The Dwarf’s Ill-Fated Infiltration

The June nights in Olomouc were cool and damp; though summer had only just begun, the dense medieval forests were already teeming with countless female mosquitoes, fluttering erratically into existence.

They would congregate in swarms around strong, adult men capable of satisfying their physiological needs, relentlessly and without restraint demanding their fill.

Most men found this situation utterly unbearable; even the most robust warrior, faced with such a multitude of females (mosquitoes), could only exclaim, “Excuse me, I must depart!”

Yet, would these female mosquitoes simply let the men go?

After a brief farewell to their husbands, they would gather around the men, solely for the purpose of procreating the next generation and spending an unforgettable night.

They would attract the attention of human males with the distinctive buzzing of their species—a coquettish cry of “Trash fish~ Trash fish~”.

No human male could remain unfazed by this; amidst a chorus of low roars, they would charge at these tiny female mosquitoes, vowing to teach them a harsh lesson.

Men typically preferred to hold these females firmly in their grasp (and swat them dead!), while the females merely yearned to steal a kiss, drawing out a mouthful of sweet, rich nectar.

After such a night, the men would be left with swollen red marks from the reproductive activity, and if unlucky, might even contract malaria; meanwhile, these numerous females (mosquitoes) would deposit the fruits of their love (larvae) into a small pond, serving as a nursery.

And after some time, the mother and daughter might even seek out the man with whom they’d shared a night of passion, returning for a ‘mother-daughter combo’.

Frankly, any normal man would vehemently refuse, even if he did find a certain perverse pleasure in the itchy, swollen welts left by the mosquito bites.

Yet, there was a clear distinction between humans and mosquitoes; if given the chance, he would simply swat both mother and daughter dead in his palm.

“Thwack!”

In the darkened forest, a diminutive dwarf abruptly slapped himself across the face, the powerful blow reddening one side of his cheek.

He splayed his palm open, revealing two female mosquitoes, one large and one small, thoroughly flattened into a pulp.

“Damn these mosquitoes!”

The man showed no regard for past affections; though a single night of passion was said to forge a hundred days of kindness, he had been entangled with the mother and daughter for countless nights, and now, with them bringing their offspring to his doorstep, he had ruthlessly slain them both.

‘Man bad! Mother and daughter good!’

The man was indeed a wicked sort, or more precisely, a thief; being a born dwarf, he had faced immense discrimination from those around him, enduring a life of oppression and hardship.

His brothers loathed him, his peers bullied him, and his parents resented him, believing his dwarfism severely impacted their family’s standing; others saw it as God’s punishment for their impiety, while ordinary folk might greet each other with “Good day, praise Jesus.”

Yet for the dwarf’s siblings and parents, such courtesies were never extended; villagers would merely mock them with disdainful jokes: “Where’s that stunted demon of yours? Has he crawled back to hell?”

Not only the villagers, but even the lord himself held their family in contempt. While others delivered their wheat and produce directly to the lord’s wooden keep, their family was relegated to leaving their offerings outside the keep’s courtyard gate, forbidden from setting foot within the castle grounds; consequently, from birth to adulthood, the dwarf had never even seen what the lord looked like.

Was he tall or short? Fat or thin? Red-haired or dark-brown? Brown-eyed or black-eyed?

None of that mattered now, for the lord was dead. One moonlit night, the dwarf had stealthily infiltrated the lord’s wooden keep and plunged a dagger into the side of his neck.

The dwarf had finally gotten his wish, seeing the lord’s true appearance—a shriveled old man.

The dwarf still recalled the lord’s wide, terrified, and helpless eyes as he desperately struggled, likely attempting to cry for help, only to have his face clamped shut by the dwarf’s hand, allowing the dwarf to feel the bare gums beneath the lord’s flesh, where luxurious dining had long since claimed all his teeth.

He pressed and squeezed the lord’s cheeks inward, his short, stout fingers struggling to pry open the gums, while stiff, coarse whiskers brushed against his palm.

Within mere seconds of the dagger’s insertion, blood had smeared all over the dwarf’s hands.

Fearing others might not know he was the killer, the dwarf severed the emaciated old man’s head and tossed it onto his own doorstep. With this ‘glorious’ accomplishment, he joined the Kroměříž gang, becoming an assassin and a thief.

Days later, the dwarf witnessed the bitter, spiteful faces of his siblings and parents dangling from the tall gallows; their venomous mouths were finally silenced.

Though he hadn’t wished for this outcome, the Lord’s mercy had never graced him; in a world rife with sinners, one more or one less made little difference.

And on this very night, he had once again infiltrated Osbrück Manor.

Make no mistake, he was no mere psychopath; though his body was deformed due to dwarfism, the reduced secretion of growth hormones did not impede his brain’s development.

His presence here was at his boss’s behest, tasked with finding a treasure. He had been staking out the manor for a week, repeatedly sneaking into various parts of the estate in search of the artifact.

Yet that old fox, Sir Černý, was quite adept at hiding things; even after ransacking Černý’s living quarters, cellar, wine cellar, and the graves beneath the crucifix, he had found no trace of the treasure.

‘Could his boss be mistaken? Had Černý already given the treasure away?’

The dwarf harbored deep suspicions: ‘Had Černý perhaps sent the treasure to the Bishop-brother in Uničov?’

However, ever since Count Otta “the Handsome” had led a host of household knights and vassal knights to clear out the wizard’s lair and bestowed the wizard’s treasure upon Sir Černý, Černý had not left his manor for a single step, nor had he dispatched anyone from his estate.

“That old bastard certainly knows how to hide things!”

The dwarf cursed under his breath, knowing that after all this surveillance and multiple infiltrations, if he returned empty-handed, his boss would surely flay him alive and fashion his skin into a jacket.

“Černý’s red wine is surprisingly popular; I wonder who those newcomers today are.”

The dwarf clung to a treetop, gazing out at the backyard of Černý Manor, where a campfire blazed, and two figures sat around it, eating and chatting.

****

“Where are you from?” At the campfire in the manor’s backyard, a patrol soldier from the estate forcefully broke apart a piece of hard, roasted rye black bread, then meticulously picked off small crumbs from its fractured edge to pop into his mouth.

“Ostrava.”

Tolke, casually eating some gruel mixed with cheese, answered the soldier’s question offhandedly.

The patrol soldier simply uttered an “Oh,” having no idea where Ostrava was, just as he had no idea how many knightly manors existed within the Olomouc county.

The two then fell into a long silence, the night filled only with the crackling of branches and bark in the campfire, the buzzing of mosquitoes, and the chirping of summer cicadas.

The rest of the caravan had retired early, the long, arduous journey having left everyone utterly exhausted.

Even doing nothing but sitting in the carriage, the constant jolting could induce an unbearable sense of fatigue.

After all, Bohemia had never been under Roman rule, its road infrastructure was terribly poor, and the purely wooden wagons lacked any shock absorption, leaving only the fleshy cushion of one’s backside to mitigate the jarring impact on the lumbar spine.

Tolke, too, was weary; riding a horse was even more exhausting than riding in a carriage, as medieval horses were not specifically trained for the ambling gait, mostly employing a trotting stride with alternating hooves, the jolting motion was, naturally, severe.

If a horse moved even slightly faster, it would become incredibly jarring; after several days, Tolke was not only experiencing a sore backside but also aching back muscles and leg cramps.

Nevertheless, someone had to stand guard through the night, and having just arrived at this manor, where one could know a face but not a heart, he had to remain cautious.

Caution was a lesson he had learned during his solitary life in the mountains. Tolke instinctively touched the scar above his brow.

“Rustle… rustle…” came the sound of disturbed branches and leaves.

Tolke’s ears twitched; he seemed to have heard something. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword at his waist as he vigilantly scanned the backyard and the surrounding trees.

Before him was the campfire, beside him the small wooden hut where the servants resided, and four parked wagons; in the center of the yard stood a stone-lined well, and directly opposite the hut was the stable where several large horses slept standing.

Beside the stable grew an oak tree, its trunk so thick it would take a man’s full embrace to encircle it, and beneath it, one or two clumps of low-lying bushes; if Tolke’s hearing hadn’t deceived him, the sound had originated from those bushes beneath the tree.

“Hush, there’s someone there!”

Tolke lowered his voice, alerting the patrol soldier across the campfire, and gestured with his eyes towards the bushes next to the stable.

“Wh— cough, cough, cough!” The patrol soldier, staring blankly at the flames while eating his bread, was startled by Tolke’s sudden words and instantly choked.

The rough, hard bread crust lodged in his windpipe; he raised a fist and violently pounded his chest, and after an exceptionally forceful cough, a dark, hard chunk of bread flew from his mouth, soaring through the flames to land at Tolke’s feet.

“Whoosh!” The bread chunk, catching a bit of flame, rapidly ignited and swelled, transforming into a small fireball—heaven knew how much sawdust had been mixed into it.

“Cough, cough… Someone where?” The patrol soldier immediately stood up, openly gazing in the direction Tolke had indicated.

The patrol soldier lacked Tolke’s keen eyesight and suffered from mild night blindness; even though the bushes were only ten yards away, he couldn’t see clearly, discerning only a dark, indistinct mass near the stable.

“It seems there’s someone there,” Tolke repeated, fearing the patrol soldier hadn’t heard him clearly.

The patrol soldier glanced back at the bushes, then turned to look at Tolke, bursting into laughter as if he had heard a joke.

“Ha ha! No petty thief would dare come to Osbrück! With our lord’s formidable reputation, those scoundrels and pickpockets would be scared witless.”

“But there really was…” Tolke watched as a dark silhouette suddenly darted out of the bushes, then vanished into the shroud of night.

“Impossible! Ab-so-lute-ly im-pos-si-ble!” The patrol soldier crossed his arms, forming a large ‘X’.

“You outsiders simply don’t know the might of Sir Černý, or the bravery of young master Ryan! Even Count Otta, with his dozens of household knights, has no one who could stand against Sir Černý for ten bouts; back when the Tatars were at their most rampant, our lord even chased them down. So, it’s absolutely impossible for any thief to dare approach this manor!”

The patrol soldier earnestly extolled Černý’s glorious achievements, though Tolke, having seen Sir Černý return from hunting earlier, knew him to be nothing more than an old knight of average build, clad in heavy chainmail.

Tolke felt a pang of doubt, yet the soldier’s worshipful gaze seemed genuine; he couldn’t help but recall the details of the dark shadow he had just witnessed—

The shadow’s height hadn’t exceeded the bushes, its speed was swift, and it had only fled after hearing the soldier’s loud shouting. Considering these details… ‘Perhaps it was a wild boar looking for food?’

Shifting his weight back to avoid the incessant spray of the soldier’s spittle as he prattled on, Tolke dismissed the matter of the dark shadow, yet an unbidden premonition welled up within him.

A feeling that trouble was about to arrive at their doorstep.

****

“Damn it, I was almost discovered!” The dwarf, hunkered beside the wooden house’s foundation, slowly crawled forward on all fours.

‘Does that fellow have eagle eyes? How could he see me from such a distance in the pitch black? If I had been caught…’

Sir Černý showed no mercy to his enemies; it was rumored that during a recent suppression, he had brutally dismembered a young wizard, barely ten years old, into three pieces: the wizard’s head was hanged, his torso buried at a crossroads, and his lower body cast into the great river.

The dwarf had managed to survive to adulthood precisely because he valued his life, and he immediately considered retreating.

Yet, the thought of the freshly flayed dwarf skins in the Kroměříž dungeon sent a shiver down his spine.

Sir Černý, at least, killed cleanly; but to fall into the hands of his boss or Mayor Kuna—that would be a fate worse than death, neither able to reach heaven nor descend to hell.

“Damn it, once I finish this job, I’m finding a way out. If it weren’t for the mayor’s three hundred fine silver coins, who the hell would want to get involved in this mess!”

As he crawled, the dwarf muttered curses under his breath, bolstering his courage and dispelling his internal fear; after half an hour of creeping, he finally reached his familiar spot.

This was the furthest corner on the back side of the wooden house, and climbing up from here led to an empty room—his usual entry point during previous infiltrations.

‘I hope I find the treasure this time, or else I’ll have no choice but to flee.’

The dwarf produced a small shovel from his person, swiftly digging a hole by the wall’s base, from which he retrieved a pre-hidden grappling hook.

The grappling hook, a stroke of his ingenuity, featured two claws, making it exceptionally sturdy for a dwarf of his small stature; as long as the claws embedded into the wall’s edge, he could pull himself up the rope.

However, it proved insufficient for taller, normal-sized individuals; his boss had previously ordered a batch from the blacksmith, but their quality was substandard, resulting in several broken legs.

The dwarf brushed the mud from the grappling hook’s claws, then deftly twirled his wrist, making the rope swing in a circle; listening to the rush of air, he leaped, gently propelling his arm upwards.

A faint, muffled thud echoed in the darkness as the grappling hook securely caught onto the window ledge of the empty room on the wooden house’s second floor.

The dwarf tugged the rope, then pulled his entire weight onto it, swaying slightly; it held fast, proving quite secure.

“Good! Up I go then!”

The dwarf pressed his feet against the wall, his hands alternating as he climbed upwards, his face turned towards the night sky, where the clouds that had obscured the moon were now dispersing.

Moonlight, like fine grains of salt, sprinkled upon him, and several fireflies, appearing from nowhere, seemed to be drawn to the lunar essence on his person, fluttering around him.

“Go on, shoo! Don’t bother me while I’m working!”

He freed a hand to shoo away the fireflies, but these persistent little creatures remained fixated on the white luminescence emanating from him; only one was repelled, seemingly flying into the empty room above.

“Praise Christ, praise Christ, please drive away these bothersome bugs! If you do, I swear I’ll turn over a new leaf and become a good person!”

In his desperation, the dwarf actually made a vow to God, and the Almighty Lord, naturally, heard it; God began to exert his power, herding a reluctant cloud towards the moon.

The cloud was indeed reluctant, for it was on its way to a date to create little raindrops!

Yet, it could not defy God’s will, so it delicately inquired of Miss Moon: “Lady Moon, would you care to be covered by a blanket that is coarse and rough, one that would make your scalp itch and your skin grow rough if you slept beneath it?”

Upon seeing this, the Moon thought, ‘How wonderful!’ She was currently evading the pursuit of Night, for ever since her flirtation with the Sun, the Goddess of Night had yearned to smash her planetary shell and kick her stellar core around like a ball; this cloud offered a perfect hiding place.

And so, the cloud reluctantly enveloped the moon; swiftly, the moonlight vanished, and the fireflies gathered around the dwarf quickly dispersed.

“Phew~ Glad they’re gone,” the dwarf sighed in relief, then retracted his vow to God: “Old man, I was just kidding earlier, don’t take it too seriously, hehe!”

No sooner had he uttered these words than a firefly from above plummeted directly towards him, full of aggressive intent!

“Again?!”

But this firefly did not continue to bother him; instead, it brushed past him, chasing after the other fireflies that had just departed.

“Hah…”

Breathing another sigh of relief, just as he thought all was well and he could proceed with his infiltration smoothly, a clap of thunder suddenly erupted, making the dwarf’s scalp prickle with alarm.

It was as if God were furious at his broken oath.

The dwarf strained, climbing desperately upwards, feeling that something was eerily off today: first the eagle-eyed visitor, then the swarm of fireflies, and now a peal of thunder.

What else would come next? The dwarf dared not think, for the more he pondered, the more his heart quailed; he could only push himself to climb.

Just as he reached the window, on the verge of reaching the top, the flash of lightning from the thunderclap arrived belatedly, momentarily illuminating the scene before the dwarf.

A pallid woman’s face suddenly lunged towards him, the lightning flash instantly gone, leaving only a pair of dead, green eyes staring back.

The dwarf cried out in alarm, his hands slipping, and an immense sense of freefall overwhelmed him.

“Ahhhhhh…” Accompanied by a scream, a heavy thud echoed as he hit the ground.