Chapter Three: An Unlikely New Friend

Fergus slowly stirred from his sleep under a large tree on the side of the river that was part of Lake Mead. He stopped at the point where he crossed the fairly large bridge that arched over the river after traveling a good distance from North Leighton. Rubbing his eyes, he got up and stretched, feeling the cracks and pops this bones made. Fergus went over to the river and washed his face, feeling cold and refreshing to his skin. Wiping his face with his shirt, he was pondering his next move when he looked up to see with keen eyes an unusual creature walking down the path.

It looked like a gray cat with really big fox-like ears with what looked like yellow eyes and legs similar to those of the Keidran. He wore a strange helmet made to accustom his large ears, metal pauldrons connected to his blue shirt and brown pants with a sword dangling from his hip. On his digitigrade legs he had metal bands around each one. "Hmm, must be one of them Basitins they mentioned," Fergus thought. "Seems not so bad." He then felt a mischievous smile on his face. "Might as well have some fun with him. Just be a playful arse and see where it goes."

The Basitin was drawing closer to the bridge. As he did, however, his ears started to pick up a strange noise. A queer sound that sounded like multiple strange horns going off all at once. He covered his ears the louder it got as he came closer. He could see it was coming from as there on the arch of the the upcoming bridge was a broad, red-headed young man possibly in his late twenties playing an odd instrument of sorts, odd being the best word for it like his garments. He stopped at the start of the bridge and politely waited for the stranger to finish.

Fergus came to as slow stop to his music as he looked down at the odd looking Basitin that stopped before him. "By the look on your face, I can tell you like the pipes, wee laddie," he stated. Before the Basitin could speak, Fergus started playing the pipes again. He could see the fur ball was a little annoyed by this and so took the moment to interrupt him. When he tried nicely, Fergus teased him by playing louder over him.

"Excuse me," the Basitin tried to say. "Excuse me. EXCUSE ME!" Fergus did his best to restrain his smile as he finally stopped playing. "I apologize for being rude, but am I anywhere close to South Leighton?"

"Eh, probably. I'm just passing through so how would I know." Fergus said.

"Hmm, then I best keep moving forward." The big eared critter was about to sidestep around the Scotsman, assuming that he would do the same. But Fergus remained still as most of his broad body blocked most of the path. "Uh, excuse me."

"What are you expecting me to do?"

"Just stand aside, please."

"Oh, ya. Certainly. After you pay a toll."

"Excuse me?!" asked the baffled Basitin.

"You either pay me a small toll to cross, or bolt, you mangled fud (you misshapen vagina)." A shit eating smile was on the Scotsman's face while the look on the Basitins' was soured.

"What did you call me?!" The Basitin felt insulted, yet confused about what exactly he was called.

"Ah, you deaf too, you deaf-toned cully-breek ("little friend" used condescendingly and rancid)."

The Basitin was starting to get annoyed now, but kept his cool. "Supposedly if I did, I wouldn't dream of sparing a single coin to you with rude behavior like that."

"So you say, you numpty-faced gowk (foolish fool). Whether that be the case or not, you're more than free to fight for it. If you beat me, that is," Fergus offered.

"I don't think there's any need to-"

Fergus gave it to him straight. "Listen here, you dumb, blithering numpty! The only way you're getting past me is is either pay a toll or beat me combat! Now are you a man, or a worthless eejit like I think you are?!" The big eared being stood silent, possibly not getting what Fergus was calling him again until the burly Scotsman said "I'm calling you a coward!"

"I fear no man," the Basitin said calmly. "Not even an arrogant fool like you."

"Oh! That's tough talk coming from a man who wears a bucket on his head." Fergus said with a smug smirk. The Basitin eyed the helmet he was wearing his head as Fergus continued. "I carry me haggis in a bucket. You'd probably have me shaking if you weren't dressed in a nightgown. You look like my granny!" This now was getting the Basitin irritated as he visibly frowned. Fergus now went after the sheathed sword dangling from the Basitin's hip. "You call that wee thing dangling from your hip a sword? Ha! Looks more like a butter knife! You won't do much damage wielding that piece of tinfoil around! You're better using your bucket for a weapon!" Fergus was amused as he made the guy more irritated. He only stood a few feet above him as he stood 6 foot and the other looking at about 5'10". "THIS is a sword." Fergus unsheathed his halberd from his back and showed it off to the Basitin. "And it's bigger than yours." The Basitin still said nothing, about fed up with this human insulting him.

Fergus finally let him have it as he delivered, in this author's opinion, one of the best insults of all time (translation provided of course). "What do ya think o' that, Mr. Pajama-Wearin', Bucket-Faced, Butter knife-Wieldin', Clype (tattle-tale

Dreep-Bauchled (decrepit / worn out / contemptible), Gether-Upin' (crouching, cringing / motley, thatched-together), Blate-Maw (momma's boy), Bleatherin' (blathering / prattling), Gomeral (simpleton / slow-witted person), Jessie (pansy / sissy), Oaf-Lookin' (buffoonish in appearance),

Scooner (half-pint i.e. short man), Nyaff (impudent / irritating / trivial, valueless), Plouky (pimply / ugly), Shan (shabby, low-quality / no-good), Milk-Drinkin' (feeble / unable to handle hard drink), Shilpit (weak / insipid), Mim-Moothed (reserved person or submissive, quiet speaker), Snivelin' (whining / pathetic), Worm-Eyed (small-minded / of poor eyesight), Hootin' (pooh-poohing, dismissing with contempt, hence derisive, dismissive), Blaugh (pale, of sickly complexion), Vile, Stoochie (filthy), Cully = ("little friend", used condescendingly), Breek-Tattie (rancid, stinking potato)!"

Before Fergus knew it, the Basitin whipped out his sword and stabbed his bagpipes. With smug grin, he pulls it out and the bagpipe slowly deflated as it made a very sad sound. Now normally no one would care much for bagpipes, but for a Scotsman, it was something personal. And even though he was doing what he was doing for fun, but now this bat-eared fool made it personal. "You've done it now," he growled at the Basitin. Fergus tossed his ruined bagpipes to the side, still glaring at weird looking lemur thing. "I'm gonna turn your hide into a floor rug!"

With a roar, the young Scotsman attacked the Basitin. Both swords clashed as the two engaged in combat. While Fergus dealt swinging blows with concise slashes, the Basitin was more precise and kept him on his toes. Both warriors countered each other attack for attack. Despite being skilled, Fergus had to admit this Basitin warrior and what his people may have taught him. "Aye, you got a lot of pip for a wee laddie," he admitted to his foe as they locked swords. He offered a hearty guffaw and was shoved back by the Basitin. Using this for momentum, the Scotsman swirled and swung at him. The Basitin ducked, the sword just nicking his helmet. He leaped up and with yell, came down with a huge swing. Fergus took his halberd in both hands and blocked it as a large clang rang through out the area.

The Basitin relaxed and eases off for a moment. "I'm impressed. You're quite skilled wherever you've came from."

"I'd the same for you as well." Fergus said to him. "Now quit yer yammering and get to fighting!" The two resumed fighting, swords clanging loud into the air. Time passed as the two combatants came to a crawl and collapsed to the ground panting heavily. Fergus laughed weakly. "Prepare to meet your doom." He staggered in his steps as he tried to stand. He struggled to lift his sword, but was too exhausted to do so. "I'll give you…one more chance to…give up."

"I am…not beaten," gasped the Basitin, still sitting on the ground. "And I will hold my ground."

"Eh. Hold yer ground? You can barely hold your sword."

"Then come get me," the Basitin retorted.

Fergus sputtered in surprise in this furred man's resilience, then growled in disbelief. "Seeing that I'm a…sportsman, I'll give you a moment to recuperate." The young highlander sat back down and waited. The other's brow furrowed as he too waited for the human to recover. Just as they were, however, they soon heard the thundering of hooves coming down the road. The two men looked up to see a squad of seven human troops riding towards them, one of them seemed to be the leader. Fergus recognized two of them as the Templars from earlier. "Ah damn it!" Fergus muttered. He had a feeling they may have been on to him, despite how careful he was to not leave a trace of evidence that it was him that freed the Keidran. The team came to a halt a few feet from the two.

"Well now, what's this? Unauthorized dueling?" asked the main Templar he last talked to the other day. "Normally, we would arrest people doing so for disrupting the peace."

"Yah, and as you should fucking see here buddy," Fergus retorted, "this is a private affair. So would you mind just awa' n' bile yer heed, you fuckin' roaster?"

The Templar shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Such language."

His compatriot had a different reaction. "Mind your tongue, fool! You dare speak to us in that manner! You should be thrown in the stockades for such behavior!"

The main Templar held a hand up to silence his compatriot. "The point my comrade is trying to say is our job is to suppress disorder. That, and an incident that happened in North Leighton."

"What kind of incident?" the Basitin asked curiously.

"Someone knocked out three guards at the local holding cell and freed the Keidran that were to be handled at the auction. We have reason to believe that YOU are a possible suspect." He pointed to Fergus, making the Basitin raise a questionable brow at him.

The Scotsman's brows narrowed. "Based on what proof?" Fergus asked carefully.

"The innkeeper reported to us that some sheets were missing from one of his rooms that just so happened to have been previously occupied by you according to the room registry." The Templar then asked Fergus politely, "Please put up your sword and come with us."

"Hmm, let me think. I believe that might be possibly impossible, unthinkable, and unlikely!"

The man nodded solemnly. "Then I'm afraid we'll have to arrest you. Do you tend to come quietly or do you wish to resist?"

"Oh don't be so fuckin' daft, man! Of course I tend to resist! Just give me a moment, a'right?!" Fergus leaned back against the large stone he was resting against and sighed. He had to think of something fast. Six against one seemed like an unlikely situation for him to get out of. Even so, he wasn't going to give up so easily. He looked to the Basitin across from him. "Seems like our fight is gonna have to wait, wee laddie. Might as well get yer name in case things go sour fer me."

The Basitin hesitated, then reluctantly said "Keith. Keith Keiser."

"Fergus McKay, of the Maclean Clan." Fergus smiled and extended a friendly hand out to his furred adversary. Befuddled and confused, Keith shook the Scotsman's hand. Done and done, Fergus stood up and stretched, picked up his halberd, and faced the soldiers on horseback. "Alright! NOW, I'm prepared to resist ya!"

With a gesture, the Templar ordered the soldiers to dismount and apprehend him. Readying his sword, Fergus defended himself against his accusers. Despite being outnumbered, he managed to hold his own by killing two of them and injuring the other three. Still running on his second wind, a sore and a near exhausted Fergus turned his attention to the two Templars still on horseback. The head Templar surveyed the scene, troops both dead and wounded. While he seemed impressed, his cohort was not.

"That's going to cost you, fool!" the magic-wielding soldier declared.

"Bite ma bawsack, ye radge wee shite (eat my balls, you crazy shit)!" Fergus retorted.

Pursing his lips, the furious Templar's eyes glowed yellow as he had a free hand glow with yellow energy. Certain that this may be it, Fergus readied himself for the blow. The Templar drew his arm back and flung a magical blast at him. Immediately with instinct, Fergus closed his eyes and held his halberd up to block the blast. Everyone covered their eyes as the blast exploded. The blast now dissipated, everyone present looked to Fergus still standing. Feeling like he was still alive, Fergus slowly opened his eyes to see his sword's rune marks glowing blue.

The main Templar was intrigued while his cohort was stunned. "That blast should have destroyed your sword," said the surprised cohort. "How? How are you still standing?"

"I guess me Celtic runes are magic after all," said a befuddled Fergus. He didn't quite believe in magic runes, but he went along with it as it was part of his clan's culture. But remembering how he first got here, he was willing to believe anything now. "So are ye gonna still arrest me or are you gonna get tae fuck (fuck off)? If I were you, I'd take your buddies and shove off while you still have a chance."

The unhappy Templar was about to release another blast, but the other stopped him from doing so. "Let him go. We don't know how his sword is able to counter our magic. Besides, it's best we take care of our wounded." He turned his attention to the Scotsman. "You may go for now. Next time you won't be so lucky." With a kick at the stir-ups, the two Templars rode back the way they came.

Smiling a shit-eating grin, the Scotsman sheathed his glowing sword and sat down with exhaustion. He looked over at the Basitin, still present. "So,…I'd say we'll have to finish our little contest another time. You're free to scat to wherever you need to go."

"Where will you go?" Keith asked.

"Anywhere but here. Them bastards will be back with bigger numbers for me anyway." Fergus scuffled over to one of the horses that were left behind and struggled to get up.

Keith went over to him. "If you wish, you are more than welcome to come along with me until we decide to part ways," he offered to the kilted stranger. He could use the extra help with the quest HE was currently on anyway.

"You serious?"

"Why not? I've got too much on my plate to worry about grudges."

"What're you on about?"

"Travel with me, and I'll be happy to explain along the way." Fergus seemed hesitant about wanting to come along. When Keith offered him a free meal, Fergus complied and allowed the Basitin to grab a horse. Together the two rode off, leaving the groaning human soldiers behind.