A friend's grave

I counted six fresh graves, including the one we stood over.

Jaroo Ashenstaff.

"A simple epitaph," Saul said. "He would have liked it."

"Even the priests of Saint Cuthbert came to the funeral," Marc said. "They gave a nice eulogy."

"What is being done?" Saul said.

"The Mayor has asked Verbobonc for aid. In response, they sent a contingent of troops. They should arrive any day now. They will help with defense, but that's about it."

"And Burne and Rufus?" I asked.

"They have put a call out to adventurers." Marc smiled. "It seems that adventurers have become something of an inter-kingdom police force, doesn't it?"

"Any word?" I asked.

"No, I'm afraid not. Most are south in the Flinty Hills. Thus far, none have come here. Unless you count us."

Us? I hadn't exactly thought of myself as an adventurer. What could I do? I trained in Judo and Kenjutsu, and I was pretty good at both. What level was I? First? Second? Probably first.

But it didn't really matter. This was real. Real swords, real magic...and real death. My martial arts skills might not be good enough to take on battle hardened soldiers. If I went along with this, I would probably die. Then again, I did want something different in my life, and this certainly qualified--though it wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

I'm not a courageous fellow. I never have been. I instinctively run from danger. But if I could do something the change this, well by God I had to try. I'll never know if I can handle the danger unless I try.

"What do we do?" I asked.

Saul raised an eyebrow. "We? This could be dangerous."

"Yeah, well...." I looked at the graves again and wondered how many more would be dug unless something was done. "There was a wise man on my world who once said, 'A guy can't go around doing nothing all the time,' and don't want to wander around like a fifth wheel. Besides, I want to help. If I can do anything at all, I have to."

They looked at each other and shrugged. "Well, the more the merrier," Marc said.

"Time to see Audry and Anna?" Saul asked.

"Yes," Marc said. "And then to the church."

"For prayer?" Saul asked. "Gods know we could use some aid."

"For information," Marc said. "I know someone who can help.

We took one last look at Jaroo's grave, and then left for the inn. The inn. The Inn of the Welcome Wench. I would have been ecstatic if it weren't for the reality of the situation. A good friend of theirs died, a town was being attacked by an armed force masquerading as bandits, and war was brewing to the south.

In short, we were in deep doodoo.

As we left the graveyard, Saul turned to me. "Who was that?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The wise man you mentioned. Who was he?"

"Oh," I said. "John Wayne."