The Eggwife

Chapter 5

Brayden struggled toward consciousness once again.  The pugnacious part of his personality bridled in frustration at yet again having to recover from a collapse.  Doubt about his ability to serve the protector in the wilds was beginning to scratch at his pride.  Damn the sisters, he knew he was getting older but was not, by most definitions, old.  

The prideful part of Brayden’s personality preferred to think of him as seasoned.  His years of experience were an asset, not a countdown to uselessness.  There was a time when Brayden was more apt to solve problems with his fists rather than his mind, but twenty years as a Protector in the service of Chanti had changed that.

Twenty years had given him quite an arsenal of techniques to handle conflict, but he had also been confident that if those failed, he could still rely on his sword arm in a pinch.  The worrisome part of Brayden’s personality wondered if he could still trust that assurance.  Age overtook everyone eventually, he knew, but that did not make the realization any more palatable.

The stubborn part of Brayden’s personality suddenly asserted itself; kicking the pugnacious part in the balls, punching the worrisome part in the eye and calling the prideful part a strutting turd, and then sent them all back into the subconscious without dinner.

Brayden woke, filled with a strange determination.  He heaved himself into a sitting position, swearing as a wave of vertigo hit him.  A hand reached and grasped his arm, steadying him.  Bright morning light streamed in though the open door of the hut, hurting Brayden’s eyes.  He squinted in the glare, but managed to look up to see who was offering the steadying hand.  His eyes shot fully open when he saw that it was Sethyr.  He reached up and grasped the hand.

“By Chanti am I happy to see you.”

“And I, you,” Sethyr responded.

“How in the nine hells are you here?  They told me you were dead.”

“That is not important.  It suffices to say that they removed my gag and I took it from there,” Sethyr said, hissing a laugh.

“You talked them out of it?”  Brayden looked confused.

“Not quite.  I convinced them to throw me in their pond.  Were it not for my particular heritage I surely would have perished.”

“Sethyr, you could sell soap to a goblin.  They never stood a chance, did they?”

“No really, but it was a near thing.  Luckily Ernst here proved to be an accommodating fellow.”  Sethyr gestured toward the village headman who waited silently off to the side.  Ernst wore a look of concerned embarrassment.

“I suppose you are feeling better, with all the rest.”  Sethyr asked.

“Not funny, but I am actually feeling better.  I guess I am just getting older.”

“Nonsense, you told me you were barely two score years old.”

“In this game, that is old enough to begin feeling it.  Anyway, what would you know?  You are still young, Sethyr.”

“That is true enough, but my folk often enjoy lives of a century or more.”

Brayden coughed in disbelief.  “One hundred years?  You must be joking.”  He realized just how little he really knew about Sethyr and the cairnfolk.

“Given favorable conditions that is not uncommon.  Unfortunately the lives of the cairnfolk are very seldom ideal.  Our lives are often short and violent.”  Sethyr seemed to want to continue, but paused and then signed, remaining silent.

Brayden nodded.  “Well, it is a good thing that you have me to look after you…that is when I am awake.”  Both Sethyr and Brayden laughed out loud.  The human’s book laughter contrasted with the hissing of Sethyr’s laughter, but both shared the same spirit of familiar humor.