by Jaxon Reed
The other three nodded.
Oldstone said, “We all have to struggle with new capabilities afforded by our staffs, at least at first. And truthfully, most of us withdraw from the realm of ordinary mortals for selfish reasons. Those who let themselves be approachable often become embroiled in the affairs of men without rest.”
Oldstone took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, then shifted his attention to the new arrivals.
He said, “And I fear that is what is happening again with our colleague, Greystone. He has asked to meet here with you two.”
“Not the entire Council, eh?” Loadstone said, raising an eyebrow.
“Not the entire council, for reasons which will soon become evident.”
The hazy globe pulsed in stronger yellow light as Greystone apparated. He smiled at everybody, reserving an exceptional grin for Darkstone.
He said, “Thank the Creator you are at your full powers now!”
He sat down next to her, opposite the other two visitors, leaving Oldstone at the head of the table.
Greystone said, “So, I called this meeting to alert us all to the plans of the Shadow Council.”
Everyone raised eyebrows.
Darkstone said, “What is the Shadow Council?”
Greystone said, “A rumored group that supported Lok, back in the day. And in which the previous Darkstone was involved. Evidently they either never disbanded, or recently formed up again. Frankly, there’s no telling what your predecessor set in motion. But I think it’s obvious now that he was not acting alone.”
“Do you think the ‘Troublesome Trio’ are involved?” Darkstone said, using their nickname for Quartztone, Silverstone, and Sandstone.
Greystone said, “Almost certainly. At least Quartztone is. By now he may well have recruited the other two, if they weren’t in on it from the beginning. I don’t know.”
“We have to presume all three are involved, based on their past actions,” Oldstone said. “In fact, none can be trusted outside this room, for the time being.”
Everyone nodded.
Loadstone said, “So, no recruiting the others?”
“They did not prove very helpful the last time,” Greystone said. “I doubt very much they’re involved. But I think for the sake of going forward, we should stay with this smaller group.”
Redstone shrugged agreeably. “We are the most powerful of the lot, after all.”
“Well, some of us are,” Loadstone said.
Redstone chuckled at the jab. “I’ll take all you in combat any day. Well, except maybe the former battlemaiden, who has been trained specifically on how to kill wizards.”
“That fact,” Oldstone said, “May well be the only advantage we have against this conspiracy. Greystone, why don’t you fill us in on what you know?”
The other wizard nodded, his blond- and grey-streaked beard wagging up and down with the motion.
He said, “In short, they have the Forlorn Dagger. They plan on using it at Trant and Margwen’s wedding the day after tomorrow.”
His comments were greeted with stunned silence.
Finally Redstone said, “I thought we had wards guarding that thing.”
Greystone nodded and said, “They found a way to have someone with very little talent sneak in and kill the simpleton who possessed it. They were able to remove it from the area without alarming us right away. I first noticed someone with considerably more power snooping around in the warded area the other day. It turned out to be the thief who originally stole it from Ruby City. He’s a pirate captain now, and wears a Gloomis Key.
“He’s evidently a decent tracker, as well. He followed the dagger to Kathar. His inquiries into the darker corners of the city resulted in the information I just shared with you. We have received prior warnings about the Shadow Council as well, including from someone in their past employ. A spell killed him instantly the moment he mentioned their name.”
With this news, the others in the room fell silent again.
Finally Redstone said, “So, will you cancel the wedding?”
“In light of the diplomatic difficulties that presents, I think not,” Greystone said. “And if we let things proceed, it affords us the opportunity of knowing where and when they’ll strike. If the wedding is cancelled we’ll be in the dark again.”
Loadstone said, “That’s a good point. But with all those innocent people present . . . I’d surely hate to put their lives at stake. You run the risk of shedding innocent blood. A lot of innocent blood.”
Darkstone spoke up. She said, “I have an idea.”
The men turned to look at her. She shrugged and said, “I picked up a thing or two from Mist during my trials.”
They listened in silence as she outlined a plan.
Chapter 9
Bartimo made his way slowly through Refugio’s Market Square with Finero. They were constantly stopped by well-wishers. Florio, an older man with a stooped back who had helped fund Bartimo’s venture selling dwarven ale, saw them and grasped arms with both men.
He said, “You couldn’t find a finer family, young man. And Finero, I think you’ve got one of the best and most industrious young commercial men in the city for a son-in-law!”
Both men smiled and thanked him.
Florio said, “When is the big day, Bartimo?”
“Well, it so happens Princess Margwen of Coral is marrying King Trant of Emerald in two days time. Coral has decreed a royal holiday in all the lands, including here . . . So, it’s a little quick but we have decided to get married on the same day as the royal couple.”
“And by ‘we,’” Finero added, “he means my daughter decided this.”
Bartimo said, “Indeed. I find myself curiously powerless over fate now that my marriage proposal has been accepted.”
The older men chuckled.
Florio said, “Get used to it, my boy. Wives just let you feel like you’re in control. But eventually you’ll discover life goes much easier when you let them have their way. I miss my beloved Reanna but now that she’s gone, some days I hardly know what to do. And whatever I do I’m certain it’s not right. Alas, she’s not here to tell me so, anymore. You love that girl of yours, and do whatever she asks. Cherish every moment with her, my boy!”
Bartimo agreed that he would and they moved a few steps deeper among the vending stalls before someone else greeted them.
At long last they made their final purchases, and had spoken with seemingly everybody in the square. Finero led Bartimo back toward the long line of carriages and carts lining the street.
Bartimo dutifully carried the majority of their items: fruits and vegetables, fresh bread and pastries, ribbons and bolts of cloth. He carried three boxes and five cotton bags, with several other items hanging off his arms and back.
“I’m in need of a good butler at the moment,” Finero said, laughing. “Or at least a manservant. But until then, a son-in-law will have to do.”
Bartimo smiled back and gamely carried the load down the street.
As they approached Finero’s carriage, the driver spied them, and jumped down to assist. He took several items off Bartimo and began loading them inside. Unlike the open carts Bartimo was used to, this carriage had a fully enclosed passenger compartment, which seemed eminently useful in light of Refugio’s frequent rainstorms. They were much more expensive than the open carts, however.
Just as the driver stowed the last item away, the men turned at the sound of a hate-filled scream.
“You!”
Leddia stomped across the street and held an accusing finger out, pointing at Bartimo.
“You brought shame and dishonor to my House! You embarrassed me in front of everybody! You broke my daughter’s heart!”
Bartimo’s back stiffened at the accusations.
In a calm and reasonable tone he said, “Leddia, I never made any promises to you or Tisha. I visited your house once, upon my return, at your invitation.”
“You led her on! In
the courtyard! You made promises there and sealed her heart with your love. Then you go and court her rival!”
“I did no such—”
She cut him off, shaking her finger ominously.
“You will rue the day you crossed me and my daughter, Bartimo. Mark my words. You will grow to loathe your life as much as we loathe you!”
She stomped off down the street, the eyes of everyone following her. One of the horses whickered nervously as she stormed by.
Finero said, “Hmm. I think you’ll agree when I say, you made the right choice going with our family.”
Bartimo nodded, and followed him inside the carriage.
-+-
A hazy yellow globe appeared in the king’s chamber of the Emerald Palace, slowly spinning.
Margwen jumped in her seat. Trant rested his hand on top of hers.
He said, “Not to worry. That’s how Greystone usually travels.”
“Oh my,” she said. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
A moment later the wizard apparated, smiling beneath his white and blond beard. He quickly stepped out of the way and looked back at the globe.
A woman dressed in black leather armor stepped through, right behind him. Margwen recognized her as the battlemaiden, Princess Mita of Crystal.
She seemed different now. Stronger and more powerful, even more confident than she had been, if that were possible. Mita appeared to be glowing, too, with a dark black and purple aura surrounding her.
Greystone cleared his throat and said, “Your Majesty, Princess Margwen. May I present to you Wizard Darkstone.”
Trant raised a questioning eyebrow. Margwen looked very surprised.
Greystone said, “Yes, this is the new Darkstone, of course. Not the one with whom you are familiar. That one has been sent to meet the Creator.”
“Well, that’s certainly good news.” Trant looked at Darkstone and said, “I take it you were the one who dispatched him?”
She nodded.
He said, “You have my eternal gratitude, along with the entire Emerald Kingdom.”
“Unfortunately,” Darkstone said, “Your uncle Endrick lives. As you know, he and the Shadow Council plan to disrupt your wedding.”
Trant and Margwen nodded, grimly.
Darkstone said, “I have a plan to disrupt their plan. I need to visit the cathedral in which the ceremony will take place. Then I need to meet all of the guests you have staying here in the palace, and anyone else of importance who will be there.”
-+-
Dudge noted the Tin Hammer stayed full these days, its common room practically overflowing every night. There was no room for humans, even if they wanted to visit. The larger tables and chairs normally reserved for them were repurposed for local use.
Osmo’s populace had been proud to claim a prince as their portreeve. Now, they were delighted to have the Crown Prince himself present, along with his stunningly beautiful young wife. All the dwarven maidens were jealous of her to the point of insanity, going so far as to mimic her dress and patterns of speech.
Several of them tried to stop performing anything laborious. They increased their food intake in an effort to plump up as quickly as possible and attain her attractive weight. But the princess had a lifetime of effort, or the lack thereof. They found attaining her level of heft rather difficult.
When a ship docked at the quays with a hold full of something the humans called “fruitcake,” word got out that the quartermaster informed customs it was “of high nourishment and sustainability . . . keeps fresh for a year or more and holds the fat on sailors through long voyages.”
The manifest’s wording struck a nerve. The captain sold out within an hour as young female dwarves swarmed the docks, fighting over one another to hand over gold in exchange for as much of the strange sweet confection as they could carry.
Dudge grinned, recalling that those eating their weight in fruitcake spent the next three days throwing up, suffering debilitating diarrhea, and actually losing weight instead of gaining any. The human food was considered so bad he was asked by the local trade council to ban its importation forevermore. He agreed to sign off on the measure, although privately he felt the strange human treat was probably acceptable to consume in moderation. He had eaten a small slice himself and suffered no ill effects.
Now it seemed everybody wished to dine and drink in Pywot’s common room, if only to be near royalty. With Pudge’s guards and members of his retinue, there truly was not much room for many more. Yet, local dwarves crowded in each night to eat Pywot’s food, happy to be in the same room as their future king and queen. Likely they would be telling the tale to their bairn’s bairn, Dudge thought.
And it was all costing the city a small fortune. Not the guests who squeezed in each night, they paid Pywot out of their own pockets. But the royal visitors and their entourage had an open tab that Port Osmo would be picking up. Dudge decided he would corner his brother before he left and get him to hand over most of the party’s gold. For any remaining balance, he planned on asking Pudge to sign off on a letter of reimbursement to the treasury. It may be months before Port Osmo’s coffers recovered from this extravagance, but he felt certain Ore Stad would eventually cover any outstanding amount. This was royal business, after all. There was little argument when the King, or in this case the Crown Prince, wished to spend money.
Meanwhile, Pywot was fast becoming one of the wealthiest persons in town. But he did not appear to be a happy dwarf at the moment. Instead he looked stressed, trying to please everyone and working hard to make the royal couple’s stay as pleasant as possible.
And how long would that stay continue? Dudge had no idea. For someone who disdained the Farmlands and complained about the distance Port Osmo was from the rest of civilization, his brother seemed to have no inclination to go home any time soon.
Tonight Pudge and Dally were in high spirits. They had toured the city, and were even fortunate enough to be invited aboard a merchant ship at dock. The experience had frightened Dally. In general, dwarves were not a seafaring folk. Indeed, even most of the residents of their only port had never even been out on the water.
The ship, Wayfarer, had seemed enormous to the royals, although for humans it was built for function over aesthetics. It was an average size vessel. The captain happily took the entire entourage on a tour, secretly hoping it may open future trading possibilities. They wandered from stem to stern and down into the hold.
Topside, the cabin boy demonstrated use of the crow’s nest by quickly climbing up the mainmast. He waved down below at them. The Prince and Princess of Norway politely declined the captain’s offer to climb up themselves. It was bad enough to be floating on the water, Pudge told him, but to go climbing high above water seemed the height of folly.
Dally shared all of these anecdotes and more with the coterie of young maidens she had accumulated. All seemed to hang on the edge of her every word, showering her constantly with praise and requests for advice. Dally enjoyed the attention, and for the first time since leaving Ore Stad she seemed to be truly enjoying herself.
For his part, Pudge drank far too much tonight, to his brother’s surprise.
Granted, Dudge thought, it was difficult for a dwarf to drink too much ale. But the captain of the Wayfarer bestowed upon the royal couple a crate of whiskey, distilled somewhere in the Ruby Kingdom. This extremely potent drink was rare in Norweg, and few dwarves had ever developed much of a taste for it.
Pudge had no hesitations, however, in accepting the wooden case full of bottles packed in sawdust. One of his guards trucked it back to the Tin Hammer where Pywot kept it on reserve for him behind the counter.
Over the course of the evening, Dudge noted his brother had consumed one of the bottles in its entirety, and had now started on his second.
Most of the locals retired for the evening, and when Dally bid her followers a good night, they dispersed as well. Soon, the two princes and a smattering of guards were the onl
y ones left in the common room.
Pudge developed a lisp as speaking grew more difficult.
“I te’ ye, brudder, t’ings be changin’ in th’ worl’. Dey be changin’ . . . Powers out dere be movin’ . . . powers far greater tha’ we e’er seen . . . Powers . . . Powers tha’ . . .”
He slumped over on the table, snoring lightly.
Dudge raised his eyebrows and said, “Humph.”
He turned and locked eyes with Pick at a nearby table and said, “Best ye get ’im downstairs an’ off t’ bed, now.”
Pick said, “Right. Le’s gi’ ’im by th’ arms, lads.”
He and a couple other dwarves gently lifted the prince up. Pudge stirred and looked over blearily at his brother.
“Ol’ Lok ha’ some thin’s righ’, brudder . . . Power was mean’ t’ be grasped!”
Dudge placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye.
“Ye be very drunk, Pookie,” Dudge said, playfully using Dally’s nickname for him. “Go’ be wi’ ye. Now gi’ some sleep.”
-+-
Endrick sat up on the bunk as he heard someone approach the darkened room. The door opened and Quartzstone appeared, light shining from his namesake on the tip of his staff.
Endrick squinted. He had been left alone in the dark ever since his first “meeting” with the Shadow Council.
During that time, he saw nothing and heard only voices, those of men and at least one woman. They did not reveal much about their identities or anything else.
Nonetheless a decision had been rendered. Endrick was to bring the Forlorn Dagger to his nephew’s wedding, and kill the Wizard Greystone at the appropriate moment.
As a result, Quartzstone quickly decided Endrick would not be returning to his inn. In fact, the former king was not to go anywhere. He was led into this small room and left here. Quartztone returned some time later with a chamber pot, a jug of water, and some food.