Chapter 83 - Just Another Day at the Farm (Part 2)

Leon was genuinely glad for his elemental essence-enhanced strength and stamina. Else, he was afraid he would have collapsed off his feet barely halfway into the run, instead of doing so near the end.

After all, it was the first time he had run ten miles across rugged mountain passes and mossy forest trails. That Skyle had managed to do so in under an hour while not even breathing hard was still mind-boggling to him. More than once, he wondered if the smaller boy was cheating by using a windwalking spell or some other similar enchantment.

While Leon had served in the army for a few years, he was used to riding upon horseback like any good, self-respecting nobleman should. After all, what kind of officer would scamper across the hillside like a god damned monkey with his tail lit on fire? That would certainly set a terrible precedent for the army legions to follow.

No, Leon decided. These Empire peasants were simply mad. Absolutely, stark, raving mad.

Still, his pride would not let him quit even when his lungs had been set on fire and his vision had blurred into a bi-dimensional view of the scant few inches that lay ahead of his next step, and the quietly condescending, unbearably mocking grin of his best friend.

Even while fully aware of what the little monkey was trying to do, Leon did not give a rat’s ass and wished he could smack the smug sonofadonkey’s face with a soggy pair of camel ballsacks - and screw his friend’s well-meaning little competitive motivation.

As if he needed the grief.

They finally arrived back at the barn, Skyle holding up a bucket full of water in his hand while Leon dragged himself with as much dignity as he could muster across the invisible finish line.

“Well done, Lord Slowpoke. Perhaps when next year’s fastest great-grandpa race opens up in the town square, you can register and win, eh, I’d say third place, at best?”

Leon did not deign that with a reply, instead wordlessly dunking his whole head into the bucket and inhaling water as quickly as he humanly could.

Skyle poked his ribs from the side.

“You know better than to drink so fast. It’ll be bad for you for our next run.”

Leon immediately threw his head back up and stared at his friend, his eyes plainly stating that he expected the punchline to this latest joke to come anytime now.

Skyle shook his head with a rueful smile. “Afraid we’ll have to run if we have any hope of keeping up with the day’s schedule. We’re already running late because of how slow that morning jog was.”

“I’m not laughing, farmboy,” Leon muttered.

“That’s because I’m not joking, grandpa. Now get up and pick up your shovel. Them ditches won’t dig themselves, you know?”

As Skyle lightly ran over the uneven ground of the mountain trail, Leon stumbled constantly as he struggled to keep up.

“This.. Looks.. Familiar..” Leon wheezed, gasping for breath.

“That’s because we just ran this way during our light morning jog.”

Instead of asking what part of a 10-mile exodus across nearly untraversable terrain was a light morning jog, Leon couldn’t help but blurt out the question burning a hole in his mind, even in the midst of his exhaustion.

“Wait.. Why.. We.. Not.. Bring.. Shovel.. Earlier..” Leon moaned.

Skyle rolled his eyes, the disgraceful little imp even daring to run backwards while grinning innocently at Leon.

“Because who the heck brings shovels for a morning jog, Leon? Besides, the added exercise will do us good. Just breathe in this crisp, pure mountain air. Doesn’t it make you feel like a new man?”

Skyle inhaled a great, big mouthful of air and winked at Leon.

Leon could hardly even breathe, let alone curse at his best friend, as his noodle-limp legs unstably tottered their way forward.

“ Oh, I’ll make you need a new set of legs, alright. As soon as I can catch up with you and smash those damn things with my fists. What are they filled with, anyway? Air?”

Leon was certain at least his head had most definitely been filled with air the moment he agreed to this whole ordeal.

Still, the rest of it couldn’t possibly be any worse, could it?

“What?” Skyle quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Where are my gloves?” Leon muttered, for lack of any better way to articulate his protest without sounding like a pampered, spoiled little noble brat.

Which of course, was exactly what he was. Not that he would ever admit it, but he was slowly realizing that this whole farming thing had a little more going for it than the light daytime outing he had been thinking of.

This time, it was Skyle’s turn not to dignify a stupid question with an answer.

Instead, he continued digging. It was much to Leon’s chagrin to find that the little mite of a boy had already dug a considerably deeper ditch than he himself had.

It wasn’t that Skyle was stronger than Leon. His essence-enhanced muscles allowed him to easily lift four or five times as much weight as the smaller boy could. The problem lay elsewhere.

Digging ditches was an essential part of a soldier’s life. Whenever they stopped to make camp, it was army regulation to dig a five feet trench around the camp perimeter, along with erecting a wall of either essence-strengthened dirt or simple wooden logs.

In fact, Leon had watched countless times while his soldiers dug a myriad ditches under his command. The operational word being, watched. After all, who would expect the exalted Marquise Leon Draxas to get off his noble mount, shed his lordly cloak, and squat down next to common soldiers to dig up dirt like a damn badger?

He could recall the practiced ease with which each of his soldiers, veterans one and all, would displace huge amounts of soil with each effortless stroke of their shovels. It had seemed a fairly straightforward affair, and he clearly remembered wondering what took those lazy bastards so long to dig a simple hole in the ground.

Thus, Leon was simply confounded by the quandary he was stuck in at the moment. He could not understand what he was doing wrong.

First of all, the soil was filled with rocks, which prevented the tip of his shovel from biting deep enough. It was often deflected by the rocks, which invariably sent painful shocks up his hands.

Then there was the matter of actually scooping up soil. Every time he lifted his shovel, no matter how careful he was, at least half of it would slide out before he could throw it outside the ditch. This resulted in half the soil he painfully dug up being deposited right back into the hole, with a good portion of it falling on top of his head.

This was another problem. Leon had not realized just how messy the whole affair would be. His own soldiers would hardly have any specks of dirt on them at all as they efficiently dug huge ditches all around the camp. Leon himself had hardly dug three feet into the ground when already dust was flying into his eyes, down his collar, got tangled in his damp scalp, and even somehow managed to squeeze inside his boots. This latter problem caused him to constantly have to remove his boots to shake tiny pebbles which felt like wickedly sharp spurs under his sensitive feet.

All the while, he could feel the sun mercilessly beating down upon his reddened scalp. He regretted scoffing at the scarf Skyle had offered earlier. The younger boy had tied it around his own head, keeping both the sun and the dirt out of his hair. Worse yet, a wide-rimmed hat would have provided an extra layer of protection which Leon had promptly discarded.

Surely, he could not be blamed for that. The hat was hideous. It looked almost exactly the same as the abominations wrinkled old matrons at court had taken to wearing during the Mondrigan Renaissance. If any of his courtiers ever caught him wearing such a ridiculous looking hat, he would never be able to live it down!

Now that he lay panting and constantly spitting out mouthfuls of dust under the merciless glare of the sun, Leon could only look longingly towards the hat that he had so contemptuously discarded earlier. His dignity would not allow him to pick it up, but by the gods a little shade would feel oh so very good.

“You alright, Leon?” Skyle asked from the side. “You really should wear the scarf and the hat, you know?”

Leon scoffed loudly at this. “Hah, I’d rather be dead than caught wearing that hideous abomination. You look like one of the court matrons during the Mondrigan Renaissance!”

Leon cackled madly at his own brilliant wit, until he choked on another mouthful of dust and began coughing instead.

“Sure, whatever you say, buddy,” Skyle murmured, and Leon thought he caught something about “damn crazy nobles” or something like that.

Yeah, if he was forced to keep digging for much longer, he might very well end up dead or sun-addled crazy, with or without the Mondrigan Renaissance hat.

“Run, you damn fool. RUN!”

“I’m trying, you damn monkey. Can’t you see that?”

“Then try harder!”

“Why don’t you try-”

The rest of it was rudely cut off by the mouthful of mud that was forced into his mouth as Leon slipped on yet another patch of unnameable waste and fell face-first into the filthy mud.

Spitting furiously, Leon jumped back to his feet with a horrified expression on his face. The violence of the motion caused him to overcompensate, and he flailed his arms uselessly for a moment before flipping over, this time sprawling on his back.

A pair of frantic pigs stomped all over his face for good measure as they squealed and ran every which way in the chaos.

“Look Leon, it’s not all that hard. It’s not just about speed, it’s about reading their movements and cutting off their paths of retreat. Not everything can be solved by sheer brute force, you idiot!” Skyle scowled from where he watched outside of the hogs’ pen.

“Don’t you ‘you-idiot’ me, you upstart peasant. Just because I’m no hog-whisperer like you, it doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like that. Give me one second and I’ll figure it out.” Leon growled, spitting out more mud and suppressing a shudder as he adamantly refused to think about the vile things that had been rolling and stomping all over the mud which he had just swallowed.

“Don’t worry Leon, a common misconception is that pigs are dirty. They’re actually one of the cleanest animals in the farm. They’re only muddy because they can’t sweat, you see-” Skyle began.

The rest of it was quickly drowned out by Leon as he moaned in his head, trying to determine what exactly he had done to deserve this. He couldn’t quite decide which was worse, swallowing the same patch of mud where he had distinctly seen a particularly fat bastard of a hog squatting and defecating earlier, or having to listen to the sanctimonious lecturing of his former best friend, and soon to be murder victim, as he apparently saw fit and necessary to lecture a Marquise of the Great Free Duchies on the behavior and physiology of the common brown hog.

“Oh Leeeeeon, we’re running laaaaate~” Skyle said in that mock-cheerful singsong voice that Leon had come to deeply, whole-heartedly despise with all the vengeful hatred usually reserved for slayers of kin or defilers of home and country.

Hell hath no fury like a farmer scorned.

“Oh, oooh my back, wait, my back,” Leon moaned, wincing.

“Oh, relax you big baby,” Skyle chuckled, slapping Leon on that exact spot where he could feel daggers digging into his spine. In fact, if it weren't because his friend had lost his True Sight, Leon might have suspected Skyle did just exactly that on purpose, shooting up renewed agony up his spine.

“You can’t seriously tell me this is how crops are harvested,” Leon balked, trying and failing to find a different squatting posture that would bring some badly needed reprieve for his back.

“Yep, none other. You’re actually doing real good this time. I think we might actually get to finish on schedule this once,” Skyle said with that same cheerfulness Leon had come to deeply despise, all the while the smug farmboy leisurely walked to settle back down at his original spot.

“Wait, why do you get to lie down under the shade while sipping chilled pear juice upon your sister’s lap while your brother stands beside you fanning you with cool air, while I have to break my back digging up these damn turnips under the roasting sun?”

“Oh, those are parsnips Leon, but I can understand why you’d mix them up. The previous field were turnips, after all. Though their names may sound very similar, you can easily tell the difference between their genera by-”

“NO MORE LECTURES DAMMIT!” Leon screamed at the top of his lungs.

What almost sent him into fits of apoplectic rage were the amused giggles from the otherwise adorable Farrow twins, obviously at his expense.

“Of course, Lord Draxas. Suit yourself, I’ll just content myself with my juice and shade.”

“I asked you a question, monkey boy,” Leon growled, then moaned as the last turnip he tore up from the ground - oh, parsnip, whatever, dammit! - nearly pulled a hernia from his ailing back.

“Because I already finished my portion of the field. I do clearly recall offering to assist you with your half of the field, my good friend,” Skyle said with noble generosity. “In fact, I would love nothing more than to help you in your hour of need, seeing as how you’re suffering so badly under the ministrations of our evil parsnip field.”

Another round of giggling from the twins ensued.

“Forget it! You can lounge on your arse all day for all I care, I will finish my own side and drink my damn pear juice if its the last thing I do in this damn farm!”

“Oops,” came the delicate voice of the little girl, Kassandra. “Was that big brother Leon’s?”

Leon nearly wept at the naive, pristine innocence of the little girl’s words.

Devils. Each and all of them. They were devils in the flesh!

“Oh big brother Leeeeeon, you’re running laaaaaaaate~” came the little boy, Reikard’s call.

Finally, Leon could take no more, and collapsed in a purple-faced, twitching heap.

“Big bro, you told me that would cheer him up,” Reikard said accusingly.

“Oh, it did. That’s just how the young Dukes recover their strength.”

“Oh,” Reikard said, his voice just slightly doubtful. “I guess, if big bro says so..”

“ No, he’s the devil, get away from him, don’t trust him,” Leon cried in his mind, all the while cursing the day he had decided to trust that devil himself.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Just watch. Oh Leeeeeeeon, we’re running laaaaaaaate~”

“You fecking bastard of a misbegotten spawn of a mangy-”

The rest of it was cut off by the choking sounds that ensued from his throat as he jumped up the ground and began to charge in Skyle’s direction.

“See?” Skyle said in a perfectly calm tone.

“Wow, it’s true. Big bro, you’re so wise.”

Leon fell over again, and this time he did not get back up.

“Well done m’lord, you’ve done it!” Skyle cried out joyfully.

“I did. I did. It’s over!” Leon exulted, relief evident in his voice as he gloried in each of the wounds of this gruesome battle he had waged against the wrath of mother nature and the very elements themselves.

“And you thought I wouldn’t make it to the end of the day,” Leon sneered, his expression only slightly guilty as he realized that he had truly made it only by the skin of his teeth.

Skyle nodded somberly as he saluted Leon. “I do acknowledge that I had underestimated the strength of your resolve and the grit of your determination. I hereby salute you as a true-blooded fellow farmer.”

Leon nodded happily, surprised at the sudden stinging in his eyes. By the gods, he had finally done it. It was over. Thank the gods, it was finally over.

He threw down the hateful shovel and harvesting fork with a sonorous clang, vowing in his heart of hearts that once he ascended to power his first order of business would be to ensure that the devilish tools would be swiftly collected from all around his Duchy, thrown into one nice giant pile, and then burned to ashes under his elemental flames.

“Oh, what are you doing, Leon?” Skyle asked.

“What do you mean? I’m getting rid of these damn things. I don’t ever want to see them again,” Leon responded huffily.

“Then what are you gonna use when we head back into the field after lunch?” Skyle asked, clearly puzzled.

“...”

Leon could only gape in response, all his former will and bravado fled from his face.

“Go.. back?” Leon managed between trembling lips.

“Yeah, we’re only heading in for lunch. I thought I’d start us off real easy for the morning, and saved all the real work for the afternoon. After all, ain’t nothing worse than leaving a job half-done because of lunch. This way, we can work all through the night if necessary. Ain’t that great, Leon? Leon? You there buddy?”

Leon’s soul departed his tortured mortal shell, floating away like a wisp of smoke, all the while lamenting the day he had decided to entrust his fate to one Skyle Farrow, demon of Sunny Meadow.