As Basic and Alistair began their journey away from Huble, they found themselves walking back up the hill past the Bumbling Stump Inn. Basic suddenly stopped and looked over his shoulder, his face full of concern.

  “I’ll miss you,” Basic said wistfully.

  Sensing a rare moment of sincerity, Alistair offered a comforting nod. “If we complete our quest, Basic, not only the inn but all of Huble will be saved.“

  Basic waved it off. “I speak of the sausages in the backroom. Don’t imagine that Bumbling will need them now.“

  Alistair fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Come now, before your former friends catch wind that we’re still here.“

  As they neared the edge of Huble, Basic slowed dramatically, dragging his feet. “My feet, Alistair…” he winced. “I’ll crumble if I take another step.“

  Alistair stared at him in disbelief. “But we’ve only moved a hundred paces…“

  Basic plopped himself onto the ground, crossing his arms. “I need to eat if I am to tackle the realm. Preferably sausages—stored in backrooms.“

  Alistair took a deep breath, struggling to maintain composure. “Basic, the realm is in need. We must get going—“

  Before he could finish, Basic, already seated, looked entirely unwilling to continue. Exasperated, Alistair gave in. “Fine! I’ll go back and get the sausages,” he spat, motioning toward the inn.

  The moment Alistair turned, Basic sprang to his feet and sprinted ahead of him. “It’ll be quicker if I go myself!” he shouted, dashing back toward the inn.

  “A liar and a fool,” Alistair muttered to himself.

  To avoid the mob, Alistair ventured to the outskirts of the village. There, he gathered poking sticks and firewood from the nearby forest and set up a makeshift camp.

  An hour passed.

  Every crackle of the dwindling flames reminded Alistair of rogue footsteps. Every chirp from the crickets was a reminder of lost time.

  Suddenly, footsteps approached. Alistair reached for his dagger.

  “There you are!” said a frustrated Basic, emerging from the darkness wearing a necklace of sausage links.

  Alistair rose to his feet. “What took you so long?“

  “I got lost,” Basic shrugged.

  “Lost? But you live here.“

  “No,” Basic replied matter-of-factly. “I live at the inn, Alistair.“

  Alistair took a deep, calming breath.

  “Cook, eat, and then we must be going. We have no time for lollygagging,” he said sternly.

  “I shall find the time to lollygag these sausages,” Basic replied, licking his lips.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  All Alistair could do was bury his face in his hands. It took every ounce of restraint not to berate his foolish companion.

  “You know,” Basic added, “it would be quicker if you cooked them for me. I’m afraid I’m not much of a chef.“

  “They’re sausages!” Alistair snapped at last. “You simply hold them over the fire—“

  He stopped, exhaled, and conceded. Arguing would only slow them further.

  As they waited for Alistair to cook, Basic suddenly spoke, deep in thought. “You know, Alistair, with me being the chosen one and all, I think it’s I who should be making the decisions going forward.“

  Alistair looked at him with amusement and confusion. “Chosen one?” he laughed. “I need you in good spirits, Basic. If believing that helps, so be it. But until the gods part the skies and elect you as their champion, I have the gold, I hold the quest, and I make the decisions.“

  Basic chuckled smugly. “Yet you have chosen me, no? Therefore, I am the one that was chosen.“

  Alistair burst into laughter, unable to help himself at the sight of Basic’s bald head, childish demeanor, and thoroughly disheveled reputation. The harder he laughed, the more Basic’s pride suffered, until Basic stood abruptly, ready to strike him.

  Alistair raised a hand for peace, still laughing. “Basic, your ego truly knows no bounds. You do play a significant role in the fate of the realm—though if I told you the truth, I fear you’d sabotage our aims.“

  “Tell me!” Basic demanded. “Tell me, you whisker-bearded fool, or I’m going home!“

  Seeing his leverage, Alistair raised both hands in surrender. “Fine. You win. You are secretly a great hero. Not the hero you speak of—but a hero nonetheless. Happy now?“

  Basic’s anger melted away, his ego swelling once more. “A great hero, you say? Well, my friend, I humbly accept.“

  “Marvelous. Now, if you don’t mind—“

  With Basic seemingly committed, Alistair grew serious. He crouched by the fire and picked up a stick, drawing in the dirt. “Come, Basic.“

  “I’m eating,” Basic said, a sausage dangling from his mouth.

  “Great heroes need council,” Alistair reasoned. “You are a great hero, are you not?“

  Grumbling, Basic joined him.

  “Squat,” Alistair demanded.

  “What for?” he asked.

  “Because planning feels more important when we squat and draw in the dirt.“

  Basic immediately agreed, as if this were a universal truth.

  Alistair began sketching a map of Gilgamar. “Here we are,” he said, pointing. “Our aim is to eventually reach the capital of Kingdomshire… here. Gilgamar is full of treacherous roads, so we must choose carefully. Along the way, I’ll need to stop by the—wait. What are you doing?“

  Alistair looked over to see Basic drawing his own map beside his.

  Annoyed, Alistair stood and smeared dirt over Basic’s drawing. “Pay attention.“

  Basic retaliated by smearing dirt over Alistair’s map.

  Bowing up to him, Basic said, “When’s the last time you heard a song? Shall I play the Sunken Drunksman on those strings of yours?” He gestured to Alistair’s mustache.

  Alistair shook his head. “If it is a fight you seek, you have already won.“

  He returned to the fire, leaving Basic unsure whether to laugh or feel insulted.

  “Aha!” Basic announced. “So you yield?“

  Alistair raised his hands theatrically. “I yield, sir. You are too much for me.“

  “Right then!” Basic exclaimed, squatting over a fresh drawing. “We’re here. We’ll go east to Berbatev for sausage links and freshly squeezed wine—“

  Alistair kicked dirt over the plan and grabbed Basic by the collar.

  “I thought you yielded!” croaked Basic.

  “You’re accompanying me to Kingdomshire,” Alistair growled, “or I fetch Elabor to do what we both know you aren’t capable of.“

  He shoved Basic to the ground.

  Basic rose, dusting himself off, a mellow look settling on his face. “That’s low, Alistair… Bringing him up.” he said, adjusting his collar.

  “You signed up for grief, my friend, not luxury. Glory, not satisfaction.” Alistair’s patience was thin yet measured. He could see Basic’s mind wandering, imagining taverns and festivities, all while they tread dangerous territory.

  The tension lingered—a fragile balance of ego and destiny—as they departed their makeshift camp and continued toward an uncertain future.