but didn’t want to wait for natural causes to open a vacancy.”

“Dangerous, that sort of aspiration.”

“Right, someone might fail to mention a giant crossbow.”

Spud and Pico looked to the knot of cowls on the far side of the glade.

“Hey, Boss?”

“Yeah, Brawn.”

“I don’t like these guys.”

“Me neither, Big Guy. Okay, Pico, what’s our next move?”

“I guess we best have a look inside that cave.”

*  *  * 

Spud stationed Brawn between the mouth of the cave and the huddle of angry monks. Safe behind Brawn’s back, Pico knelt in front of a pile of gear.

“Listen up, Brawn. Pico and I are going to peek into this cave. You keep a sharp eye on these guys, right? If they move funny or do anything you don’t like, flatten them.”

Brawn looked down at Spud.

“You mean flatten them so they maybe walk in a few days?”

“No, the other way. Very flat.”

Brawn grinned like a happy kid.

“You got it, Boss.”

Spud slapped Brawn on the shoulder, slipped behind the oaf, and squatted beside Pico.

“How’s it going?”

“The mirror’s set. I just need to attach the extensions.”

He hefted a section of rod. A slanted mirror glimmered at the end of the thing. With practiced movements, Pico fitted another section into the hollow end of the first.

“Hold this end, will ya?”

Spud held the mirror end steady while Pico added more sections. The assembled tube stretched longer than the height of two very tall men. Pico fitted an eyepiece into the last section.

“Ready when you are.”

They held the scope between them like a lance, Spud in front and Pico behind. Spud edged along the cliff face toward the mouth of the cave, his face illuminated by the purple and yellow glow. He stopped six feet from the cave, knelt, and placed the tube on his shoulder.

Using Spud as a human tripod, Pico crept forward. The tube slid over Spud’s shoulder until the mirrored end hovered near the edge of the cave mouth. Then Pico crouched low and lifted the end of the scope to his right eye.

“Right. Hold steady. Let’s see what’s behind the pretty lights.”

Pico crabbed away from the cliff. The scope pivoted on Spud’s shoulder, causing the mirrored end to disappear into the eerie glow. Pico dropped to one knee, steadied himself, and began rotating the tube.

“Up and down and all around. Aha, what do I spy with my little eye?”

“I give up, Pico.”

“Thermo-optic crystals. They react to each other if you know what you’re doing. Magic to the uninitiated. Some clever sod embedded a ring of them just inside the mouth of this here cave.”

“Sounds like our evil presence is man-made.”

“Ain’t it always?”

“Right. What else?”

Pico stared into the eyepiece, twisted the scope this way and that, then lifted his eyes to Spud.

“Not much. Those damned lights are playing hell with the scope. Something is sitting just inside, but I can’t make it out.”

Spud nodded and lifted the scope from his shoulder. They rose as one, holding the long tube between them. Pico disassembled the sections as Spud steadied the end. With the scope rolled and stowed, Spud and Pico checked their weapons.

“How much space inside that cave?”

“Too small for swords.”

“Knives it is, then. Hey Brawn, Pico and I are going in. You’re in charge out here.”

“You got it, Boss.”

Spud led the way to the mouth of the cave, keeping his back to the cliff face. He stopped at the edge of the glowing barrier, a long knife clutched in his right hand. Pico lurked just behind. Spud grinned at Pico, nodded, and raised his knife. Then he spun through shimmering light and disappeared into the near side of the cave.

For the span of three heartbeats, Pico waited for the clash of steel on steel, but the night remained silent. Then he lunged to the far side of the entrance with his blade leading the way. Back pressed tight to the inside wall of the cave, Pico looked for something or someone to fight. Instead, there stood Spud, open-mouthed and pointing.

“That is a huge bloody crossbow.”

The hulking weapon took up most of the available floor space. Pico walked around the thing until he stood beside Spud.

“Gotta disagree, Spud. That’s not a crossbow, it’s a siege weapon. It’d take at least two men to load that bastard.”

“Or one priest and one monk.”

“Are we talking Broccoli and his dead sidekick?”

Spud nodded, still staring at the massive bow.

“What set it off?”

Pico pointed to the floor.

“Pressure plate, just there.”

Spud nodded, then glanced back at the cave mouth and spotted a half circle of faceted crystals attached to a circular frame.

“Those must be your thermo-optic gizmos, right?”

Pico nodded.

“Cheap trickery. But look there.”

Spud’s eyes followed Pico’s finger. The inside of the cavern was no larger than a peasant’s cottage. At the rear wall stood a rough stone altar. Atop the altar lay a long glass reliquary edged in silver. It was empty.

“Ah, the resting place of the missing thighbone.”

Pico walked to the altar, opened the reliquary, and stared down into the empty case. A moment of silence, then Pico snapped his fingers and turned to Spud.

“Now I get it. It’s the snare of faith, that’s what it is.”

“You lost me there.”

“Snare of faith. The trap of belief. Say a fella’s a good talker, the kind that can hoodwink fools into believing. I’m talking deep down belief. True believers will do some damn silly things.”

“And how does this apply to our current situation?”

“Hold your horses, I’m getting there. I had this job once, long time before I met you. A soldier-for-hire type thing. We was up against these wild tribesmen. Good fighters, fearless lot, but they had a bad shaman. The shaman convinced them that he had a magic ointment, a stinking black goo that would turn arrows aside.”

Spud shook his head in disgust.

“Not the magic armor gag?”

“The very same.”

“The poor bastards believed, right? They painted themselves head to toe with this stinking goop. Then they came charging down out of the hills, straight at us, wailing like banshees. Looked like a bunch of daemons leaping outta hell.”

“What happened?”

“Black goo, right?”

“So you said.”

“It showed up the blood real nice. Sort of artistic you might say.”

Spud waved at the empty glass case.

“And now to your clever point, if you please, Mister Pico.”

Pico smiled and held up a finger.

“Let’s suppose this thighbone is the most sacred object these poor peasants can imagine. Now it’s gone missing. Doom is upon us! The rains will cease, the harvest will fail, or whatever. But what if some clever priest manages to recover the holy bone? Now he’s the hero. And better yet, what if he saves the precious relic after the dumb mercenaries have tried, failed, and, how sad, died in the attempt? That, old pal o’ mine, is a priest with newfound power.”

Spud sheathed his knife and shook his head.

“Tell me something, Pico. How hard are we to kill on any normal day?”

“Pretty bloody difficult, Boss.”

“And when we’re sure someone is trying to kill us?”

“Steep climb there, mate.”

“Right. Time for some bloody payback.”

“Wait just a tick, Spud. I’m having a thought.”

Pico stepped back to the altar and ran his fingers over the reliquary. He rolled his head back and closed his eyes while his fingers probed. His hands crept behind the case. Fingertips traced a hidden seam. Pico went very still. Then a sharp click broke the silence.

“What have we here?”

The reliquary pivoted free of the altar. Pico lifted it clear and set it to one side. A long gray bone nestled in a hollow carved into the altar. The bone was decorated with silver filigree. Pico reached for the holy femur, but Spud grabbed his wrist.

“Let me ask you a question, my clever friend. How good an actor are you?”

“I’ve never trod the boards, if that’s what you mean, but I’d give it a fair go if needs be. What did you have in mind?”

Spud glanced toward the mouth of the cave and its barrier of strange light. He strained his ears, waited, then leaned close to Pico and began to whisper. After a bit, Pico’s face broke into a broad grin.

*  *  * 

Braqlei the priest approached Brawn with caution. The five remaining acolytes shuffled along in his wake. The motley procession came to a halt when Brawn raised a huge hand.

“Spud said I was to flatten you if you move funny. I think you’re moving funny right now.”

The priest held out his hands in supplication. A smile or perhaps a grimace strained his pale face.

“We mean no harm, sir. We only wish to help, of course. Your friends have been inside for a long time. Perhaps we should all go to their aid?”

Brawn shook his head and squared his shoulders.

“No. What we do is what Spud said. You go back over where you was.”

Before the priest could protest, a scream erupted from the cave.

“Aieeee! Run for your lives!”

All eyes turned to see Pico stagger through the barrier of light, bearing a heavy burden. Spud slumped from Pico’s shoulder. His feet scrabbled for a footing and failed. Pico half-carried and half-dragged his fallen comrade further away from the cave, heading for the exit from the black grove.

“Brawn, grab the gear and follow me. Spud’s hurt. There’s something horrible in that bloody cave. Time to go, right now!”

Brawn scooped up the three rucksacks and ran toward his stricken comrades. Behind him, the cowled priest and acolytes milled about in confusion. Brawn caught up with Pico and Spud as Pico ducked into the path between the black trees. Brawn lumbered after them, twigs and thorns snapping in his wake.

When he poked his head out of the wall of trees, Brawn was gobsmacked to see Spud standing upright and laughing.

“I thought you was dead, Boss!”

Spud laughed and slapped Brawn’s meaty shoulder.

“Not quite yet. No time to explain. It’s a trick, right?”

“Whatever you say, Spud. I’m glad you ain’t dead.”

“Me, too. We’re going to have company. First head that pops outta that hole, I want you to knock it back to Sunday.”

Brawn’s face split into a massive grin. He swung around and faced the forest wall while Pico and Spud strapped on their rucksacks.

Before they’d cinched the last strap, they heard footsteps and snapping branches. A cowled head emerged from the tunnel. Brawn swung a fist the size of a ham. The monk vanished back into the blackness of the forest. Much thumping, falling, and unpriestly swearing followed.

“Well done, Brawn. Let’s be getting on, and quick. I need to renegotiate a contract.”

“Brawn just knocked our employers down like nine pins. No way we’re gonna get paid now.”

“Oh, let’s not be hasty, Pico. I’ve got an offer for the local headman. A counter-bid sort of thing. C’mon, Lads.”

The three men disappeared into the night. Quite some time passed before any cowled head appeared willing to risk another bashing. By the time the Braqlei and his minions emerged, their hired hands were long gone.

*  *  * 

For the villagers, the dawning day promised feasting and celebration. They had much to celebrate. The holy thighbone had been recovered, half the village treasury saved, and justice dispensed.

While the locals prepared the feast, Spud, Pico, and Brawn lounged in the morning sunshine. The trio sprawled upon rugs laid on the bare earth. A log served as their backrest. Not far away, boys stacked wood for the coming bonfire.

Pico tipped a tankard. The last drops of mead flowed down his throat. A lovely young woman drew near holding a pewter ewer. She bent forward and reached for the empty tankard. Pico smiled at her, and she blushed crimson.

“Thank you, love, don’t mind if I do. And another round for my friends if you’d be so kind.”

The lass filled their tankards without a word, then vanished like a frightened deer. Spud raised his drink to the sunlight and his comrades in arms.

“Here’s to a fine night’s work, Boyos, and to getting paid.”

Pico and Brawn echoed the toast.

“To getting paid!”

Brawn drank off half his mead in one go. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and turned to Spud.

“How come, Boss?”

“How come what?”

“How come we got paid? I ain’t complaining, see, just wondering.”

Spud never minded explaining his cleverness, especially after a few goes at the barrel. He took a long drink and smiled.

“Well, it’s like this, Brawn.”

Pico groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Something on your mind, Pico?”

“Oh no, Spud. Carry on, I insist. Not that anything would stop you.”

He quaffed from his mug, spilling a good bit down the front of his tunic.

“It does my heart good to see you well into your cups. I’ll do my best to catch up. Now, it’s like this, Brawn. We wrote up a new contract with the village headman, a good one in which everyone comes out ahead. Well, almost everyone.”

“Okay, Boss, but wait. We found their holy bone, and that made them happy. I get that. But where’d the money come from? I thought these village folks was broke?”

“Ah, there’s the nub of the thing. They were broke all right, because Braqlei and his cronies conned them out of every sovereign. Said they needed all the money to hire men to fight the evil in the cave and recover their precious relic.”

“And that’s us, right?”

“Right you are, my huge friend. But the priest kept half the loot and hired us with the other half. Bad business cheating the locals like that. When I returned old Nevadun’s thighbone to the chief, I mentioned our contract with Braqlei. Told him the quoted price. He might be a peasant, but the old man isn’t dumb.”

Pico laughed out loud.

“Smarter than that idiot priest anyway. Can’t believe that stupid git came back to the village.”

“True enough. He should have kept running like his minions, but greed is a powerful draw. Tried to talk his way around the headman, but it was too late for Braqlei.”

Brawn slapped his thigh and shook a finger at his companions.

“I got it now. That explains the bit when I heard someone screaming. They was awful loud screams.”

“Yes, Brawn, I’m afraid the locals were none too gentle with their former priest. A few questions and some pointy implements got the truth out of old Braqlei. They found the loot buried under his cot. Not a good hiding place.”

“So, they gives us half, keeps their half, and Bob’s yer uncle.”

“That, Big Man, is the whole shebang in a nutshell.”

Pico thrust his tankard skyward, sloshing a good bit in the process.

“A toast! To stupid priests and clever villagers!”

“Hear, hear!”

The men ranked and leaned back. Spud waved his hand toward the far side of the earthen circle.

“At least Braqlei will be here for the celebration.”

Beyond the fire pit, a wooden pole rose into the morning light. Trickles of darkening blood stained the peeled wood. A severed head adorned the tip of the stake. Braqlei had earned himself the place of honor.

Fini

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That’s it for this week’s edition of Thursday Stories. More stories are coming your way. How will you know when a new story breaks? Glad you asked, Friends. Read On! Drumroll and… Meanwhile, don’t miss any upcoming stories. You can stay tuned for all the latest by following the MEF blog:

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