The Adventures of Sir Loin

By John W. Lammers

When Loin, a blacksmith's apprentice, accidently releases an ancient evil on the land of Fudonia, he must seek the heroic knights from the pages of his prized storybook to help put right his mistake. Unfortunately for Loin, he's about to find out that stories aren't always what they're made out to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John W. Lammers
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005461089

John W. Lammers

Amature author and fabricator of terrible jokes. John has just completed his first novel "The Adventures of Sir Loin," a tale of knights, cows, adventure and friendship.Current Projects:"Full Moon High""Freya's Song""The Heart of a Thief"

Book preview

The Ogre in the Barn

An Ogre was hiding in the barn, Sir Loin could smell it. Somewhere between the grassy smell of clover and rye, the stench of injustice loomed. Shards of light thrust themselves through the aged wood slats of the barn and onto the cold dirt floor. Shadows clung anxiously to their corners in the presence of the Knight as he stepped further into the den of his foe. An Ogre was hiding in the barn, an Ogre named Cricket.

I know you’re in here Cricket, he bellowed. Hand over the Princess, it’s almost sundown. Loin inched forward in the barn cautiously, searching the shadows for movement. He could feel his thick cape sway as he made his way towards the stables in the back of the barn.

Cricket! whispered a delicate voice from the shadows, It’s getting cold in here and it smells like Hoppers! Loin dashed towards the voice and drew his sword. He peered over the gate of the darkest stable in the barn, and there sitting on a bale of clover was Princess Marigold.

She wore a dress of light blue linen that contrasted nicely against her dark gray feathers and slender black neck. He didn’t lock the gate this time, did he? the Princess asked. Loin shook his head quietly and moved to release the latch on the stable. The gate began to swing open on its rusted hinges, and the noble Knight Loin dropped to a knee grasping his sword’s hilt with both hands and thrust the tip into the dirt of the barn floor. This was the part he was worst at; he hadn’t recited a speech to give to the Princess upon her rescue. The stories never talked much of what a knight says when they rescue the Princess, only that she should be rescued, and her captor defeated. Her captor…, Loin thought but it was too late.

From the rafters above, the Ogre pounced at the Knight. A mass of fur, snaggled teeth, and dark beady eyes descended on the proud Knight’s back throwing him to the ground. The Ogre rolled from the top of the dazed cow and into the stable with Princess Marigold. He stood between the floored Knight and the Princess; barely the height of two stacked rye bales.

Cricket! That wasn’t very nice! the Princess criticized.

Yes, I totally got you! You’re so dead! said the minute Ogre.

Loin mumbled something into the dirt and rolled to his back. He coughed and gasped attempting to catch his breath.

Aw Loin, you’re covered in hay now. Cricket look what you did! He’s filthy, she scolded.

Yup, Ogre strikes will do that to you, Cricket puffed his chest proudly.

Sir Loin laid on his back in the dirt of the barn floor, hay clung to his stubbly horns. He continued to mumble softly, still struggling to catch the wind the Ogre had just knocked from his lungs. The Knight’s words were difficult to hear, so Cricket leaned down to address his prey.

What’s that Loin? Don’t eat you in front of the Princess? Cricket looked to Marigold for reassurance. Loin could see the Ogre’s pointed, furry ear hovering over his mouth. Sir Loin attempted to speak a little louder this time, but the chilled air stung his lungs.

Mahh…agggg….apee, gasped the Knight.

Cricket, a little worried now, whispered to the grounded Knight. What? Jeez Loin come on, it’s not that bad right?

Cricket’s black eyes stared at the Knight, the dark fur surrounding them gave way to a sharp strip of white fur above his mask and Loin could see genuine concern in his brow. Loin’s hands hunted quietly for his sword but came up wanting, as his foe stood over him. At last, the Knight’s lungs caught a breath. One more time he tried to cough out the words.

Magic Cape!

Cricket’s eyes widened. Nuh uh! We said no mag… the Ogre stopped abruptly as he felt Loin’s hands grasp his banded tail. In a sharp motion, the Knight sat up and pulled both hands high above his head. The Ogre lifted off the ground and sailed halfway across the barn. Cricket landed with a thud in a stripe of fading sunlight that had cut its way through the slats and onto the floor of the building. Sir Loin began looking frantically for his sword, he was running out of time.

Across the barn the masked Ogre scurried to his feet, he licked his paws and took a second to straighten the disturbed fur on his tail. That’s cheating! Cricket yelled, We said no magic items.

Well Ogres can’t attack from the rafters of a barn, so that was cheating too, Loin retorted, busily searching for his wooden sword.

Says who?

They’re too fat to fit up there. They can’t even climb they’re so fat.

Cricket finished pruning himself. Loin was still on the floor shuffling as the Ogre began to dash back towards him. Princess Marigold looked on with clasped feathers as the good Knight searched for his weapon. Finally, he found it deep within the mess of hay. Sir Loin turned to parry the oncoming attack; his magical green cape flapped against the stable walls knocking the dirt from itself. A scream came next.

OGRE STRIKE!

Sir Loin placed his sword between his chest and the paws of the oncoming attack. On his feet he stood over twice the size of the Ogre, but what Cricket lacked in height he made up for in quickness.

Ogre strike, Ogre strike, Ogre strike!

Three more blows landed on Loin’s weapon. Sir Loin caught the attack, cradling the blade in his left hand the hilt in his right. With his might, he pushed the foul Ogre back. Forcing him into the vastness of the barn that was their arena. The Knight now moved to his opponent, the tip of the wooden blade pointing at the Ogre’s whiskered snout. These were the speeches there were plenty of in the stories. Loin struggled with so many of them in his head he didn’t quite know how he wanted to begin. So instead of using one singular heroic expression he had memorized, he strung together the beginnings of all his favorite comeuppance speeches quite clumsily.

Quell your evil heart you dark knave and drop your arms… Sir Loin announced.

The Ogre, snickered, then burst out laughing uncontrollably. From her throne of baled clover, Princess Marigold could be heard giggling too.

Quell your evil heart? Who talks like that? It was now the Ogre who was gasping for air in between bursts of uncontrollable laughter. Loin’s ears felt hot in the frigid barn as his adversary laughed at him. He shrank a bit, dropping the tip of the sword ever so slightly. They were strong words, the cow thought, good words. He started again.

Quell your…

Cricket dropped to the ground on his backside now, clutching his chest as he shrieked in laughter. Loin’s sword felt heavy, and it fell to his side now. His humiliation might have continued forever if it wasn’t for a sharp ‘whizzz’ that split the distance between the Knight and the Ogre.

An orange blur rocketed through the light splattered barn. It sailed through the air and crashed against the wooden gate of an unoccupied stable with authority. Silence fell on the barn then as both the Ogre and the Knight looked at each other with large eyes, and then to where the projectile landed. A carrot, nearly the size of the Ogre’s arm lay in the hay and dust. Above it was a sizable dent in the wooden gate.

The Knight said ‘quell’… declared a figure in the barn’s doorway. As the figure drew closer, Loin noticed tall white ears standing on her head. She was slim and wore a plain burlap dress. She held a bowstring taught with her right hand and aimed a second orange bolt square at the Ogre’s face.

…If I were you, I think I’d get to quelling, demanded the rabbit.

Cricket now looked cross-eyed down his snout, to the tip of his nose, then to the tip of the carrot and followed it up to the archer’s fingers.

JEEZY PETES LI! You can’t bring a real bow! Cricket exclaimed.

Figured you’d prob’ly be cheatin’ again. Lilac replied.

Sir Loin raised his sword again, his will reinvigorated in the silence. Lilac looked over to Loin, taking her eyes of the Ogre briefly. There was a grin on her face, and she winked at Loin before turning her attention back to the villain. Well then, give us a quell, the rabbit said as she nudged Cricket with her bare foot.

I quell, I quell! cried the Ogre.

Good, Lilac nodded and relaxed the bow string. Princess safe?

Marigold emerged from her stable and brushed off her dress a bit. Her dark bill held a smile. I thought you weren’t coming today. I could’ve used another Princess to keep me company in there. Marigold moved to Loin and brushed his back off with a feathered hand.

Or you could’ve been on my side from the start, Loin suggested. Figuring out all of Cricket’s dumb clues would have gone much quicker.

Pa needed help at the market, it ran late but he let me keep three carrots to shoot at your butt. Figured I might be able to make a last-minute appearance. What were you today Cricket?

Tree Ogre. said the defeated raccoon.

No such thing, Loin uttered.

It’s an Ogre that can climb, Cricket insisted as Lilac helped him to his feet. Will you be here tomorrow Li? I was thinking Battle-Royal. You and Marigold could be the Princesses or Queens or whatever, and Loin and I could fight in the pits for your honor.

Why can’t I be a Knight? asked the rabbit.

Girls aren’t Knights. Everyone knows that.

Loin saw Lilac’s grip tighten uncomfortably on the unfinished wood of her bow. He knew all too well what was coming next. Of all the stories Loin has ever told us, not one of them has ever had a girl Knight. Huh, Loin? Cricket eyed Loin for backup.

Well, Loin started. I only have the one book, so-

I won’t be around tomorrow anyhow… Lilac interrupted, I’ve gotta get back to help pack up. We’re leaving again.

Loin’s stomach went cold on the mention of his friend’s leaving. It was a something he thought he would’ve gotten used to by now. Merchants, especially farmers that didn’t live in town, had to travel frequently. They left, resupplied, and went somewhere else to sell their goods. Lilac and her Father came and went often, but it didn’t make it easier for him. He missed his friend when she was gone.

Marigold moved to hug Lilac and told her that she would miss her as she started to leave the barn. Hey Princess? Same time tomorrow? Cricket yelled as she walked away. Marigold honked and raised a feather in agreement as she moved through the doorway.

Well, be good Li! We’ll see you in a while huh? Cricket patted her on the back as he went to leave the barn as well. Lilac nodded and turned to Loin as she swung the bow over her shoulder. It was difficult for him to see her face in the fading light of the barn, but he imagined her eyes. The two kindest eyes he had ever seen in his life. Of all the stories of Knights and Knaves he had ever read, he always imagined her eyes when there was generosity. Even if the stories said Sir Kobe of Bergerworth had brown eyes, in his most generous acts they turned blue like hers.

Lilac went to retrieve the carrot she shot earlier, dusted it off, and offered Loin the clean one already in her hand. Not hungry, he sighed. She pushed the weaponized produce back into her quiver.

You know, you could come with us, Lilac suggested hopefully.

I wish. You get to travel. To see the capital, Loin adjusted his magical cape back to his chest where it became the dusty green smock of a blacksmith’s apprentice again. All I get to do is stoke a fire and hit things with a hammer.

That’s not true, you saved a Princess today.

Loin grinned and hugged Lilac fiercely with that. He whispered in her ear, I’m going to miss you so much.

I’m going to miss you too, Lilac tilted her head up so it could reach Loin’s shoulder. They held each other tightly, soaking in the precious moment until it was interrupted by a quiet question.

Li, how many carrots did you say you had? Loin peered into the quiver on his friends back.

Three… Lilac paused and felt behind her. Damn. Tree Ogre got my carrot.

CHAPTER 2

Race the Sun

Loin and Lilac left the barn door open as they left. Mr. Gregor would be back soon with his Hoppers. He would most certainly have his hands full with the herd and they thought it might make things easier on him. Their feet followed the well-worn path down from the barn to an intersection that spread to their left and right. This is where the friends were set to part ways. Lilac to the right, towards the campsite her father always used when they came to town. Loin to the left, back to the small hamlet of Werster.

Hey, I’ll come ride on the back of the cart with you to the King’s road tomorrow, Loin offered.

Yeah, just don’t be late ok?

At that, Loin’s eyes dropped down to his feet sheepishly. He nudged a rock with his thick boot made of cactus leather, its laces were untied.

A knight needs to know how to be on time… Lilac paused and how to tie his damn shoes.

Lilac bent to the ground; the end of her bow clattered on the trail, so she let it loose on the ground while she grabbed the ends of Loin’s laces firmly. She tugged at the cord aggressively, till his boot was almost too tight. Remember, bunny ears! Lilac had taught him the poem a few years back as a means to keep the young steer from falling flat on his face all the time. It worked in keeping his laces together most of the time, but it seemed that Loin’s face and the ground were close friends that were destined to be together.

Li I can do… Loin began in protest.

Bunny ears, bunny ears. Playing by a tree, she made two loops with his boot strings. She crossed the two loops, crisscrossed the tree, trying to catch me. Loin was thoroughly embarrassed as his friend continued to tie his boot for him. Lilac sang on, Bunny ears, bunny ears. Jumped into a hole. Popped out the other side beautiful and bold. The rabbit grabbed her bow from the ground and hefted it to her shoulder once more as she rose.

I could’ve done it.

Then prove it to me next time by keeping them tied, Lilac stuck her tongue out at her friend. Besides I do it for my brothers all the time.

Yeah but your brothers are all kits.

Maybe they could teach you something then.

Hey!

Relax, I’m just trying to fire you up a little, Lilac pushed the steer’s shoulder. He didn’t budge as much as the rabbit moved herself with the shove. Fire up, Loin’s mind traced the words. Fire.

Oh no… Loin searched the sky. The sun was just a sliver on the horizon now as the two stood in the intersection. He looked at his friend, his eyes large with fear. I have to go! With that the previously bold knight, turned from his friend and ran. He ran with the speed and vigor that only a terrified apprentice could muster. His green apron caught his neck in the wind and pulled uncomfortably on his throat. In his right hand, the wooden sword, that he wielded with righteousness earlier, felt cumbersome as it flailed wildly with his stride.

His eyes found the village of Werster. Torches and lamps flitted in the street and dusk grew on the straw roofs of the sleepy town. His lungs burned as he reached its edge, and the arid smell of dirt and thistle gave way to the aroma of roasted corn. Before his feet found cobblestone, Loin looked for a patch of bramble on the path leading into the village. He thrust with his timber blade into the plant. Once. Twice. Then, the point found its target with a ‘clunk’. He felt around with its tip and hooked the hidden parcel under a strap and hefted it free. His backpack in hand, he ran panicked into the uneven streets of Werster. He passed the few homes on the outside of the main square, raced to the well at the center of town, and stopped to listen.

It was quiet. A few people shuffled to and from homes and buildings. The crackle of torches and faint laughter from inside the public house wafted through the square. A gust of wind. Then, after an eternity of waiting, he heard it, ‘Tack… tink tink.’ Iron. He wasn’t too late. Loin stowed his dull protector in a loop on the side of his pack and fumbled with the buckle that guarded its contents. He produced two large wooden buckets that had become filled with coal as he ran and dumped their contents back into his bag. He dirtied his hands with some of the coal dust and wiped a spattering of it on his apron for good measure. He threw his arms through the straps to secure the bag to his back and proceeded to fill the buckets with water from the well.

Loin sloshed his way towards the sound. ‘Tack… tink tink. Tack… tink tink.’ The cadence was steady; calm. There was no restlessness in the strikes, no impatient or needless hammering. Purposeful and repetitive. He drew closer to the stall, his legs wet from the water that lapped violently at sides of the buckets. The large barn doors were propped open with heavy chunks of rock on either side and an amber glow danced upon the cobblestone road. Loin recalled the descriptions of dragons from his stories as he entered the gaping mouth of the building. ‘Tack… tink tink.’ The sound of the hammer welcomed him home. His eyes held fast to the ground as he entered, and he walked quickly to a shallow wooden trough that had been laid in the center of the workshop.

The stone that made up the floor here was thick with soot from the day’s work. A monotonous path of bootprints led from the anvil to the raging forge.The cow emptied the buckets into the trough, dropped his pack quietly on a workbench to the side of the room, and fumbled clumsily with the clasp. Loin scooped mounds of coal out of the limp sack and hurried to the fire. He paid careful attention to the distance he treaded behind his master’s back. He had felt hot iron before and didn’t wish to repeat the experience.

As the new coal met the seasoned embers, a rush of sparks introduced themselves into the room. He grabbed a pair of tongs to mix the new with the old, as he had been taught, and went to find the bellows. He pushed air across the embers, slow and big, until they glowed in vibrant amber. Being satisfied with their color, Loin took his place across the anvil from his master. The old goat worked the hot metal on the horn of his anvil, skillfully drawing the tang of the blade into a cap. The new iron was white hot as he worked. ‘Tack’ his hammer hit a small puddle of water on the anvil’s surface. ‘Tink tink’ the hot iron sung as it stretched to the will of the hammer. The master guided its long, curved length with a pair of tongs in his left hand, and without looking up, yelled to his apprentice.

READY?

Yes sir. Loin gripped a set of his own tongs in his hands. Together they worked to move the piece to the spitting fire. The hammer sat breathless on the anvil, it had done its work. It was up to the iron now. Into the forge it went. The heat embraced the metal, turning it from a dull red to amber. Hotter! Cried the master, his white beard caked in soot. The bellows in reach, Loin positioned its spout to the flames with his boots and began to thrust with his foot. Slowly the amber of the blade became gold in the blaze. It was time. The two cradled the radiant metal with their tongs and moved to the trough. Loin waited for his master’s word. The silence felt thick in the air, even the roar of the forge was now a whisper to him as he waited. The hot iron sparkled in the night air, and then the word came.

QUENCH!

The two figures thrust the aimless form into the water. The trough coughed and spat in objection, but still the iron came. Steam filled their eyes and Loin looked away, but not the master. This was creation, the birth of his day’s labor. He had given this listless form a purpose, a soul.

The sputtering trough began to quiet, and they listened intently for the horrible sound, the dreaded ‘ping’ that came if the metal chose to reject its purpose. A day’s work might be wasted if the iron chose to be rebellious. It had happened before, and the rage and disappointment weighed heavy on the shop when it did. They listened together; breath held.

In its watery trench the blade sat calmly now, but more importantly, silent. Loin hurried to the anvil. He removed the hammer and made room for his master to examine the blade. The old goat reached into the trough with his tongs and produced his creation. A long, slender blade with a slight curve. At its end, the thin tang turned sharply and extended into a cap that would meet a wooden haft. The blade of a scythe. Loin had a file at the ready as his master rested the blade on top of his anvil. The goat took it in hand as he inspected his own work methodically, checking for straightness. He ran the file down the edge of the blade and the file skated gracefully across its surface. Content with his work, the head of the scythe came back to rest on the anvil.

The blacksmith now turned his attention to his ward. You’ll need to sharpen the blade and set it to a snath by tomorrow morning. Loin nodded, as the goat spoke, we should have plenty of oak out back, that’ll be plenty strong. I’d say roughly three bales high would do. Loin’s nodding stopped and waited for the goat to stop talking.

Um, Master Angelo?

A question? Yes, well let’s have it.

Well, is the client shorter than average?

What bearing does that have on your work? The blacksmith questioned his apprentice firmly now. His eyes were stern and heavy on Loin and they made him