Free Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel by C. D. Verhoff

father.
    “Yep,” Hogard drawled. “When I met Doc he
didn’t know a sword from a hairy ball, but I almost mussed my
trousers when he punched a Gargo between the eyes—knocked the
son-of-a-dumb-bitch out cold. So, I says to myself, now there’s a
fella worth teaching. Never saw a Commoner with so much thump.”
    “Galatians aren’t Commoners,” Loyl pointed
out.
    “Ya knows what I mean.”
    “Just how good of a swordsman is my Dad?”
Lars tried to wheedle his way into their private discussion. Loyl
didn’t seem to mind, but Hogard ignored him and started gnawing on
a piece of bone with a little bit of frayed meat left on the
ends.
    “Hogard,” Josie yelled as if the Bulwark was
half-deaf, “Lars asked you a question.”
    The Bulwark narrowed his eyes, growling at
her in the back of his throat.
    “Why are you growling at me?” she demanded.
“It was a legitimate question.”
    “Bulwarks of his status don’t fraternize with
greenhorns,” Prince Loyl explained.
    “Well, that’s stupid,” she replied, sending
Hogard an irritated frown. “Our mayor has more status than anyone
and he talks to everybody.”
    “I noticed that,” Prince Loyl said. “You are
an unusual people.”
    “I might be green,” Lars said. “But I’m good
with a sword—that ought to count for something.”
    Hogard went right on ignoring him until the
squad retired for the night. Just as Lars drifted off to sleep,
Hogard let out a trumpet blast of foulness, startling him wide
awake. When the Bulwark started snoring away like a rooting
warthog. Lars contemplated shoving a sock down his throat.
    “I can’t take another two weeks of this guy,”
Lindsay said, holding her nose, making a retching sound. “Prince
Loyl, can’t you order him to take a bath or something?”
    “Bulwarks smell even worse after a bath,” the
prince said. “The problem is that their digestive tracts were
designed to eat vegetation, but over the centuries they have become
very fond of meat. The foul odor coming out of their pores is their
body’s way of eliminating toxins that their organs cannot handle.
That’s Simon’s theory on the matter.”
    “The smells coming out of Hogard could make a
bag of vomit puke,” Josie said. The Seeker was floating above her
wrist. “Where’s that bracelet?” she said, digging through her
covers.
    As soon as she moved her hand, the starburst
and stone floated up again, straining to move in a southwesterly
direction. “To the moon with ya,” she said with a sigh.
    “Would you stop with the annoying clichés?”
Lindsey said.
    “If a cliché gets the point across,” Josie
retorted, “then it ought to be used.”
    “If something’s trite and unoriginal, it is
best left unuttered.”
    “Your attempt at intellectual snobbery amuses
me. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
    “Argg!” Lindsey flopped back into her bed
roll, hauling the covers over her head.
    “I thought you two were going to try to get
along,” Lars said, disappointed to hear them squabbling again. “Did
you give up on that?”
    “This is how we get along,” Josie said. “We
bicker.”
    “Yeah,” Lindsey said. “It adds a little spice
to the endless drudgery.”
    “So, you’re friends now?”
    “I wouldn’t go that far,” Josie said, “but I
no longer fantasize about smothering her with a pillow in her
sleep, watching her convulse, and then go still forevermore.”
    “And I no longer want to gouge Josie’s eyes
out every time she opens her mouth, dooming her to walk the world
in darkness.”
    “Oh,” Lars said, giving the both of them
wary glances. “I suppose that’s progress.”
    Just then another trumpet blast from
Hogard’s ass fogged the camp with the noxious odor of a well-aged
Limburger. Groans rose up all around.
    “Sweet mother of mercy,” Dante said weakly,
bunching a blanket up over his nose.
     
    The next evening, Lars started the fire,
while Loyl took Dante and Josie down to the stream for