The Other Side: A Second Chance

Hautchkins

Herbert Hautchkin woke to the erratic ringing of his alarm that morning and groaned as he rose out of bed. His stiff bones were popping and creaking as the middle-aged man sighed, removed his bedding, and kicked his legs over the side. Like always, as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that his love, Anora, had already risen, probably just before he did. She always seemed to beat that damn alarm.

Herbert slipped his feet into the slippers beside his bed and began to shuffle to the washroom to freshen himself up before returning to make his bed. After getting dressed today in his usual denim suspenders and blue plaid shirt, he ventured downstairs to find his whole family already awake.

Mila and Avdol, his pride and joy, were getting ready to head to the schoolhouse. Mila, who was only six years old, around the same age as the Ashflow kids, was eagerly reciting the alphabet as his eldest, Avdol, nine, was reading a book. The two children sat around the dining room table as Herbet came over and ruffled the hair on their heads before going to his wife, who was working the range, and kissing her on the cheek.

"Morning, beautiful," Herbert cooed softly before playfully patting Anora on her rump and awarding him the reaction of her yelping and giggling.

"Good morning, My Love," Anora responded while playfully shooing him away with a loose cloth. "Your breakfast is almost ready. Sit down; I'll get you your coffee in a moment." She smiled warmly at him as she turned to the pot of boiling water on the range and began to prepare him a cup.

Herbert nodded and went over to the table with his children, and looking at Avdol, he asked, "What're you reading, boy?" He took a seat beside him as his son glanced up from the pages of his book.

"I'm readin' the adventures of Kollan Woodweaver." Avdol closed the book and showed Herbert the cover, which displayed a drawn image of a burly Golacchi man squaring off a horde of menacing arachnoids. "Madam Drache referred me to this. It's quite interesting." Herbert held his hand out, and Avdol passed the book off to him.

Opening the book to a random page, Herbert's eyes skimmed from left to right as he read a random page. The contents were quite expressive and elaborate for a simple fictional novel. Herbert had heard the name Kollan Woodweaver once, a renowned adventurer from many decades ago. He closed the book and handed it back to his son.

"I'm impressed you can understand it," Herbert said with a light chuckle. "Madam Drache must be a good teacher." Avdol nodded.

"She sure is, Pa..." He paused and looked at the grandfather clock on the wall. "Mila, it's time we go." Avdol began to pack his school bag and stood up.

The girl stopped mid-singing the alphabet, turned to her brother, and nodded. "Okay!" She excitedly grabbed her bag. "Bye bye, Papa! Bye bye, Momma!"

Herbert couldn't help but smile as Anora brought his coffee over to him. "See you after school, Sweat pea," he said with a chuckle as he thanked his dear and sipped his coffee.

Anora walked over to her children and gave each of them a hug before saying, "Now you all go straight for the schoolhouse; no dallying!"

As the children left the house and the door shut, a calming silence fell over the room. Herbert took a moment to savor the peacefulness before he turned his attention back to his coffee, which he sipped. Anora came over, placed his breakfast down before him, and kissed his cheek. As she turned away, she said, "Oh, don't forget the Ashflow kids will be stopping by this afternoon with bread."

Herbet nodded and smiled. The other day, he allowed that elf fellow, Slyran, to use his mill in return for some fresh bread his wife baked. Good folk, a bit... different than the other village folk, but pleasant nonetheless, though the bit that piqued his interest the most, however, were their kids. Varis and Luna, especially their youngest Luna.

The girl was only six years old, the same age as Mila, and yet she spoke and presented herself like her mother. He had heard the Ashflow kids were homeschooled. Some Serelli by the name of Soza from out of town was staying at their home and teaching them. Serelli must be a tyrant in the classroom, he thought to himself as he ate.

"Do you think the Ashflow's are a bit too hard on the kids?" Herbert asked his wife after he finished his breakfast and got up from the table.

Anora turned to look at her husband with a bit of a confused expression. "What makes you think that?" She asked.

Herbert frowned; he knew it was a dumb question, but of course his mouth spoke before his brain could stop him. He shrugged. "I dunno, the girl Luna. She seems a bit... too mature for her age, if you get what I mean."

Anora thought about it and shook her head. "I understand, dear, but she seems fine to me. If I recall correctly, Cailynn told me back at the women's weaving competition that she used to attend Heddingway over in Galry. Knowing how strict that school is, it wouldn't surprise me if the little girl, Luna, was treated with similar authority."

Herbert blinked for a second. "Is that so?" He stroked his chin. "Well, that explains a lot." He laughed. "I don't think I could survive a single day around all those stuffy magisters."

Anora rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling. "I'm sure you wouldn't, love. Now is the time to leave. The mill's gears will not oil themselves." She began to push her husband away, who yelled and backed away. Anora abruptly stopped. "Oh, one more thing, actually." She looked up at Herbert. "Did you set aside your dirty clothes?"

Herbert thought for a second and nodded. "Yeah, I did. You should find a basket near the bedroom door." Anora smiled and nodded before patting him on the side, signaling he could go.

---

Herbert groaned as he tossed the sack of flour onto the back of the wagon with a loud huff. "There we go, girl!" He wheezed as the Land Strider chirped loudly. "Forty-five elems a bag, and you got twenty of them!" He came over to the large, two-legged dragon, which was hitched and ready to ride—all it needed was the driver.

"Alright, Opal, we'll be taking these down to Mr. Olson's shop," he said to the strider as he climbed onto the cart. "You remember where Olson's shop is, right?" He asked Opal, who lifted her head and let off a loud call.

Herbert winced and rubbed his ears and said, "I'll take that as a yes." He chuckled and took the reins. "Now, now, let's go easy, okay?" He said just as he flicked his wrist and the opal bolted forth, nearly knocking him back into the wagon. "Waaa-waaait!" Herbert shouted, desperately trying to regain control of the strider. The cart swayed dangerously as Opal continued to gallop at full speed, ignoring Herbert's pleas. With a mixture of fear and determination, Herbert held on tight and braced himself for the wild ride ahead.

Opal calmed down by the time they made it to Oren. The cart had slowed enough for Herbert to regain control as the constabulary blew their whistles and ordered him to slow down. "You'll damn near kill someone with that strider of yours, Mr. Hautchkins!" The constable shouted to him as he trotted by.

"Apologies, Mr. Ashflow!" Herbert called over his shoulder. "She's still learning!" The gruff Elven man shook his head, fixed the large, brimmed hat on his head, and turned away as Herbert chuckled and turned back to Opal. "Girl, you better keep yourself together or you'll get me locked up and you sent off to the butchery."

The wagon turned down Main Street, which was bustling with activity. After all, it was Dawn's Day, and with it being the first day of the week, everyone was piling into the market square to see what was ready for sale. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, enticing passersby with its warm and inviting scent. Opal's eyes widened as she took in the colorful array of fruits and vegetables displayed on the market stalls, her mouth watering at the sight of ripe, juicy strawberries.

"Oi, focus on the road!" Herbert tsked and flicked the reigns. "You have plenty of feed at home." He said this as he squinted to see Olson's general store up ahead, its weathered sign swinging gently in the breeze. Opal reluctantly tore her gaze away from the market and refocused on guiding the strider-drawn cart toward their destination.

Out front, Herbert saw Mr. Olson himself, a stout, dwarven man with a beard that nearly dragged across the ground. He seemed to be emptying his chamber pot into a refuse barrel. Opal let off a squawk at the scent as they drew near, and Herbert wrinkled his nose.

"Good morning, Mr. Olson!" He called to the dwarf, who turned in his direction after pounding the pot against the barrel. He wiped his hand on his apron and smiled. "I hope you plan to wash your hands before handling my wares."

Mr. Olson chuckled heartily, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. "Don't you worry, young Herbert," he replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I always make sure to give my hands a thorough scrubbing before touching anything delicate." As he spoke, he gestured towards a small basin of water nearby, filled with fragrant herbs and soap.

The dwarf waddled over to the basin and began to dip his hands into it after tossing the pot aside. "I see you brought me the flour I requested," he said as he scrubbed his hands. "Have you brought the requested amount?" He asked.

"Aye, I did." Herbert said as he pulled on Opal's reigns, bringing the wagon to a stop in front of the store. "Twenty bags that are forty-five elems each; it's a bit much for what you normally buy."

Mr. Olson turned to Herbert and nodded as he dried his hands on a nearby cloth. "Aye, it is." He then turned away and cupped his hands over his mouth. "Tufen! Bazet! Get your stinking arses over here! We have a delivery!" Immediately, two smaller, younger dwarven boys came rushing out of the shop.

They were panting heavily as they approached the wagon, their eyes widening at the sight of the twenty bags. "What's all this for, Pa?" Tufen asked, his voice filled with curiosity. Mr. Olson chuckled and patted his son's head affectionately.

"It's a special order from Hannabor," the older dwarf said as Herbert hopped off the wagon and went around to the back.

"Hannabor?" Herbert asked as he opened the back of it and looked down at the dwarf. "General Hannabor?"

Olson nodded as Herbert climbed onto the back and began to unload the heavy bags. "Aye!" Olson grunted as he caught the first heavy bag and passed it to his boys. "Easy, Herbert, hand them! My legs and back aren't what they used to be!"

"Apologies, Mr. Olson. Here you go." He started to handle the bags more gently. "If the General wanted all this flour, why is he ordering it through you and not me?" Herbert asked, and he couldn't help but feel a little cheated. It wouldn't be the first time a major buyer requested his services, and usually, such contracts pay very well.

Olson froze up a bit when he passed the bag back to Tufen and held his breath. Herbert couldn't help but notice a bit of uneasiness on his face. Though the dwarf looked around the busy street before bringing a hand up to his mouth and whispering loud enough for Herbert to hear,

"Word has it from the Guild that war is on the horizon, dumi." Olson said, referring to Herbert by the dwarven term for "human" or "non-dwarf".

Herbert frowned. War?

"War? What do you mean?" Herbert asked skeptically as he started grabbing the flour once more.

"What else would I mean, Mr. Hautchkins? War! Armies, frontlines--"

"I know what war is, Mr. Olson, but, like, why?" Herbert asked as he looked down at the dwarf. "The Global Alliance has held peace for gods know how long. Why would war suddenly spring up now?"

"Because it is what the merchant guild has witnessed, Dumi. You can learn a lot about a nation and its people based solely on what they're buying. What good is being moved?" Olson explained. "Weapons, food, and magical items All of it is trading hands, most of which are secretly being transported, or so they think."

"Aren't those items the military usually buys, though?" Herbert asked as he handed Olson another bag, who soon passed it to one of his sons.

"Aye, but not to this level. Mr. Hautchkins, I'm talking large quantities of weapons and food, enough to support armies, sieges, and frontlines. Stockpiles and reserves. Heinmarr and the rest of the Global Allied Nations are preparing for something massive."

Herbert slowly nodded as he said, "Mr. Olson, you need to be careful with this doom speech."

"This is not doom, say!" Olson stated it firmly. "Believe me when I say this, Dumi. The merchants are aware. We've been predicting events like this for millennia. Last Rest Day, a caravaner mentioned a border crossing near the Strickland Line. Thirty Rusimian soldiers crossed the border and caused a commotion with the locals, and another caravan confirmed that story just yesterday. Merchants travel; we hear and see things."

Herbert took the last flour bag and handed it to Olson, who grunted and set it down at his feet. "I don't want to scare you, Mr. Hautchkins. Though I must caution you, your family and mine have assisted each other for many years. I consider you a friend as well as a business partner." He laughed. "Recent events, like this one, are just that: recent. Nations must prepare for war for years, but I want you to be aware of this so that you can prepare. The Dumauri way is to always have a plan." Olson stated it in his native tongue, referring to his people.

Herbert sighed as he hopped off the wagon and closed it up. "Now, humoring that thought," he said, "if things do get hot and a war does erupt, where do you plan on going?" He asked Olson.

Olson laughed and said, "To home!" He hoisted the bag on his shoulder and grunted as he began to walk inside. He motioned for Herbert to follow him into the shop. "Back to Khannatore, the mountains southwest of here. In times of crisis, Dumauri always return to the Mountain Homes. Prepare, recuperate, and fight back against the darkness! We did it back in the Twilight War, and we'll do it again!" He chuckled as the two men, along with Olson's children, went inside.

The general store was a quaint shop, with shelves lined with canned and jarred goods of all varieties. The faint smell of loki smoke lingered in the air. Olson carried the bag over to the counter, where the rest had been stacked. With the help of his sons, they hoisted the bag up on top of the others and sighed.

"You should find a nice summer home too, Mr. Hautchkins. If things get bad, you and your family can pack up and go west. Away from the border." Olson's words hung in the air, a reminder of the uncertain times they were living in.

Herbert nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and worry. "That's a wise suggestion, Olson," he replied, his voice tinged with concern. "I'll definitely consider it."

Olson then snapped his finger and said, "Or better yet! Come with us!" He gestured to his sons and himself. "My wife and the other Daumari might not be so keen on having dumis like yourselves." He smiled and held his finger up. "Though the Olson family can certainly vouch for you, the mountains are safe, warm, and beautiful. You and your family could be safe with us." He let off a belly laugh.

Herbert shook his head and smiled. "I appreciate the offer, Olson. If things ever get tough, I'll be sure to reach out."

Olson nodded. "My boys and I have always said, head and meet up at the Kenchala River just south of town and follow it down all the way to Johanneson."

Herbert nodded. "Sounds like a plan, Mr. Olson. Anyways...--"

"Ah, you're right!" Olson snapped his fingers. "The rest of your pay." He sauntered behind the counter, and after a few moments, he came back around. "Four Heinmarrian gold pieces."

Herbert blinked. "Four? I thought it was three for a finished job," he said, shocked. Heinmarrian gold, let alone any nation's gold, is immensely valuable. A single piece is equal to a farmer's week's pay. Getting paid for a full month of work for a job that only took half that time was pretty worth it.

"Aye, you did me well and got the job done quickly. I think that makes it worth an extra piece." Olson said as he handed Herbert the bag. "If you want it broken down to silver, let me know."

"Ah, no, thank you; this is just fine." Herbert smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Olson; it was a pleasure doing business."

"Aye, same to you, young Hautchkins!" Olson waved at Herbert and turned to his kids. "Alright, you fly eaters, get on with it! Take it all to the cellar!"

Herbert chuckled, turned away, and began to head back to his wagon as the dwarfs scurried to the back of their shop. As Herbert walked back to his wagon, he noticed Opal patiently waiting for him. He patted her gently on the nose and whispered, "Good girl, Opal. Ready to head home?" Opal growled softly in response as if understanding every word Herbert said. With a smile on his face and a heart full of gratitude, Herbert climbed onto the wagon and guided Opal towards home.