“We have company coming from behind. I’ll explain the situation.”
“We should flee,” the gnome said. “They’ll never believe what has occurred. If they hear me inside they’ll think I’m some infernal creature or they’ll insist on my proving I am a gnome. They are woodsmen and mushroom pickers, beings of the land, and not well versed in enlightened and enchanted endeavors such as this. Trust me, this isn’t the first time I’ve faced such a mob.”
“Stay quiet then,” Dech conceded in a low voice as the group drew near. “If we run we’ll have ten times the pursuers in little time. I can disperse them.”
“I hope so. Have that sword ready just in case.”
Dech walked back the way they had just covered past his horses before holding up a hand to slow the group.
“A golem, right?” one of the men asked. “Thought so.”
“A construct to be sure,” Dech replied. “What manner remains to be seen.”
“We’ll aid you in dealing with the thing.”
“I have the construct under control and will take it somewhere for examination and disposal if necessary.”
“Best we destroy it now while we can,” the smith said, still one of the apparent leaders of the band.
“Have you ever dealt with a golem before?”
No comment came from the crowd, though most shook their heads.
“Have any of you training in dealing with animated constructs?”
He received nothing but more shakes of the head.
“Such a contrivance can be mortally dangerous. Constructs are like a meat pie. Cut it open and you may be unnerved by what’s inside, but by then it’s too late. Let those with training and possessing the stomach deal with this.”
“Aye. Best cut it t’bits far from decent folk,” a woman in the band said.
“Let the order or legion deal with it,” a man added. “Not worth unleashing a demon or some such in our midst.”
Very soon, the crowd bid him well and reversed course. Dech let out a sigh of relief.
“Meat pie…?” the gnome said once Dech rejoined him and the crowd was beyond earshot. “That was vaguely insulting. Do not think I am unappreciative though. Name’s Grote. Mackillop Grote.”
“I take it you are more than just a mage.”
“You take it accurately. Mage, enchanter, inventor, and artisan extraordinaire. This may be my finest work.”
“It may be your coffin if we cannot find a mage soon enough.”
“I have a small reserve of food and water, but my limited sanitary facilities give me concern.”
“All the more reason to make haste.”
An hour’s walk brought them to Forkton and after locating a mage, they visited him and explained the fix in which Mackillop found himself.
“Edelson’s, a fine basic ward,” the mage said after reading the inscription.
The mage spoke the words and nothing happened. After two more attempts, he cast a scrying spell. “You have some fascinating enchantments on this work of yours,” he said. “The likes of which I’ve never encountered. I would opine that one of them is acting as a ward against lifting Edelson’s. Can you remove the enchantments?”
“I can,” Mackillop said, “but not from the interior of my creation.”
“Unfortunate. It will take quite a thaumaturgist or an extraordinary blacksmith to get you out of there,” the mage said.
“A blacksmith is out of the question.”
“That is also unfortunate,” the mage replied. “I fear then you’ll need a mage of considerable skill. Cruxford or Drumming are the closest I would imagine.”
The gnome cursed in a language unknown to Dech.
“I may know of one closer,” the warder said. “If we set out now we can be there in less than three hours.”
“And who is this person?” the mage asked.
“A member of the order,” Dech replied not wishing to reveal more.
The mage shrugged. “The order? I suppose it is worth a try. I still think you will be going to Cruxford… or looking for a smith.”
. . .
Chapter 20
Dech walked alongside Mackillop as they made decent time. The suit that held the gnome maintained a steady pace and the warder matched his gait to the suit’s, Ridan and Otto trailing behind.
Ahead Dech saw a small horse with mounted rider at the side of the road. Drawing closer he recognized the rider as Dissy. Sitting astride a pony, one of the highland breeds, she straightened and smiled as she recognized him as well.
Wearing the form-fitted leather vest of duelists over a loose long sleeved shirt with her forearms covered in leather vambraces, she had obviously added to her wardrobe since parting. Her sword was at her left hip, bow on her back, and on her right wrist dangled a thumb ring made of horn for aiding in her style of archery draw.
“I’ve been trying to catch you all day,” she said as they drew near. “Quite the meandering course you took. Off on a monster hunt they said. I thought you might pass this way. I was considering going to the Fortress if you didn’t show.”
“We aren’t headed there.”
“Lucky for me we met. Who is your large friend, or is this the monster?”
“He’s both. A gnome named Mackillop.”
“Humor?” she asked with a shrug. “You used to tell better jokes, but keep practicing, maybe it will come back to you.”
“He’s not jesting,” Mackillop said.
Dissy leaned closer to the construct and shook her head. “The order must be quite different than I was led to believe. Are gnomes in contrivances such as that common?”
“I am not in the order,” the gnome said indignantly.
“Ah, that restores my faith in such institutions,” she said shifting her eyes to Dech. “Another stray you’re helping along the way.”
Dech nodded. “You still have your limbs, head, and all your clothes,” he said reaching into his belt pouch. “Even a horse. The only thing missing is your pendant.” He took the few steps needed to hand her the object he’d kept for her.
“I told you I’d be back,” she said pulling the chain over her head.
“And that is why I kept your pendant handy.”
“It’s now one of my three prized possessions,” she said placing a hand on her sword.
Dech noticed her mount didn’t seemed bothered by Mackillop’s suit. Highland ponies, while not terribly swift or fierce, were known for their durability, endurance, and especially their calm demeanor.
“Where are we headed?” Diz asked.
“Cashel Abbey. Our gnome friend here needs some special assistance. It’s not far past the Fortress.”
Pointing at Mackillop, she asked, “Is he why your horses trail so far behind?”
“I’m not sure if it’s him or the suit,” Dech replied.
“Ah, to find the one order knight with a gift for jests,” the mage said. “Equines are notoriously lacking in sense, our new companion’s mount being the exception.”
“So Dech walks weighted in armor to keep you and the horses happy?” Dissy said. “And injured at that?”
“He does,” the gnome said. “He, like your horse, does possess sense. Injured you say?”
Dissy’s gaze shifted to the warder. “Your walk gives you away.”
“I’m recovering and the walk will do me some good. Why don’t we start moving,” Dech offered.
Diz rolled her eyes. “Knights. Let’s go.”
. . .
The trio entered the grounds of Cashel Abbey and stopped near the stables.
“I’ll see if the abbess can be of assistance,” Dech said.
“An abbess?” Mackillop said. “I require a mage’s aid. Please tell me she’s not a blacksmith.”
“She’s not,” Dech said with a smile. “A mage of some ability, yes.”
As Dissy dismounted, Dech said, “Ever been in an abbey? If not, here’s your chance.”
“An abbey? Reminds me of an orpha
nage. I’ll wait here with the gnome and keep an eye on your horses.”
As Dech approached, Sister Ellen exited the building.
“The abbess is aware of your arrival and will be ready to depart momentarily. I will see to her horse in the meantime.” Seeing the three mounts with Dissy, she said, “I will care for yours as well.” Saying nothing about Mackillop, her expression showed her concern.
“The construct is nothing to worry about,” Dech said. “He’s not dangerous, but my horses do not care for it.”
Ellen nodded. “I’ll keep them clear of it then. Abbess Dealan is in her office.”
Dech entered and climbed the stairs. Knocking on the door, a curt, “Enter,” was Dealan’s reply.
He found her looking over the few bags she intended to take with her on the journey. Wearing a loose mantle over a long-sleeved shirt and quilted breeches tucked into boots, she appeared to have been expecting his arrival.
“You keep vigil on the road leading here?” he asked. “Or did you divine my arrival.”
She cast a glare over her shoulder. “Hardly. I received a missive from the king himself requesting that I travel to Cruxford and aid the mage council before all else. I still intend to accompany you once the council business is concluded.”
“We’ll see you to the capital unless you mind a slight detour.” Dech asked.
“I do not if it is of import.”
“It is. I also need to report to Cruxford. Are you up to solving a puzzle?”
“What form of puzzle?”
Dech gestured at the window facing the front of the building. “One involving enchantments and wards.”
The abbess looked out of the window while Dech crossed the room and began gathering her baggage.
“What sort of contrivance is that?”
“I’ll take care of your bags. You talk to the gnome.”
“Gnome?”
“I’ll tell you about it on the way down.”
. . .
Sister Ellen insisted on loading Dealan’s pack pony herself while the abbess and Mackillop discussed freeing him from the metal suit.
Looking on, Diz said, “She runs this place?” with a gesture at the abbess.
“She does.”
“I was thinking a wizened old woman with flowing robes and rings on most of her fingers. She doesn’t fit the image I have of someone in her position.”
“You recall Friar Theo?”
“Of course I do,” she said.
“Dealan is similar in that she’s not like most abbesses you’ll meet.”
“As if I would know the difference. I’ve never met one before.”
“I’ll take it further, she’s not like anyone you’ve ever met.”
It took only a few minutes before the front panel on Mackillop’s suit swung open and a haggard gnome hopped out to stretch. After vigorously shaking Dealan’s hand and speaking with her for a few minutes, he joined the warder and Dissy.
“That abbess of yours is quite the mage,” he said with a point toward her as she spoke to a pair of sisters. “Brilliant I would estimate.”
“I am happy she could help you.”
“She says the sisters here will aid me in returning to Waverly. I’m not sure how far we are from there.”
“A good two days by horse,” Dissy said.
“You thought to walk that far on your first journey?” Dech asked.
“It seems so, though it was my creation that would do the walking. Perhaps I misread the legend on my map. I also tend to lose track of time when I’m in the midst of a project. I wanted to thank the two of you for all you did.”
“What did I do to warrant thanks?” Dissy asked.
“No mockery or high words. No gnome jests. No poking at me with sticks. It’s occurred on more than one occasion, believe me. Given my predicament, I suspect most would. You did not.”
“She’s like that,” Dech said. “Not like most.”
Dealan joined them a few minutes later, and as some of the sisters discussed the suit with Mackillop, she laughed quietly. “Quite the contrivance.”
“It almost placed him in peril,” Dech said.
“Yes, but that is why contrition knights ride the roads is it not? Mister Grote is a combination of brilliance and blindness,” Dealan said with a gesture at the gnome. “They often walk together. Shall we be off?”
The three made their way to their waiting horses.
“More of your past?” Dealan said gesturing at Dissy.
“She is. That’s Dissy.”
“Not that she doesn’t appear formidable, but she isn’t the entirety of the ‘force’ you mentioned?”
“She’s not. She may not be any part if she decides to leave.”
Dissy shook her head. “I genuinely like people talking about me as if I wasn’t here. I’m with you for the duration of… whatever this expedition is, Dech. If nothing else, I’ll keep your abbess there out of mischief because she looks like trouble to me.”
Dealan laughed as she swung into the saddle. “A spirited soul as I once was. We’ll either get along marvelously or… let’s try that first, shall we?”
Dissy couldn’t help but smile. “I’m game. Maybe I’ve had the church all wrong.”
“Or maybe you’ve had good fortune in those you’ve encountered lately,” Dech replied. Looking at Dealan he said, “Do you recall a mendicant friar named Theobald?”
“I do. The two of you know him then. Not the usual friar to be certain,” she said with a laugh, “but a man of character. Where do we ride?”
“The city of Langston. We pick up two more irregulars there… unless they’ve come to their senses.”
Dealan smiled. “Ah, our detour. This should be interesting.”
. . .
“What did you discover about derkunblod?” Dech asked as they took to the road.
“You know of dark and blood magic?” Dissy asked with surprise. “I was under the impression only a few druids and witches in the Brosalean had knowledge of it.”
Dealan’s expression showed surprise of her own at the younger woman. “You’ve been in the Brosalean then?” she asked.
Dissy nodded and slapped one of her high boots. “Until recently I was a ranger there.”
“Impressive by any estimation.” The abbess looked at Dech. “I take it you have no reservations of my speaking with her present?”
“None.”
“I can project my self, my inner being if you will, to some of the other planes. It is not an unheard of skill among magic practitioners. Many mages project to the Flint Plane to better understand the Font of Glaes. I projected to the Gout, which rests on the Ifrunn Plane. My knowledge of it allows me some insights, enough that I located it. A foul thing. I know the Lord of the Vile draws from it at times, as do other infernal beings. One can sense how many and how much if skilled enough.”
“That’s risky, is it not?” Dech asked. “You could meet your end, yes?”
“I could meet my end if I fall from my horse just as well, perhaps more easily. I am a better mage than equestrian. Are all contrition knights such mother hens or is it just you?” Despite Dech’s glare, she continued. “Some creature of considerable power was drawing from the Gout. I know not who, but I do know this creature was here, on our mortal plane. It was concerning… frightening in fact.”
“Could it have been Olk Mirkness?” Dech said.
“I would say no. I do not think a human or any other mortal mage could manage it.”
Rasimus’ information ran through Dech’s mind. “What if Mirkness was not the same as before?”
“I might hazard a guess the Gout could lead a practitioner to seek such power. That is not my area of expertise. A transformation of some sort? Possibly.”
“I know a man in Cruxford that might have that expertise.”
As darkness came on, the trio stopped at a religious house that mostly served servants of the church and people such as pilgrims and penitents. Staying in su
ch a place was a first for Dissy and a welcome stop for Dech who while still feeling the knocks taken in the fight with the siphon and tired from walking with Mackillop while in harness, was eager for a rest.
. . .
Off early the next morning, the three arrived in Langston and sought Thrillwort and Erie. Their search quickly became a simple one. Flagged down by a shabbily dressed boy, he inquired of Dech’s identity.
“The man Erie told me you can find him at the Hillroy. That’d be an inn just up the way,” he said after hearing Dech’s name.
After the warder thanked the boy, the youth dashed ahead, cutting through the traffic that crowded the street. By the time the trio rode within sight of the inn, Dech could see the bard’s giant of a horse with Erie and Thrillwort in the latter stages of preparing to depart.
“You still have that beast?” Dech asked as they neared.
The bard looked up and smiled. “I do. He has acquired a taste for the minstrel life now. No pulling wagons or plows for him. Bought a better saddle for him.”
Erie acknowledged Dech’s arrival with a wave and after cinching up the saddle on his bay gelding, turned to the boy the trio met at the edge of town.
“Josip’s got a little business to settle,” the bard said. “He’s had the kid running errands since we got here. A castaside of no small talent.”
Dech nodded. “We’ll wait.”
“You recall me telling you there would be a boon if you did good work?” Erie said to the boy.
“You did say that. You telling me I didn’t do good for you?” the boy said in a challenging tone.
“No. I set you up with a job. A paying one at that.”
“A job? Who’s going to hire me?”
“The owner and keeper of the Cloud Tavern. You’ll do jobs for him while you learn to run such a place.”
“Run a tavern? How’s one make it in this world doing that?”
“Since you like to answer in questions, I’ll respond in kind. You ever see the innkeeper’s home? A manse it is. Running a tavern with skill means you’ll always have work. Save enough, you open your own and hire others to make your money for you. Since you’ll know the business by then, those who work for you won’t be able to gouge you. He owns the Hillroy as well.”
“If running a tavern’s so great, why don’t you do it?”
The Warder Page 29