Session #62 (part 2)
Isilem, the 2nd of Sek – 569 H.E.
“Marty! Marty! Wake up!” called a young woman’s voice. It was familiar to Martin, and yet he was confused as to why he should be hearing it. He turned over in bed and put his pillow over his head. He had noticed the sunlight streaming into the room, right on his face.
“It is always the same, when you wear that gaudy ring you shuffle around all night and keep me up, and when you don’t you sleep too much, and complain that being one of the legendary Fearless Manticore Killers you’ve earned the right to sleep in some,” the voice continued. Martin could hear feet climbing towards him and then someone leapt into the feather bed.
“Come on!” She whined. “You know today is the party and plus tomorrow we begin our journey. We don’t have time to tarry! Unless… A mischievous tone entered her voice. “Unless you want to get an early start on the children!”
She yanked the pillow from his head, and he spun around surprised. She was awfully familiar, and then instinctively it came to him. It was Marion, youngest of the princesses of Gothanius, but something was wrong. When Martin the Green had last seen her, she had been a girl of about 12 – now she was a very pretty young woman of about 17 or 18. She put a lock of her red-tinted brown hair behind an ear, and smiled widely.
“Uh… children?” Martin gulped. Marion’s smile turned around.
“Oh, Marty! You always say the same thing! You aren’t in the mood, or we should wait unti lwe get to Thricia so I won’t be with child during the long journey. As if you could not just use your magic to swoosh us there safely in an instant, but oh, no… You could never abuse your power that way…”
She was climbing down off the bed loft by this point, apparently satisfied to have wakened Martin with her complaining, but annoyed at having her advances shunned.
Martin shook his head to clear it. His mind raced, as he tried to collect all the data of his environment to figure out what was going on. He was in comfy bed loft in small cottage in the style similar to those he had seen in the various villages of Gothanius. He was apparently married to the youngest of the Gothanian princesses and sometime had passed since the last thing he clearly remembered, as she appeared some five years older. And the last thing he remembered? The great fight in the temple chamber beneath the Pit of Bones, but there was another set of faint memories since that time. He struggled to recall them and became dizzy.
“Marty!” Marion’s voice called the main area of the house, below. “Don’t make me call you again!”
Martin snapped up and edged his way off the loft. He looked down at the rest of the finely appointed house, trying hard to gather clues and use his reason to figure out what was going on, and to squash the fear growing in the pit of his stomach.
The house was cozy. There was a small kitchen in an adjoining room, and what appeared to be a sitting room, with a corner with a desk piled with scrolls and books. There was nothing too fancy about it, but there were details that belied its wealth. There were silver candelabras and a finely woven rug of a style common to halflings textiles of Thricia. The curtains were fine lace,a nd the furniture was of a hardy and polished wood of the finest craftsmen.
Marion was busy in the kitchen, though she did not seem to be cooking anything, but was straightening it up and opening the curtains and opening a window. She wore a simply gray dress, not all that different from those common to the wives of Gothanius, but again Martin’s discerning eyes noticed that the cloth it was made from was of fine quality, and the stitching not found among a common house seamstress that would make her own clothes.
He climbed down and made his way over to a wardrobe, and as he guessed, inside he found a few sets of his emerald watch-mage’s robes, along with travel clothes all stitched in green. He got dressed behind a screen, and then suddenly remembered!
“Thomas! Where are you?” He reached out with his thoughts to his familiar.
“I’m over here, silly!” Thomas chittered in reply. “Why so excited?”
The squirrel came scurrying across the rafters and leapt onto Martin’s shoulders. The watch-mage could see the beams were scored with holes, creating a home for his familiar.
“Thomas? What is going on? Where am I?”
“Huh? Stop being silly! We’re in Summit, but tomorrow we’re going home!” The squirrel replied. “Now if you don’t mind me, I’m going to get some nuts.”
“No, stay close to me,” Martin insisted. He could feel his familiar’s disappointment empathically.
“Um, when will they get here?” Martin asked his wife, trying to fake like he knew what was going on.
“Oh, any time now this morning. You know, you told the alderman last night at dinner,” Marion replied. “I do hope old Beatrice gets here soon with the things I asked her to prepare, and that awful Julissa.”
“Don’t call her ‘old Beatrice’,” Martin heard himself admonishing. Marion clucked her tongue at him.
“I, uh… need to look through some papers and, uh…prepare, uh… things for the, uh… trip,” Martin tried to cover for his sudden idea to check his own journals for clues as to what was going on and account for the apparent missing time.
“Oh!” Marion whined. “You promised you’d be done with all that days ago, but all you ever do is fuss over those things. When we go to Thricia, you had better not keep up stuffed inside libraries and visiting sages. I want to experience some of the culture, and go to balls and visit the wonders you used to tell me about every night before we went to sleep…that first year we were married.”
Her voice grew sad, and Martin twitched uncomfortably.
“Uh, why not go check on the widow Beatrice?” Martin suggested.
Marion put her hands on her hips and stormed out, stopping only to grab a shawl.
Martin began to frantically look through his papers and found several volumes of what made up a journal, including a scorched and worn version of the one he last remembered having. He poured over the pages, looking to piece together what had happened.
What he found was perplexing. Here was the detailed record of nearly his every day since finding the Book of Black Circles, including the party’s journey into Hurgun’s Maze. He found many references to shifting rooms, planar gates, creatures of flame and of ice and of stone, and of shadow, and had to tear himself away from an account of the destruction of Mozek Steamwind (1) to find what references he could to the Book of Black Circles. One thing he did find was that as the entries became more recent, there was all but the merest allusion to explaining events, and more and more spell theory and exploration of spell ideas.
Finally, he found what he was looking for, a reference to “taming the Book” and deciding it was best not destroyed, but its power tempered by wisdom and humility. Martin looked around the house once more. Surely, this was a humble existence. He wondered where the book was, and suddenly he knew it was in a hollow behind the bedtable up in the Loft.
He flipped through his journal some more, hoping to absorb as much of his past as possible. He saw several references to casting spells beyond his ability using the book, and of a great number of magical items of great power to be found in Hurgun’s Maze.
“Marty! Are you still going through your papers?” Marion’s voice startled the Watch-Mage and he tossed the volume he was perusing onto the desk. “Come help me put out the things the widow Beatrice made; someone was coming up the road.”
Martin the Green found himself in the kitchen helping Marion set out various dishes of sausage and deviled eggs, and breads and jams. There was two huge skins of mead, and a pot of oatmeal drowned in honey. Marion talked on and on about how excited she was to see her sisters and her parents, and how glad she was that they would be staying at the castle for a few days before leaving.
“We will?” Martin asked.
“Stop playing stupid, Marty!” Marion bumped him with her hip, as her hands were full. “I have a lot of other things I want to pack, and you know you have to confer with father and greet your replacement from the Academy, that is if he shows up in time.”
“Oh, yes that’s right,” Martin replied, weakly. There was the sound of horses and loud voices from out the front window. Marion stopped what she was doing and threw open the door. Martin joined her.
There were four horses, one of which pulled a sledge on which was freshly hunted boar. The other three horses held warriors in very fine gear. The two men were dressed in fine mail, and travel stained cloaks of purple in color. They both wore two swords, and had long golden hair that shone in the morning sunlight.
Martin could not believe what he was seeing.
“Martin! It is so great to see you!” Jeremy cried, hurrying over and greeting his friend with a tight embrace.
“Juh… Jeremy, how…how could this be?” Martin sputtered.
“What? I was invited…,” Jeremy scratched at his beard with one hand, while he waved to Marion with the other. “Oh, and Tracel sends her regrets and told me to tell you she looks forward to see you at the castle.”
Martin could see that Jeremy wore the replica scabbard for the Right Blade of Arofel, but the longsword he wore had a scabbard of similar make.
“We hunted you a fat whore of a boar,” came Gunthar’s gruff voice. He leapt off his horse. “Hey Marty!”
He hurried over and scooped up Marion by the waist and spun her around. She squealed like a child.
“Get your hands off my sister or I’ll skewer you like I did that boar, husband,” The third rider was a tall and lean woman, also dressed in mail and armed. She had crossbow tied to her saddle. She had long braids of auburn hair, and a handsome face that did not seem to have a feminine softness to it. It was Princess Selma, the second oldest of king’s daughters.
Gunthar dropped Marion and ran at his wife playfully. She pushed him aside, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. He was broke free painfully and swung around grabbing her in a bearhug. Selma began to punch down on his head.
Martin was appalled was about to look to Jeremy to intervene when he noticed that the couple were now kissing. Selma bit Gunthar’s lip hard enough to draw blood.
“Oh, you little b*tch you are gonna pay for that,” Gunthar said between sucking on his lip.
“What are you going to do? Skewer me like that boar?” Mischievousness crept into her voice.
“Only, if you’re bad,” Gunthar replied.
Martin shuddered and went inside, following Marion and Jeremy back into the house.
“Are they always like that?” Martin asked Jeremy.
“They’ve been caught in almost every room of the castle,” Jeremy laughed. “Gunthar’s pretty rough, but I’m glad to have him around. Things get pretty boring over in 12 Trolls. Oh… speaking of which, Gunthar and I want to accompany you from 12 Trolls to Cutter Jack’s, along with Tracel and Selma. We’re going to catch a ship to Neergaard and visit our folks. They’ve spent a long enough time thinking I’ve dead, when I was really dead twice.”
There was an awkward silence as they came into the sitting room, and Jeremy began to take off his chain shirt.
“Thanks again, “ martin” Jeremy said with a hint of sadness in his voice. “I owe you my life… twice over.”
“Twice over?” Martin was baffled. “I, uh… only did my part with the Urn of Osiris…”
”Oh, don’t be so humble, Martin,” Jeremy chided. “I don’t know how you did it, but those were some pretty power magics you harnessed in the Maze. We wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”
“Uh, we’re going to go into the woods and look for a spot to spar,” Gunthar said, coming in to wink and nudge Martin with his elbow. Selma rolled her eyes at the door, waiting for her husband.
“Looks like someone else is coming up the street, by the way,” Gunthar added as he took his wife about the waist and showed her out. “Oh, and get some people to start doing something with that filthin’ boar. It is going to take dog’s age to cook.”
“I’ll go see if Gib can give us a hand with that,” Jeremy offered, referring to the innkeeper over at the Sun’s Summit Inn. “Let’s go outside and greet whoever is coming, and then I’ll bring the boar over.”
Outside, a white robed bald figure bearing a staff, and having shining silvery sword at his side came up the street. He was flanked on either side and walking slight behind him, but six monks in black robes and sandals. They also had their head shaved bald.
It was Beorth.
“Martin!” The paladin called. “It lightens my heart to see you well, and to know you are getting a well-deserved trip to your homeland.”
The companions clasped hands, and Jeremy waved as he led the horse drawing the boar towards the inn.
“Beorth, I am so glad you are here,” Martin the Green said. “I am not quite feeling myself and I fear something strange is going on.”
“What is it?”
“I fear something has happened to my memory,” Martin explained. “Or that this may all be a dream.”
“I do not feel like a figure in a dream,” Beorth replied with a rare smile. “Though I assume that none ever do.”
“Tell me of the Book of Black Circles,” Martin insisted.
“What of it?” Beorth’s face grew even paler than usual.
“Marty! Marty! Bring your friends in!” Marion called from within the house.
“Why did I not destroy it as Osiris asked of me? How did I avoid death, which was the alternative?”
“You were able to bend the book to your will,” Beorth explained. “You cast the spell from the book that helped close Hurgun’s Maze forever, and by breaking the evil spirit that guided it, you essentially destroyed it. But you know this. We debated it a great deal in the Maze, and in the end you were right. I mean, where would I be if you had not returned to me my memory in the Chamber of the Living Runes?”
Beorth placed a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “It is a great weight, such power and responsibility, but do not doubt your strength of will. We all witnessed it first hand in the Maze and would never doubt it ourselves.”
Beorth and Martin walked back into the house, where the watch-mage climbed up into the bedloft, which the paladin greeted Princess Marion.
In the hollow beneath the small table they kept there, Martin found a locked iron box, which he was able to open with a touch of his finger.
Inside he found five large spell books, one of which he recognized as having been his very first. It was well worn, and scorched in one spot. He removed the books, flipping through them one by one and was amazed at some of the spells within that he knew he knew as he spotted them.
Beneath them all, in another false bottom was the book he sought. He recognized the worn cover of blackened human hide, and interlocking metal plates. He hefted it on to his lap, and felt the raised circles on its covers.
He considered the Book of Black Circles for a long moment and then thought if the means to destroy it might exist within the book, as the book likely had the means to destroy many things. The cover flipped open of its own accord and the pages began to rapidly flip.
Martin was startled as at that same moment he heard Marion’s voice call from below, “Are you looking at your spell books again? You are being a rude host, and more of your friends have just arrived!”
Martin the Green’s head drooped and he held it in his hands trying to keep his breathing calm. He glimpsed at the writing in the book and immediately saw it was a spell of disintegration, and that he did not also know this spell, but for some reason had it prepared.
Pulling a lodestone and a pinch of dust from his satchel, Martin spoke a guttural arcane word as he pointed two fingers down at the book with severity. The magic discharged, but the book was still there.
“It would have been too easy,” Martin sighed.
“Marty!!!!”
Martin looked down off the loft and saw that three guests had arrived.
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Notes
(1) Mozek Steamwind was the Interim Chief of the Garvan gnomes. An apparent half-fiend, he killed their companion Chance.
