Proving a Point, by Larry Brenza

Proving a Point

By Larry Brenza

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always knew Turburt was nothing but a seven foot tall weasel!” Urball said as he
approached the body. But all Bobska could do
was replay the last few minutes over again in
his head.
“He was alive just a minute ago. Sitting across the
table from me, talking and drinking.” Bobska said to
himself again, as to reassure what happened, really
did happen.
It happened all so quick. There Turburt sat, mug in
hand, drinking his ale and Urball asked again how he
knew the chest was down underneath the castle ruin
when he said he’d never heard of the Kapsian Legend.
Turburt mumbled something into his mug as he took
another gulp, and then Urball ask him how he could
believe something a stranger said in passing and was
he a dung heap for believing it.
Turburt suddenly got angry and slammed his mug
down and admitted that a friend told him about it.
Urball pressed Turburt about he could have a friend
when he just got into town. Turburt angrily answered
that it wasn’t a friend, just somebody who bought him
a drink. Urball responded that if he so ready to
believe a stranger, that it was a good thing that he
didn’t suggest that Turburt wasn’t a warblehog
because then Turburt would have found the nearest
mudhole and roll around in it.

That’s when Turburt sprang up and shouted that we were all stupid humans, and if we would only have
followed him into the underground at the castle, that he
and his fellow half-orcs would have finished us off and
took our belongings.
‘That’s when Turburt drew his axe and raised it to
strike at us.’ Bobska thought.
Bobska’s mind’s eye flashed his next move reliving it.
He jumped back out of chair, sending it crashing away
to the wall behind him. As he stood, he reached to his
belt and grabbed the knife by the hilt. He didn’t raise it
to throw, but instead, drew the blade right from its
scabbard and flung it straight into Turburt’s chest! As
he released that blade Bobska drew another knife from
his belt with his other hand, this time he did raise, aim
and throw in a blur of motion that landed the blade not
five inches from where the first knife rested in Turburt’s
rib cage. That sent Turburt stumbling back, tripping
over his fallen stool. Just as the second sunk into
Turburt, a third knife thudded inbetween the other two!
Turburt was dead as he hit the wall, his axe also
striking the wall as he slumped to the floor.
“You can always catch a half-orc in a lie, laddie, they
can’t think quick to cover their deciet.” Urball said,
then added, “Nice knife grouping.”

athor felt the breeze on his neck, but before
he could turn toward the window he was
knocked down and flipped over on his back
and a blade was placed in front of his face. A
heavy weight settled on his arms and mid-section
and a voice said softly, “Leave me for dead, eh
Bathor?”
Bathor, finding it difficult to focus past the blade,
could not mistake that voice for any other than
Murfree. Eight days ago when their adventuring
party was deep in the bowels of the Red Dragon’s
lair, they came across the great wurms treasure den.
After loading up as much booty as they could
manage, they were working their way back out when
the dragon crossed their path.
Fortunately, for Murfree, he had a bag of holding
and was less encumbered than the rest to defend
himself. Unfortunately, Bathor’s fighters were given
extra treasure to carry and could not easily come to
the melee with the dragon. As Murfree fought and
dodged furiously, the others took the opportunity to
leave him to the dragon and make good their escape.
And now Murfree, somehow, magically has
reappeared to sit on Bathor’s chest with a blade
pressed to his nose. “M-m-m-m... many crates. Going
somewhere, Bathor?” Murfree’s low calm voice made
Bathor tremble uncontrollably.
“M-Murfree, y-you knew the dangers of plplundering
a d-d-dragon’s lair. G-get in, g-grab all

you can and g-get out any way you can.”
But, before Bathor could continue, Murfree leaned in
closer to add in a stern tone, “And that means leaving
crew behind?!” He punctuated his question with his
blade sliding into Bathor’s nose until a droplet of blood
appeared next to the razor sharp edge.
“B-be r-reasonable, M-Murfree.” Bathor stumbled on
every word knowing they were the words of a money
grabbing coward. “Y-you’re a-alive a-a-aren’t y-you?”
He said, hoping somehow, to talk his way out of his
apparent fate.
“No. I’m not.” Murfree said. “The dragon stopped his
attack on me right after you left. He found it quite
amusing that you could run like a cur and leave me
behind as a sacrifice. He pondered a day on what my
fate would be, during that time he buried me up to my
neck in treasure. He decided to enchant me to his will.
I am strong of body, but, weak of mind.” Murfree
leaned back and opened his tunic, there to reveal a
fresh brand burned into his skin.
Bathor shuddered and Murfree said, “I only live on
by his whims. And, his first whim is for me to bring
back all of your heads to him. So, it is now time for
your head to join your chum’s heads in my duffle.”
“N-NO, Wait!! Murfree! You’re enchanted! I know a
powerful wizard who can right your wrong!” Murfree,
finally speaks in a loud voice. “You lie!!”
“NO! Truly!!” Bathor pleads.

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