Chapter 3: "The Green Hills of Tyrol"

All at once, as if a conductor had raised their baton, a variety of sounds boomed. The group of adventurers was skilled in the practical use of their weapons., the first girl had a slender knife academic a short spear, and the biker wrestling of the beast was using his ax handle to keep the jaws from his throat. Only the far prettier girl did not carry a weapon.

Donald didn’t want them to hurt the animal, but no words left his lips as he witnessed the melee before him. The only thing he could think to do was dash for his bagpipes left next to the orchard, hoping that if he could calm the animal, it would lead to a peaceful conclusion.

He always left the base drone connected, so it only took a few seconds to attach the chanter and fill the bag, then slap to bag while squeezing to start the drones and followed by another breath and more pressure on the bag forcing the chanter to life chanter. It was a poor startup, and the chanter reed was dry and required more pressure than Donald preferred.

He played the same tunes, his jaunty 6/8s, but due to circumstances they were choppy and rushed. Even worse than that, panicked could be the only correct term. Even a seasoned bagpiper would have a difficult time keeping a steady beat when witnessing a fight to the death between man and beast.

The black Fox was now off the almost biker and had gouged his chest badly in blood, turning his green tunic red. Spectacles, using his short spear, was forcing the black Fox back as it hacked up strands of the biker’s beard. That was the closest it got to ripping out the biker’s throat before the biker tossed it off. The woman with black hair was always just behind the animal, stabbing when opportunity presented itself and then with agility backing away from all retaliatory swipes from the black Fox’s claws.

As the din of his bagpipes beckoned through the clearing, offbeat with plenty of flogged embellishments, it was like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky. All of them, black Fox and the party of adventurers immediately focused all attention on Donald. The black Fox immediately charged him, and the biker and academic both hurled their weapons at him as if in a state of blind rage.

Donald’s throat would have been torn clean from his body in under five seconds, but first he would have been impaled by the axe expertly aimed at his head and a short spear to the heart. But before he could suffer his second death three times in quick succession. The beautiful woman with the sky-blue hair opened her mouth and sang. The song radiated through the clearing overpowering his bagpipes, which was quite a feat for the bagpipes are arguably the world’s loudest instrument, but it occurred for the bagpipes if you were a random listener wandering through the woods would swear that they have gone silent and the only sound remaining was her beautiful voice.

As if the song’s sound had physical force, the two weapons fell dead as if smacked to the ground. The black Fox sent flying, ensnared by the song. The black Fox flew five times its body length straight into the spiked hedge.

The woman’s voice continued with a tempo change and, though the lyrics were incomprehensible to him, contained a hint of anger. The hedge moved as if it were alive and every bit as carnivorous as the black Fox must have been, for the hedge wrapped around the creature and proceeded to devour. Devour — that was the only word that could come to Donald’s mind from witnessing the event. There was nothing left of the black Fox except for blood on the hedges, barbs and Donald imagined the thing was full and content; he at least hoped he imagined it.

Donald had no time to process the emotions of the death of an animal he thought would be his companion in this strange world. He just decided on a name and everything. Archie would fit the thing well. Thankfully, when a man takes three years to die, death just doesn’t have the same appeal. He knew it was sad, but it’s hard to work up the emotions to really dramatize the event. So, all it took was one silent prayer and placing the animal in the same place in his mind that he kept childhood pets, and that was enough.

For at that moment, the biker charged, and wrestled Donald to the ground. Thankfully, the academic was concerned with snatching the bagpipes, so it ended up unharmed. The wrestling did not stop until the agile woman’s dagger was at his throat after they blond biker and positioned himself on pinning him to the ground.

Donald quickly summoned up the little training that he had that covered what to do if you’re captured by insurgent forces. It was very little — only a three-hour course for no one thought they would target members of the regimental band. His memory failing him, he decided silence woods serve him the best.

“So you thought you could add that Timbrelyre to the Count’s menagerie?” the agile girl said with a sneer on her lips.

“If he is one of the counts beast tamers, Pia. His nerves gave out at exactly the wrong opportunity.” The academics said.

The blue-haired woman and the biker refrained from joining in the back-and-forth argument now merging between the agile girl and the bespectacled academic. Until Donald he had quite enough and got over another minor shock, that the adventurers spoke modern English and appeared to keep the old-time phrasing to a relative minimum.

“You moron, you’re going to snap it!” Donald said as the academic took a hand off the bagpipes, leaving only the one holding onto it by the chanter, which is the flute part at the bottom for those unaware.

The biker quieted him down with a shot to the face as Donald nearly threw him off in a sudden burst of action.

“He’s a lively one I say, but quiet down before I give you a left to go with the right.” The blonde, bearded biker said.

The academic Took a firmer hold of the bagpipes holding it somewhat properly, by the based around ideally, he would’ve held onto the mouthpiece and chanter with the same hand but those were negotiable for now.

Donald was too groggy smack on the head to really grasp what was going on. He knew enough to know that the women who had left and returned and group were shoveling as much fruit as they could into large sacks.

He did not recall what they said except for the beautiful blue-haired one. Term beautiful was overused in Donald’s opinion, but that was the word that fit the best.

Donald had his arms bound and mouth gagged as they led him through the forest. The only two good things about the situation were that the biker was carrying his pack, and in a small vengeance, was having some real trouble. And the other.

“Did Brio hit you too hard?” Those were the first words she said to him on the long march; if she said any earlier he was too concussed to hear. Followed by questions and more questions that he could only answer by nodding or shaking his head. His mind was distracted by her eyes every bit as blue as her hair, and how she moved graceful with gentle steps as she waved through the forest and how she didn’t falter even though she was wearing a dress that should be hell to manoeuvre through the bush and keep from snacking but for her it was effortless as if the mere sound of her footsteps made the spiked bushes want to bend away from her.

He was a captive for now, more willing a captive than he had been at the beginning. Mesmerized by every small motion, and word she uttered.