Forgotten Lore (Updated M-W-F)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks for the kudos, LapBandit!
* * *
Chapter 115
Drozan Kiefer sat on a rock, warming his hands on the fire, and thought about where his life had started to go wrong.
He glanced over at his companion, who appeared to have no such thoughts. Ludo was scraping at a pan of roasted beans as if it was a vein with a rich lode of ore. After he licked his spoon he peered around the rim to confirm he hadn’t missed anything. Satisfied, he tossed the empty pan aside and belched.
Kiefer had no idea where their other two companions had gone to ground and he didn’t much care. He hadn’t trusted the two human brothers, and hadn’t turned his back on them during their brief but eventful association. He didn’t trust Ludo all that much more when it came down to it, but at least there was a racial affiliation there. He glanced at the other dwarf again to see him picking his nose with almost as much enthusiasm as he’d shown with the pan earlier.
Kiefer bent and grabbed another few branches to throw onto the fire.
Their hideout was an old mine called Winter’s Hold. The name seemed appropriate, with a bone-chilling cold in the air. There wasn’t much left, just the stone foundations of some huts that had long since been cannibalized and a vertical shaft about fifty paces behind them in the rocks. The place had been abandoned twenty years ago and now the only people who used it were men like Kiefer and Ludo, men who had reason to avoid attention.
Kiefer grimaced as he snapped the branches and tossed them into the flames. He should have left the Silverpeak already. He should have just kept on walking after the fiasco at the Crossed Picks Mine, and not stopped until he was in the plains to the south. With the war going on nobody would have paid any heed to another penniless vagabond on the roads.
But no, that would have been foolish. Without proper gear, supplies, and a caravan with men to keep watch, crossing the mountains alone would have been suicide. At least here he knew the game, knew what was what. He knew the right people, although most were like Ludo, men who would help you as long as it served their self-interest, but who only a fool would turn their back on.
Kiefer got up, trying to ignore the protests in his legs. He was getting too old for this.
“Where you goin’?” Ludo asked.
“Going to take a leak. You want to come and hold it for me?”
Ignoring the other’s guffaws, Kiefer made his way back toward the mine shaft. Within five steps the dense tangles of brush that surrounded the abandoned site had swallowed him up. He paused and almost went back for his crossbow, but he had both of his knives and his throwing axe. He kept his hand on the reassuring heft of the latter as he pressed on.
In the quiet and the dark the short trek to the shaft seemed longer than it would have in the light of day. His dwarven eyes had no difficulty in the night, of course, but there was something in the nature of the place that gave him the willies.
The shaft was just an open hole in the ground, a little more than five feet across. When the mine had been closed a wooden plug had been installed, but that had long since been scavenged. Now it was just a gaping opening, surrounded by bushes and tufts of weeds that approached almost to the edge.
He was just reaching for his belt when he felt something cold pressed to his neck.
“Oh, crap.”
“Hello again, old friend.”
Careful not to make any sudden moves, Kiefer lifted his hands so the other could see them, then turned slowly around. “Hey, Kosk. Ah… this is all just a misunderstanding.”
“So, this isn’t yours, then?” the other dwarf asked. He was still dressed in that odd robe, with sandals instead of boots or proper shoes. The robe looked rather the worse for wear, with several folds hanging loose where the fabric had been torn. He held up what he’d pressed against Kiefer’s neck. It was a crossbow bolt, the stubby shaft tipped with a thick steel point.
“Look, I can explain,” Kiefer said. Now that steel wasn’t at his throat he gauged his chances, but something in the other dwarf’s look gave him pause. He resisted the urge to glance back in the direction of the camp.
“Explain why you and your friends took some potshots at me and mine?”
“It wasn’t like that. Okay, I get it, it looks bad, sure. But you don’t know what I was up against! There’s folks here… I owe some money, you see…”
“Some things never change,” Kosk said. “And some people, apparently. You’re still the same old bastard who would sell his own mother for a clipped copper that I remember.”
“Look, there’s some situations where you just can’t say no, okay? But when I saw it was you… I didn’t hit nobody, okay? You know me well enough to know that I can hit what I’m shooting at, most times. But I didn’t hit nobody.”
“You didn’t hit nobody,” Kosk said. He might have changed over the decades since they’d last ran together, but the danger in his voice, that was the same that Kiefer remembered.
“This kind of thing happens all the time up here,” Kiefer said. Something shifted in the shadows behind them, from the bushes in the direction of the campfire. Kiefer’s eyes didn’t so much as flicker in that direction. “There’s no law in places like this… you know what that’s like! Or at least you did.”
“I remember,” Kosk said. “Of course, by that logic, there’s nothing to stop me from snapping your lying neck, is there?”
Kiefer felt an icy trickle of sweat down his neck, but he made no move for his weapons. The shadow continued to approach. “Look, Kosk…”
The shadow lunged at Kosk’s back, but the dwarf pivoted, moving faster than Kiefer had ever seen anyone move. He stumbled back as he caught a flash of steel, then Ludo was flying into the open shaft. The dwarf mercenary bounced off the rim and them plummeted into the darkness below. There was the start of a surprised shout but it was cut off by a decisive thud of impact.
Kiefer was already running, but he barely managed to steps before a firm grip seized hold of him and spun him around. He felt the ground disappear under his feet, and started to cry out before hands clasped around his neck and held him balanced on the very edge of the shaft.
“Don’t… don’t let go,” he hissed.
Kosk leaned in close, until Kiefer feared that they would both slide into the shaft. “We’re going to have a little chat,” he said. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about what happened today.”
Kiefer shuddered and let out a whimper as his bladder gave way.
* * *
Chapter 115
Drozan Kiefer sat on a rock, warming his hands on the fire, and thought about where his life had started to go wrong.
He glanced over at his companion, who appeared to have no such thoughts. Ludo was scraping at a pan of roasted beans as if it was a vein with a rich lode of ore. After he licked his spoon he peered around the rim to confirm he hadn’t missed anything. Satisfied, he tossed the empty pan aside and belched.
Kiefer had no idea where their other two companions had gone to ground and he didn’t much care. He hadn’t trusted the two human brothers, and hadn’t turned his back on them during their brief but eventful association. He didn’t trust Ludo all that much more when it came down to it, but at least there was a racial affiliation there. He glanced at the other dwarf again to see him picking his nose with almost as much enthusiasm as he’d shown with the pan earlier.
Kiefer bent and grabbed another few branches to throw onto the fire.
Their hideout was an old mine called Winter’s Hold. The name seemed appropriate, with a bone-chilling cold in the air. There wasn’t much left, just the stone foundations of some huts that had long since been cannibalized and a vertical shaft about fifty paces behind them in the rocks. The place had been abandoned twenty years ago and now the only people who used it were men like Kiefer and Ludo, men who had reason to avoid attention.
Kiefer grimaced as he snapped the branches and tossed them into the flames. He should have left the Silverpeak already. He should have just kept on walking after the fiasco at the Crossed Picks Mine, and not stopped until he was in the plains to the south. With the war going on nobody would have paid any heed to another penniless vagabond on the roads.
But no, that would have been foolish. Without proper gear, supplies, and a caravan with men to keep watch, crossing the mountains alone would have been suicide. At least here he knew the game, knew what was what. He knew the right people, although most were like Ludo, men who would help you as long as it served their self-interest, but who only a fool would turn their back on.
Kiefer got up, trying to ignore the protests in his legs. He was getting too old for this.
“Where you goin’?” Ludo asked.
“Going to take a leak. You want to come and hold it for me?”
Ignoring the other’s guffaws, Kiefer made his way back toward the mine shaft. Within five steps the dense tangles of brush that surrounded the abandoned site had swallowed him up. He paused and almost went back for his crossbow, but he had both of his knives and his throwing axe. He kept his hand on the reassuring heft of the latter as he pressed on.
In the quiet and the dark the short trek to the shaft seemed longer than it would have in the light of day. His dwarven eyes had no difficulty in the night, of course, but there was something in the nature of the place that gave him the willies.
The shaft was just an open hole in the ground, a little more than five feet across. When the mine had been closed a wooden plug had been installed, but that had long since been scavenged. Now it was just a gaping opening, surrounded by bushes and tufts of weeds that approached almost to the edge.
He was just reaching for his belt when he felt something cold pressed to his neck.
“Oh, crap.”
“Hello again, old friend.”
Careful not to make any sudden moves, Kiefer lifted his hands so the other could see them, then turned slowly around. “Hey, Kosk. Ah… this is all just a misunderstanding.”
“So, this isn’t yours, then?” the other dwarf asked. He was still dressed in that odd robe, with sandals instead of boots or proper shoes. The robe looked rather the worse for wear, with several folds hanging loose where the fabric had been torn. He held up what he’d pressed against Kiefer’s neck. It was a crossbow bolt, the stubby shaft tipped with a thick steel point.
“Look, I can explain,” Kiefer said. Now that steel wasn’t at his throat he gauged his chances, but something in the other dwarf’s look gave him pause. He resisted the urge to glance back in the direction of the camp.
“Explain why you and your friends took some potshots at me and mine?”
“It wasn’t like that. Okay, I get it, it looks bad, sure. But you don’t know what I was up against! There’s folks here… I owe some money, you see…”
“Some things never change,” Kosk said. “And some people, apparently. You’re still the same old bastard who would sell his own mother for a clipped copper that I remember.”
“Look, there’s some situations where you just can’t say no, okay? But when I saw it was you… I didn’t hit nobody, okay? You know me well enough to know that I can hit what I’m shooting at, most times. But I didn’t hit nobody.”
“You didn’t hit nobody,” Kosk said. He might have changed over the decades since they’d last ran together, but the danger in his voice, that was the same that Kiefer remembered.
“This kind of thing happens all the time up here,” Kiefer said. Something shifted in the shadows behind them, from the bushes in the direction of the campfire. Kiefer’s eyes didn’t so much as flicker in that direction. “There’s no law in places like this… you know what that’s like! Or at least you did.”
“I remember,” Kosk said. “Of course, by that logic, there’s nothing to stop me from snapping your lying neck, is there?”
Kiefer felt an icy trickle of sweat down his neck, but he made no move for his weapons. The shadow continued to approach. “Look, Kosk…”
The shadow lunged at Kosk’s back, but the dwarf pivoted, moving faster than Kiefer had ever seen anyone move. He stumbled back as he caught a flash of steel, then Ludo was flying into the open shaft. The dwarf mercenary bounced off the rim and them plummeted into the darkness below. There was the start of a surprised shout but it was cut off by a decisive thud of impact.
Kiefer was already running, but he barely managed to steps before a firm grip seized hold of him and spun him around. He felt the ground disappear under his feet, and started to cry out before hands clasped around his neck and held him balanced on the very edge of the shaft.
“Don’t… don’t let go,” he hissed.
Kosk leaned in close, until Kiefer feared that they would both slide into the shaft. “We’re going to have a little chat,” he said. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about what happened today.”
Kiefer shuddered and let out a whimper as his bladder gave way.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 116
Dust flew everywhere as Quellan went at the shelves in the temple hall with ferocity, his rag already black with the dirt that covered every flat surface in the place. A clank from one of the back rooms suggested that Shenan was awake and aware of the half-orc’s intrusion, but he had yet to make an appearance.
Quellan didn’t even bother looking that way, and redoubled his efforts at cleaning. He’d found a small broom just inside the chapel of Sarevas, but he was going to need a bucket and a scrub brush before too long. But for now he just focused on clearing the shelves.
He wasn’t quite sure why he’d come here. It was late enough in the day that he could have easily stayed in the inn and passed the time before dinner with a mug of ale by the fireplace. But he’d been restless ever since the clash with the chimera, a feeling that had only grown more intense with the events at the mine. In most circumstances he would have spent some time talking it over with Kosk, but the dwarf had separated from their group within minutes of their return to Wildrush, claiming he had an urgent errand whose nature he refused to divulge. Glori and Bredan had barely blinked at that, but to Quellan, more used to the dwarf’s rough moods, it seemed clear that the half-orc was not the only one feeling troubled.
He let out a terrific sneeze as his rag stirred up a particularly intense whirlwind of dust. The mess downstairs would be ten times worse, but he’d get to that when he did, if he did. For the moment it suited his mood to restore order to this place, a place that should have been a sanctuary, a refuge.
A cough and a soft shuffle of slippers on the bare stone floor announced the arrival of Shenan. The old priest waved his hand to clear some of the dust still floating in the air and looked around the temple hall with a critical look. “What’s all this, now?”
After one quick look of acknowledgement Quellan continued with the next shelf. “I am cleaning the temple,” he said. “A task that is well past due.”
Shenan pulled a stool out by the altar and settled onto it. “If you want to clean, then knock yourself out.”
Quellan almost shot back an acerbic reply before he caught himself. Everything about the other priest rubbed him wrong, from his casual attitude toward the upkeep of his temple to the way he harmed himself with strong drink. He had known monks back at the monastery who had perhaps a bit too much fondness for ale—Kosk came to mind—but what he’d seen on his first visit here was something else entirely.
Shenan seemed content to sit there and watch him. Quellan in turn ignored him and bent to his task. His back twinged to remind him that he’d hiked across the valley and fought two major battles in the last twenty-four hours, but he ignored that as intently as the other priest’s silent presence.
Finally Shenan said, “I remember you.”
This time Quellan couldn’t stop the reflexive response. “That’s good, since we met only two days ago.”
The old priest snorted. “Your wit is like the crack of a whip,” he said dryly. “Of course, wasn’t it Cheslan who commented that jibes are the lowest form of discourse?”
Quellan only grunted as he knelt to reach a low shelf. But he froze as Shenan said, “What I meant to say, is that I knew your mother.”
Slowly Quellan turned to face him. “Say what you mean by that.”
“I mean no disrespect,” Shenan said. “I should say rather that I knew her primarily by reputation; I only met her in person once, and briefly. But she was regarded as a fine loremaster, a dedicated servant to Hosrenu.”
Quellan was standing, somehow; he didn’t remember getting up. The dirty rag was curled into a ball in his fist. “My mother was a settler, a homesteader in the southern Crags that was taken by orcs.”
For a moment Shenan just stared at him. “Perhaps I was mistaken,” he said.
“That is a very specific way to be mistaken,” Quellan said. “Why would you say this to me? Either you are lying, or the elders...”
“There are many reasons why the truth may have been kept from you,” Shenan said into the silence that followed. “Perhaps it was felt that this was a burden you did not need to carry. Or perhaps it was her own wish that you not be told…”
Quellan threw the rag across the room, and Shenan flinched as if it had been a boulder. “I will not hear this from the likes of you!” he said. “Admit you were lying!”
Shenan slowly rose from his chair. “I have fallen far, but I have not fallen so far to speak an untruth to an initiate of our order,” he said softly. “Again, I am sorry. It was not my intent to cause you pain.”
He strode out of the room. Quellan just stood there, quivering with an emotion that he could not identify as either rage, fear, or despair.
Dust flew everywhere as Quellan went at the shelves in the temple hall with ferocity, his rag already black with the dirt that covered every flat surface in the place. A clank from one of the back rooms suggested that Shenan was awake and aware of the half-orc’s intrusion, but he had yet to make an appearance.
Quellan didn’t even bother looking that way, and redoubled his efforts at cleaning. He’d found a small broom just inside the chapel of Sarevas, but he was going to need a bucket and a scrub brush before too long. But for now he just focused on clearing the shelves.
He wasn’t quite sure why he’d come here. It was late enough in the day that he could have easily stayed in the inn and passed the time before dinner with a mug of ale by the fireplace. But he’d been restless ever since the clash with the chimera, a feeling that had only grown more intense with the events at the mine. In most circumstances he would have spent some time talking it over with Kosk, but the dwarf had separated from their group within minutes of their return to Wildrush, claiming he had an urgent errand whose nature he refused to divulge. Glori and Bredan had barely blinked at that, but to Quellan, more used to the dwarf’s rough moods, it seemed clear that the half-orc was not the only one feeling troubled.
He let out a terrific sneeze as his rag stirred up a particularly intense whirlwind of dust. The mess downstairs would be ten times worse, but he’d get to that when he did, if he did. For the moment it suited his mood to restore order to this place, a place that should have been a sanctuary, a refuge.
A cough and a soft shuffle of slippers on the bare stone floor announced the arrival of Shenan. The old priest waved his hand to clear some of the dust still floating in the air and looked around the temple hall with a critical look. “What’s all this, now?”
After one quick look of acknowledgement Quellan continued with the next shelf. “I am cleaning the temple,” he said. “A task that is well past due.”
Shenan pulled a stool out by the altar and settled onto it. “If you want to clean, then knock yourself out.”
Quellan almost shot back an acerbic reply before he caught himself. Everything about the other priest rubbed him wrong, from his casual attitude toward the upkeep of his temple to the way he harmed himself with strong drink. He had known monks back at the monastery who had perhaps a bit too much fondness for ale—Kosk came to mind—but what he’d seen on his first visit here was something else entirely.
Shenan seemed content to sit there and watch him. Quellan in turn ignored him and bent to his task. His back twinged to remind him that he’d hiked across the valley and fought two major battles in the last twenty-four hours, but he ignored that as intently as the other priest’s silent presence.
Finally Shenan said, “I remember you.”
This time Quellan couldn’t stop the reflexive response. “That’s good, since we met only two days ago.”
The old priest snorted. “Your wit is like the crack of a whip,” he said dryly. “Of course, wasn’t it Cheslan who commented that jibes are the lowest form of discourse?”
Quellan only grunted as he knelt to reach a low shelf. But he froze as Shenan said, “What I meant to say, is that I knew your mother.”
Slowly Quellan turned to face him. “Say what you mean by that.”
“I mean no disrespect,” Shenan said. “I should say rather that I knew her primarily by reputation; I only met her in person once, and briefly. But she was regarded as a fine loremaster, a dedicated servant to Hosrenu.”
Quellan was standing, somehow; he didn’t remember getting up. The dirty rag was curled into a ball in his fist. “My mother was a settler, a homesteader in the southern Crags that was taken by orcs.”
For a moment Shenan just stared at him. “Perhaps I was mistaken,” he said.
“That is a very specific way to be mistaken,” Quellan said. “Why would you say this to me? Either you are lying, or the elders...”
“There are many reasons why the truth may have been kept from you,” Shenan said into the silence that followed. “Perhaps it was felt that this was a burden you did not need to carry. Or perhaps it was her own wish that you not be told…”
Quellan threw the rag across the room, and Shenan flinched as if it had been a boulder. “I will not hear this from the likes of you!” he said. “Admit you were lying!”
Shenan slowly rose from his chair. “I have fallen far, but I have not fallen so far to speak an untruth to an initiate of our order,” he said softly. “Again, I am sorry. It was not my intent to cause you pain.”
He strode out of the room. Quellan just stood there, quivering with an emotion that he could not identify as either rage, fear, or despair.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 117
While Wildrush had only one proper inn, the Brown Barrel, there were at least half a dozen taverns in town. Most were like the ramshackle establishment on Butcher’s Alley, a stone’s throw from Main Street, close enough to be convenient but far enough away to grant would-be drinkers some privacy. The place consisted of little more than a bar counter and an assortment of mismatched stools, some of which appeared to date back to the original founding of the town.
Quellan had drawn a lot of looks when he’d come in, and while the place was doing a brisk business, a generous space had opened up around him. He didn’t mind; he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He sat quietly on his stool, staring into the dirty glass in front of him. A measure of dark liquid shimmered inside.
He still hadn’t tasted it when someone sidled up next to him and took the next stool over. “Whatcha drinking?” Glori asked. When Quellan didn’t respond she caught the barkeep’s eye and gestured for him to bring her what the cleric had in front of him. The man, a grizzled old timer with a hitch in his step, grabbed a bottle and clopped over to her. He put a fresh glass down but didn’t pour until Glori sighed and tossed a silver piece onto the counter in front of her. The barkeep made the coin vanish, then gave her a splash of liquor before returning to the other end of the bar.
Glori picked up her cup and swirled the liquor inside. She looked at it dubiously for a moment, sniffed it, then put it back down. She sat there quietly for a while, the silence around them a tangible thing despite the loud noises of the men around them and the nearby street.
“This reminds of this one time,” she finally said. “Majerion and I went to this rough-and-tumble town, real ‘rustic’, full of colorful sorts, if you get my meaning. We were in this bar—not that different from this one, only more space, as I recall. We were confronted by these thugs, had to be half a dozen of them. You could smell them coming from half a league off. I guess they weren’t fond of elves, because one of them, had to have more than a drop of orc blood in him, he sees us at the back table and starts talking big. The next thing you know, the place is clearing out, and the lot of them are forming a circle around us. Blocking the exits, you know. This was the kind of place where you carried a weapon if you didn’t want to end up knocked out and stripped naked in an alley, so they were all armed.”
Caught up in the story, she took a sip of her drink without thinking. She made a face and quickly put it down. She glanced over at Quellan, but he hadn’t moved since she’d arrived.
“So there we were. This was only about a year after I’d left Tal Nalesh, so I was still a novice. Most of that day’s a blur in my memory, but I remember the looks on their faces, the scorn, as if they were right here in front of me. When Majerion started to get up, I thought we were going to get our asses kicked for sure.”
She smiled, lost in the memory. “You know, I don’t even remember what he said. Isn’t that strange? All I remember is that he charmed them. Now, I’m not talking about magic. I was nowhere near to mastering bardic magic back then, but I’d learned enough to recognize spellcasting. No, it wasn’t magic, or at least not the kind that you and I use. But within ten minutes of him getting up, those men were buying us drinks. Multiple drinks. In fact, that’s probably why I don’t remember the details. There was singing, and I sort of remember somebody juggling knives, but the rest is rather foggy. I do remember the hangover I had the next day. It really pissed me off, Majerion never got them, no matter how much he drank. Maybe it was something to do with being a pureblooded elf.”
“You cared for him,” Quellan said.
“I did,” Glori said. “He wasn’t just my master. He was my friend.”
“Yet you’ve said before that he abandoned you.” He still hadn’t looked at her, just sat there staring down at the cup in his huge hands.
“Yeah. And if I see him again, he’ll know how pissed that made me. But that doesn’t mean that I love him any less.”
They sat there quietly for a little while longer. Finally, Quellan said, “I just found out that my mother was a priestess of Hosrenu, and that the elders of my church deliberately kept that fact from me.”
“That’s rough,” Glori said.
“Yeah.”
“But… just think about it for a minute before you say anything, does it matter?”
He finally looked at her, an expression somewhere between anger and sadness warring on his features. “What do you mean?” he finally said.
“Who you are hasn’t changed. Regardless of who your mother was; you still had the same history, the same upbringing. She died when you were just an infant, right? So it wouldn’t have made a difference either way. And I get it, your elders lied to you, or at least omitted the truth, which is pretty much the same thing. You trusted them, and they let you down. I understand a betrayed trust, believe me. But you’ve always struck me as the kind of man who does the right thing because it’s the right thing, not because someone tells him what that is. I mean, you’re loyal to your god, not to his church, right?”
“I suppose,” he said.
“I know you’ve been hit with some big news. If somebody showed up and gave me some news about my family, I’m sure I’d be the one sitting here staring at my drink and you’d be the one trying to distract me with stupid stories. But as someone who’s gone through that herself, I can tell you that it doesn’t change what’s important. It doesn’t change who you are. I know it will take you some time to absorb this news, but it will get better, I promise.”
After a moment he nodded. “You’re a good friend, Glori.”
She reached out and took his hand in hers. He looked at her again, and for a moment there was something else there between them. But just for a moment; as he started toi turn toward her one of the men at the end of the bar let out a raucous laugh, and the spell was broken. Quellan quickly pulled his hand back.
“Let’s go back to the inn, you can buy me a real drink,” Glori said. “The drinks there are less likely to leave you permanently blinded, I think.”
While Wildrush had only one proper inn, the Brown Barrel, there were at least half a dozen taverns in town. Most were like the ramshackle establishment on Butcher’s Alley, a stone’s throw from Main Street, close enough to be convenient but far enough away to grant would-be drinkers some privacy. The place consisted of little more than a bar counter and an assortment of mismatched stools, some of which appeared to date back to the original founding of the town.
Quellan had drawn a lot of looks when he’d come in, and while the place was doing a brisk business, a generous space had opened up around him. He didn’t mind; he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He sat quietly on his stool, staring into the dirty glass in front of him. A measure of dark liquid shimmered inside.
He still hadn’t tasted it when someone sidled up next to him and took the next stool over. “Whatcha drinking?” Glori asked. When Quellan didn’t respond she caught the barkeep’s eye and gestured for him to bring her what the cleric had in front of him. The man, a grizzled old timer with a hitch in his step, grabbed a bottle and clopped over to her. He put a fresh glass down but didn’t pour until Glori sighed and tossed a silver piece onto the counter in front of her. The barkeep made the coin vanish, then gave her a splash of liquor before returning to the other end of the bar.
Glori picked up her cup and swirled the liquor inside. She looked at it dubiously for a moment, sniffed it, then put it back down. She sat there quietly for a while, the silence around them a tangible thing despite the loud noises of the men around them and the nearby street.
“This reminds of this one time,” she finally said. “Majerion and I went to this rough-and-tumble town, real ‘rustic’, full of colorful sorts, if you get my meaning. We were in this bar—not that different from this one, only more space, as I recall. We were confronted by these thugs, had to be half a dozen of them. You could smell them coming from half a league off. I guess they weren’t fond of elves, because one of them, had to have more than a drop of orc blood in him, he sees us at the back table and starts talking big. The next thing you know, the place is clearing out, and the lot of them are forming a circle around us. Blocking the exits, you know. This was the kind of place where you carried a weapon if you didn’t want to end up knocked out and stripped naked in an alley, so they were all armed.”
Caught up in the story, she took a sip of her drink without thinking. She made a face and quickly put it down. She glanced over at Quellan, but he hadn’t moved since she’d arrived.
“So there we were. This was only about a year after I’d left Tal Nalesh, so I was still a novice. Most of that day’s a blur in my memory, but I remember the looks on their faces, the scorn, as if they were right here in front of me. When Majerion started to get up, I thought we were going to get our asses kicked for sure.”
She smiled, lost in the memory. “You know, I don’t even remember what he said. Isn’t that strange? All I remember is that he charmed them. Now, I’m not talking about magic. I was nowhere near to mastering bardic magic back then, but I’d learned enough to recognize spellcasting. No, it wasn’t magic, or at least not the kind that you and I use. But within ten minutes of him getting up, those men were buying us drinks. Multiple drinks. In fact, that’s probably why I don’t remember the details. There was singing, and I sort of remember somebody juggling knives, but the rest is rather foggy. I do remember the hangover I had the next day. It really pissed me off, Majerion never got them, no matter how much he drank. Maybe it was something to do with being a pureblooded elf.”
“You cared for him,” Quellan said.
“I did,” Glori said. “He wasn’t just my master. He was my friend.”
“Yet you’ve said before that he abandoned you.” He still hadn’t looked at her, just sat there staring down at the cup in his huge hands.
“Yeah. And if I see him again, he’ll know how pissed that made me. But that doesn’t mean that I love him any less.”
They sat there quietly for a little while longer. Finally, Quellan said, “I just found out that my mother was a priestess of Hosrenu, and that the elders of my church deliberately kept that fact from me.”
“That’s rough,” Glori said.
“Yeah.”
“But… just think about it for a minute before you say anything, does it matter?”
He finally looked at her, an expression somewhere between anger and sadness warring on his features. “What do you mean?” he finally said.
“Who you are hasn’t changed. Regardless of who your mother was; you still had the same history, the same upbringing. She died when you were just an infant, right? So it wouldn’t have made a difference either way. And I get it, your elders lied to you, or at least omitted the truth, which is pretty much the same thing. You trusted them, and they let you down. I understand a betrayed trust, believe me. But you’ve always struck me as the kind of man who does the right thing because it’s the right thing, not because someone tells him what that is. I mean, you’re loyal to your god, not to his church, right?”
“I suppose,” he said.
“I know you’ve been hit with some big news. If somebody showed up and gave me some news about my family, I’m sure I’d be the one sitting here staring at my drink and you’d be the one trying to distract me with stupid stories. But as someone who’s gone through that herself, I can tell you that it doesn’t change what’s important. It doesn’t change who you are. I know it will take you some time to absorb this news, but it will get better, I promise.”
After a moment he nodded. “You’re a good friend, Glori.”
She reached out and took his hand in hers. He looked at her again, and for a moment there was something else there between them. But just for a moment; as he started toi turn toward her one of the men at the end of the bar let out a raucous laugh, and the spell was broken. Quellan quickly pulled his hand back.
“Let’s go back to the inn, you can buy me a real drink,” Glori said. “The drinks there are less likely to leave you permanently blinded, I think.”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 118
Bredan put down the dirty washcloth and stared at his face in the tiny mirror that hung from the wall above the basin. There were black hollows under his eyes, and he needed a shave. There were a few bruises visible across his bare torso. His body still felt sore, even though Quellan had healed the worst of the wounds left over after the encounter at the mine. None of them had escaped that wild fracas unscathed.
He looked down at his hand and made a fist, then looked back at the bed, where his father’s sword lay in its scabbard. He started to reach for it and then stopped. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the magic to work, or for it not to work.
It had saved his life, once again, in the depths of that cavern where he’d fought the giant mother beetle. Yet he still had no answers about what was happening to him. Quellan could offer him no help, no explanation. The cleric had promised to continue looking into it, but Bredan could see in his friend’s face that he was unlikely to learn anything more in a place like this. He’d gone over to the temple, where apparently they had a small library, but he wasn’t optimistic that there would be some secret bit of lore in one of the ancient books that explained his situation.
A knock at the door shook him from his reverie. “Come in,” he said.
The door opened, and Rodan stepped into the room. On seeing Bredan half-dressed, the ranger said, “I’m sorry to bother you. If you’re busy, I can come back later.”
“No, it’s fine,” Bredan said.
Rodan came in and shut the door behind him. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Quellan took care of the worst of it.”
“I’m sorry it took so long. For us to get to you, I mean.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But somebody from Wildrush had to be involved,” Rodan said. “That ambush… it was carefully set up. They knew you woud be there, somehow.”
“I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t mind a few minutes in an alley with that magic-user,” Bredan said. He reached for the clean shirt he’d set out on the table wedged into the corner at the foot of Quellan’s bed, and grimaced slightly as the move caused a painful twinge in his shoulder.
“You are young to have so many scars,” Rodan commented. “I did not mean to make you self-conscious,” he added as Bredan quickly pulled on the shirt.
“No, it’s fine,” Bredan said. “I guess I’ve been in a lot of fights over the last few months.”
“Why do you do it?” Rodan asked. “The fighting.”
Bredan looked thoughtful. “My father was a warrior. He died when I was a child, but my uncle told me some things about him. My uncle—he was the one who trained me. So many hours, practicing. I think I spent more time with a practice sword in my hands than a hammer.”
“He was a blacksmith?”
“Yeah. I was his apprentice. I have that to thank for my strength, I guess. I would have inherited his shop, eventually. But I didn’t want to spend my life in a smithy. I wanted to do something. Get out, see the world, do something with my life.”
“And slaying monsters… this gives you what you need?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve done some fighting for money. Quests, that kind of thing. I guess that makes me a mercenary. But I’ve also helped villagers, protected people. That made me feel something. A sense of purpose, maybe.”
“So you volunteered for the king’s army, to join the war against the warlord Murgoth and his raiders. To protect people on a larger scale.”
“Yeah. And ended up here, about as far from the war as you can get, I think.”
“I don’t know if that’s true. I mean, I doubt the chimera was working for Murgoth or anything, but this magic-user… from what you said, he was involved with both the giants and these men who ambushed you. I don’t think that is a coincidence.”
“Well. Maybe Caleron brought back the personal effects of the miners, including the two that died. Maybe he will find something that can help make sense what happened at the mine. Those bugs were definitely not normal. And while the magic-user helped rile them up as part of the ambush, I’m pretty sure they were there before he showed up.”
“From what you said, I’m almost sorry I missed it.”
“Don’t be. The whole thing was creepy and scary and that mother bug was like nothing I’d ever seen. Or want to see again.”
Rodan laughed. “I’ll take your word for it, then. Care to go down and get a drink? I’m buying.”
“I don’t think our money’s good here anymore. Between that head you brought back, and the miners who are glad to be alive, I’ve had plenty of folks try to buy me a drink since we got back. Though I’m not sure the miners are going to be happy when they find out that their jobs are at risk.”
“I thought we burned out all the bugs.”
Bredan shook his head. “I wouldn’t be sure about that big mother.” He went over to the bed, but Rodan stopped him with a light touch on his arm.
“You know… you don’t have to be alone, Bredan.”
Bredan stared at him for a moment, then Rodan finally said, “I… I’m sorry. I… let’s go down and…”
He started to turn toward the door, but Bredan caught him and pulled him back. They met in an embrace that ended in a tender kiss. Rodan started to wrap his arms around Bredan, but abruptly pulled back.
“What’s the matter?” Bredan asked.
Rodan reached up and touched the amulet that he wore around his neck. “There’s something… there’s something that you need to know about me. Before… before this goes any further.”
Bredan nodded. “Okay. You can tell me…”
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. The two of them each took a step back, and Rodan tugged his coat closed.
Bredan went to the door, and opened it to find Darven Caleron standing there. The mine boss was holding a small leather book, bulging with sheets of loose parchment stuffed between the pages. “I found something,” he said.
Bredan put down the dirty washcloth and stared at his face in the tiny mirror that hung from the wall above the basin. There were black hollows under his eyes, and he needed a shave. There were a few bruises visible across his bare torso. His body still felt sore, even though Quellan had healed the worst of the wounds left over after the encounter at the mine. None of them had escaped that wild fracas unscathed.
He looked down at his hand and made a fist, then looked back at the bed, where his father’s sword lay in its scabbard. He started to reach for it and then stopped. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the magic to work, or for it not to work.
It had saved his life, once again, in the depths of that cavern where he’d fought the giant mother beetle. Yet he still had no answers about what was happening to him. Quellan could offer him no help, no explanation. The cleric had promised to continue looking into it, but Bredan could see in his friend’s face that he was unlikely to learn anything more in a place like this. He’d gone over to the temple, where apparently they had a small library, but he wasn’t optimistic that there would be some secret bit of lore in one of the ancient books that explained his situation.
A knock at the door shook him from his reverie. “Come in,” he said.
The door opened, and Rodan stepped into the room. On seeing Bredan half-dressed, the ranger said, “I’m sorry to bother you. If you’re busy, I can come back later.”
“No, it’s fine,” Bredan said.
Rodan came in and shut the door behind him. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Quellan took care of the worst of it.”
“I’m sorry it took so long. For us to get to you, I mean.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But somebody from Wildrush had to be involved,” Rodan said. “That ambush… it was carefully set up. They knew you woud be there, somehow.”
“I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t mind a few minutes in an alley with that magic-user,” Bredan said. He reached for the clean shirt he’d set out on the table wedged into the corner at the foot of Quellan’s bed, and grimaced slightly as the move caused a painful twinge in his shoulder.
“You are young to have so many scars,” Rodan commented. “I did not mean to make you self-conscious,” he added as Bredan quickly pulled on the shirt.
“No, it’s fine,” Bredan said. “I guess I’ve been in a lot of fights over the last few months.”
“Why do you do it?” Rodan asked. “The fighting.”
Bredan looked thoughtful. “My father was a warrior. He died when I was a child, but my uncle told me some things about him. My uncle—he was the one who trained me. So many hours, practicing. I think I spent more time with a practice sword in my hands than a hammer.”
“He was a blacksmith?”
“Yeah. I was his apprentice. I have that to thank for my strength, I guess. I would have inherited his shop, eventually. But I didn’t want to spend my life in a smithy. I wanted to do something. Get out, see the world, do something with my life.”
“And slaying monsters… this gives you what you need?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve done some fighting for money. Quests, that kind of thing. I guess that makes me a mercenary. But I’ve also helped villagers, protected people. That made me feel something. A sense of purpose, maybe.”
“So you volunteered for the king’s army, to join the war against the warlord Murgoth and his raiders. To protect people on a larger scale.”
“Yeah. And ended up here, about as far from the war as you can get, I think.”
“I don’t know if that’s true. I mean, I doubt the chimera was working for Murgoth or anything, but this magic-user… from what you said, he was involved with both the giants and these men who ambushed you. I don’t think that is a coincidence.”
“Well. Maybe Caleron brought back the personal effects of the miners, including the two that died. Maybe he will find something that can help make sense what happened at the mine. Those bugs were definitely not normal. And while the magic-user helped rile them up as part of the ambush, I’m pretty sure they were there before he showed up.”
“From what you said, I’m almost sorry I missed it.”
“Don’t be. The whole thing was creepy and scary and that mother bug was like nothing I’d ever seen. Or want to see again.”
Rodan laughed. “I’ll take your word for it, then. Care to go down and get a drink? I’m buying.”
“I don’t think our money’s good here anymore. Between that head you brought back, and the miners who are glad to be alive, I’ve had plenty of folks try to buy me a drink since we got back. Though I’m not sure the miners are going to be happy when they find out that their jobs are at risk.”
“I thought we burned out all the bugs.”
Bredan shook his head. “I wouldn’t be sure about that big mother.” He went over to the bed, but Rodan stopped him with a light touch on his arm.
“You know… you don’t have to be alone, Bredan.”
Bredan stared at him for a moment, then Rodan finally said, “I… I’m sorry. I… let’s go down and…”
He started to turn toward the door, but Bredan caught him and pulled him back. They met in an embrace that ended in a tender kiss. Rodan started to wrap his arms around Bredan, but abruptly pulled back.
“What’s the matter?” Bredan asked.
Rodan reached up and touched the amulet that he wore around his neck. “There’s something… there’s something that you need to know about me. Before… before this goes any further.”
Bredan nodded. “Okay. You can tell me…”
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. The two of them each took a step back, and Rodan tugged his coat closed.
Bredan went to the door, and opened it to find Darven Caleron standing there. The mine boss was holding a small leather book, bulging with sheets of loose parchment stuffed between the pages. “I found something,” he said.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 119
Xeeta ignored the twitching of her fingers and resisted the urge to lift her cowl as she walked past the guards watching the gate and into the town. The soldiers paid her barely any attention, and the ordinary folk moving through the streets even less, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching her.
The people here had reason to be curious, she told herself. This place probably didn’t see many visitors. After all she’d gone through to get here, she could understand why. On top of that there was the war. This place was about as far from the front lines as one could get, but it was still in the mountains, and the mountains were where the enemy lived.
Clearly the local authorities were well aware of that fact. She’d been met by armed sentries well outside of town, near the point where the road crested the rim of the valley. Fortunately, she’d heard them coming and could prepare. They had accepted her story about searching for a long-lost relative who’d relocated out here years ago, or at least they’d let her pass after recording the information she’d given them in a ledger book. They’d had a lot of questions about the road through the mountains, and events in the world outside, but there hadn’t been that much she could tell them. Since leaving her former companions she’d made an effort to avoid people. It hadn’t been difficult, since most of the settlements she’d passed north of Adelar had been empty, abandoned by their residents out of fear of Kavel Murgoth’s raiders.
There had been vigilant watchers on the road that led into town as well, forcing her to expend a second casting of her alter self sooner than she would have preferred. That only left her with a single use in reserve, but she was not especially worried. This visit into town was just a brief foray, a reconnaissance that would allow her to make further plans. She was not in a hurry.
After all, Wildrush was her new home.
The mood of the town was tense but busy. The guards had told her about the recent chimera attack, and she could see the results of its handiwork as groups of men cleared scorched wood from a number of structures and replaced it with fresh timber. More than one building looked like it had been recently abandoned, too damaged to do anything but tear it down and rebuild. The main street was unpaved, the surface riven with wagon ruts and frequent patches of mud, but it was much better than the side streets and narrow alleys that darted off between the wooden buildings along its length. Those structures ranged from brand new to aging and decrepit, but all of them had a certain tired look to them. The residents were generally the same, clad in a layer of dust and grit over their rugged leathers and heavy woolens. At first glance the residents appeared to be mostly humans and dwarves, with an occasional half-orc or elf in the mix. There looked to be about one woman for every five men, though Xeeta assumed that more of the former would likely be found in kitchens and back rooms of the houses she passed. She knew from past experience that such imbalances created strain in a society. Everyone seemed to be minding their own business.
In other words, it was perfect.
A bearded man leaning on one of the porch supports of a general store tipped his hat to her and said, “Haven’t seen you before, missy. Buy you a drink?” As if his come-on hadn’t been unsubtle enough, he punctuated it with a leer that took her in from boots to head.
Xeeta responded with a rude gesture. The man laughed, and she couldn’t help but smile as she walked past. Before she was out of earshot he was already calling out to another passer-by.
The town wasn’t that big, but she didn’t want to waste time wandering about. She walked up to a place that had the look of a tavern. An old man was sitting on a bench out front, trying to extract the last bits of smoke from a spent pipe. “Excuse me,” she said. “Can you tell me where the land office is?”
The old man looked at her then tapped out his pipe on the bench beside him. “You’ll be wanting the governor’s place,” he said. “You just passed it.” Gesturing with his pipe, he added, “Go back toward the square, then take that side street there. It’s the house with the big balcony with them frilly wooden posts. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning back into the traffic to retrace her steps. She wouldn’t have enough time to finish her business in town today, but she would scout out the lay of the land, maybe ask a few questions, then return to the ruined cabin she’d found earlier in the day.
Wildrush had been her plan all along, long before she’d heard of the war in the north, or met Bredan and the others. The grizzled old miner she’d run into in Brevaris had told her all about it. He’d been so intent on his tale and the mugs of ale she’d bought for him that he hadn’t tried to look under her cowl, or wonder why she’d kept it up in the warmth of the common room. The town he’d described had sounded perfect even then. Isolated, distant, with a low population of hard-scrabble folk with an independent bent. There were plenty of abandoned homesteads scattered across the northern Silverpeak Valley, grave markers of the last silver boom. But it had been his wistful recounting of the valley’s natural beauty that had caught firm hold of her imagination, and set her on the long road that had led her here.
She intended to buy a piece of land, to go through the legal process to ensure that she couldn’t be bullied or pressured by the local interests who no doubt dominated the town’s affairs. She still had most of her share of the treasure from her adventures with Bredan and his friends. The recent troubles that the town had felt would hopefully push prices down a bit, but knew that in places like this isolation and the high cost of trade often affected the local economy, making things more expensive. It didn’t matter; if money was an issue she’d claim an out-of-the-way place and worry about the legalities later.
She was so intent on her plans that she didn’t notice the familiar face until he was almost on top of her. The unexpected sight jolted her so intensely that she almost lost her concentration on her active spell. Her first thought was to curse herself for not changing her features with her alter self spell; she’d gotten in the habit of just using it to mask her tiefling features, even though it could have easily given her a completely different face. Her second thought was to hide, but even as she started to turn the dwarf looked up and saw her. He’d clearly been distracted by his own thoughts, but there was no mistaking the recognition—followed by surprise—in his eyes.
She stepped to the side of the street, out of the way of the foot traffic and the occasional passing cart. He followed her. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head.
“Hello, Kosk,” she said.
Xeeta ignored the twitching of her fingers and resisted the urge to lift her cowl as she walked past the guards watching the gate and into the town. The soldiers paid her barely any attention, and the ordinary folk moving through the streets even less, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching her.
The people here had reason to be curious, she told herself. This place probably didn’t see many visitors. After all she’d gone through to get here, she could understand why. On top of that there was the war. This place was about as far from the front lines as one could get, but it was still in the mountains, and the mountains were where the enemy lived.
Clearly the local authorities were well aware of that fact. She’d been met by armed sentries well outside of town, near the point where the road crested the rim of the valley. Fortunately, she’d heard them coming and could prepare. They had accepted her story about searching for a long-lost relative who’d relocated out here years ago, or at least they’d let her pass after recording the information she’d given them in a ledger book. They’d had a lot of questions about the road through the mountains, and events in the world outside, but there hadn’t been that much she could tell them. Since leaving her former companions she’d made an effort to avoid people. It hadn’t been difficult, since most of the settlements she’d passed north of Adelar had been empty, abandoned by their residents out of fear of Kavel Murgoth’s raiders.
There had been vigilant watchers on the road that led into town as well, forcing her to expend a second casting of her alter self sooner than she would have preferred. That only left her with a single use in reserve, but she was not especially worried. This visit into town was just a brief foray, a reconnaissance that would allow her to make further plans. She was not in a hurry.
After all, Wildrush was her new home.
The mood of the town was tense but busy. The guards had told her about the recent chimera attack, and she could see the results of its handiwork as groups of men cleared scorched wood from a number of structures and replaced it with fresh timber. More than one building looked like it had been recently abandoned, too damaged to do anything but tear it down and rebuild. The main street was unpaved, the surface riven with wagon ruts and frequent patches of mud, but it was much better than the side streets and narrow alleys that darted off between the wooden buildings along its length. Those structures ranged from brand new to aging and decrepit, but all of them had a certain tired look to them. The residents were generally the same, clad in a layer of dust and grit over their rugged leathers and heavy woolens. At first glance the residents appeared to be mostly humans and dwarves, with an occasional half-orc or elf in the mix. There looked to be about one woman for every five men, though Xeeta assumed that more of the former would likely be found in kitchens and back rooms of the houses she passed. She knew from past experience that such imbalances created strain in a society. Everyone seemed to be minding their own business.
In other words, it was perfect.
A bearded man leaning on one of the porch supports of a general store tipped his hat to her and said, “Haven’t seen you before, missy. Buy you a drink?” As if his come-on hadn’t been unsubtle enough, he punctuated it with a leer that took her in from boots to head.
Xeeta responded with a rude gesture. The man laughed, and she couldn’t help but smile as she walked past. Before she was out of earshot he was already calling out to another passer-by.
The town wasn’t that big, but she didn’t want to waste time wandering about. She walked up to a place that had the look of a tavern. An old man was sitting on a bench out front, trying to extract the last bits of smoke from a spent pipe. “Excuse me,” she said. “Can you tell me where the land office is?”
The old man looked at her then tapped out his pipe on the bench beside him. “You’ll be wanting the governor’s place,” he said. “You just passed it.” Gesturing with his pipe, he added, “Go back toward the square, then take that side street there. It’s the house with the big balcony with them frilly wooden posts. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning back into the traffic to retrace her steps. She wouldn’t have enough time to finish her business in town today, but she would scout out the lay of the land, maybe ask a few questions, then return to the ruined cabin she’d found earlier in the day.
Wildrush had been her plan all along, long before she’d heard of the war in the north, or met Bredan and the others. The grizzled old miner she’d run into in Brevaris had told her all about it. He’d been so intent on his tale and the mugs of ale she’d bought for him that he hadn’t tried to look under her cowl, or wonder why she’d kept it up in the warmth of the common room. The town he’d described had sounded perfect even then. Isolated, distant, with a low population of hard-scrabble folk with an independent bent. There were plenty of abandoned homesteads scattered across the northern Silverpeak Valley, grave markers of the last silver boom. But it had been his wistful recounting of the valley’s natural beauty that had caught firm hold of her imagination, and set her on the long road that had led her here.
She intended to buy a piece of land, to go through the legal process to ensure that she couldn’t be bullied or pressured by the local interests who no doubt dominated the town’s affairs. She still had most of her share of the treasure from her adventures with Bredan and his friends. The recent troubles that the town had felt would hopefully push prices down a bit, but knew that in places like this isolation and the high cost of trade often affected the local economy, making things more expensive. It didn’t matter; if money was an issue she’d claim an out-of-the-way place and worry about the legalities later.
She was so intent on her plans that she didn’t notice the familiar face until he was almost on top of her. The unexpected sight jolted her so intensely that she almost lost her concentration on her active spell. Her first thought was to curse herself for not changing her features with her alter self spell; she’d gotten in the habit of just using it to mask her tiefling features, even though it could have easily given her a completely different face. Her second thought was to hide, but even as she started to turn the dwarf looked up and saw her. He’d clearly been distracted by his own thoughts, but there was no mistaking the recognition—followed by surprise—in his eyes.
She stepped to the side of the street, out of the way of the foot traffic and the occasional passing cart. He followed her. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head.
“Hello, Kosk,” she said.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 120
“Xeeta,” Kosk said. “Didn’t expect to see you here. So you followed us after all, eh?”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” Xeeta replied. “Is everyone all right? I assume that Bredan and Glori and Quellan are with you.”
“They’re all well enough. We’ve had a few scrapes since we got here.”
“Same as always, eh? Saw some dead ogres on the way here. Your work?”
“Indeed,” he said. “Lost a few good people, and one got away—a hill giant.”
Xeeta couldn’t help but shudder at that; if she’d run into an angry giant while alone on the road it would have been trouble, big trouble. “And I’d guess that you were involved with that business with the chimera I’ve been hearing about.” She knew she was talking too much and too fast, but she was desperate to keep him from asking probing questions.
“Hard not to get involved, not with Bredan and Quellan around.”
“Looks like your life’s been eventful since I left.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“From the look on your face a minute ago, it looks like maybe you’ve found some more trouble.”
The dwarf’s expression sharpened, and for a moment Xeeta feared she’d said something wrong. But then Kosk nodded and said, “Could be you’re the only person here—save for the other members of our group—that I can trust.” He rubbed his chin, which looked like it hadn’t been shaved in a few days; a generous ration of stubble had already emerged. “Someone’s trying to kill us.”
“Making friends again, eh?” she said. At his look she quickly added, “Whatever I can do to help, of course. Where are the others?”
“At the inn, I figure. Quellan might be at the local temple. I haven’t had a chance to talk to them yet. I got some new information just an hour ago. I was going to head over to the inn to find them, but first I wanted to drop in at the business of this local notable who’s apparently up to his eyeballs in the whole business. From what I’ve seen of this place he’s like to bolt if he gets word that I know he’s involved. I don’t know who all else is part of it, but there’s this shifty magic-user who keeps popping up. He’s good at blowing stuff up.”
“Uh oh,” Xeeta said. “You’re in a hurry, then.”
“Yeah.” He looked her over. “I take it you’re on the clock too.” He knew about the magic that she used to disguise her true nature, and how temporary it was.
“I can help you confront this guy, if you want,” she said. She didn’t want to deal with the others, especially Bredan, not yet. There was no way to avoid them now, but she would definitely prefer to have some time to think about what she was going to tell them. They would probably understand the truth, but she had gone through too much in her life to be loose with the secrets she still had.
“All right,” Kosk said. He led her off the main avenue into the tight warren of side-streets that connected the rest of the town. He didn’t seem to have a very clear idea of where he was going, but in a town the size of Wildrush it wasn’t that easy to get lost. It took only a few minutes before they found themselves in a cul-de-sac dominated by a warehouse-sized workshop. A rolling wooden door stood wide open, revealing a cavernous interior where about a dozen men worked at several workstations building barrels, simple furniture, and other things crafted from cut wood.
Kosk left Xeeta to keep an eye out from the entry while he went in to talk with the workers. It only took him a minute to confirm that the man he was looking for was not present. When he came out again he looked about ready to chew nails. “Think your man’s skipped town?” she asked.
“He’s an important local figure,” Kosk said. “He wouldn’t have gone far unless he’d thought there was no other choice.” He peered down the length of the street, as if sheer intensity would cause his quarry to appear. “I should go talk to the Governor, put the word out, but I’m not sure I can trust him either.”
“You think he’s corrupt? The King’s man?”
“I’ve seen men of his rank fall before,” Kosk said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in this town was on the take.”
“Maybe it’s time to bring in the others,” Xeeta said. “I can’t stay, but I can arrange to meet you tomorrow, if you wish.”
He peered at her as if he could read her thoughts. “Fine, fine,” he said. “You’ve got a quiet spot outside of town?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Be careful. There’s something odd afoot in this valley. Something beyond wandering creatures and corrupt local officials.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Aye, but don’t be surprised if Bredan comes looking for you. I imagine Rodan could figure out where you’ve been… what?”
He cut off as Xeeta reached out and grabbed hold of his arm. “Who’s that you’re talking about?” she asked.
“Just some local ranger. He helped us out with the chimera. Kind of a prick, but he seems to know his business. Why?”
“Describe him. Please.”
Kosk gave her a dubious look, but started to provide an overview of the man. He only managed a few sentences before Xeeta cut him off. “We need to find the others.”
“What are you…”
“We need to go to them,” she said, cutting him off. “Now, Kosk. Right now.”
“Xeeta,” Kosk said. “Didn’t expect to see you here. So you followed us after all, eh?”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” Xeeta replied. “Is everyone all right? I assume that Bredan and Glori and Quellan are with you.”
“They’re all well enough. We’ve had a few scrapes since we got here.”
“Same as always, eh? Saw some dead ogres on the way here. Your work?”
“Indeed,” he said. “Lost a few good people, and one got away—a hill giant.”
Xeeta couldn’t help but shudder at that; if she’d run into an angry giant while alone on the road it would have been trouble, big trouble. “And I’d guess that you were involved with that business with the chimera I’ve been hearing about.” She knew she was talking too much and too fast, but she was desperate to keep him from asking probing questions.
“Hard not to get involved, not with Bredan and Quellan around.”
“Looks like your life’s been eventful since I left.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“From the look on your face a minute ago, it looks like maybe you’ve found some more trouble.”
The dwarf’s expression sharpened, and for a moment Xeeta feared she’d said something wrong. But then Kosk nodded and said, “Could be you’re the only person here—save for the other members of our group—that I can trust.” He rubbed his chin, which looked like it hadn’t been shaved in a few days; a generous ration of stubble had already emerged. “Someone’s trying to kill us.”
“Making friends again, eh?” she said. At his look she quickly added, “Whatever I can do to help, of course. Where are the others?”
“At the inn, I figure. Quellan might be at the local temple. I haven’t had a chance to talk to them yet. I got some new information just an hour ago. I was going to head over to the inn to find them, but first I wanted to drop in at the business of this local notable who’s apparently up to his eyeballs in the whole business. From what I’ve seen of this place he’s like to bolt if he gets word that I know he’s involved. I don’t know who all else is part of it, but there’s this shifty magic-user who keeps popping up. He’s good at blowing stuff up.”
“Uh oh,” Xeeta said. “You’re in a hurry, then.”
“Yeah.” He looked her over. “I take it you’re on the clock too.” He knew about the magic that she used to disguise her true nature, and how temporary it was.
“I can help you confront this guy, if you want,” she said. She didn’t want to deal with the others, especially Bredan, not yet. There was no way to avoid them now, but she would definitely prefer to have some time to think about what she was going to tell them. They would probably understand the truth, but she had gone through too much in her life to be loose with the secrets she still had.
“All right,” Kosk said. He led her off the main avenue into the tight warren of side-streets that connected the rest of the town. He didn’t seem to have a very clear idea of where he was going, but in a town the size of Wildrush it wasn’t that easy to get lost. It took only a few minutes before they found themselves in a cul-de-sac dominated by a warehouse-sized workshop. A rolling wooden door stood wide open, revealing a cavernous interior where about a dozen men worked at several workstations building barrels, simple furniture, and other things crafted from cut wood.
Kosk left Xeeta to keep an eye out from the entry while he went in to talk with the workers. It only took him a minute to confirm that the man he was looking for was not present. When he came out again he looked about ready to chew nails. “Think your man’s skipped town?” she asked.
“He’s an important local figure,” Kosk said. “He wouldn’t have gone far unless he’d thought there was no other choice.” He peered down the length of the street, as if sheer intensity would cause his quarry to appear. “I should go talk to the Governor, put the word out, but I’m not sure I can trust him either.”
“You think he’s corrupt? The King’s man?”
“I’ve seen men of his rank fall before,” Kosk said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in this town was on the take.”
“Maybe it’s time to bring in the others,” Xeeta said. “I can’t stay, but I can arrange to meet you tomorrow, if you wish.”
He peered at her as if he could read her thoughts. “Fine, fine,” he said. “You’ve got a quiet spot outside of town?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Be careful. There’s something odd afoot in this valley. Something beyond wandering creatures and corrupt local officials.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Aye, but don’t be surprised if Bredan comes looking for you. I imagine Rodan could figure out where you’ve been… what?”
He cut off as Xeeta reached out and grabbed hold of his arm. “Who’s that you’re talking about?” she asked.
“Just some local ranger. He helped us out with the chimera. Kind of a prick, but he seems to know his business. Why?”
“Describe him. Please.”
Kosk gave her a dubious look, but started to provide an overview of the man. He only managed a few sentences before Xeeta cut him off. “We need to find the others.”
“What are you…”
“We need to go to them,” she said, cutting him off. “Now, Kosk. Right now.”
carborundum
Adventurer
What? No! You got me!
It's a classic Friday cliffhanger and I forgot it was coming
)
It's a classic Friday cliffhanger and I forgot it was coming
)
Lazybones
Adventurer
That's what I do!
My posting schedule may be a bit irregular over the coming few weeks; I have a few things going on that may keep me from making my usual updates. It should all clear up by the end of February.
* * *
Chapter 121
The common room of the Brown Barrel was relatively quiet, even for the middle of the day. Now that the chimera was dead the population of Wildrush had thrown itself into a frenzy of rebuilding, and even the idle folks who preferred to spend the day nursing a mug of ale had been caught up in it. Only a few of the dozen tables or the stools that fronted the long bar were occupied, and the bartender was spending more time wiping down bottles and polishing glasses than serving up refills.
One side of the room was dominated by a raised nook a step above the rest of the floor. It was dominated by a single long table flanked by benches. The perimeter of the nook was crowded with wooden racks that held, quite naturally, barrels, an assortment of 20-gallon casks that had their contents marked on the lids in chalk. A side door that led out into the alley stood in the back of the nook, next to a hatch that led down into the cellar.
When Glori and Quellan arrived and stepped through the swinging doors at the front of the common room it only took them a moment to spot Bredan and Rodan seated at the table in the nook. The ranger quickly rose and crossed the room to greet them, gesturing for the bartender to bring them more glasses.
“We’ve got something,” Rodan said, his voice low enough that it didn’t carry past the two new arrivals. “Caleron found it. But I’m a little bit worried about Bredan, he’s… well, you can see for yourself.”
Frowning, Glori crossed the room quickly, Quellan and Rodan just a step behind her. Bredan was sitting with his back to the room, with a thin, leather-bound book and a collection of assorted parchments spread out in front of him on the table. He was bent over them so that his eyes were less than a foot from the pages, so intent on them that she doubted he’d even heard them come in. She cleared her throat and said, “What’s all this?”
He lifted his head and blinked at her. “Oh. Glori, Quellan. Good to see you. The mine leader gave this to us. It belonged to Elver.”
“He was one of the miners who died in the beetle attack, wasn’t he?” Quellan asked. He picked up one of the loose sheets of parchment, every inch of which was covered in a dense scrawl of writing.
“What is it, some kind of journal?” Glori asked, leaning over his shoulder to look at the book.
“Sort of,” Bredan said. “At least, that’s how it started out. Reflections on his job, everyday thoughts, that sort of thing.”
“Just the fact of literacy among his crew is something of a notable event,” Rodan said.
“Don’t talk ill of the dead,” Glori chided, but she frowned as she touched another of the parchments with her finger. “This all looks like gibberish.”
“It gets more nonsensical over time,” Bredan said. “Apparently, he suffered from bad dreams, visions almost. But I’m convinced that he knew that something was going to happen. He writes here about a, ‘power growing under the ground.’”
“It sounds like he was crazy,” Glori said.
“It’s more than that,” Bredan said. “He was perceiving something real.”
“Do you think he was somehow responsible for the attack by the vermin?” Quellan asked.
Bredan shook his head. “Not responsible,” he said. “Connected, somehow.”
Glori looked like she was going to say something, but they were interrupted by the bartender, who brought over a tray holding four mugs of ale. He cleared away the empties—Bredan hadn’t touched his last one—then returned to his place on the far side of the room.
“Bredan,” she said. She flicked her eyes briefly at Rodan before continuing. “Is this connected to what’s happening to you?”
Rodan had picked up his mug, but he straightened and put it down untasted. For a minute the young smith-turned-warrior fidgeted in his seat, then finally he brought a fist down slowly onto the surface of the table and said, “I don’t know.” He looked up at Rodan, saw the question on his face. Bredan sighed. “I can do magic,” he said. “Sometimes. It’s happened a few times now. The first time was in the fight with the ogres who ambushed us on the road through the mountains. More recently, it came in real handy in the battle against the beetles.”
“Magic?” Rodan asked. “What kind of magic?”
“I don’t know,” Bredan said. “It only seems to work when I’m in dire straits; at least, I haven’t been able to summon it deliberately. I’ve been able to conjure a magical shield that lasts just a few seconds, and bring my sword back to my hand if I lose it.”
“It saved our lives, I suspect,” Quellan said. “That giant bug would have squashed us into paste if you hadn’t intervened.”
“It sounds like arcane magic,” Rodan said. “I mean, I haven’t met a lot of casters in my day, but it’s not like you can summon demons or cause earthquakes or anything, right?”
The others shared a quick look at that, and the ranger’s eyebrows lifted until Bredan shook his head and said, “No, nothing like that.”
“So how is that connected to… this?” Rodan asked, gesturing toward the documents atop the table.
“Because of this,” Bredan said. He drew out a fold of parchment that had been tucked into the back of the book. He carefully unfolded it to reveal an odd diagram. Dozens if not hundreds of lines stretched across the sheet, surrounded by tiny scrawls of unreadable text and other markings that made no sense but which evoked unpleasant feelings when looked upon for too long.
“That… that’s gibberish,” Glori said.
“I have to agree,” Rodan said. “I don’t know much about magic, but that looks like the product of a sick mind.”
“Do you see something else in it, Bredan?” Quellan asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice.
“I can,” Bredan said. “It’s a map.”
My posting schedule may be a bit irregular over the coming few weeks; I have a few things going on that may keep me from making my usual updates. It should all clear up by the end of February.
* * *
Chapter 121
The common room of the Brown Barrel was relatively quiet, even for the middle of the day. Now that the chimera was dead the population of Wildrush had thrown itself into a frenzy of rebuilding, and even the idle folks who preferred to spend the day nursing a mug of ale had been caught up in it. Only a few of the dozen tables or the stools that fronted the long bar were occupied, and the bartender was spending more time wiping down bottles and polishing glasses than serving up refills.
One side of the room was dominated by a raised nook a step above the rest of the floor. It was dominated by a single long table flanked by benches. The perimeter of the nook was crowded with wooden racks that held, quite naturally, barrels, an assortment of 20-gallon casks that had their contents marked on the lids in chalk. A side door that led out into the alley stood in the back of the nook, next to a hatch that led down into the cellar.
When Glori and Quellan arrived and stepped through the swinging doors at the front of the common room it only took them a moment to spot Bredan and Rodan seated at the table in the nook. The ranger quickly rose and crossed the room to greet them, gesturing for the bartender to bring them more glasses.
“We’ve got something,” Rodan said, his voice low enough that it didn’t carry past the two new arrivals. “Caleron found it. But I’m a little bit worried about Bredan, he’s… well, you can see for yourself.”
Frowning, Glori crossed the room quickly, Quellan and Rodan just a step behind her. Bredan was sitting with his back to the room, with a thin, leather-bound book and a collection of assorted parchments spread out in front of him on the table. He was bent over them so that his eyes were less than a foot from the pages, so intent on them that she doubted he’d even heard them come in. She cleared her throat and said, “What’s all this?”
He lifted his head and blinked at her. “Oh. Glori, Quellan. Good to see you. The mine leader gave this to us. It belonged to Elver.”
“He was one of the miners who died in the beetle attack, wasn’t he?” Quellan asked. He picked up one of the loose sheets of parchment, every inch of which was covered in a dense scrawl of writing.
“What is it, some kind of journal?” Glori asked, leaning over his shoulder to look at the book.
“Sort of,” Bredan said. “At least, that’s how it started out. Reflections on his job, everyday thoughts, that sort of thing.”
“Just the fact of literacy among his crew is something of a notable event,” Rodan said.
“Don’t talk ill of the dead,” Glori chided, but she frowned as she touched another of the parchments with her finger. “This all looks like gibberish.”
“It gets more nonsensical over time,” Bredan said. “Apparently, he suffered from bad dreams, visions almost. But I’m convinced that he knew that something was going to happen. He writes here about a, ‘power growing under the ground.’”
“It sounds like he was crazy,” Glori said.
“It’s more than that,” Bredan said. “He was perceiving something real.”
“Do you think he was somehow responsible for the attack by the vermin?” Quellan asked.
Bredan shook his head. “Not responsible,” he said. “Connected, somehow.”
Glori looked like she was going to say something, but they were interrupted by the bartender, who brought over a tray holding four mugs of ale. He cleared away the empties—Bredan hadn’t touched his last one—then returned to his place on the far side of the room.
“Bredan,” she said. She flicked her eyes briefly at Rodan before continuing. “Is this connected to what’s happening to you?”
Rodan had picked up his mug, but he straightened and put it down untasted. For a minute the young smith-turned-warrior fidgeted in his seat, then finally he brought a fist down slowly onto the surface of the table and said, “I don’t know.” He looked up at Rodan, saw the question on his face. Bredan sighed. “I can do magic,” he said. “Sometimes. It’s happened a few times now. The first time was in the fight with the ogres who ambushed us on the road through the mountains. More recently, it came in real handy in the battle against the beetles.”
“Magic?” Rodan asked. “What kind of magic?”
“I don’t know,” Bredan said. “It only seems to work when I’m in dire straits; at least, I haven’t been able to summon it deliberately. I’ve been able to conjure a magical shield that lasts just a few seconds, and bring my sword back to my hand if I lose it.”
“It saved our lives, I suspect,” Quellan said. “That giant bug would have squashed us into paste if you hadn’t intervened.”
“It sounds like arcane magic,” Rodan said. “I mean, I haven’t met a lot of casters in my day, but it’s not like you can summon demons or cause earthquakes or anything, right?”
The others shared a quick look at that, and the ranger’s eyebrows lifted until Bredan shook his head and said, “No, nothing like that.”
“So how is that connected to… this?” Rodan asked, gesturing toward the documents atop the table.
“Because of this,” Bredan said. He drew out a fold of parchment that had been tucked into the back of the book. He carefully unfolded it to reveal an odd diagram. Dozens if not hundreds of lines stretched across the sheet, surrounded by tiny scrawls of unreadable text and other markings that made no sense but which evoked unpleasant feelings when looked upon for too long.
“That… that’s gibberish,” Glori said.
“I have to agree,” Rodan said. “I don’t know much about magic, but that looks like the product of a sick mind.”
“Do you see something else in it, Bredan?” Quellan asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice.
“I can,” Bredan said. “It’s a map.”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 122
“A map?” Glori asked. “Of what?”
“The valley,” Rodan said. “The Silverpeak.”
They all looked at the ranger, whose expression had gone from confusion to sudden realization. “I couldn’t see it before, not until you pointed it out,” he said. “But now… these lines, they align to the terrain features of the valley and the surrounding mountains.”
“Lines of power,” Quellan said.
“I remember my mentor saying something about those,” Glori said. “Ley lines or something like that.”
“Yes,” Quellan said. “Magic is not a universal constant in the world. It gathers and concentrates in alignment to natural rules that even the most advanced scholars do not fully understand.”
“Then how do you know they are rules?” Rodan asked.
“A debate for another time, perhaps,” Glori said. “And maybe someplace a bit less public.” She cast a meaningful look about the inn, though there was nobody sitting within ten paces of their table.
Bredan had been studying the map, and while the others talked his finger traveled along the network of lines before settling on a spot along the edge of the sheet of parchment. He turned the sheet so that the point was facing him. “Here,” he said. “This is where we’ll find it.”
Glori studied the map. Many of the lines came together at the point that Bredan had indicated, but it wasn’t the only such place of intersection indicated. “Find what?” she asked.
“Answers. Why we’re here. Why we’re all here.”
“We’re here because we were sent here,” Glori said. “Because of the war.”
“That’s not the only reason,” Bredan said.
“How do you know that this point in particular is significant?” Glori asked.
“I just know,” Bredan said stubbornly.
“Ah…” Rodan said. “Bredan, I mean no offense, but you’re starting to sound a bit like the man who wrote in that book.”
“That’s not fair,” Quellan said. “What’s happening to Bredan is real. We all saw it. If the phenomenon that granted him magical powers is also giving him insight into this design, then this could make all sense, just in a way that we can’t see from our current perspective.”
“Yeah, or you could be going nuts,” Glori said, clasping a hand on Bredan’s shoulder.
“Something’s happening to me,” Bredan said. “Maybe I am going crazy. But I need to know what it is.”
“If this drawing is a representation of the valley,” Rodan said, “Than this point is at the far end of the valley, near its southernmost point. That’s far from any settlements. Dangerous ground.”
“We’ll manage,” Quellan said. “We’ve faced danger in unfriendly lands before.”
“I saw what you can do,” Rodan said. “But you don’t know the Silverpeak like I do. I can show you. I’ve never been to this specific spot, but I know the valley better than anyone.”
“You won’t be showing anyone anything,” a voice from the front of the inn declaimed loudly.
They all turned to watch as Kosk strode boldly into the common room. The dwarf’s face was a brewing storm. His dramatic entrance drew the attention of everyone in the inn, but on seeing his expression most of them turned back to their drinks.
Rodan retreated a step before that look of accusation. Kosk came to a stop just shy of the step that led up into the nook, perhaps not coincidentally placing him in a good position to block any attempt by the ranger to escape in that direction.
Glori stepped back from the table as well, her eyes flicking back and forth between them. “Why not?” she asked.
“Because he’s been lying to us,” Kosk said. “He’s an assassin.”
Quellan looked at Rodan. “Is that true?”
The ranger retreated another step, but he shook his head. “I’m no saint,” he said. “But I’m not a killer.”
Bredan rose from the table, his bench scraping back loudly. “He fought with us,” he said. “He risked his life to save others. I hope you’ve got some proof, Kosk.”
“Did you hear something from one of the locals?” Glori asked. “How do you know Rodan’s an assassin?”
In the heat of the confrontation none of them noticed when the side door opened and a slender figure stepped into the inn. But when she closed the door behind her she shot the bolt loudly, causing those at the table to start in surprise.
“I know because I was there,” Xeeta said. She reached up and drew back her cowl, revealing the deep red tint of her skin and the curved horns of her tiefling ancestry. “I know, because I was one of them.”
They all looked to Rodan, who looked as though he’d been stabbed in the gut. “Xeeta,” he said. “You’re alive.”
“Yes,” she said. “No thanks to you, cousin.”
The ranger had taken another step back, until the rack of barrels was behind him. He looked almost like a cornered animal, and as his eyes flicked between Kosk and Xeeta, gauging his chances for escape, Bredan stepped forward. “Don’t,” he said. “I don’t know what all this is about, but we can work it out, Rodan.”
“Show them,” Xeeta said. “Show them, or I will do it myself.”
With one last look, this time across the common room to the townsfolk who were watching the confrontation with wide eyes, Rodan nodded and lifted his hand to the amulet he wore. With a subtle twitch of his fingers the chain came apart. As the amulet fell clear his features wavered and shifted, until they were replaced by something else.
The basic outline of his face hadn’t changed; he was still recognizable as the man they’d known. But the ranger’s skin was now a dusky red, the color of pomegranate seeds. His eyes were solid orbs of shimmering silver, and his hairline retreated a bit to make room for two ridged horns that jutted up from his temples like spikes. He looked at them with a grim expression as Quellan and Bredan’s hands reached reflexively for the hilts of their weapons.
“He’s a tiefling,” Glori said.
“A map?” Glori asked. “Of what?”
“The valley,” Rodan said. “The Silverpeak.”
They all looked at the ranger, whose expression had gone from confusion to sudden realization. “I couldn’t see it before, not until you pointed it out,” he said. “But now… these lines, they align to the terrain features of the valley and the surrounding mountains.”
“Lines of power,” Quellan said.
“I remember my mentor saying something about those,” Glori said. “Ley lines or something like that.”
“Yes,” Quellan said. “Magic is not a universal constant in the world. It gathers and concentrates in alignment to natural rules that even the most advanced scholars do not fully understand.”
“Then how do you know they are rules?” Rodan asked.
“A debate for another time, perhaps,” Glori said. “And maybe someplace a bit less public.” She cast a meaningful look about the inn, though there was nobody sitting within ten paces of their table.
Bredan had been studying the map, and while the others talked his finger traveled along the network of lines before settling on a spot along the edge of the sheet of parchment. He turned the sheet so that the point was facing him. “Here,” he said. “This is where we’ll find it.”
Glori studied the map. Many of the lines came together at the point that Bredan had indicated, but it wasn’t the only such place of intersection indicated. “Find what?” she asked.
“Answers. Why we’re here. Why we’re all here.”
“We’re here because we were sent here,” Glori said. “Because of the war.”
“That’s not the only reason,” Bredan said.
“How do you know that this point in particular is significant?” Glori asked.
“I just know,” Bredan said stubbornly.
“Ah…” Rodan said. “Bredan, I mean no offense, but you’re starting to sound a bit like the man who wrote in that book.”
“That’s not fair,” Quellan said. “What’s happening to Bredan is real. We all saw it. If the phenomenon that granted him magical powers is also giving him insight into this design, then this could make all sense, just in a way that we can’t see from our current perspective.”
“Yeah, or you could be going nuts,” Glori said, clasping a hand on Bredan’s shoulder.
“Something’s happening to me,” Bredan said. “Maybe I am going crazy. But I need to know what it is.”
“If this drawing is a representation of the valley,” Rodan said, “Than this point is at the far end of the valley, near its southernmost point. That’s far from any settlements. Dangerous ground.”
“We’ll manage,” Quellan said. “We’ve faced danger in unfriendly lands before.”
“I saw what you can do,” Rodan said. “But you don’t know the Silverpeak like I do. I can show you. I’ve never been to this specific spot, but I know the valley better than anyone.”
“You won’t be showing anyone anything,” a voice from the front of the inn declaimed loudly.
They all turned to watch as Kosk strode boldly into the common room. The dwarf’s face was a brewing storm. His dramatic entrance drew the attention of everyone in the inn, but on seeing his expression most of them turned back to their drinks.
Rodan retreated a step before that look of accusation. Kosk came to a stop just shy of the step that led up into the nook, perhaps not coincidentally placing him in a good position to block any attempt by the ranger to escape in that direction.
Glori stepped back from the table as well, her eyes flicking back and forth between them. “Why not?” she asked.
“Because he’s been lying to us,” Kosk said. “He’s an assassin.”
Quellan looked at Rodan. “Is that true?”
The ranger retreated another step, but he shook his head. “I’m no saint,” he said. “But I’m not a killer.”
Bredan rose from the table, his bench scraping back loudly. “He fought with us,” he said. “He risked his life to save others. I hope you’ve got some proof, Kosk.”
“Did you hear something from one of the locals?” Glori asked. “How do you know Rodan’s an assassin?”
In the heat of the confrontation none of them noticed when the side door opened and a slender figure stepped into the inn. But when she closed the door behind her she shot the bolt loudly, causing those at the table to start in surprise.
“I know because I was there,” Xeeta said. She reached up and drew back her cowl, revealing the deep red tint of her skin and the curved horns of her tiefling ancestry. “I know, because I was one of them.”
They all looked to Rodan, who looked as though he’d been stabbed in the gut. “Xeeta,” he said. “You’re alive.”
“Yes,” she said. “No thanks to you, cousin.”
The ranger had taken another step back, until the rack of barrels was behind him. He looked almost like a cornered animal, and as his eyes flicked between Kosk and Xeeta, gauging his chances for escape, Bredan stepped forward. “Don’t,” he said. “I don’t know what all this is about, but we can work it out, Rodan.”
“Show them,” Xeeta said. “Show them, or I will do it myself.”
With one last look, this time across the common room to the townsfolk who were watching the confrontation with wide eyes, Rodan nodded and lifted his hand to the amulet he wore. With a subtle twitch of his fingers the chain came apart. As the amulet fell clear his features wavered and shifted, until they were replaced by something else.
The basic outline of his face hadn’t changed; he was still recognizable as the man they’d known. But the ranger’s skin was now a dusky red, the color of pomegranate seeds. His eyes were solid orbs of shimmering silver, and his hairline retreated a bit to make room for two ridged horns that jutted up from his temples like spikes. He looked at them with a grim expression as Quellan and Bredan’s hands reached reflexively for the hilts of their weapons.
“He’s a tiefling,” Glori said.
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