Episode 12: A Small Surprise

Gundar squirmed, trying to find a less uncomfortable position. I have been with the pigs so long that I have become a pig.

He had always prided himself on his ability to sleep anywhere, like the hardened veteran soldier he was. But he had become soft, too acclimated to his pallet indoors. His calves hurt from the unaccustomed rigour of military pacing. The ground was lumpy, nocturnal insects were exploring the crannies of his body, and, even though he was wearing all the clothes he had with him, he was cold. Why had he not thought to bring a blanket from his bed?

The one redeeming feature of the day had been that it had cost him nothing. After the soldiers had eaten their fill, the cooks had distributed left-overs to the two dozen camp followers. The food was ample and just as tasty as Marcelle's, but it had irked Gundar immensely to wait humbly for others to finish. No one thought to give him a second glance. Could no one discern the exiled foreign prince under his peasant disguise? When the rabble built a camp fire and began to settle for the night, Gundar had withdrawn from them in disgust and made a bed of branches in the heart of a hollow tree.

Gundar re-rolled his pack in a vain attempt to transform it into a more comfortable pillow. He curled up on his side, wondering if his blood would be frozen in the morning. Perhaps he should continue his hike alone. According to the desultory gossip he had overheard, they were already two-thirds of the way to Calligena. But what of the bands of brigands who roamed the countryside like ravening wolves? What match would he be against them, armed only with a dagger?

A low voice hissed in Gundar's ear. "Good master, help!"

Gundar rolled onto his knees, sweeping the dark with his left arm while his right snatched the dagger from his belt. He stuck his head out of the opening in the tree, but saw no one.

"For pity's sake hide me!" the same voice said beside him. "You will not regret it."
Gundar looked down. A human shadow no larger than his forearm stood beside his left leg.

I must have fallen asleep after all, Gundar thought. This is a strange dream indeed, unlike any I have had! I wonder what it portends.

"I beg you -- shelter me," the miniature man said. "I will reward you well."

Gundar shrugged and shook out his pack. "In here."

"Bless you," the little one said as he disappeared among the folds of cloth. "Now you must lie down and pretend to sleep. They will be looking for me. Say nothing to give me away, or they will accuse you of being a thief."

Gundar rearranged his body on the inhospitable ground. "Ouch! Take care!" the little voice protested when Gundar laid his head on his improvised pillow. The creature inside the pack squirmed about, nestling between his neck and his shoulder. "Keep very still now, and do not speak unless you are spoken to," its tiny voice advised.

Gundar closed his eyes. The living warmth against his neck was comforting. He relaxed, ready to let his dream take him wherever it would. Perhaps it would tell him something of his future. But nothing more transpired until he woke to the first light of morning.

He extricated himself from the tree trunk, stretched, and tried to work the stiffness out of his legs. In the main camp, the cooks were handing out some sort of steaming beverage along with hunks of bread. He reached into the tree and scooped up his pack.

"Gently, gently!" a familiar voice said.

Gundar halted, electrified.

"Do not look into your pack yet," the voice instructed. "No one must notice anything amiss."

I am still sleeping, then, Gundar reassured himself as he fastened the pack on his back. Either that, or I am hearing spirit voices.

He took his place at the end of the food line and looked around with pretended indifference, watching for any sign of unusual activity. All seemed normal.
A horn blew, and the troops scurried into their formation. A squadron set briskly to covering the latrine pits. Gundar swore at himself for not tending to the call of nature earlier.

He took the wooden cup and cautiously slurped the steaming liquid. The herbal concoction was somewhat bitter, but it spread a delicious warmth through his body.

The horn blew again.

"Hurry!" the cook urged. "It is time to go. I must have all my cups back."

Gundar gulped the rest of the drink, burning his throat, and handed back the cup.
Clutching his hunk of bread, he looked around for a place to answer the call of nature. Two women and their children were emerging from a stand of bushes a few paces from the road. Gundar set out in their direction.

"Good morrow," one of the children said as they passed each other. He was a sturdy lad whose dark eyes flashed with mischief. "Have you seen Uncle Netheniel's ferret? It escaped from its cage during the night."

"How would I know it from any other ferret?" Gundar asked.

"It is snow white, with a black patch that looks like a cap," the mother interjected. "It is very valuable. Netheniel is most perturbed -- he's been hunting all night."

"I will keep an eye out," Gundar promised without really meaning to do anything about it. Any animal with a lick of sense would be long gone by now.

He plunged into the stand of shoulder-high bushes, set his bread on top of a low bush, and proceeded to his business.

"You must let me out before we return," the voice said when Gundar had finished.

"Why?" Gundar asked. "Why should I make myself tardy for your sake?"

"If you do not, your food will surely be spoiled. And I must tell you, it is very fine food indeed."

"You have been helping yourself to my provisions?" Gundar stormed, pulling his sack off his back. He turned it upside down and shook it. The little man yelped as he was dumped onto the ground along with sausages and cheese.

Gundar's passenger stood up and dusted himself off. He looked to be of middle age, and was attired in random scraps of burlap haphazardly wrapped around him with string. His hair was snow white, with a black patch that looked like a little cap.

"Did you save me any of that brew?" he asked hopefully.

"No," Gundar said shortly, "I did not. Are you a shape-shifter? It seems to me that you were a ferret not long ago."

"You might describe me as such," the little man said. "But it is not by my will. I am transformed each time the moon is full. That is my curse."

"Does Netheniel know of this?" Gundar asked.

"Indeed he does. He was planning to become rich by putting me on display in Calligena." The little one began to fumble with his garments. "Turn your back," he instructed. "I cannot bear to be watched."

Gundar hesitated, then turned his back. If the little one elected to disappear, he might be better off without him.

He picked up the bread and munched on it. The troops had already begun their march. Perhaps it would be for the best if he sprinted after them and left his guest to fend for himself.

"There -- that's better!" the little one said. "Now help me back into your pack.
Gundar began to pull of off his outer layer of clothes. "Let me put these in first."
"Good -- that will give me a soft place to sit."

"What are you?" Gundar demanded. "And why should I help you?"