“You’re insane.” This phrase seemed to have become a daily occurrence from Jasper. In his defence, Jonatan was definitely not cautious when it came to potentially dangerous and extremely stupid ideas.

Two full days had passed since he and Jasper had bolted from Mirth and taken up the hobbies of running from the sounds of carriages and shouting, as well as the ever fun activity of target practice on magical owls. He had yet to convince Jasper to start a bet on who could take down the most, but he was totally winning. It’s a well-known fact that forest rocks are better at dealing with magic owls than throwing daggers after all. Probably.

However, as they had yet to find time to sit down, relax, and talk, the two were growing increasingly tired of forgoing food and sleep to avoid being caught. This lead them to a few unfortunate incidents including, but not limited to, a wild bear, a passing group of travellers who had a copy of their wanted poster, and several strangely brave and angry raccoons.

Said raccoons were the reason they were currently hunkered down in a ditch, spying towards a camp of bandits, merrily laughing over a fire, handing out pieces of Jonatan’s precious rations to their thieving pets, Jasper’s seemingly already gone to the wind. The only reason they hadn’t already been sniffed out was the overwhelming scent of roast meat that was skewered by the fire.

“Its perfect. Look at them, strong, confident, and clearly think they can hold their drink!” Jonatan pressed his point forward, stubbornly whispering at Jasper.

“You are not challenging them to a drinking contest to get our food back!” Jasper hissed.

“Our food is gone, theirs is the only kind around that we don’t have to waste time hunting for! Besides, we haven’t seen any familiars since last night, we have to!”

“And what will you do when you’re so full of ale that you can’t even walk straight?!”

“You haven’t seen me fight when I’m drunk, don’t diss me for it.” Jonatan folded his arms in indignation.

Jasper took a deep breath, desperately trying to keep his cool so not to raise his voice.

“We can get food and rest somewhere else, somewhere safer. If we stop here, it’s all the riskier.”

“It’s at least a week’s walk to the next town. We won’t make it with no food, water and sleep even without crazy wizards on our tail. We can get all three here and then be off with extra!” Jonatan put his hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “Trust me. I want to get as caught as little as you do, but we have to survive to get away, and running forever will just get us killed.”

Jasper looked like he wanted to protest, but gave up with a shake of his head.

“What’s the plan then?” Jasper put his hands on his blades, readying himself for an all-out attack.

“Not yet. Stick behind me, let me talk, you look intimidating behind me.” Jonatan’s grin was mischief incarnate. “We’re the victims remember?”

“You’re not going to just walk up to them…are you?” The true depth of the insanity that Jonatan was planning finally dawned on Jasper, his eye widening and his mouth silently gaping.

Jonatan picked up a dry stick from beside him, holding it in front of his face, barely stifling a chuckle, then loudly snapped it, the sharp sound echoing through the midnight darkness of the forest.

The laughter by the fire instantly stopped, followed by the scraping of steel and the alerting squeaks of the raccoons. Jonatan stood up, his hands raised, and a smile on his face.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” Jonatan walked forward into the firelight with confidence, only stopping when the tip of a ridiculously oversized axe touched his nose. “Bad time?”

The bandits didn’t take their eyes off him, besides the raccoons who were fighting over the bones of whatever creature the meat once belonged to.

“Who the hell are you?” A particularly burly, bearded dwarf growled, attempting to square up to Jonatan despite being half his height.

“Pleasure to meet you sir! My name is Michael Bushel, travelling singer and lover of all things alcoholic! How do you do?” Jonatan always stole his great-grandfather’s name when he was in a seedy crowd that he wasn’t entirely sure wouldn’t try to mug him. It had got out of hand a few times before, leading his dead great-grandfather to become wanted by a rich famer for teaching his farmhands how to ride the cattle and joust each other.

“I’ yoo thunk tha’yer gon shurvive here…” one particularly drunken bandit slurred, before unceremoniously falling over, dousing himself in the dregs of his flagon.

The apparent leader of the bandits was an orc, damn near nine foot tall and lifted the axe like it was a paperweight, despite it being just as tall as Jasper. His face stung with coldness, but behind his eyes were a cool intellect. Or maybe it was just his piercing blue eyes which were undeniably attractive.

“What’s a singer like yourself doing in such dangerous parts in the middle of the night with no protection?” The orc leaned in close, studying Jonatan’s face. Jonatan couldn’t help but shift his feet uncomfortably.

“Oh I have protection, my nephew is hiding over that hill just there.” Jonatan pointed out Jasper. “You see, we’re currently on our way from Mirth due to a misunderstanding about the law. Apparently it’s against the law to beat the captain of the guard at a drinking contest!” Jonatan shrugged nonchalantly.

The bandit was quiet for a moment, his axe wavering slightly. Jonatan knew his mother had a reputation in the region for being unbeatable at two things: fighting and drinking, so what better way to add credence to his story than pretend to lie?

“You, over there!” The orc shouted over Jonatan towards Jasper. “Come on out with your hands raised and empty!”

Jonatan held his breath, unsure if Jasper would come out blades flying or not. Luckily for him and the entire group of bandits, he came out with his hands above his head, a steely look in his eyes and his jaw clenched. Some of the bandits wolf whistled, which Jonatan rolled his eyes at. Sure, the low light might make him look a little (or a bit more than a little) feminine but come on, that’s just rude.

The orc on the other hand, wasn’t convinced.

“That’s your nephew? He’s an Elf, you’re a human.” His eyes narrowed, his axe pressing forward slightly further into Jonatan’s nose.

“Just a half.” Jonatan said quickly. “What can I say, my older sister had a thing for elves.”

“What about you?” The orc raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I have a thing for axes myself.” Jonatan grinned at the orc, wiggling his eyebrows. Jasper closed his eye, shaking his head slightly in disappointment.

The bandits on the other hand, orc included, burst into fits of laughter, some of them falling off their various log seats clutching their stomachs. Jonatan flashed a smile at Jasper, making sure he understood that things were going well, then joined in with their laughter.

“Sit down, lover boy.” The orc hollered, a wide grin on his face. “Sing us a song while you’re at it.”

Jonatan obliged, collapsing onto a relatively dry log and took a deep breath.

“Oh I’d love to, but I have some beef with those raccoons of yours first.” He drummed his hand on his pockets, showing their emptiness.

“Oh those were yours? Ha, great wee things aren’t they?” The orc gestured to the now napping racoons. “Tell ya what, you give us a song, we’ll give ya a bite and call it even. Then we’ll see if you can drink half as well as you say you can, boyo.”

Jonatan pretended to mull over the decision, exchanging glances with Jasper who just looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

“Can’t argue with that!” Jonatan unslung his lute and sank into the familiar rhythms and songs he’d been playing for two years on end in bars all around the countries. The bandits were just as easy to please as the drunken farmers, miners and adventurers that he had played for all those times.

They cracked open another cask of ale and started the drinking contest, the entire bandit troupe versus Jonatan. Three casks later, Jonatan and the orc were the last two that hadn’t passed out. The orc had taken his shirt off, his eyes blinking dazed and swaying from side to side.

Jonatan on the other hand, had taken on entire bars before. Half a dozen tipsy bandits were nothing, though he was coming from a place where if it wasn’t 25% at least, it was considered a light drink.

Jasper hadn’t joined in the festivities, using the time to eat and refill his water again and again. He didn’t seem to like parties much, but Jonatan couldn’t blame him much with a crowd that would’ve killed them if Jonatan hadn’t known exactly what kind of people they were.

By the time the orc had finally succumbed to his loss and passed out in the dirt, snoring loudly, another cask and a half was empty. Jonatan took a deep breath, giggled, then stood up, then fell over, then laughed, then sat up again. Jasper was looking at him with extreme disappointment.

“You went too far you know?” Jasper sighed, packing some pieces of food and skins of water into the bag across his back, lovingly donated by a snoring bandit.

“A bit, maybe.” Jonatan laughed, lying on the ground beside his lute. Then the reality came back and hit him.

He was running from people that wanted his dead, and he just had a night where he got drunk and had a laugh. It wasn’t the right thing to do, he knew that, but there was still a part of him that needed this, something to keep him from breaking down until they were relatively safe, something to keep him going.

He just realised he was crying, his eyes stung, and he wiped them with the back of his hand. His vision cleared up so he could see the sky. There was something else too. The glowing eyes of a bird.

A chill went down his spine. An owl.

He shouted at Jasper, who noticed it too. They sprang to their feet and started sprinting in the direction they were heading, not before Jonatan introduced the familiar to a new fried, that being an empty cask. They got on so well that the owl turned to dust.

Jonatan shook his head, trying to clear the haze of the drink to no avail, but he had done this often enough to learn how to at least run while drunk. Not exactly accurately but well enough.

They heard yelling from behind them, and from their right, and from their left. Immediately in front of them, the air crackled and a familiar figure stepped out, her robes newly pressed and her wounds completely gone.

“Nowhere to go now.” Sylvia growled, a thick leather book in her hands that glowed a faint red. She opened it, and three ribbons of fire sprang out, seeking towards the two bards.

Jasper intercepted two with his blades, shattering them into sparks with swift and clean swipes, making two small light shows by his side. Jonatan on the other hand, was far less elegant, stumbling to the ground and lunged behind a tree, letting the poor oak take the fire instead of him. He checked to make sure the fire didn’t catch hold, then started his stumble-run again.

Jasper leapt at Sylvia, his blades aiming at the book. Then, in an instant, she was gone. She appeared a split second later thirty feet away from where she once stood, her book fluttering wildly.

A low rumble in the earth below Jasper turned into a small quake as he was knocked off his feet, the earth around him rolling and turning into precarious spires of hardened dirt. Jasper leapt into the air, using a tree to spring himself free from the precarious position. Sylvia pursed her lips and flicked to a different page in that spellbook of hers.

The spell she chose was one that was very, very bad.

Beside her, the air cracked and contorted into a large, terrifying shape. It almost looked like a humanoid bat dragon thing with glowing red eyes that peered into Jonatan’s soul. Then it came into reality beside her, as a sneer stretched across her scaley face.

“Gargoyle!” Jasper yelled, striking his blades against themselves, sending a vibrating ring through the air, the steel of his swords almost singing.

He darted forward, swinging his magical sound left and right. The gargoyle observing silently, barely moving. When Jasper reared up to strike, it suddenly moved, grabbing both of the bard’s arms in a single hand and threw him backwards, his curved blades quietening to silent once more.

Jonatan charged forward, his dizziness replaced by sheer anger. Jasper yelled for him to stop, but he didn’t listen even slightly. The gargoyle tried the same with him, but he replied in kind, grabbing one of its clawed fingers in each of his hands. This was bigger than anything he’d try to break before, but he didn’t really care right now.

He wrenched his hands apart, while slamming the stone hand down to his knee. The rock split apart, the gargoyle’s thumb coming off into Jonatan’s hand as it screamed with the sound of a landslide. Jonatan’s muscles complained at being overworked like that, but again, he was far past the point where he cared.

It swung its other arm at Jonatan, attempting to swat him away. He dropped to his knees, letting the blow sail harmlessly over his head, then jammed the clawed stone into the indent where its thigh would be, making an ugly gash into the stone and disintegrating the claw he held.

It cried out, grabbing Jonatan by the neck and raising him up. It wasn’t that physically strong, in fact his mother could probably beat it in an arm wrestle, but the fact it was made of rock made it able to hit with so much more force, and take just as much in return. Jonatan’s vision went dark at the edges as the rocky hand squeezed his neck as he tried and failed to make its stony grip loosen.

Jasper, blades newly resonating, slammed both into the gash Jonatan made, turning the cut into dust, collapsing its left leg to rubble. In its shock, it let its grip go slightly, which earned it another shattered finger as Jonatan tumbled to the ground in front of it.

He coughed, spitting out the dust from the fall and staring at the rocky beast in front of him. without giving it a second to try again, he wrapped his hand around the biggest piece of its leg, that being its vaguely reptilian foot, and brought it down against its neck, knocking a chunk out of it and destroying most of its features on that side of its face.

It snarled, reaching out with its newly gappy hands, but was stopped by that hand disappearing in another shower of dust, Jasper wiping the dust off his face and checking his swords for damage, then turning his gaze to Sylvia’s shocked face.

Her face became even more shocked when Jonatan wrapped his arms around the gargoyle’s head, and pulled with every ounce of strength he had. The rock shattered, as its head came from the rest of it in an ear-splitting crack. Jonatan panted, looking at its stony face locked in a permanent yell of rage. He threw it over his shoulder and vaulted over the now lifeless rock that once attacked them.

Sylvia raised her hands to cast another spell, but her eyes rolled into the back of her head when Jasper whacked her with the blunt edge of his blades. She hit the ground with a thud and a whimper, her book falling just beside her.

Jonatan picked up the book, staring at it with drunken irritation. Jasper sheathed his blades then held out his hand.

“We best get rid of that, so she can’t use it when she wakes up.” Jasper wiped the dust off his shirt with his free hand.

Jonatan didn’t reply. Instead, he tore the spellbook in half in a single motion, leaving no page un-torn, then threw it in the ditch that she made with her earthquake. Jasper looked on with a face of sheer surprise.

“Oh. I see why you fight drunk now.” Jasper nodded in understanding, offering Jonatan a drink of water. He gratefully accepted, and they began running into the darkness ahead of them, away from the ever closer voices of their hunters.