Before I head over to Old Firehouse Books for my guest author appearance, I thought it was high time I posted another short story. Thanks for sticking with me during the dearth of new material. By the way, I had 401 downloads of "A Song for Eventide"! To celebrate, here is a tale from Saerna.
Destin wore the shadows like a well fitted cloak, keeping the tidy cottage in his sights. He spent the last two weeks observing the home and the three weeks prior to that, gathering information about the inhabitant. While he had yet to witness the suspected denizen of the home, he had reason to believe that the humble abode was that of Culhwch the Stout, an aged Scrofa warrior long retired from fighting. Destin knew that the porcine Scrofa were renowned for their senses of smell and hearing, yet had abysmal eyesight. He also knew that Culhwch the Stout kept many trophies from his glory days, including an obscure artifact known as the Mud Stone of Carvoran.
Destin had no love for the Scrofa. He found it hard to respect any warrior who followed the orders of a female. The human thief did his research, he knew the Scrofa were matriarchal in their society, the males relegated to glorified security guards. Hell, the adult males didn’t even live in the community, they lurked around the edges, entering when beckoned by the bitch sows. Was that redundant? Destin smiled in silence at his private joke, bitch sows, he would have to pass that along to Maika and the rest of the Benton family when he finished this job. With the Mud Stone in his hand, he was sure to gain a place at the Benton’s table.
He refocused his mind to the task at hand. Culhwch was not someone with whom to trifle, despite being long in the tusk. When the Scrofa was in his prime, someone like Destin would not be so quick to mark the razorback a target. But Culhwch was old, it was said he kept to this cottage to throw off his enemies. Scrofa did not live in such homes, they preferred the cool damp of an adobe hut, close to water and dense tree cover. It was unlikely that any would think to look for him in this cottage, in this small backwater town far from the Scrofa held marshes of the South. But Destin was resourceful. He was the type of self motivator that deserved admittance to the Benton family. He did the necessary legwork and located the wily old pig.
Destin gently removed a pint sized glass flask from his cloak pocket. He unstoppered the cork and allowed his nose to adjust to the pungent stench that issued forth from the bottle. Boar’s musk. Not just any boar’s musk, but Culhwch’s musk. The thief silently congratulated himself on his ingenuity and resourcefulness in acquiring the foul smelling tonic. During his investigations, Destin learned that the old boar had a runner. Someone who cared for his every need, ensuring that the pig never had to leave the cottage. That runner happened to be a female human. Destin had many talents, one of which was a deft touch with the fairer sex. It was not hard for him to convince the young lass to bring him some of the boar’s soiled clothes. From there, it was a simple matter to create the strong smelling tonic.
The young man doused himself with the liquid, managing to stifle his gag reflex. When burgling the home of a Scrofa, the wise man knew that he must do much more than simply remain hidden from view. One must disguise his scent, first and foremost. Secondarily, one must be silent, but Destin knew he was as quiet as a shadow. Remaining hidden from view was ridiculously easy with the nearsighted Scrofa, at least for somebody with Destin's skills.
The cottage was on the outskirts of the modest village, so the thief did not have to worry about nosy neighbors or passers by. The night was cloudy, so the dual moons of Saerna would not trouble him. Assured that his stench matched that of his mark, Destin flew like an arrow from the shadowed wood to the rear door of the cottage. A tyro would attempt to pick the lesser used door and gain entry through the back of the home, but Destin knew the boar’s ears would detect even the slightest scrape of a pick in the lock. A right proper burglar would know that the Scrofa prefer good ventilation while they sleep. Sure enough, the window stood wide open. Destin eased through with nary a sound.
No doubt a boar lived in here, Destin thought as the stench of the razorback hit him in the face like a mule kick. He stayed still for a number of minutes, listening to the rumbling snores of the once great Scrofa warrior. The inside of the cottage was modified to suit the needs of a pig. Most of the walls were removed, leaving just three rooms. The window Destin entered opened into a slop area, where the boar took his meals. The next room was the sleeping area and beyond that was the shitter. The Mud Stone would be in the sleeping area, no doubt.
Once Destin acclimated to the stench and assured himself that Culhwch the Stout’s sleep remained undisturbed by his entry, the thief silently padded into the sleeping area. By the Three, the boar was a sight to behold, even asleep! Destin was acquainted with a number of Scrofa mercenaries, so he knew that the boars were large, often tipping the scales at 500 pounds. But Culhwch the Stout was a giant among giants. The boar’s massive girth was hardly contained within the sleeping quarters.
Destin was not one to tarry, and he spied his prize in the muck near the sleeping beast. The Mud Stone. He didn’t know why the Benton family wanted the rock, or why anyone would want it. It was just a plain stone the size of the human’s fist. The only thing remarkable about it was its smooth ovoid shape. Destin did not care, he just knew that the family wanted it, so he would oblige. He deftly lifted the stone from the floor and eased backward toward the window by which he entered. He was home free.
The thief’s face broke into a boyish grin in the dark as he turned to make his exit. He silently lit onto the sill of the window, raising his face to Luna, Saerna’s yellow moon, breathing deep of the fresh outside air. Shit! Luna’s face should not be bathing him in light! Sure enough, the clouds broke, and Destin realized he was back lit in the window, even a blind pig could see that. Good thing the old warrior was deep in slumber.
But the rumbling snores were no longer. Destin wasted no time in leaping from the window, diving forward into a roll. He felt his right pant leg snag and his dive roll turned into a face plant. The tamped earth impacting his face caused Destin’s vision to waver. A sudden and quick reversal of direction added to his disorientation. His face struck the ledge of the window as he was yanked back into the cottage.
“What have I caught myself?” Culhwch’s voice was as deep and rumbling as had been his snores. There was an edge of glee in it, if Destin was not mistaken. The boar warrior had moved in a manner that so belied his age, the thief wondered if he had the wrong Scrofa. No, this was definitely Culhwch the Stout breathing his fetid breath into Destin’s face. Son of a bitch!
Destin tried to keep any sense of terror from his voice. He noted that his pant leg was still firmly hooked by the boar’s hooked polearm, a weapon the Scrofa referred to as a “bill”. Beyond that, the beast was holding the thief off of the ground with one meaty hand clasped like a vice upon the back of his neck. At least he could breathe. Destin manfully set aside his unease at having been so thoroughly captured. Best to play this cool, perhaps talk his way out of this. Destin tried smiling a simpleton’s grin at the Scrofa.
“You got my rock, boy.” Culhwch breathed in his face, accompanied by the bouquet of rotten scraps. “What do you want with my rock, I wonder.”
Destin had an easy choice to make here, let the boar know of the Bentons’ interest in the stone, or keep his trap shut and take his lumps. Again, he was no novice, he did his homework when casing a job. Culhwch the Stout was was a slave to his honor. He would not kill Destin outright, not given the thief’s present disadvantage. He would take Destin to the town constable. That was not a good option, however, as this unassuming town had tough consequences for thievery. If the boar turned him over to the authorities, they would take his hands. As unappealing as that prospect seemed, it was far and away more preferable to what the Bentons would do to him if he even flirted with betrayal. Of course, Destin thought confidently, there were other ways out of this unfortunate scenario.
The town’s laws provided for another penalty, Destin knew. The old pig could choose to exact his own justice by demanding combat, but such an idea was ludicrous, given the fact this particular pig was well past his prime. Despite the alacrity the Scrofa just exhibited, Destin assured himself that he could take the old timer in one on one combat. The pig had surprised him from behind, in a situation where the thief could see the giant beast and his unwieldy weapon, the story would be much different. The thief had all manner of martial skills, was familiar with the fighting style of the Scrofa, and had the significant edge of youth. But such a wily old warrior would never be goaded into such combat. Maybe he could convince him to let him go with a mild beating? Destin would accept that in lieu of losing his hands.
“Mister Scrofa, you done surprised me. I’s a simple man, thieving only cause I’s hungry.” The thief expertly emulated the speech of a country bumpkin. “I dint spect a Scrofa’d be living in a house such as dis. Please suh, let me be on my way. I just took a potato.”
Destin finished his impressive ruse with a perplexed look at the stone in his hands, “Least, I thought it was a tater. I can’t even eat this stupid rock.”
The massive boar chuffed laughter. “Son, you’ve covered yourself in my stink. You knew damn well what lived in this house, and you know damn well the power that stone holds. My question to you is this, who put you up to taking my rock?”
Well, it was worth a try. The old pig was no fool, but there was still no way he was going to give up the Bentons. Perhaps he’d work out an escape plan before the town constable took his hands.
“Just take me to the constable,” was all that Destin had to say.
“He’ll have your hands, thief, you do know that don’t you?” The boar seemed intrigued.
“I realize that. I also suspect that you will not believe that I am acting on my own, and my chances of convincing you to rough me up a bit and let me go are slim.” Destin hoped this statement would have the reverse effect on the pig, and that Culhwch would like the idea of inflicting some home brewed justice.
“Less than slim, you little horse poker. The stone is sacrosanct. If you had elected to take anything else, I’d give you what you want. In fact, I’d be happy to kick your little human ass and send you to lick your wounds. Shit, you’d probably find you’d rather have your hands cut away!” The old pig boasted. “But you know what the stone is, or else you would not have come to take it. That leaves me no choice, you have to die.”
“You can’t kill me! People know I am here, you will be hanged for murder!” Destin’s calm facade cracked.
“I am not going to murder you, boy,” the Scrofa scoffed, “I am going to exact my justice upon you in the town square. It won’t be murder when I kill you there.”
Relief flooded through Destin. The fool was going to engage him in combat! How wonderful. He would kill the boar, be cleared of any wrongdoing, leave with his hands intact, and stop by the cottage afterward to collect the stone. It did not occur to Destin to wonder why the stone was so important to Culhwch.
Destin did not try to fight the old boar as he dragged the thief to the town square. The constable’s bell tolled their arrival, just as day was breaking, bringing the entire town to enjoy the entertainment. The aged Scrofa warrior effortlessly tossed Destin into the middle of the square.
“I am Culhwch the Stout!” The boar boomed to the crowd. “You know me! I am a Scrofa warrior. I have fought and bled in the Battle of Ten Hills, the Wolf War, and the Eskrit Conflict. I charge this man with Burglary. I caught him invading my home while I slept, and I demand I be allowed to exact my justice!”
The crowd cheered, Culhwch the Stout was a name of legend. They pitied the comparatively small thief who had dared incur the wrath of such as he. Destin felt a little offended that in a human settlement, not a single resident had concern for one of their own kind. No matter, let them crave his demise. Being underestimated was a strength in this situation.
“Do you have anything to say in your defense?” The constable yelled ceremoniously in a nasal voice. The man sat in a stone chair on the North end of the town square. He was flanked by the members of the town council, one of whom would be the mayor. In matters such as this, however, the constable was in charge.
“I admit that I entered the Scrofa’s home. But I was in search of food. I did not expect a Scofa to be living in a human dwelling, especially not one as renowned as Master Culhwch.” Destin was sure that such a humble approach would put him in a kinder light with the townsfolk once he dispatched the old hog.
“Your reason has no bearing, thief!” The constable thundered. “I grant Culhwch the Stout his demand. Defend yourself!”
Destin calmly removed his cloak, leaving him in tight fitted black leather breeches and a jerkin. Given his night’s ambitions, the only weapons he possessed were two small knives housed in sheaths at the small of his back. He removed one and faced the old behemoth. The Scrofa chuffed laughter at Destin’s expense for the second time this evening. He would pay.
The boar was armed with his bill, the great hooked spear held before him in a dual handed grasp. That weapon, and the boar’s greater size, were concerning, but Destin was good at getting inside defenses. He heard the townspeople laughing at his knives, which seemed wholly ineffective indeed, but Destin always had a trick up his sleeve. His knives were infused with Madoqua poison. The Madoqua were diminutive creatures, and relied on powerful toxins to defend themselves. It was impossible to get your hands on their goods if you were not, yourself, a Madoqua, but Destin was no ordinary thief. The poison on his blades was more than enough to fell the great beast before him.
Destin charged toward the Scrofa at a sprint. Culhwch thrust his wickedly hooked polearm toward the thief, but the agile human leaped over the thrust, twisting in mid air to avoid the Scrofa’s return hooking motion. He arched his back and fell into a back handspring, launching himself high above the old pig in a flip. As he passed over the Scrofa’s head, his hand darted with snakelike speed to stick the Scrofa in his upper back with the poison knife. Destin landed in a back roll, launching himself a safe distance from the beast.
He smiled at the back of the Scrofa smugly, waiting for Culhwch to drop dead. A Scrofa’s neck did not allow for much lateral movement, so Culhwch had to turn his entire body around to glare at the thief behind him. He ambled toward Destin.
“I assume that little sticker was poisoned,” the legendary Scrofa said as he approached the thief. Destin had to admire the pig’s endurance, a lesser boar would be dead already. The boar dropped to a knee in front of Destin, wheezing. He raised his small, nearsighted eyes to Destin’s own.
“Tell me, before I leave this realm of the living, who hired you?” The Scrofa was near his end.
Destin leaned forward and whispered into the legend’s bristly ear, “The Benton Family sends you their best.”
For the second time that day, Destin found himself surprised by the speed with which the old hog moved. This time, Culhwch wrapped his ham hand around Destin’s throat, cutting off his airway. The Scrofa rose to his feet and lifted the thief into the air. The hog slapped Destin’s knife from his hand and it clattered to the cobblestones below. The Scrofa warrior handily removed the other knife from the small of Destin’s back. The pig brought Destin close, subjecting him once again to his rancid breath.
“Youth is so reckless,” the Scrofa warrior observed, “I would think that you would know of a Scrofa’s subdermal armor.”
Destin’s eyes bulged in their sockets. Of course he knew of the armor. A male Scrofa amassed a heavy layer of natural armor under the skin of his back, covering his neck, spine, and kidneys. But that was only during the Scrofa mating season, in the Spring. It was almost Winter, the armor should be gone!
“I am old, and you took that as a weakness. You should know, before you die, while younger Scrofa lose their back armor after the Spring is over, us old pigs just keep adding it on. It makes it a little harder to move, but it has its benefits. Thanks for the info, kid. I’ll make sure the Bentons don’t get a chance to hurt you.”
The legend closed his fist, foreclosing any opportunity for the Benton family to punish Destin’s betrayal.
Destin had no love for the Scrofa. He found it hard to respect any warrior who followed the orders of a female. The human thief did his research, he knew the Scrofa were matriarchal in their society, the males relegated to glorified security guards. Hell, the adult males didn’t even live in the community, they lurked around the edges, entering when beckoned by the bitch sows. Was that redundant? Destin smiled in silence at his private joke, bitch sows, he would have to pass that along to Maika and the rest of the Benton family when he finished this job. With the Mud Stone in his hand, he was sure to gain a place at the Benton’s table.
He refocused his mind to the task at hand. Culhwch was not someone with whom to trifle, despite being long in the tusk. When the Scrofa was in his prime, someone like Destin would not be so quick to mark the razorback a target. But Culhwch was old, it was said he kept to this cottage to throw off his enemies. Scrofa did not live in such homes, they preferred the cool damp of an adobe hut, close to water and dense tree cover. It was unlikely that any would think to look for him in this cottage, in this small backwater town far from the Scrofa held marshes of the South. But Destin was resourceful. He was the type of self motivator that deserved admittance to the Benton family. He did the necessary legwork and located the wily old pig.
Destin gently removed a pint sized glass flask from his cloak pocket. He unstoppered the cork and allowed his nose to adjust to the pungent stench that issued forth from the bottle. Boar’s musk. Not just any boar’s musk, but Culhwch’s musk. The thief silently congratulated himself on his ingenuity and resourcefulness in acquiring the foul smelling tonic. During his investigations, Destin learned that the old boar had a runner. Someone who cared for his every need, ensuring that the pig never had to leave the cottage. That runner happened to be a female human. Destin had many talents, one of which was a deft touch with the fairer sex. It was not hard for him to convince the young lass to bring him some of the boar’s soiled clothes. From there, it was a simple matter to create the strong smelling tonic.
The young man doused himself with the liquid, managing to stifle his gag reflex. When burgling the home of a Scrofa, the wise man knew that he must do much more than simply remain hidden from view. One must disguise his scent, first and foremost. Secondarily, one must be silent, but Destin knew he was as quiet as a shadow. Remaining hidden from view was ridiculously easy with the nearsighted Scrofa, at least for somebody with Destin's skills.
The cottage was on the outskirts of the modest village, so the thief did not have to worry about nosy neighbors or passers by. The night was cloudy, so the dual moons of Saerna would not trouble him. Assured that his stench matched that of his mark, Destin flew like an arrow from the shadowed wood to the rear door of the cottage. A tyro would attempt to pick the lesser used door and gain entry through the back of the home, but Destin knew the boar’s ears would detect even the slightest scrape of a pick in the lock. A right proper burglar would know that the Scrofa prefer good ventilation while they sleep. Sure enough, the window stood wide open. Destin eased through with nary a sound.
No doubt a boar lived in here, Destin thought as the stench of the razorback hit him in the face like a mule kick. He stayed still for a number of minutes, listening to the rumbling snores of the once great Scrofa warrior. The inside of the cottage was modified to suit the needs of a pig. Most of the walls were removed, leaving just three rooms. The window Destin entered opened into a slop area, where the boar took his meals. The next room was the sleeping area and beyond that was the shitter. The Mud Stone would be in the sleeping area, no doubt.
Once Destin acclimated to the stench and assured himself that Culhwch the Stout’s sleep remained undisturbed by his entry, the thief silently padded into the sleeping area. By the Three, the boar was a sight to behold, even asleep! Destin was acquainted with a number of Scrofa mercenaries, so he knew that the boars were large, often tipping the scales at 500 pounds. But Culhwch the Stout was a giant among giants. The boar’s massive girth was hardly contained within the sleeping quarters.
Destin was not one to tarry, and he spied his prize in the muck near the sleeping beast. The Mud Stone. He didn’t know why the Benton family wanted the rock, or why anyone would want it. It was just a plain stone the size of the human’s fist. The only thing remarkable about it was its smooth ovoid shape. Destin did not care, he just knew that the family wanted it, so he would oblige. He deftly lifted the stone from the floor and eased backward toward the window by which he entered. He was home free.
The thief’s face broke into a boyish grin in the dark as he turned to make his exit. He silently lit onto the sill of the window, raising his face to Luna, Saerna’s yellow moon, breathing deep of the fresh outside air. Shit! Luna’s face should not be bathing him in light! Sure enough, the clouds broke, and Destin realized he was back lit in the window, even a blind pig could see that. Good thing the old warrior was deep in slumber.
But the rumbling snores were no longer. Destin wasted no time in leaping from the window, diving forward into a roll. He felt his right pant leg snag and his dive roll turned into a face plant. The tamped earth impacting his face caused Destin’s vision to waver. A sudden and quick reversal of direction added to his disorientation. His face struck the ledge of the window as he was yanked back into the cottage.
“What have I caught myself?” Culhwch’s voice was as deep and rumbling as had been his snores. There was an edge of glee in it, if Destin was not mistaken. The boar warrior had moved in a manner that so belied his age, the thief wondered if he had the wrong Scrofa. No, this was definitely Culhwch the Stout breathing his fetid breath into Destin’s face. Son of a bitch!
Destin tried to keep any sense of terror from his voice. He noted that his pant leg was still firmly hooked by the boar’s hooked polearm, a weapon the Scrofa referred to as a “bill”. Beyond that, the beast was holding the thief off of the ground with one meaty hand clasped like a vice upon the back of his neck. At least he could breathe. Destin manfully set aside his unease at having been so thoroughly captured. Best to play this cool, perhaps talk his way out of this. Destin tried smiling a simpleton’s grin at the Scrofa.
“You got my rock, boy.” Culhwch breathed in his face, accompanied by the bouquet of rotten scraps. “What do you want with my rock, I wonder.”
Destin had an easy choice to make here, let the boar know of the Bentons’ interest in the stone, or keep his trap shut and take his lumps. Again, he was no novice, he did his homework when casing a job. Culhwch the Stout was was a slave to his honor. He would not kill Destin outright, not given the thief’s present disadvantage. He would take Destin to the town constable. That was not a good option, however, as this unassuming town had tough consequences for thievery. If the boar turned him over to the authorities, they would take his hands. As unappealing as that prospect seemed, it was far and away more preferable to what the Bentons would do to him if he even flirted with betrayal. Of course, Destin thought confidently, there were other ways out of this unfortunate scenario.
The town’s laws provided for another penalty, Destin knew. The old pig could choose to exact his own justice by demanding combat, but such an idea was ludicrous, given the fact this particular pig was well past his prime. Despite the alacrity the Scrofa just exhibited, Destin assured himself that he could take the old timer in one on one combat. The pig had surprised him from behind, in a situation where the thief could see the giant beast and his unwieldy weapon, the story would be much different. The thief had all manner of martial skills, was familiar with the fighting style of the Scrofa, and had the significant edge of youth. But such a wily old warrior would never be goaded into such combat. Maybe he could convince him to let him go with a mild beating? Destin would accept that in lieu of losing his hands.
“Mister Scrofa, you done surprised me. I’s a simple man, thieving only cause I’s hungry.” The thief expertly emulated the speech of a country bumpkin. “I dint spect a Scrofa’d be living in a house such as dis. Please suh, let me be on my way. I just took a potato.”
Destin finished his impressive ruse with a perplexed look at the stone in his hands, “Least, I thought it was a tater. I can’t even eat this stupid rock.”
The massive boar chuffed laughter. “Son, you’ve covered yourself in my stink. You knew damn well what lived in this house, and you know damn well the power that stone holds. My question to you is this, who put you up to taking my rock?”
Well, it was worth a try. The old pig was no fool, but there was still no way he was going to give up the Bentons. Perhaps he’d work out an escape plan before the town constable took his hands.
“Just take me to the constable,” was all that Destin had to say.
“He’ll have your hands, thief, you do know that don’t you?” The boar seemed intrigued.
“I realize that. I also suspect that you will not believe that I am acting on my own, and my chances of convincing you to rough me up a bit and let me go are slim.” Destin hoped this statement would have the reverse effect on the pig, and that Culhwch would like the idea of inflicting some home brewed justice.
“Less than slim, you little horse poker. The stone is sacrosanct. If you had elected to take anything else, I’d give you what you want. In fact, I’d be happy to kick your little human ass and send you to lick your wounds. Shit, you’d probably find you’d rather have your hands cut away!” The old pig boasted. “But you know what the stone is, or else you would not have come to take it. That leaves me no choice, you have to die.”
“You can’t kill me! People know I am here, you will be hanged for murder!” Destin’s calm facade cracked.
“I am not going to murder you, boy,” the Scrofa scoffed, “I am going to exact my justice upon you in the town square. It won’t be murder when I kill you there.”
Relief flooded through Destin. The fool was going to engage him in combat! How wonderful. He would kill the boar, be cleared of any wrongdoing, leave with his hands intact, and stop by the cottage afterward to collect the stone. It did not occur to Destin to wonder why the stone was so important to Culhwch.
Destin did not try to fight the old boar as he dragged the thief to the town square. The constable’s bell tolled their arrival, just as day was breaking, bringing the entire town to enjoy the entertainment. The aged Scrofa warrior effortlessly tossed Destin into the middle of the square.
“I am Culhwch the Stout!” The boar boomed to the crowd. “You know me! I am a Scrofa warrior. I have fought and bled in the Battle of Ten Hills, the Wolf War, and the Eskrit Conflict. I charge this man with Burglary. I caught him invading my home while I slept, and I demand I be allowed to exact my justice!”
The crowd cheered, Culhwch the Stout was a name of legend. They pitied the comparatively small thief who had dared incur the wrath of such as he. Destin felt a little offended that in a human settlement, not a single resident had concern for one of their own kind. No matter, let them crave his demise. Being underestimated was a strength in this situation.
“Do you have anything to say in your defense?” The constable yelled ceremoniously in a nasal voice. The man sat in a stone chair on the North end of the town square. He was flanked by the members of the town council, one of whom would be the mayor. In matters such as this, however, the constable was in charge.
“I admit that I entered the Scrofa’s home. But I was in search of food. I did not expect a Scofa to be living in a human dwelling, especially not one as renowned as Master Culhwch.” Destin was sure that such a humble approach would put him in a kinder light with the townsfolk once he dispatched the old hog.
“Your reason has no bearing, thief!” The constable thundered. “I grant Culhwch the Stout his demand. Defend yourself!”
Destin calmly removed his cloak, leaving him in tight fitted black leather breeches and a jerkin. Given his night’s ambitions, the only weapons he possessed were two small knives housed in sheaths at the small of his back. He removed one and faced the old behemoth. The Scrofa chuffed laughter at Destin’s expense for the second time this evening. He would pay.
The boar was armed with his bill, the great hooked spear held before him in a dual handed grasp. That weapon, and the boar’s greater size, were concerning, but Destin was good at getting inside defenses. He heard the townspeople laughing at his knives, which seemed wholly ineffective indeed, but Destin always had a trick up his sleeve. His knives were infused with Madoqua poison. The Madoqua were diminutive creatures, and relied on powerful toxins to defend themselves. It was impossible to get your hands on their goods if you were not, yourself, a Madoqua, but Destin was no ordinary thief. The poison on his blades was more than enough to fell the great beast before him.
Destin charged toward the Scrofa at a sprint. Culhwch thrust his wickedly hooked polearm toward the thief, but the agile human leaped over the thrust, twisting in mid air to avoid the Scrofa’s return hooking motion. He arched his back and fell into a back handspring, launching himself high above the old pig in a flip. As he passed over the Scrofa’s head, his hand darted with snakelike speed to stick the Scrofa in his upper back with the poison knife. Destin landed in a back roll, launching himself a safe distance from the beast.
He smiled at the back of the Scrofa smugly, waiting for Culhwch to drop dead. A Scrofa’s neck did not allow for much lateral movement, so Culhwch had to turn his entire body around to glare at the thief behind him. He ambled toward Destin.
“I assume that little sticker was poisoned,” the legendary Scrofa said as he approached the thief. Destin had to admire the pig’s endurance, a lesser boar would be dead already. The boar dropped to a knee in front of Destin, wheezing. He raised his small, nearsighted eyes to Destin’s own.
“Tell me, before I leave this realm of the living, who hired you?” The Scrofa was near his end.
Destin leaned forward and whispered into the legend’s bristly ear, “The Benton Family sends you their best.”
For the second time that day, Destin found himself surprised by the speed with which the old hog moved. This time, Culhwch wrapped his ham hand around Destin’s throat, cutting off his airway. The Scrofa rose to his feet and lifted the thief into the air. The hog slapped Destin’s knife from his hand and it clattered to the cobblestones below. The Scrofa warrior handily removed the other knife from the small of Destin’s back. The pig brought Destin close, subjecting him once again to his rancid breath.
“Youth is so reckless,” the Scrofa warrior observed, “I would think that you would know of a Scrofa’s subdermal armor.”
Destin’s eyes bulged in their sockets. Of course he knew of the armor. A male Scrofa amassed a heavy layer of natural armor under the skin of his back, covering his neck, spine, and kidneys. But that was only during the Scrofa mating season, in the Spring. It was almost Winter, the armor should be gone!
“I am old, and you took that as a weakness. You should know, before you die, while younger Scrofa lose their back armor after the Spring is over, us old pigs just keep adding it on. It makes it a little harder to move, but it has its benefits. Thanks for the info, kid. I’ll make sure the Bentons don’t get a chance to hurt you.”
The legend closed his fist, foreclosing any opportunity for the Benton family to punish Destin’s betrayal.
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