Chapter Text
“This could be going better,” Ed yells.
“What?” Holga bellows back. She doesn’t bother turning towards him, just swings her ax around in a rapid arc that rebounds so suddenly she almost drops the weapon. “Shit.”
“I said,” Ed roars, over the high-pitched cry of the juvenile bulette that’s now chasing down Holga, “That this could be going better.”
“I can’t hear you,” Holga calls back. “This isn’t going very well.”
“Yeah,” Ed mutters to himself. “Good point.”
He takes a hasty step back as the ground in front of him shudders, but instead of another of the bulette brood erupting from the ground the pebbles rise upwards into the familiar shape of a hand--it’s been one of Simon’s favorite spells for the past month now, Ed’s trying not to comment--that sweeps off, gathering up Holga’s pursuer and trapping it against the ground. Holga, grim-faced, strides up with her ax and takes more careful aim.
It had been a mistake, stumbling into what’s apparently a nest of recently hatched bulettes. They’d been looking for the entrance to an abandoned fort, allegedly buried somewhere within these rolling hills. None of them had spotted the newly-disturbed dirt until the first creature had launched itself, pointy jaw first, out of the ground and nearly into Holga’s arms. It hadn’t, it turned out, been the last.
Ed’s never actually encountered one of these landsharks in person before, but there’s not much time to regret the new acquaintance now. At least four of the creatures have already popped out of the ground around them, and there’s no way to know how many more are lying in wait. There’s a roar behind him, deeper and louder than the bulette’s cries, and the last of the hatchlings goes flying past, crashing into a tree and sliding down to lie, motionless, at its base.
One of the most important skills a leader can develop is knowing when to get the hell out of here. Ed edges backwards. “Alright,” he says. “Back up the hill. Slowly.”
“Might be more of them,” Holga suggests.
“Yeah, exactly.” She glares, and he says, pointedly, “We aren’t getting paid for bulette hunting.”
Simon nods his agreement. Holga shrugs her reluctant surrender, and braces herself in the center of the small hollow. There’s probably no point in trying to persuade her not to cover their retreat, so Ed nods Simon up the slope--a hawk is already taking off from where the owlbear was standing a moment ago--and follows carefully after.
“Shit,” Holga says, somewhere behind him. Ed turns, lute held ready, just as the pointed head emerges from the dirt in front of her. Simon’s yelling something and Holga’s got this, of course she does, but Ed finds himself running as she hefts her ax, pelting down the loose gravel of the slope as fast as he can.
Which is why he’s already having difficulty keeping his feet under him when the ground beneath him starts, ominously, to give way.
He has just an instant for absolute panic before there’s a new, rhythmic sound behind him and a voice commands, “Take my hand.” Ed reaches out blindly and is immediately caught up in a strong grip. It’s only half-familiar, clearly not Doric or Simon, but he’s too busy scrambling up onto the horse’s back to pay much attention to the identity of its rider. It’s not until he’s safely astride that he feels armor under his hands, and has to sweep a familiar turquoise cloak out of his face, and realizes he’s just swung up behind Xenk Yendar.
It’s too late to let go, so Ed clings on grimly as Xenk swings his mount around, sword raised. The bulette that had just burst up under Ed--the one that put him in this absolutely fucking ridiculous position--seems, miraculously, to realize it’s outmatched. It snaps once, heavy jaws falling inches short of the horse’s legs. When that doesn’t work it retreats, hissing, back into the hole it just leapt out of.
They wheel, again, but Holga’s already dealt with her own bulette, and there’s not much for them to do. She waves them off, tiredly, and starts trudging towards them. The whole thing has taken less than thirty seconds.
Xenk, of fucking course, stays where he’s planted. Apparently Holga has competition for bringing up the rear, although judging by her face she’s not in any hurry to fight them for the honor. She’s stomping along evenly enough, no sign of injury, so Ed shelves his worry for her to re-examine later.
Xenk shifts, and Ed hurriedly loosens his tight grip. It’s not like he needs to cling on when they aren’t even moving. “Are you harmed?” Xenk asks, turning just far enough for Ed to see his unreasonably perfect profile silhouetted against the sky. He probably did that on purpose.
“Nope,” Ed says. And then, because knows what’s due, “Thanks to you.”
“Mere good fortune, that I was able to assist you,” Xenk says. The modesty in his voice is probably even real, damn him.
“Yeah, and just how did you come to be here to do that?”
Xenk shrugs. “I was riding through these hills and heard the sounds of battle. I did not know it to be you and your companions until my arrival.”
“Do you always ride towards fights?” Ed demands. “No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
Xenk grins at that, for some reason. “I have been known to do so,” he admits.
Ugh. “We’re lucky you did,” Ed admits. “Thanks.”
Holga’s finally clear of the slope. Xenk turns and guides his horse at a more sedate walk, up towards the spot on the side of the hill where the rest of them are waiting in a tight little cluster.
“You owe me no thanks,” Xenk says. “It is a good thing you have done for the people of these hills. A brood such as that one would have caused much danger to them, had they grown to maturity.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ed says. “Sure. Danger.” Even Ed’s limited experience with Xenk suggests that he’s getting ready to say something else equally awful. Maybe it’s time for a diversion. Ed seizes the initiative and calls out, “Hey, everybody alright?”
Miraculously, they seem to be. Doric’s owlbear was more than a match for the hatchlings, and Simon had sensibly stayed back from the worst of the fighting. Holga’s bleeding from a shallow scrape down one arm, but Ed knows better than to offer help. She’ll deal with it on her own, if she wants to.
Xenk eyes the wound but seems to come to the same conclusion. He dismounts from the horse in one fluid motion, offering the rest of the group a bow--of course--before turning back to Ed and raising both his hands in invitation.
It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. Ed’s a grown adult who’s been riding his entire life. Xenk already knows he’s uninjured, and it’s not like he’s some fragile maiden hampered by skirts. He’s fully capable of dismounting from a horse on his own, without help, even if it won’t be quite as graceful as Xenk’s elegant movement. There’s no reason for Xenk to offer his help, and even less cause to accept it.
Ed swings himself down into Xenk’s waiting arms. He’s in them only for a brief moment, as Xenk catches him and lowers him, gently, to the ground. Ed doesn’t quite dare look at anyone else. “Thanks,” he says, again.
Xenk gives him a bow too--this is getting ludicrous--and says, to the group at large, “It was a pleasure to watch you fight. You work together well.”
That’s a ridiculous thing to say, when he only arrived in time to see most of them retreating while Holga took down the last--second-to-last--of the brood on her own. It’s not like Ed can point that out, though. Not with the rest of them watching. Holga’s smirking and Simon’s beaming in the glow of the compliment. Even Doric looks pleased.
Which is probably why Xenk is watching Ed for his reaction, since he’s already gotten a full measure of approval out of the others. “Thanks,” Ed manages. “We do our best.”
“More than that, surely,” Xenk murmurs.
Ed’s a bard, dammit, and he’s had enough of not knowing what to say. Time to try another angle of attack. “Hey, we’re going to ride a little further from that nest and make camp for tonight,” he says. There’s no point in continuing their hunt in this dwindling light. “You want to join us?”
Xenk hesitates, for just a moment. “I thank you,” he says. “But I have some miles to ride yet, tonight.”
That’s good. That’s probably for the best. Xenk obviously has things to do, things that don’t involve them. This way, they’ll be left in peace for the evening. “Sure,” Ed says, and then, inanely, “See you around.”
Xenk’s already mounting back into the saddle, but he twists to look down at Ed with another of those grins. “I am sure that I shall,” he says, with a confidence that’s frankly obnoxious. Then he’s raising a hand in farewell, and riding away.
In the low rolling hills, it takes a long moment for him to disappear out of sight. His cloak is flowing majestically in the breeze--how does he do that--and the golden light of sunset sets off the gold of his armor against his dark skin. He looks, even Ed has to admit, like something out of one of Faerun’s classic ballads, the kind he’d had to memorize as a student and hasn’t quite managed to forget yet.
Ed turns back to find the rest of the party staring, not after the departing paladin, but at him. “What?” he asks.
Simon shakes his head. Doric’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t comment. It’s Holga who takes a step forward and claps Ed on the shoulder sympathetically, which is a terrible sign. “Swept you right off your feet, did he?” she asks, with a grin.
“There was a bulette,” Ed insists. “It came up right under me.”
“Oh, is that what happened?” Holga asks, innocently. “I was a little busy at the time.”
“Yes.” Ed glowers at her. “Ask Simon and Doric. They saw everything.”
“Sure,” Simon agrees. “Everything.”
Right. Maybe they should have tried to keep Xenk around for the night after all. Ed’s friends surely wouldn’t behave this badly in company. “Come on,” he says, on what’s left of his dignity. “Let’s go.”
“Go get rescued by a big strong paladin,” Holga murmurs. Simon snickers, and even Doric laughs. Ed flicks them all a rude gesture, and stalks away.