Gregor The Cripple

Gregor woke to find Mildred chatting with a fellow traveller. It was an old minotaur bull. He was colossal – twice and a half Gregor's height and thrice as wide, mottled in shades of brown with great brass-capped horns. A large, pendulous ring of the same metal hung from his nostrils and bounced in time with his steps. Scars criss-crossed his hide, thick and thin.

The bull was attached to a deep wagon by a smart stretch of leather tackle, wrapping him both at the waist and shoulders so that he wouldn’t need to lean into the harness too hard, but would still retain the leverage of his impressive height. In Gregor’s mind, it was an arrangement that suggested either experience or training.

The minotaur’s voice was thick with the accent of his native isles as he spoke. “I am hauling coffee.” He said to Mildred, gesturing to his cargo of little red fruitish things. She seemed to be excitedly taking this opportunity to hear about the brave new future she’d entered.

“I bought my load at port in the south. The boss says that the capital won’t be able to get enough of this stuff soon, so we stand to make fantastic margin by buying it cheap down there and hauling it north overland to stockpile for the price hike.”

The two had not noticed that Gregor was awake, so he decided to comment and make himself known. “Your employer is betting on war before the empire’s rail overhaul is complete.” He spoke with a flinty, wheezy voice which seemed almost to stun the minotaur with its weakness.

“...Full war is not her expectation – her outlook is not that grim. But she expects sanctions, embargoes, things of that kind; so we pick coffee.” He shrugged, as if shrugging conveyed some universally applicable emphasis. “Luxuries are always the first to go in economic conflicts.”

Gregor broke into coughing, but managed a nod. He agreed.

“Shouldn’t it be metal and powder, or wood for ships, that kind of thing?” Mildred interjected, feeling quite ill-acquainted with the ways of states in the modern world.

Shaking his head, the bull responded. “There is no need for economic posturing if your enemy cannot source wargoods domestically. Direct conquest would be far easier and cheaper.” It was a confident answer. He turned back to look at Gregor, who still rode behind Mildred. “Are you alright?”

“No.” Said the wizard bluntly. “You don’t speak like a bull who has spent his life trucking beans across nations. You sound educated.”

“Kyros was a soldier.” Interjected Mildred again.

“I retired. This is better.”

Hmm. It was a curious answer. Grunts are discharged, career soldiers retire, and a career soldier with an education was an officer. Kyros didn’t look like the desk-sitting type of officer, so he probably wasn’t anyone important, but it was still an odd qualification for a trucker to possess.

Gregor kept this observation to himself – he was curious but incautious. Minotaurs were herbivorous and generally pacifistic, so he didn’t judge the bull to be much of a potential threat.

“I have briefly been to your isles,” the comparatively tiny wizard said, “it was not unpleasant.”

Mildred gasped in feigned amazement. “Gregor, that might be the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say. I think you might be getting better!”

She was riding alongside Kyros and, still tethered behind her, Gregor was companion to the heavy-laden cart, upon the side of which was blazoned ‘Goldie’s Goods’ in bold yellow letters.

Gregor snorted and leaned back in his saddle, offering no comment.

“Are you two also heading to the capital?”

Mildred shook her head, and Gregor noted with interest the way her neck muscles flexed. “We’re bound for The Shard.” She responded.

The bull turned towards her with an expression of appraisal. “Are you mountaineers?” Then quietly he mused, ”I suppose even wizards have hobbies.”

She cast a guilty eye toward Gregor. This was his first time hearing of their destination. Thankfully, he seemed unoffended as he returned her gaze.

“My… Grandfather lived in the village there.”

“There’s a village at The Shard?”

“There is.” She stated firmly, because there was.

Accompanied by their new minotaur acquaintance, the pair continued on down the road. Mildred and Kyros spoke while Gregor sat silent, torpid from infirmity and content to just listen. He observed during his listening that Kyros was quite educated.

War was on the horizon, and a well-educated once-soldier was heading to the capital of another nation as a labourer. Even most simpletons would find it difficult to avoid the obvious insinuation.

Gregor didn’t really care to speculate on the truth of the matter, but the facts were so suggestive as to force contemplation. At the very least, Kyros shouldn’t be a spy, because spies aren’t usually so honest about the nature of their previous employment.

He held no allegiance to any party involved in this possible future conflict, so he let the matter rest.

It was far too political for his tastes, further, Mildred seemed to enjoy the bull’s company. In their conversation, she was making a game of discussing the oddities of the future she’d been shunted into, without letting slip the fact that she knew none of their particulars.

In a flash, the young wizard realised that Mildred was flying blind, and that it was his fault.

For her, the world was a great void of the unknown and the unknowable. She was a victim of the worst kind of uncertainty – she had no idea precisely what it was that she didn’t know. At any moment, her knowledge could suddenly prove insufficient, and she’d be hopelessly lost.

The things she did know and didn’t know were snakes in a bag and she was being forced to blindly grope around inside and pull things out, not knowing which of the snakes would bite her hand, but knowing that some would.

Mildred was going to need a native of the future to bring her up to speed, and Gregor had only just realised that the task fell to him. This service was going to cost her extra. Perhaps she could make him breakfast.

They went on like this for a few hours, with silently brooding Gregor trailing behind the chatting two until they came to a fork in the road. There, Mildred and Kyros bid farewell.

Mldred gave Gregor the look, which was an arcane art that all women seem to possess, and he spoke up, saying simply, “This is Deeptroll country. Have care.”

As he went, this was as near to an amicable goodbye as could be hoped. The bull nodded curt and trotted off, maintaining the steady roll of his cart.

Gregor rode up beside Mildred after this departure, and she looked to him in slight guilt. Would he ask about the village? He probably would. Anger was to be expected. She wouldn’t blame him for it, though she wished that he wouldn’t ask.

In these strange few days she’d been trying not to think about the things that might await her upon return. The people of the village, many of whom had been her friends, would all be different save for a few elderly holdouts who would barely remember her, and the buildings will have all changed, and the new generations of villagers would no doubt feel oddly about her presence.

It wouldn’t be home.

And then there were the Terrible Thoughts, which arose unbidden in sickening flashes: what if there weren’t a village to return to, or what if her father wasn’t there?

What would she do? What could she do? She wouldn’t be able to pay Gregor, and without him she was hopelessly adrift in this new world. Her mysterious enemies would claim her swiftly, and that'd be the end of the girl named Mildred.

It was unpleasant to contemplate.

So then, it was with significant trepidation that Mildred looked to Gregor in anxious silence, her big blinkers forgetting to blink.

Fortunately, her worries missed the mark completely.

“Let me tell you of modern streetlamps.” He spoke gravely, with a wheezy-nasal voice that only the most arrogant of wizards could possibly possess.

***

“But surely that would be hazardous.” They had gotten sidetracked while discussing the topic of town gas.

“Correct, however, the utility is worth the risk.”

Mildred was silent in thought, imagining all the convenient things one might be able do with a font of flammable gas in the wall of their home. Would it burn hot enough for cooking, or was it only suited for feeding lamps? Forgetting even the gas itself, just the scale of the infrastructure was mind-boggling and opened up new avenues of possibility.

“Of course, it isn’t a common thing outside of the Golden Empire. Even then, most cities just use it to light their main streets, and kerosene is far more popular in poorer places. People in the empire are also thinking hard about all kinds of applications for electricity, which is almost as expensive as magic, so they’re the only ones with the financial fortitude to experiment. However, there the cost lies in the infrastructure rather than the production, and the potential applications are far more broad, so I’d wager that it won’t take long for electricity to win out over gas.”

During their discussions, Gregor had noticed that Mildred seemed oddly familiar with the concept of electricity, though he supposed that it wasn’t exactly a new discovery, just far less well-understood in her time. She seemed to be a mechanical savant, so it wouldn’t be surprising if she had a comprehensive knowledge of the phenomenon, but it would be abnormal.

This was another firm indication that her father wasn’t just anybody – a scholar of mundane and magical arts, most likely. Dead or now elsewhere, probably.

Gregor continued into his explanation of the miraculous world of non-magical home appliances, and Mildred was quite fascinated – though unsurprised – to learn that the conveniences of kings had become commonplace.

They went on like this as the sun drew its lazy arc across the sky, with Gregor sharing boring minutia about modern civilisation, and Mildred listening in rapt attention, occasionally asking questions.

Doughnuts sounded bizarre and she longed to try one, and Gregor promised that the City of the Sun held them in quantity, suggesting that she could visit with her father once they were reunited, though he quietly thought that such a reunion was unlikely.

Then he told her of airships – the awkward bastard children of magic and technology which ate electricity in exchange for weightlessness and each cost a city. Apparently, the prospect of flight fascinated her less than the doughnuts and the conveniences, so Gregor went on to describe the proliferation of horse trams, some of which had been adapted to run on deisel or electricity, which caught her interest for being somewhat like trains in conception.

In addition to doughnuts, she longed to ride a train, and he assured her that the Solherz capital had those too.

“Gregor.” Mildred said suddenly, jerking her head forward.

He was on her right, looking towards her such that the road ahead was in his blindspot. Turning, he found three men stepping out ahead of them from the treeline. They were side-by-side-by-side, obstructing passage. One was undead, and another had a jittering, ravening demon on a leash. Looking to his rear, Gregor found two more emerging to block retreat.

The pair halted.

“I recognise that zombie-looking motherfucker.” She said in a whisper, hand already gripping Greta’s revolver.

“A pursuer of yours?”

Mildred nodded.

Gregor felt as if he were some great serpent freshly lethargic from hibernation, and a live meal had just placed itself before him. Slowly, the snake uncoiled to insane length and greedy hunger gleamed in its pitch eyes. He rose to his full height in the saddle, a predatory grin upon his lips.

Prey had found him. A gift from The Norn.

They all had something of magic about them, though the only sorcerer seemed to the man with the leashed demon; a warlock, likely. Most other sorcerers bear a justified prejudice toward warlocks, and Gregor was no different.

The dead one stepped forward. “…The wizard is here.” He spoke with the pristine voice of a small child, though he was quite large. “…He travels with the girl. The enemy has acted.”

“Gregor,” again whispered Mildred, “we should run.”

Instead of attempting retreat, Gregor urged his horse gently forward. “You don’t know this," he said to her, "but I am formidable. They should be running, not us.”

The assailants to their rear were approaching steadily, so she had no choice but to follow her wizard.

“I assume you’ve fled from every encounter with these people.” He said, “That has ended. In my presence, you will never need to run from anything except me.”

The zombie man briefly shook in spasm before beginning to speak in an elderly voice. ”Hail, Gregor the Cripple, successor and slayer of Kaius the Elderly! The meddlers have seen you on your way to possessing our Mildred, and in this moment the world turns on your word. The Master wishes to deal for peace. By his largess, your arm and eye can be restored and your servitude no longer sought! Relinquish the girl in trade.”

Gregor possessed a choking presence in this moment. Little static sparks began bouncing between his hairs as the groups drew near. “You want to do this peacefully? I decline. I want to do this violently.”

Another voice then spoke from the same body, “I am told that you possess an unimaginable ego. Well then, it is my pleasure to inform you that your subjugation is but a minor matter. Little effort has been spent on you. The wizard named Gregor is not a priority of The Master." The corpse then pointed to Mildred. ”She is a priority. Protecting the girl shall make you a priority. Be wise and profit from cooperation.”

Gregor snorted. “Your master may treat my subjugation as a minor matter, but I trust that he knows me to be a major problem. I have killed his Kopfbiest and his Corpselord, and now I’ve apparently taken charge of his Mildred as well. He is stupid if he disregards my threat. There is nothing I cannot kill, and I plan to kill your master and piss down his throat.”