Chapter 4: Helping the Halflings
Holmaera was in trouble. Three days ago, she and her sisters had been mushroom hunting after a rainfall, and had been captured by slavers. They were currently bound and gagged inside a covered wagon on its way north to the kingdom of Georbama, where slavery was legal. She had heard of slavers, but those who have lived in peace their entire lives don't often anticipate bad things happening to them.
Holmaera blamed herself for their capture. Even if there was nothing a halfling like her could have done against the family of bigfolk that captured them, she was the oldest, and protecting her sisters was her responsibility. Maybe if she'd been a fighter of some kind, or had some skill in magic. All she could do was cook and clean, and those skills didn't help in a fight. She felt like a useless village girl.
As the wagon bounced down the road, Holmaera tried to comfort her sisters as best as she could, but she knew there was no hope for them. From what their captors, a human man and his three wives, had told them, there was little chance they would stay together after this journey. At best, they would be sold as house servants. At worst, they would become sex slaves.
Holmaera hoped that being able to cook and clean would be enough to earn her a spot as a house servant. Her captors kept hinting that she would be prized as a sex slave, though. They said she was "voluptuous," which was a word Holmaera had never heard before. She didn't understand why anyone would lust after her. She always thought she was rather plain looking, with her brown hair and freckles. She considered her green eyes her most attractive feature, but were they enough to make men lusty?
Her mom told her she was pretty, but wasn't that what moms were supposed to say? Her step-mother dropped hints that boys preferred thinner girls, though. It was true that Holmaera loved to eat, which was part of why she loved to cook. She ate so much that she had the fattest bosoms and bottom in her village. Her bosoms were each bigger than her head and hung down to her belly button. They even got in the way when she cooked and cleaned. At least they weren't saggy. Her bottom was even bigger and overhung the sides of most halfling-sized chairs. At least her face had been spared from her over-eating, though her belly had a small layer of fat. Despite what her captors said, she hoped anyone who bought her would see how fat she was and set her as a cook or a maid.
Their captors sang bawdy songs most of the journey. Holmaera wasn't sure whether she was more offended by the subject matter of the songs or their singing quality. Whenever they stopped, they filled the sisters' ears with stories of the horrors that awaited them, and how if they were good little captives, their captors could put in a good word with the slave market and try to find them kinder masters. On their last stop, the sisters were informed that they were one day from the Georbama border, and to get ready for their new jobs, whatever they would be.
Holmaera knew that she and her sisters would never see their parents or their hometown again. Their parents would never even know what happened to them.
They were out of any earthly hope, and there was only one thing to try. Shorsena was a fertility goddess for the small folk. Mostly people prayed to her for help with their love lives or for help conceiving and delivering healthy babies. However, it was said that if one was in dire straits with no hope of rescue, they could pray to her for help. But they had to be beyond all hope, because those who received her rescue disappeared from this world, and no one knew where they went.
Holmaera knew that she and her sisters were past hope. She knew that whatever world Shorsena would take them to would be better than whatever fate awaited them in Georbama.
'Shorsena, goddess of the wee,' she tried to whisper through the gag in her mouth, hoping the goddess could hear her, 'you've looked out for us. You've protected our mothers and aunties and their wee babies. But great goddess, we're out of hope. Save us, please. If we have to leave this world, so be it. If you can't save us all, take my sisters and leave me. I can bear it all if they're safe. Please, goddess, amen.'
She wondered if they would suddenly appear in another world, or if it would happen while they slept.
As soon as she finished whispering her prayer, the wife driving the horse pulled it to a stop. It sounded like the wagon had encountered someone ahead of them in the road. Holmaera could hear them talking to their captors but couldn't quite make out the conversation.
Her attention was caught by rustling at the back of the wagon. She looked over in time to see a green face with big ears peek under the wagon's canvas. She'd never seen a goblin before, but everyone knew what they looked like. Holmaera and her sisters tried to wiggle away from it, but were tied to metal loops in the wagon bed.
The goblin, which was wearing dark goggles for some reason, lifted the goggles and looked at them with its yellow, vertical-slitted eyes. Then, to her surprise, it lifted its finger to its lips as though telling them to be quiet. Then it disappeared.
Shortly after it disappeared, the voices raised and Holmaera could hear the sounds of violence. There were thuds and clangs and shouts, and then it all went silent. Then Holmaera heard footsteps walking around to the back of the wagon, and the canvas at the back of the wagon was torn back, revealing a human man, but not the one who had captured them. This one was more handsome, with a feather in his cap and the bright clothing of a bard. He had a necklace with a gem that caught the light and almost seemed to glow by itself.
"You've had a rough time of it, haven't you?" he said. He set what looked like an encased instrument on the ground, then he nimbly jumped into the wagon and pulled a knife from his belt.
They instinctively recoiled from the knife.
He held up his hands placatingly. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I'm here to help you." He gingerly moved forward and cut Holmaera's bonds and then her sisters'.
As soon as their bonds were cut, Holmaera embraced her sisters and they cried in relief.
When they had calmed down a bit, the human asked "feel better?"
Holmaera nodded her head. "Thank you," she said, "but who are you?"
He doffed his cap, swept as much of a bow as he could in the confines of the wagon, and said "my name is Allan, traveling bard. And what might yours' be, if I may ask?"
"Holmaera," she said, "and these are my sisters, Gardia and Clana."
"It's lovely to meet you, Holmaera, Gardia, and Clana" he said, smiling, and Holmaera thought it was the nicest smile she'd ever seen. "Can you stand up?" he asked.
Holmaera tried to stand, but she'd been tied up for too long. She toppled over on legs that had swollen from being bound. She rubbed at her ankles with stiff fingers. They had ugly red welts from the cords.
Allan drew in a breath through his teeth. "That doesn't look good," he said. "Let me try something." He jumped down to his bundle, and when he stood up, he was holding a lute. He played a quick, light tune, and Holmaera felt her joints loosen up and her swelling go down. In just a moment, her limbs felt as though she'd never been bound, and there were no markings on her skin. Holmaera rubbed her unblemished wrists and ankles in astonishment. She stood up, wobbly at first, but her legs and feet no longer ached.
Allan stepped back and extended a hand. "May I help you down?"
Holmaera accepted his hand and felt a shiver run through her at his touch. She mentally chided herself. This was a handsome bard and a human, and she was just a halfling girl from a small village. Her thoughts shouldn't be so lofty.
Somehow, she managed to not trip on her way down, and her sisters accepted his hand down as well. He led them around to the front of the wagon, where their captor, Matath knelt on the road with two of his wives. Matath had a black eye, and all three of them looked injured. They were surrounded by a dwarf woman with a hammer and shield, a gnome holding a crossbow, and the goblin, who was wagging her tongue at them and waving around a pair of daggers. Holmaera noticed with a shock that the goblin had an astoundingly large bottom for her size.
"You carry valuable cargo, sir," said Allan. "You should have packed it with more care."
Matath just spat.
"Where's the orc?" asked Holmaera.
"Orc?" asked Allan.
"His third wife's an orc!" she explained.
Allan turned to the goblin. "Fern!" he said.
The goblin nodded. She cocked her head, her ears twitching, then she grinned, showing a disturbing amount of sharp teeth, then ran off shockingly fast into the undergrowth at the side of the road.
"Ow! What the fuck!" came a voice from the forest. "Get off me you little shit!" Then the voice shouted, and Matath's six foot tall orc wife burst from the woods, chased by the goblin, and swinging a huge ax at Allan.
The gnome fired her crossbow. When the bolt impacted the orc, she froze and fell to the ground, convulsing.
"Stay away from my husband, bitch!" the gnome yelled. She turned to the other women on the ground. "You may have noticed your huge sister-wife there twitching and pissing herself on the ground," she said while loading a new bolt into her crossbow. "That's because the bolt I fired into her is giving her the equivalent of a small lightning strike about every five seconds." She pointed the crossbow at one of the wives, who shied away from her. "Either of you cunts want to try it out?" She pointed it at Matath. "How about you, dick-face?"
"That's enough, Clavery," said the dwarf. "They're captured. We'll turn them in to the magistrate in the next town."
The gnome lowered her crossbow and smirked. "Between you and me," she said to the slavers, "you're lucky she's the nice one. Don't get on her bad side though; I saw her take out an entire squad of armed delfs, and those bastards don't play fair."
Holmaera saw the slavers' eyes go wide at this.
Together, the dwarf, the gnome, and the goblin tied up the slavers and led them into the back of the wagon.
"Well done, ladies," said Allan, who leaned over to get a kiss from each of them. "Now, it's time for introductions. Dears, let me introduce Holmaera, Gardia, and Clana, who were until recently, the prisoners of this slaver. Girls, these are my wives Stolna," he indicated the dwarf, who bowed to them, "Clavery," the gnome, who smirked at them, "and Fern," the goblin, who grinned and waved.
Holmaera and her sisters curtsied as best as they could. Holmaera had never heard of a human marrying a dwarf, a gnome, nor a goblin, yet here was one who had married all three. She felt a thrill of hope when she realized that he liked small folk, but tamped herself down by remembering that they were travelers and fighters, and she was just a village girl.
Despite their fearsome appearances, Allan's wives were kind to the sisters. They helped them climb into the seats at the front of the wagon. Allan sat in the driver's seat with the reins, but he didn't snap them. Instead, he started to sing. Holmaera had never heard the song before, and soon the horses were trotting along.
He had a beautiful voice, too. His style wasn't showy or stylish, but his tone was pure. Holmaera found his voice comforting, and almost familiar. She suddenly realized that she was exhausted. She hadn't had a proper sleep in three days. For the first time since leaving home, she felt safe, and Allan's voice and the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves lulled her to sleep.
- - -
Someone was burning the food. Holmaera didn't think that, exactly, but she woke up knowing that someone was cooking nearby, and they were doing it wrong. Her mother had always said she had a sixth sense for these things. Holmaera didn't think she needed a sixth sense to smell burning food, though.
She opened her eyes and rolled over to get out of bed, only to find herself on an unfamiliar couch and wrapped in unfamiliar blankets. The shock of the unfamiliar stole some of her dexterity and she found herself entangled in the blankets and rolled off the couch and landed on her face on the floor. Or she would have, but her bosoms cushioned her fall and her face landed in them like they were a pillow. 'At least they have some use,' she thought as she struggled to her feet. She could worry about the unknown location later: someone was burning the food!
She looked around. She appeared to be in the main room of a large, posh house. The walls were all painted white, and there were doors leading to other rooms on two of the sides. She spied her target on the wall opposite what looked like the front door: a sizable fireplace where the gnome and the dwarf appeared to be stirring something in a pan.
