11. The Wager

Thain Isumbras could not be persuaded that the best recourse was to fight the goblins and not abandon the North-lands, ceding the territory to the invaders. 

Friend snorted. Bandobras had a sudden, desperate inspiration. He cast his hook and line. ‘I’ll lay a wager with you, Da! If I win, you’ll send a muster of archers to the North!’

He held his breath and saw his father nibble at the bait: Isumbras stood a little straighter, and his eyes lit with keen anticipation. How the Thain loved a good wager! ‘Ye’ll have to make it worth my while,’ he said.

*** 

The son of the Thain took a deep breath. ‘If you win, I’ll come home again... to stay.’ Was he sealing his fate? 

The grin widened on the Thain’s face. ‘To stay?’ he echoed. All the arguments in the world hadn’t been enough to stop his son from leaving. And now, the lad would return of his own free will?

Better yet, he’d be in his wife’s good books, he would! She’d mourned their second-born son almost as deeply as if the lad had died.

‘Done!’ Isumbras said, ‘depending on just what we’re wagering on.’

‘The Pony Race,’ Bandobras replied.

*** 

He watched his father lunge for the hook with grim satisfaction. A little pull to set the hook, and...

‘I ride to win, against the best the Shire has to offer.’

His father guffawed and slapped his knee, and soon all the onlookers were laughing, as well.

‘What’re you planning on riding? That clumsy Oliphaunt behind you?’ The Thain eyed Friend. ‘I’m surprised he doesn’t fall all over himself with those over-long legs! How long did it take you to ride down from the North-lands?’

Bandobras allowed his chagrin to show. ‘Long enough,’ he said. ‘But he’s all I’ve got.’

***