by Jaxon Reed
“Look around at an inn. Who’s comfortable eating there? Those who can pay, obviously. On occasion you see some poor soul in an inn who shouldn’t be there. They’ll act like they shouldn’t be there, too.
“Now look at a social luncheon in a duchess’s townhome, or a dinner party at a baron’s summer estate, or a royal feast held at a castle. All the nobility present are perfectly at ease. Truth be told, if they find themselves at a crossroad’s campfire or some village inn, they’re at ease in those places as well.
“A gentleman is at home wherever he finds himself, from the highest social event down to the lowest. The mark of a gentleman is being comfortable in all situations. If you wish to portray yourself as one, that’s how you’ll act. If you can pull that off, you are as close to being an actual gentleman as anyone.”
“And your magic helps.”
“Yes. Normally, my magic helps me out. Especially when telling a tale to convince others. It didn’t with the ‘tasty stone.’ Usually a deception like that works perfectly. The best deceptions convince everyone to buy into them and actively participate. And deceptions that seem to reward everyone are often the most successful.”
Stin finally lapsed into silence, and they talked little until lunch. After the horse had some oats and they ate some jerky Cook had provided, they resumed plodding down the road. The strips of dried beef were tough and chewy, but they tasted good and eased their hunger.
Stin began talking again after lunch.
“Let me share some of life’s secrets with you, boy. You’re fortunate to have a teacher like me. I learned most of my wisdom the hard way. All you have to do is listen.”
Kirt rolled his eyes, but Stin did not notice. Instead he was looking at a bird, flying off in the distance far above them.
“Do not trust birds. Wizards use them as eyes and ears.”
A few moments passed, and Stin spoke again.
“When you help others fulfill their goals, you are most likely to fulfill your own, even if your goal is to liberate coins from others.”
This continued for a couple of hours. Stin would stay silent a few minutes, thinking, then make a grand pronouncement. Kirt winced each time, and found himself dreading the next one. Each length of silence would build to a crescendo followed by an eloquent statement.
Kirt sank down into the driver’s seat in misery, but could not bring himself to make the older man stop. Despite the torment, he felt the day was far better than roaming the streets of Ruby City, trying to survive.
He found solace in the fact they were slowly approaching a line of trees in the distance. The road seemed to cut through them, piercing into the heart of the forest. Kirt studied the trees intently, having never seen a true forest before. The woods seemed dark and mysterious.
They passed a boundary marker near the forest’s edge, a large stone with “Ruby” carved on the face.
“At last! I think we can relax, Kirt. Little chance of those guards and their broadsheets coming this far.”
“Shall we camp here for the night?”
“No, let’s go inside the woods and out of sight of this marker.”
Kirt nodded and let the horse continue forward, but he felt nervous about the forest, now looming ahead and looking foreboding up close.
The horse did not seem to mind, and kept plodding away. Soon they were surrounded by large trees and approaching a bend in the road.
“If you don’t want to be remembered when visiting an alehouse, then tip the usual amount. Large tippers and non-tippers are both remembered by servants. But those who add what gratuity they should to the bill are often appreciated, yet soon forgotten.”
As they rounded the bend, Kirt pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a halt. On the road before them, a man and a woman faced three armed men. All five turned to look at them as they came around the curve.
Kirt noted the man and woman seemed young, maybe twenty. They were the same height and build, same light brown hair, and they wore clothing befitting traveling merchants. He noted they were both very attractive.
Two of the men facing them were obviously thugs. They were large and muscle-bound, sporting the short haircuts fighters favor. Their tunics and breeches fit snug, with no loose ends easily grabbed in a rumble.
The third man was tall and skinny and dressed in faded dark blue magician’s robes. He looked at the newcomers with an evil glint in his eyes.
“More for the party! You will toss us your coins and anything else of value on that wagon, or suffer the wrath of Lemmeck!”
Stin snorted in derision.
“Your wrath? Your wrath is outnumbered, four to three. Five to three if we count my horse!”
“Have you not heard of the awesome power a court mage wields?”
The magician held his hands out wide, palms up. Lightning crackled between them.
“A parlor trick! You’re no rogue court mage. A children’s show magician could do the same.”
Lemmeck snarled in anger and thrust his hands out at the wagon. A lightning bolt arced toward Stin, and poofed out just before it hit.
Stin exchanged glances with Kirt, then looked back at Lemmeck.
“Is that all you’ve got, ‘court mage?’ You didn’t even scare my horse!”
The three men were stunned. The thugs stood wide-eyed and incredulous while Lemmeck’s mouth hung open. He tried again, sending another lightning bolt toward the wagon. It poofed out harmlessly.
Stin let out a dramatic sigh.
“Alright, enough of the theatrics. Let’s handle this man to man.”
He climbed down from the wagon, shouldered past the attractive young man and woman, sucked his stomach in and walked menacingly toward the thugs and the mage. The thugs looked at each other, then broke and ran down the road in the opposite direction.
The mage remained in place, still staring at Stin in disbelief. He shot bolt after bolt of lightning, only to see them all fizzle and poof out before hitting Stin.
Stin reached into a pocket and pulled out his metal knuckles. When he drew close enough, he slugged Lemmeck in the jaw as hard as he could. The mage crumpled into a heap on the road, unconscious.
Stin turned and smiled at the young man and woman.
“I hate mages.”
They both smiled back, and looked relieved at their fortunate turn of events.
“We didn’t realize he was a fraud, or we would have put up more of a fight. I’m Bartimo, and this is my sister Bellasondra.”
“I’m Stin. The boy on the wagon is Kirt. And my horse is Horse.”
They chuckled politely at his attempt at humor. Stin noted they wore coral-colored sashes around their travel garments, indicating they were subjects of the Coral Kingdom. By their names, Stin deduced they hailed from the Ageless Isles. They looked to be of the same age, and shared many similar facial characteristics.
“So, you are twins? Where are you going?”
“We are. We seek Greystone Village. Is that where you are headed as well?”
“Yes.”
Kirt’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He had never heard of Greystone Village, and Stin had said nothing about going there.
“We should travel together. Please, board my wagon.”
Since they had room for only three on the driver’s seat, and the back of the wagon was filled with food, Bartimo offered to walk while his sister sat with Stin and Kirt. He kept up easily as Horse resumed treading down the road.
Kirt suspected Stin would enjoy fresh audience members for his stories. Also, Kirt noted he seemed to enjoy sitting beside the beautiful Bellasondra.
Once they were underway, Bartimo opened the conversation.
“We are going to meet with a dwarf in the inn at Greystone Village, but I fear we are running late. The highwaymen you rescued us from would have delayed us even further, I fear.”
Bartimo glanced meaningfully at his sister, and she blushed but nodded. The unspoken implications of what the men might have done with her were n
ot lost on Stin.
“Well, we’re together now, and there’s always more safety in numbers. Do you think we can reach the village by nightfall?”
“Oh, yes,” Bellasondra said. “The village always appears to those in need, and we should be close. We just need to follow the pixies.”
“Pixies? That reminds me of the time I found myself facing a particularly good card player on a journey through the Ageless Isles . . .”
Kirt rolled his eyes in disbelief, but he listened with interest along with the others as Stin began another long tale of his past adventures, this time focusing on the twins’ home country.
The sun sank low, and dipped beneath the treetops when Bartimo stopped suddenly and pointed to their left.
“Over there! I saw a flash of light!”
Kirt pulled the reins and Horse came to a stop. Bartimo raced off through the bushes on the side of the road and into the trees.
A moment later, his head popped out of the underbrush.
“There’s a hidden road! This must be it, there’s pixies everywhere! Come on, bring the wagon through.”
Kirt, holding the reins, looked at Stin. Stin shrugged.
“If the man says there are pixies and a road through there, then there must be pixies and a road.”
Kirt nodded, gently snapped the reins and pulled to the left. Horse obediently tromped off the road and through the bushes. They saw Bartimo several paces away turning around in amazement.
Stin said, “Well, he was right about the road, but I don’t see any pixies.”
Bellasondra gasped and looked around in wonder. Kirt, who Stin had decided was something of a cynic despite his tender age, stared off in the distance with his mouth hanging open.
“What? What are you looking at, boy? There’s nothing here.”
Bellasondra tore her eyes away from the pixies and focused on Stin.
“Don’t you see them, Stin? Pixies are flying all around us!”
Even Horse turned his head to follow a train of eight pixies. They flew to one side of him, then the other, sparkling in red, blue, and green colors. They flew in an elaborate pattern in front of Horse’s face.
“Nope. I don’t see anything. I see it’s getting dark though. You think your brother can find this village and an inn before it gets too late?”
“This is definitely the way,” Bartimo called back. “See? The pixies are leading us!”
Kirt snapped the reins and Horse moved forward, the pixies flying around him and urging him on. The twins and Kirt kept looking around in awe, making occasional comments as particularly bright pixies swept into view to perform complex acrobatics.
Stin saw nothing, except the ever-darkening woods all around them.
“Huh. Hope this isn’t some kind of trick by that Lemmeck or another mage.”
An hour later, darkness had fallen and completely enveloped the woods. Stin could hardly see anything, but Horse walked forward confidently, and Kirt and the twins acted as if they were being guided by torchlight.
Bartimo came running back to the wagon.
“There, up ahead! Do you see it? A hazy wall at the end of the road. I think it’s the entrance to Greystone Village!”
Bellasondra and Kirt craned their necks.
“Oh yes, I see it! We’re almost there!”
Stin peered through the darkness, and saw nothing but gloom.
As they drew nearer, the other three grew more excited. Even Horse picked up his pace.
Bellasondra smiled at Stin, then looked ahead and pointed.
“Look, we’re about to enter—”
She disappeared, along with Kirt, Horse, and the cart. Stin fell from his seat to the ground, landing on his rear.
“Oof! What in the world?”
He stood up and brushed off the back of his pants.
“Kirt! Horse? Where’d everybody go?”
Around him, the night seemed to close in.
Bellasondra and Kirt looked in wonder at the buildings lining the village thoroughfare. Pixies seemed to fly everywhere, lighting up the street.
Ahead, Bartimo called back at them.
“I think I see the inn!”
He ran off, leaving them behind. Kirt held the reins loose, letting Horse go forward while he and Bellasondra stared at the pixies and the town.
Soon, they came to an inn and public house on their right. Across the street stood a fine manor. It looked worthy of a nobleman, Kirt thought. Maybe the local ruler resided there. He figured the two buildings were roughly in the center of the village.
Bartimo was nowhere to be seen. Kirt and Bellasondra looked at each other. She shrugged.
“He’s probably gone inside. We’re really late in meeting with the dwarf.”
A groom appeared, walking out of the shadows near the inn.
“I can take your horse and wagon down to the stables, milady.”
“Oh, thank you. It’s not mine, it’s . . . Where did Stin go?”
Kirt looked at the spot on the driver’s seat the thief had been sitting a few moments ago. He looked into the back of the wagon. He looked back at Bellasondra.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He was sitting right here. Where’d he go?”
Kirt looked back down the street, brightly lit by pixies darting to and fro. He saw no sign of Stin.
“He said he couldn’t see the pixies. Maybe he couldn’t come with us through the gate?”
Bellasondra nodded.
“I think you’re right. Let’s get settled in the inn, and we’ll go look for him.”
They climbed down off the wagon, Kirt bringing Stin’s bag of coins with him.
“How much does the stable need to put up the horse and wagon?”
“How long ye staying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Three small silver for three days. If ye leave before then, ye’ll get yer money back for days unused.”
Kirt nodded, and handed him three coins. The groom climbed up into the wagon and pulled the trunks out, handing them down to Kirt and Bellasondra. Then he snapped the reins and Horse trotted down the street toward the stable.
Kirt and Bellasondra exchanged glances. They smiled at each other, and walked into the inn.
Stin made his way through the darkness to a tree, and felt around the edges. The ground beneath it seemed clear enough. He slumped down and rested his back against the trunk, facing the general direction he figured the wagon went. His stomach grumbled, and he found himself wishing he’d grabbed a bag of Cook’s food before the wagon disappeared underneath him.
He listened to the night sounds the forest produced: crickets and owls, the snuffs and snorts of other nocturnal creatures, the whisper of the wind in the leaves. For a while he considered climbing up the tree for a safer perch. He stood and felt around the trunk, reaching high as he could. The tips of his fingers brushed against one large branch. He tried jumping, but was unable to grab and hold onto it. He wrapped his arms around the tree and tried to scramble up the trunk, but it was too wide and he could not get a firm grip.
He considered briefly fumbling through the dark to another tree, perhaps finding one with lower branches, but he dismissed the notion. He would only get disoriented, and perhaps end up deeper in the woods and farther away from the secret road that had brought them here.
Reluctantly, he slumped back down against the trunk of the tree.
“Nothing to do but wait until they come back for me.”
Kirt found himself transfixed by the three dwarves. He sat with Bartimo and Bellasondra. Even though he wolfed down the food placed before him, he paid little attention to it, focusing instead on the wondrous dwarves around the table.
He drank in everything from the sight, including their clothes, the way they braided their beards and hair, the little ribbons tied everywhere, their pointy ears. In all the snatches of stories and faerie tales he had heard growing up on the streets, he never imagined dwarves to be real.
Or pixies either, he thought, as a pretty yellow-glowing one floated slowly by their table.
The two older dwarves paid the boy no mind, instantly getting down to business with Bartimo. Bellasondra, too, paid close attention to their conversation, and she forgot about Kirt. Only the younger of the dwarves noticed his awe and interest in them. The normally quiet Fret decided to befriend the lad.
“I’m Fret. That’s my pa, Barley. Th’ fancy-dressed dwarf there is Prince Dudge. He’s second in line for th’ throne.”
Kirt was intrigued.
“How many dwarf princes are there?”
“Only th’ two. Th’ Creator blessed King Nudge and Queen Frum by granting ’em two sons before an accident left her barren.”
“An accident? What happened?”
“She was with King Nudge on a royal tour through th’ Great Mine and . . .”
The following morning, sunlight peeked through the public house’s shutters and brightened Kirt’s sleeping face.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up on the wooden bench. He looked over at Bellasondra, still sleeping on the bench in a sitting position, her head tilted back and snoring lightly. His head had been resting in her lap.
He rubbed his eyes some more and smacked dry lips. He had a sour taste in his mouth. The night had been the greatest of his short life, he decided. Fret told him many wonderful stories about Norweg, the dwarves’ name for their homeland.
He heard tales of battling monsters in deep, forbidden mines. He heard about brothers fighting epic duels for the hand of a fair dwarven maiden. He heard the story of Lok, the great evil wizard who brought havoc to dwarves and humans alike, and how Oldstone and Theena and others helped King Nudge defeat him.
Story after story astounded the boy. He had never heard their like. Now awake, he struggled to remember the last one. Something about a huge civil war, but the details of who won at the end grew fuzzy. The last thing he remembered was a very tipsy Bellasondra offering him some sort of dwarven ale to drink.