The Bandit, the Butcher, his Wife and her Would-Be Lover (Candle Punk entry)

@LeighWStuart

The following story has been translated to the best of my abilities into modern (American) English from High Alemmanic (Mittelalter Schwyzerdütsch) of the original speakers. It takes place above the Lake Lucerne in modern day Canton of Uri, and Vluolon is the town of Flüelen.

Year 1317

Jarik

Hiking the near vertical trail up from the lake would have been hell during nice weather and good health. Hiking it during a blasted rain storm at night, carrying an quick-crank crossbow and portable hand cannon in wrought iron, with a knife wound to the stomach and iron and steel finger-bores worming their way under all ten fingernails was a fucking nightmare in hell replete with demons scraping out your liver and eating it while you choke on your heart being shoved down your throat.

The alternative to hiking was worse. After the bandits would have finished with his fingers, they would have started on other, even more sensitive and important appendages. Screw that.

Visibility was shit on the mountain side and every pine branch at the height of his face managed to smash into it. Jarik cursed and kept stumbling along. There was a trail. He was on a thin path next to a stream that wound back and forth up the mountain, and he knew they would not expect him to go up. Only a desperate dumb-ass would go up when he could go across the lake.

Except he couldn't row with the finger-bores currently ripping his fingernails off and he couldn't take the bores off because he had one on each finger, and he couldn't find anyone to pay to take him across because it was the middle of the fucking night and farmers are notoriously suspicious of men covered in metal screws and spring wires offering them outrageous sums of money to row them somewhere far away. Yeah, that never worked out well.

Another branch bitch slapped him.

"Damn Motherfuc-" His words were cut off by his garbled scream. He had just tried to bat the branch away and only succeeded in activating the sensitive springs on the bores. They dug in a little bit deeper under his nails.

Jarik breathed in as soon as he could. Holding his hands carefully out to his sides, he started putting one foot in front of the other. Anything was better than Spaetzli and his idiot minions catching up with him. Follow the path, follow the stream, find a place to hide.

The cut in his belly burned like a pagan in a bonfire. Luckily it was superficial - if the fact that his guts weren't spilling out all over the place was any indication. One thing that went somewhat right that evening. Not even the damn wine had worked. If he ever found that shit-head peddler who had sold him the shoddy poison, he would set the finger-bores on his eyes.

He wiped his eyes clear of freezing rain with his forearm, but it didn't help. Plus a couple of the bores jumped and dug around more. The bag on his back had him hunched over from the weight and he cursed the bandits again for eating his horse for dinner. She had been an old, stringy thing; he couldn't imagine she had tasted good, even if her haunch had smelled pretty nice roasting on a spit.

The hill (practically a damn cliff, but shit, this was Switzerland, so yeah - hill) seemed to be cresting. He stumbled forward and found himself going downhill. A place to hide. Darkness.

***

"Is he going to live?" asked a woman whose voice was raspy, but as warm and comforting as cheap ale.

Grunt. Snort. A man or an animal answered.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

Hock a loogie.

"Good, I'd hate to have to take all those contraptions off his fingers and get his blood on my apron. Start digging a hole, I don't want him stinking up the place."

Jarik moaned and twitched his head from side to side.

"Think he might live." A man's voice grunted the sweetest sounding words Jarik had heard in at least two days.

"Even if we just leave him here?" The woman was sounding less and less comforting.

Grunt.

Someone or something must have moved because a blinding light shone through Jarik's closed lids. The sun was shining. He managed to raise an arm to shade his eyes and blink. A man wearing an unusually bright, mustard yellow shirt was holding several pine tree branches aside to Jarik's left, but the woman was leaning over him. Her ample bosom spilled over the top of her tunic and apron. A rounded belly jutted forward, and she kept one arm around it for support.

"Money," Jarik said.

"What about it?"

"I have money."

"Then you are our welcome guest! Do you want me unscrew those things before or after we get to our hut?"

***

Miltraud

"Put him on the coal," Miltraud told her husband. Her beef-slab of a spouse deposited the injured man on their pile of coal. This was the guest bed, so to speak, and when any of her in-laws showed up, that was the corner they slept in. "Bring me some water."

"I've a pig to slaughter."

"Fetch me some water first."

"You'll get your own damn water, woman, I've got a neck to cut," he said on his way out the one-room hut.

She started to scratch her ever-expanding belly in slow, up and down strokes. Fudruckin wool dress itched right through her linen shift worse every day. A pig started to squeal outside. She had been married to Butcher Koebel since she got pregnant about six months ago, and was beginning to think it was more than long enough.

"You don't need water to wash up with do you? You look all right to me. Hold your hands out, blood goes in the bucket," she said. She pulled a milking stool to the coal pile and thumped a bucket between her feet. "Before I start, where is this money you mentioned?"

"In my hose; I have a purse," the man said. His eyes were glazed and he was sweating up a storm from being dragged along half the valley.

"A purse, huh? It better have coins in it." She tugged his tunic up to access his hose and he groaned in pain. Dried blood had glued the cloth to his skin and a jagged wound appeared. "Well, I'll stitch that up afterwards, what do you say?" She stuck a hand down his hose and fished around for the money purse. It briefly crossed her mind that the man was quite attractive, or he would be when he didn't have the pallor and moist shine of a giant slug - the kind she picked off the cabbages and put in the stew. Slim, but muscular, not missing too many teeth, straight back and wide shoulders. His nose was crooked, but most men's were.

"There's more than enough for my room and board and the excellent care-"

"Mmm-hmm." She counted through the different coins and put most of them back. "Make sure this stays safe in your hose. I'd hate to not find it the next time I need it and have to forcibly remove your other purse."

"Consider me your private Swiss bank," he croaked.

"So, which finger do we start on?"

"Don't you have any strong drink for the pain?"

"Afraid I'm plum out of strong drink. You have met my husband, haven't you?"

"But isn't there something you can give me, some rare Swiss mountain herbs to dull the-"

"If you're going to be a pansy about this, I can knock you out with a log."

"What are the odds I'll wake up again?"

"About fifty-fifty. Sixty-forty, maybe."

"In my favor?"

"Sure, if you'll let me get started. I have other things to do today. Blood sausages to make, that sort of thing."

"Pig blood sausages?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"Just how much blood do you need for sausages? Sounds like your husband already took care of the pig."

"Then we should be good. Even if the livestock's a bit scrawny these days," she said. She stood to stretch her back and gather some rags for bandages. "The last couple of summers have been cold and wet; winters colder than a witch's teat if that witch was frozen a horse's length deep in a glacier. Speaking of which, you are lucky the snow didn't fall off the cliffs on you in the pass during the night. I thought with the rain it would come crashing down. If I believed in angels and all that shit, I'd say you were well guarded."

"Everywhere I've travelled these last couple of years has been hard hit by the weather," he said. "Grain costs nearly 100% more than usual, and the only thing that sells besides food is weapons; I should know."

"Do tell," she said, strolling casually behind him.

"My quick-crank crossbow has been my best seller this winter, by far. Then the compact hand cannon and heavier ball blaster which I didn't bring with me. The hand cannon I did, with the ready-made powder bags. Most army sup-"

WHUMP!

The man slumped sideways, unconscious.

"Goddam chatty Cathy," she said, tossing the log into the fireplace. She sat back down on the bucket to study the finger-bores. Iron screws, tips in steel like little barbed arrowheads, steel wires and springs. "Well, these are nice, aren't they? I'll just set these aside for a rainy day."

***

She was in the middle of cauterizing his stomach wound with a red-hot fire-poker when the man came to.

"Oh, sweet St. Reineldis!" he yelled. His skin hissed and smoke stung his nostrils. He screamed again.

"Stop moving," she warned him, wiggling the glowing poker in the wound to get all the edges.

"Ah, son of bit-"

WHUMP!

"What's a girl gotta do for some peace and quiet?" She set the poker (whose heavy end worked wonders to knock people out with) on the stones at the fire place, then whip stitched his flaps of skin together. She knotted the sinew and was biting the extra off as her husband came in.

"Pig snout and feet for dinner," he announced.

"And the tail?"

He shrugged.

"You didn't keep the tail? You know that's my favorite part."

He spat.

She kept her retort to herself. "Here's the money I got off this idiot. I want you to go tomorrow to the farmer's market in Vluolon. Pay however much you have to pay, but bring back whatever seed grain they'll sell you."

"It was too expensive before winter, it'll be too expensive now."

"But now we have gold." She slapped several coins on the table in front of him. "Pay for it. Bring it back and we'll sow the middle fields. The lower ones will probably flood again, as much rain has been coming through here."

He sniffed, snorted and spat.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"What about him?" he asked.

"What about him?"

"What if he...gets frisky while I'm gone?"

"With every fingertip drilled open and a thumb length hole in his stomach? I'll hit him over the head again."

***

Jarik

He awoke some time later to with the sound of a lullaby being hummed by the woman. She was working near the fireplace, setting several logs on the fire for more heat and smoke. A fresh batch of sausages was hanging above the fire from the roof thatching. These primitive people didn't even have a proper smoking hood and weight-balanced log thrower. If they had any money that they hadn't taken from him, he could try and set them up with something. Of course, that might be the way to get his money back from them.

The woman turned to sit on the stool with a long sigh. She had a glistening sheen of sweat on her brow and bosom, and she was caressing her belly again.

He felt a swelling of..well...he felt a great deal of swelling from simply looking at her glow and shine in the firelight. The sight was lovely enough to make him forget the dick-shriveling agony in every finger and from the hole in his side. The woman had creamy soft skin with bits of pink in all the right places, wheat-blond hair twisted in braids around her head and breasts to make cherubim sing. She relaxed on the stool, fanning her face with a bit of detached bark. Her eyes were closed and her velvet voice filled the crowded hut, chest heaving up and out with every breath.

And, just like the warm ale she reminded him of, he wished he could take her to a dark corner of a tavern and nurse her till the wee hours of the morning.

Her husband stomped in, making the hut shake when he slammed the door.

"He's awake, I'm not leavin' you alone here with him," the man grunted. Yes, actually grunted. Was he part hedgehog?

"Would you rather I go and buy the seed grain in Vluolon? What is safer in your opinion? That I stay here at home with a wounded man I already knocked out twice or that I face rocky mountain sides, bandits and greedy farmers to bring back supplies? Oh, and get a few skins of wine, too. Nothing watered down like last time, either."

Stomp, stomp. Growl. "He touches you, I'll get him with my cleaver and then I'm putting you in the pillory in town. No woman of mine attracts another man's attention."

"Well, that's a fine bit of logic. Some man attacks me, so you stick me in the pillory, baby belly and all."

"Be glad I don't beat you first."

"Practically counting my blessings. Make sure you tell those farmers you've got gold, we need the best grain they've got."

The man growled some more and complained a while, but the screaming agony from Jarik's own body was the only sound he could hear anymore. He tried to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, the man was gone and the woman was checking his side.

"Looks clean still. You might just live. If you have to piss, there's a bucket next to you, but you'll have to take it outside yourself. I have enough shit to take care of as it is," she said. "Right?"

"Right." Seemed fair enough.

"You said you were a weapons peddler. I was going through your bag, is this the quick-crank crossbow you were talking about?"

She lifted the crossbow in his line of vision.

Jarik nodded. "Yeah. Got some wine?" he asked.

"Are you thirsty? We have something that resembles wine. Here." She poured him a cup and helped him drink when he couldn't manage with the thick bandages around his fingers. "Your fingernails will all fall off, but you might get lucky and grow a few of them back."

He nodded. That was the best case scenario.

"So how does this fine contraption work?" she asked.

The quick-crank crossbow (go ahead and say it five times fast, you know you want to) resembled a traditional crossbow except for a wheel loaded with six bolts sitting above the tiller or main bar and that the crannequin and crank were underneath the tiller. The lever for shooting was in the back near the shoulder notch.

"It's as easy to shoot as any plain crossbow, but much easier and faster to reload. I can fire off all seven bolts in the space of seven heartbeats."

She scoffed in disbelief.

"Try it once. Aim by looking through the wheel on the top. No - not at me! At the wall. Steady now. As soon as you fire, you turn the crank until the next bolt is loaded and cocked, ready to fire."

She aimed for a thick beam and tried to fire the crossbow. "I think it's stuck."

"No, that's the lock. I forgot, you have to unhook the priest saver. See the knob that resembles a priest by the string catch? Yes, just ease that baby up real slow. That's so you don't accidently shoot yourself or anyone you shouldn't normally shoot just because they are pissing you off. Now, aim and-"

WHACK!

The bolt was embedded in a beam by the door. The woman grinned and started to turn the crank. The wheel clicked once and a bolt dropped in place with another click as the crannequin rotated, pulling the string smoothly over the catch. It was cocked and loaded again. No stirrup needed or sweat required.

"Oh, me likey," she whispered. "As easy as putting a pie on the table. How much?"

Jarik knew a sale when he saw one. Negotiating was going to be rather awkward, however, considering she was going to pay him with the money she took out of his hose. "I imagine 4 gold Ducatus would do the trick, or their equivalent if you have it."

"I just gave the Ducatus to my husband for seed grain; I'll fish around in your pants for the equivalent."

"You gave him the gold pieces to go to market? Are you crazy? He'll be killed!"

She shrugged. "He can take care of himself. What is this other thing?" She lifted (or tried to lift) the wrought iron cannon.

"That is what I call my Cul-de-Feu or my Fire-Ass, pardon my French. It's a portable hand cannon, also called the wee bombarder."

"What the fuck does it do? I don't care how many names it has."

"Right. It blows holes in stone walls - if you hit the same place several times - or it can blast several knights in full armor off a field. If it doesn't explode in your face, that is, but I've got a good model here that hardly ever backfires," he explained. He motioned for her to flip the wooden legs up, pointing the opening out the door. "I have gun powder prepared in fine paper packages that you pop in the antechamber, then take the iron and stone composite bomb and roll it-"

"Dafuq are you talking about?"

"Twist open the button in the back and put in the package of black powder. Grab the ball, it's the only ball in my bag and roll it nice and easy down the muzzle."

"Oh. I put this in the back and that in the front. Bull's bollocks this is complicated. Now what?"

"Put a cotton wick in the pincher, and light it up. Wait, not now!"

"Why not now? I want to try this bad boy out."

"That's the only bomb I have with me and you wouldn't believe the noise it makes when it explodes." He shook his head nervously. "Didn't you say there was snow in the pass about to fall?"

"It's loud enough to cause an avalanche?"

"Maybe, maybe not, but I'd hate for us to be stuck in this valley just the two of us," he said. Wait - what the hell did I just say? God, I'm an idiot. Light it, baby, light it!

"Oh. Some other time, then," she said, obviously disappointed. "I don't think I'll be buying the Cul-de-Feu, unfortunately. Not very many stone walls or knights to knock over around here."

He nodded, still mentally kicking his ass for not letting her light the cannon. "You know, I feel very guilty, but I haven't properly introduced myself. I am Jarik of Bern, and you are?"

"Miltraud of Haettli Grunde. Pleased to meet you."

"And where is Haettli Grunde, if I may ask?"

"It's the valley you crawled into. It's my valley, my husband moved here to work the fields. Except the weather has been so bad the last couple of years there isn't any grain. So don't ask for bread. If you are hungry, I have left over stewed pig foot and nettles."

***

Miltraud

The next day, Miltraud was up at the crack of dawn to take a piss next to the garden as usual. She could barely get through the night without having to pee somewhere, so right before dawn, she was wide awake. She yawned, scratching herself and tiptoeing though the wet weeds and vegetables. What she wouldn't give for a loaf of bread. A big, crusty hunk of real bread with a cup of fresh goat's milk to dip it in.

The baby kicked hard, telling her she was right. Bread would be just the thing this morning so he could grow another few finger lengths. As it was, Miltraud's baby belly was going to bust right her shift and dress, and then what would she wear? Not like she owned a second dress or anything.

She gathered some leaks and young cabbages for more stew. When she went inside, she saw Jarik was still asleep on the pile of coal. He was surprisingly handsome and fit for a peddler. Must be all the running around between warring armies that kept him in shape. And a good shape it was, too. Long, lean, both ears still, and a manly beard. There was also the purse in his hose to consider. Quite a large...purse.

She shook herself. When her husband came back, he' be after them both with his butcher knives. Still...

Watching Jarik sleep, she had a sudden vision of the man killed and roasted, then laid out on bed of vegetables and pastries ready to be eaten. She could almost see her husband with his knife and eager fingers preparing to dig into his cannibalistic meal. He'd probably enjoy it. She gave an evil chuckle. This vision sort of brought water to her mouth, too. If they didn't get some seed grain growing in the fields soon, they could starve come winter. Soon they would run out of pigs; she was already tired of pork, but it was better than only vegetables. They needed to sow the fields, that's all there was to it.

She shook her head and set the vegetables on the table. There was no water left from last night, and she took the bucket from the wall to go to the stream.

Five minutes later, she flew through the door yelling for Jarik to wake up.

"Get the fuck out of bed you lazy shit, there's riders coming up the valley!"

"Wha...."

"Riders, bandits, get up!"

She barred the door and found his crossbow. "Get up, up!"

"I...what?"

"Bandits are riding up. Well, one bandit is riding through the pass on a pony, but there were other bandits with him."

"On a pony? What color is he?"

"Curds and whey white, blond hair, probably blue eyes. We're in the middle of Switzerland, what color do you think he is?"

"The pony, not the guy!"

"Dapple grey. He has my husband's shirt on, too."

"The pony is wearing your husband's shirt?"

"No, the bandit! How'd you think I knew it was a bandit?"

"His evil sneer, I don't know," Jarik said. He stood with a loud groan. "Where are they now?"

She cracked open the door to check. There was no one in sight the entire path to the stream. "They must have moved into the trees. They weren't too close when I saw them, so we have at least a little time. Should I get the cannon ready?"

"Yeah, but then go out the back and hide in the woods if you think you can make it. I know these bandits, they're the ones who set the finger-bores on me and they won't be kind to you just because you've got a bun in the oven."

"How am I supposed to get out the back?" She motioned at the room. There were no windows or doors in the hut besides the front one.

"Right. Never mind. Help me with this and get under the coal to hide."

***

Jarik

The good news was that Jarik had a quick-crank crossbow, a portable cannon with one bomb and a pregnant lady hiding in a pile of coal to guard his back against the bandits. The bad news was that if Spaetzli had all of his six minions with him, Jarik was one bolt short, and the pregnant lady wasn't going to help him. There were only six bolts in the crossbow unless he could pry free the damn bolt that Miltraud had shot in the oak beam. He tried to yank it out, but couldn't get a grip with the bandages on his fingers.

Twigs snapped outside and a pig started squealing. Jarik rolled his shoulders to loosen the stiffness that comes with sleeping on coal while recovering from a knife wound. With luck on his side, Spaetzli only brought a couple of men with him and Jarik would be able to pick them off one by one.

Laughter hee-hawed outside the door, almost covering the tell-tale sound of the snick of flint against steel. They were lighting a fire with a grasshopper striker. Which meant...

Something thumped on the ceiling and a line of smoke snaked in under eaves. They would smoke him out. This day was totally sucking so far. Jarik lifted the crossbow to his shoulder and waited. There was usually a protocol for this sort of thing: cajoling, threatening, insulting and what-not before anyone tried to rush the hut.

The door burst open and a minion waved a rusting short sword around, breaking all rules of protocol. Jarik aimed the crossbow, took a breath and squeezed the lever. And squeezed the lever again. And cursed the priest saver that prevented him from shooting the crossbow, but he couldn't release because of the bandages. And kicked the minion who lunged for him, promptly reopening his stomach wound.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Jarik swung the crossbow at the man's ugly face. His eyes blurred and he misjudged, swinging high. He took a blow to his chest. He was thrown outside on the ground to the loud jeers of the other bandits. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath and gather his wits. He managed to pull himself upright on his feet and he smiled at Spaetzli.

"You've recovered from your indisposition, I take it. I thought it best to give you some privacy the other evening, you understand," Jarik said.

Spaetzli shifted on his pony. Sweat was flowing from his forehead and soaking the top of the bright yellow shirt despite the chill morning. He must have some kind of condition; Jarik remembered he had been sweating like a nun in confession the night the group had jumped him.

"You gave us a great deal more than privacy, my good man, but not as much as we wanted from you. We were expecting entertainment and you tricked us with your wine and then left just when the evening was getting good," Spaetzli said. "I'll take that." He pointed at the crossbow.

The knife in Jarik's back told him not to protest when one the men took the weapon. "Yes, well, one man's entertainment is another man's tedium," he said. Not the greatest quip he'd ever come up with by far, but he was under a lot of pressure.

"We had only begun on the finger-bores when you left, and we had such grand designs for you. Of course, if you would have been kind enough to hand over your money and goods, we wouldn't have gone to such troubles," Spaetzli said. He looked through the bolt wheel at Jarik, aiming for his chest.

"I didn't see why I should simply hand you my livelihood. Seeing how you were probably going to kill me anyway, we were at a sort of impasse," Jarik said. He was one starting to sweat now. Behind him, the hut was smoking more and more, although the moist thatching was slow to catch fire. He wondered if the cannon would fire if it got hot enough in there.

"I think we'll start with roasting your tender parts and then finish by sawing you in half today, I'm in the mood for blood and guts," Spaetzli said with a smile.

Jarik's guts Spaetzli was talking about turned to cold water, and not for the first time, he cursed the peddler who had sold him the poison a month ago. 'One drop in a glass of wine and your enemies will fall over dead in the space of ten heartbeats,' his ass. He had dumped the whole bottle in the wineskin before the bandits noticed and each had drunk two cups. Then they still had time to set the finger-bores and start cooking his horse before the puking and cramps incapacitated them. And not a single motherfucker was dead. Spaetzli had his entire crew of six with him, and was now fiddling with the crossbow. Only a complete idiot would not have noticed the priest saver was locking the string.

"I tell you what, explain how this works and I won't make you eat anything we cut off and roast," Spaetzli said.

"May the devil rip off your hairy balls and shi-"

"I'll show you how it works in exchange for safe passage out of here," called a warm, raspy, feminine voice. Miltraud was standing in the doorway, streaked with sweat and coal. The smoke rolled out from the hut around her.

The bandits whistled and chuckled, nudging each other.

"My lady, we had no idea you were present," Spaetzli said, charm dripping from each word. "By all means, of course you are safe in our presence."

"Yeah, just hand me the crossbow and I'll show you how to unlock it. Then I walk out of this valley alone."

"You have my word on it." Spaetzli's minions snickered on cue at his promise. As if a woman would be allowed to leave unharmed.

She strode forward, belly big and round. The men let her pass and she held out her hand for the crossbow when she reached Spaetzli's pony.

"If I may?"

"By all means, we are anxious for your presentation," Spaetzli said.

"All right. It's as easy a setting a pie on the table. First you hold it up like this," she said, lifting the crossbow to rest on her shoulder. She aimed at Jarik, who was beginning to wish he'd thrown himself in the lake to drown instead of hiking up to this cursed valley. "Then you do a thing," she mumbled. She toyed with the crannequin and crank, making her aim go off. Jarik couldn't tell if she was playing a game or if she truly didn't remember how to unhook the priest saver. The bandits chuckled and cooed at her.

"Well, my fine lady, perhaps-"

"No, wait, I think I remember," she said. "It's this thingy here." She touched the wheel on top and in one gloriously smooth motion, pulled her hand back, unhooked the priest saver and pulled the lever.

WHOOSH!

The bandit behind Jarik grunted, a bolt hole clear through his neck. He leaned on Jarik briefly before sliding sideways.

Click, click, WHUMP! Another minion stared at the bolt buried in his chest.

Spaetzli was yelling, drawing a knife to hit Miltraud.

"Down!" Jarik shouted. He barreled towards the pony and another minion going for her as well.

She knelt. Click, click, WHUMP!

The pony shied from Jarik's onslaught, but the minion on foot cracked him upside the head with a staff. He grabbed for the weapon, blinded by flashing lights.

Click, click, WHACK!

He ripped the staff free and swung wildly, connecting with one or two bodies. Spaetzli kept shouting orders and the ponied neighed in fear.

Click, click, WHUMP! The man attacking Jarik was down.

Miltraud yelled something incredibly obscene even by Jarik's standards. He brought the staff around and rammed it into the minion's face who had grabbed her by the hair.

She twisted and pointed the crossbow behind her. Click, click, WHUMP! The man flew backwards. She was out of bolts.

Spaetzli had his pony under control. He gazed stupefied at the carnage in front of the hut. His six men were dead or dying. "You...you will regret this!"

"Give me back my husband's shirt and any money and seed grain you stole from him." Miltraud took a bolt from a hidden pocket to place it in the wheel - it was the bolt that had been in the wall - and slowly turned the crank until the crossbow was loaded.

Spaetzli quivered, then pulled the shirt off and threw several bags tied to the saddle on the ground. "I demand safe passage from this valley."

"You can kiss your safe passage on its-," she said.

"Gyah!" Spaetli yanked on the reins, urging his pony to go.

Miltraud aimed and fired. The bolt flew towards the bandit, grazing his shoulder. Spaetzli screamed in fear and promised he would be back soon.

Miltraud let the crossbow fall to her side. "Give me another bolt!" she told Jarik.

He shook his head. She would miss again.

"Then what do we do?" she asked.

They watched the pony gallop down the path towards the stream and valley pass.

"The cannon!" they yelled in unison. Together, they pulled the cannon from the smoking hut and Jarik pointed it towards the backend of the pony.

"Light it, before he's out of range!"

"How far is the range?" she asked, lighting the wick.

"Pretty far, but the accuracy is only so-so. We'll have to hope."

The wick was burned half-way.

"What about the snow, is it in range?" she asked.

"The snow? An avalanche!" He grabbed the front end of the cannon, tilting the muzzle higher. The wick was burned down. He grabbed Miltraud and threw her to the ground.

***

Miltraud

The explosion was louder than she could have imagined. She didn't see what happened with the bomb, but she heard the pony neighing and its hooves beating faster. She lifted her head. The bandit was by the stream, the echoes of the explosion still reverberating through the long, narrow valley.

Then a deeper rumble shook the ground. She knew that sound - she had grown with it. The snow on either side of the cliffs that marked the pass began to shake and slide. The bandit kept urging his horse on faster as the plates of solid ice and snow fell free from the rocks.

The groaning grew louder as the snow filled the pass, burying bandit and pony alike. The sounds began to fade away.

"Too bad about that pony, he looked like a fine animal," she said.

Jarik groaned in turn and rolled over on his back. Blood was seeping through his shirt where his wound had come open. "You are a damn good shot with your new crossbow, woman."

"Thank you."

Miltraud pulled the rope for the rain collector above the roof, dousing the fire that had damaged the thatching. She stared around at the dead men, thinking she would have quite a bit of cleaning to do. Folding her dead husband's shirt, she thought it could have been worse. She never thought he would meet such an end, but she wouldn't shed any tears for him. Ever since he had been forced to marry her, he had been a louse.

She helped Jarik back inside and put him in the bed, noticing again that he was a rather fine specimen. Luck had definitely been on her side for a change. She had always loved this valley and it treated her well.

She would give this new man a try and see how he well he worked out, if he didn't die. He was terribly pale

"Are you going to live?" she asked him.

He grunted and tried to smile.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said. She bustled about the hut, trying to find clean bandages and sinew to sew him up with. Yes, she like this new man so far, but if he turned into a louse, she would give him too much money and send him to market to buy something one day. It would surely work a second time, as well.