The Last Satyr: The Company is Formed Part 1

Now the boy didn’t know the dwarf very well, for the dwarf attended his own separate school for dwarves. Further, dwarfs were a hearty, hardworking, industrious people which represented pretty much everything the boy avoided. They were a short, sturdy, bearded race (including, they say, even their women) who mined the mountains for mithril. They were used to working underground and were seldom seen in the woods except to cut timber to shore up their tunnels or to collect Old Joe’s ore rocks for gold crushing. Of course, Old Joe knew the dwarves well. They got along with most humans and elves, and traded iron tools and weapons for fabrics, furs, and food. If Marroh was looking for young Joe, it probably had something to do with Joe’s father, as that’s how they knew one another.

Young Joe, still gaily impressed with his position as captain of the guard of the now already notorious Satyr Gang, immediately confided in Marroh their plan to become robbers. But the young dwarf was unimpressed, not that the boy minded, as he saw no reason to recruit Marroh, anyway. He couldn’t see how a dwarf would be any use to a gang of robbers. So he kept his tongue still.

Of course, young Joe blabbed on enough for them both, pretty much-repeating everything the boy had said, word for word. Marroh—short, stout, with shoulder length brown hair and matching eyes with a broad nose—just frowned.

“Plainly here are two souls with but a single thought,” the dwarf finally said. “It’s obvious neither of you knows the first thing about robbing.”

Telling a satyr he knows nothing about robbing was like telling a horse he knows nothing about eating grass. The boy jumped up to his hooves at the challenge.

“He does too,” interrupted young Joe. “I’ve seen him. He’s the greatest robber there is!”

That’s telling it, the boy thought.

“Can’t be the best gang, though,” Marroh said with a frown of certainty.

“And why’s that?” demanded the boy.

“Because you haven’t got a dwarf,” Marroh answered.

“Why would I need a dwarf?” asked the amazed boy.

“You’ve got to have a dwarf,” Marroh insisted. “You can’t rob without a dwarf.”

The satyr was unconvinced. “And why is that?”

“Well, for starters,” the other replied, “suppose you had to send one of your robbers through a small opening? You’d need a dwarf.”

“He’s right,” young Joe agreed. “We’d need a dwarf.”

“And what if you wanted a member to disguise himself by dressing up as a small child? You’d need a dwarf.”

“He’s right,” young Joe agreed. “We need a dwarf.”

“And a robber needs tools and weapons,” Marroh went on. “To get them, you need a dwarf.”

“We just talked about that!” young Joe agreed again, chiming in.

“And suppose the treasure is in an underground vault, and you want to tunnel your way in to steal it?” Marroh asked. “You’d need a dwarf for that too.”

“He’s right!” young Joe agreed with a nod. “We have to have a dwarf!”

“And then you need to bury your loot so that not even an elf can find it,” the dwarf continued. “You need a dwarf for that.”

Now the boy wasn’t listening too much up to this point, but he had just lost his few gold pieces to a thief who had uncovered his hiding place. So now he took an interest.

“I suppose we could use a dwarf if we found one good enough for the job,” said the boy to Marroh and asked, “Know any?”

“I know me,” answered the dwarf.

“Why would you join us?”

“Well, first, I didn’t say I would," Marroh began, a skeptical raise of his bushy eyebrows giving him an air of cautious consideration. "But, if I did, it’s because we dwarves need to change professions. With drow, orcs, and goblins about, it’s not safe to mine anymore. And there’s nothing left to mine, anyway. All the mithril’s gone. I was just planning on joining Joe’s dad to look for gold. You don’t have to dig so deep for that, but I’m open to other suggestions. Would we be robbing good people or bad?”

“Bad—drow, orcs, and goblins for sure and anyone who is rich and selfish,” said the boy.

“I could live with that. What’s in it for me?”

“You get a share in whatever we steal,” Joe answered.

“We split it three ways?” asked the dwarf.

“Almost,” young Joe explained it to him. “We divide by shares. The goat boy gets one share for being captain and one share for being in the gang, so he gets two shares. And I get one share for being a member of the gang and another for being captain of the guard.”

“How many shares do I get?”

“One for being a member,” Joe said, remembering the boy’s words.

“So,” the dwarf asked. “If we got ourselves five pieces of gold, you’d each get two and I’d get one?”

Young Joe blinked being unable to count to five.

“That’s right,” said the boy for him.

“I don’t know,” the dwarf replied. “It seems I ought to get three shares.”

“Three?!” declared the boy in outrage. “Why three?”

“One for being a member of the gang, one for being captain of the engineers and one for the captain of the armory,” said the dwarf.

Young Joe’s mind struggled long and hard with the math.

“He’s right,” he finally said. “That’s three shares!”

“I’m not giving him three shares!” the boy countered.

“Then I’m not joining,” the dwarf said.

“Good!” the boy answered back.

“But, boy,” argued young Joe. “We have to have a dwarf! The gang’s just not complete without a dwarf!”

“I’m not giving him three shares when I’m the captain and I’m only getting two!”

The negotiation for shares was akin to a boisterous marketplace, with each participant haggling like seasoned merchants over the price of a rare commodity. The dwarf’s demand for an extra share was like a vendor adding an unexpected surcharge, and the satyr’s counteroffer was as shrewd as a customer bargaining for a discount on a priceless artifact.

“Well, then give yourself another share,” said Joe.

That was true. As captain of the Satyr Gang, he could do that.

“Then I get an extra share,” the boy said, thinking quickly, “as captain of ceremonies!”

“Captain of ceremonies?” asked the dwarf in surprise. “What’s that?”

“I’m in charge of initiating all new members into the gang by the secret, sacred rite.”

“What rite is that?” the dwarf wanted to know.

“I can’t tell,” the boy said. “It’s a secret. You’ll have to join to find out.”

“Okay,” the dwarf agreed. “Three shares for you.”

“Wait!” young Joe now objected. “Now you’ve both got three shares and I’ve only got two.”

“It was your idea,” the boy said.

“Aye. That it was. Why are you concerned?” asked Marroh. “Your two shares are twice as many shares as you offered me and you thought one was fair.”

Young Joe stumbled through the math again.

“You’re right. It is. But it doesn’t seem fair somehow.”

“You’ve got two positions and two shares,” the boy told him. “That’s fair.”

“Now wait!” Joe argued. “Let me see how this works.”

He gathered up some pinecones and laid them out.

“Let’s say this is the treasure. Now! We each get one pinecone for being a member of the gang," He began to lay them out. "Then the satyr gets two more for being captain and captain of ceremonies and Marroh gets two more for being captain of the engineers and captain of the armory." The forest watched in silent witness as the shares unfolded like a script in a grand play.

"And I get another for being captain of the guard." His own pinecone joined the arrangement to complete intricately woven tapestry of pinecones, each representing a stake in the future fortunes of their budding gang.

"Hah! Look! I knew it!" Joe proclaimed, a mixture of realization and victory playing across his features. "You both have one more than I have!”

“That’s because we each hold one more position than you,” Marroh said.

“And that’s not fair,” objected young Joe.

“Sure, it’s fair,” said the boy. “You were getting two shares before and that was fair, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It was.”

“And now you’re still getting two shares, aren’t you? Nothing’s changed.”

“Except now you both have more than me.”

“Well! If you want three shares,” offered the boy, “you need to be a captain of something else.”

“What else is there to be captain of?” young Joe asked, looking at them both.

“Don’t look at me,” said Marroh. “I’ve never done this before.”

“What about you, boy?” asked young Joe of him.

“Well…” the boy offered. “Give me one of your shares and I’ll tell you.”

“Okay,” young Joe agreed. “That sounds fair. You can have my share as captain of the guard. So what’s the other captain’s share?”

“Captain of the cavalry,” offered the boy.

“Cavalry?” the dwarf gasped, taken aback. “Isn’t that horses? Because dwarfs don’t ride horses!”

“I’ll take it,” said Joe, ignoring the dwarf’s objection.

“You do know,” Marroh asked young Joe. “That the goat boy now has four shares?”

“So?” young Joe wanted to know. “What do I care? It was a fair trade—and I gained a share!”

Marroh shrugged indifferently and looked towards the boy. “As captain of the armory, I suggest we get to the business of arming ourselves. What weapons do you need?”

“A sword,” answered young Joe first, “One with an elfin blade.”

“You’ll get what blade I give you. What about you, boy?” the dwarf asked.

The boy thought about that. He already had a knife, and Ronthiel was making him a bow. But he remembered the story of the mounted satyrs in school.

“A spear,” he said.

“Two, I imagine.” The dwarf assumed. “Like the satyrs of the Second War?”

This surprised the satyr. “You know about the Second War?”

“Sure! Everybody does."

The Second War drew a blank look from young Joe, who squinted his eyebrows at it.

Marroh noticed Joe's expression and corrected himself. “At least anyone who went to school. So what do I get when I bring these weapons?” he wanted to know.

“What's school?” Young Joe asked.

The boy ignored young Joe's question and answered the dwarf. “What do you want for them?”

“A side of bacon and a plug of tobacco,” the dwarf replied.

“I can get the bacon,” volunteered the boy.

“And I can get the tobacco,” said young Joe.

That satisfied the dwarf who then asked. “So where and when do we meet?”

“Can you build us a raft?” the boy inquired of him.

“A dwarf can build anything,” Marroh assured him. “But we’re not seafarers, you know.”

“Young Joe here is,” the boy said. “His father has taught him how to raft.”

Old Joe operated the ferry raft that crossed Fish River and young Joe knew all there was to know about it.

“You can build us a raft,” the boy instructed the dwarf. “Do it upstream of Linthiel. Young Joe will show you how it’s done. Later, we’ll all meet at the raft, just before it gets dark tonight.”

“Consider it done,” Marroh said.

“I’ll be there,” said young Joe.

“So will I—but remember!” warned the boy. “Be there before it gets dark. There’s a big cat in these woods lurking about. I want to be shoved off before it comes out. That thing will be looking for me.”

“Have your initiation ready,” Marroh said, getting ready to leave before adding. “And no more dividing shares!”

The decisions were made, the work divided, and the thrill and call of adventure demanded them to answer it.