Free Split Heirs by Esther Friesner, Lawrence Watt-Evans Page B

we be there?” and “My feet hurt,” and “I’m hungry!” and “I’m thirsty!” and “Are we there yet?”
    Odo ignored them and trudged on.
    Complaining and giggling, they followed until they didn’t. When Odo no longer heard squeals and grumbling, he turned and found them both curled up asleep by the trail.
    He paused, looking down at them. They looked so sweet lying there; Wulfrith’s shirt had gotten bunched up, exposing his belly, and his diaper was loose, but he was blissfully unaware of it.
    Odo almost felt guilty about what he planned.
    Then Wulfrith pissed on Odo’s foot, without waking, and Odo’s guilt was washed away. Grumbling, he stooped and hoisted the boys up, one on each shoulder, making sure their little nappies were back in place. Then he stumbled on down the mountain.
    It was midafternoon, and the bustle of business was beginning to slow, when Odo staggered into Stinkberry Market. It was really amazing just how heavy two two-year-old boys could be, when carried a couple of miles down a mountainside. The weary shepherd made his way to the front of the village inn, and sank slowly to the bench out front, moving very carefully so as not to wake the two, now that his weight was off his tired feet.
    Naturally, the minute Odo’s backside touched wood, Wulfrith woke up and looked around.
    â€œOoooh!” he squealed. “I wanna pastie, Daddy Odo!”
    Odo sighed, whereupon Dunwin awoke and added his voice to the demands for pastry, honeyclots, and other sweets. The old man released both boys, who went scampering out into the market square, tripping several villagers.
    Exhausted by his journey, Odo leaned back and closed his eyes.
    Maybe, he thought, if he stayed very quiet, and if he were very lucky, if the gods did not merely smile upon him but grinned broadly, the twins wouldn’t come back.
    It was a lovely thought, and he fell asleep there on the bench, dreaming of his farm, of sheep and furniture that stayed where they were put, of entire nights of uninterrupted sleep, of meals that did not wind up spread all over the table and the surrounding floor — all things that he had had, just three years before, and had given up for Ludmilla’s sake.
    He was awakened by a very deep voice that rumbled, “Are these yours?”
    Startled, Odo opened rheumy eyes and looked up.
    No one was there. He lowered his gaze, and found the source of the voice.
    The speaker was scarcely five feet in height, but clearly had all the weight of a much taller man. He had a curiously uneven beard, long black hair, and a squirming bundle of arms, legs, fingers, and ears in each hand.
    When the right-hand burden paused for a moment to shriek, “Daddy Odo!” Odo recognized it as Dunwin. And when the left-hand burden began crying, Odo recognized Wulfrith’s distinctive wail.
    â€œAre they yours?” the stranger repeated. His voice was really quite amazing, Odo thought.
    â€œWell,” he replied cautiously, “what if they are? I do suppose I might could have seen one of them before.”
    The stranger was clearly not satisfied with this, but before he could object Odo added, “Have they broken anything?”
    â€œNot of mine,” the stranger said.
    â€œDaddy Odo!” Dunwin screamed.
    Odo sighed. “Hand him here, then,” he said.
    The stranger passed the squirming child over, and Odo dropped him on the bench; the abrupt impact knocked the breath out of him, and Dunwin sat still for a moment, perhaps the first time in six months he had managed that without being asleep.
    â€œYou should warn them,” the stranger rumbled, “not to interfere in the affairs of wizards.”
    Odo blinked, then leaned forward and looked around.
    There was Goody Blackerd with her pies, and old Punkler with his silly carvings that all looked like half-melted candles regardless of what they were intended to be, and all the