The Malaise Falchion

by Paul Barrett

  The sauro nodded, tucked himself in the corner, and curled into a tight ball with only his close eyes sticking out. Pressed against the building’s dark wood, he would be difficult to spot even in the daylight.

  I tried to open the door. It was locked. I stepped back, frowned, and knocked. When no one answered after half a minute, I knocked again. Still no answer.

  “Maybe the hob lied,” Liz said. It came out muddled because she opened her mouth as little as possible to say it.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he’s just not home.” I looked around. No one nearby. I moved to the side of the house and tried to peer into the windows. Heavily drawn curtains blocked everything. This wasn’t good. I needed to get done and gone.

  Then I realized I didn’t need the gnome. I just needed the trigger. Maybe I could find it in the house, or at least locate information on it. In the sewer, the ogre had called it the Falchion Trigger. I had to assume the item had the shape of the weapon. I shrugged. It was a place to start.

  I returned to the front of the house and studied the street again. “Anybody watching us?” I asked Liz. She gave a scan of the road and then shook her head.

  “Criz, new mission,” I told him. He pulled himself from hiding. I grabbed a set of picks from my pack and handed them to Criz. Liz and I stood in front of the sauro, blocking him from casual view while he went to work on the lock. I don’t know where he learned the skill, because I had never asked. I don’t question my associates’ talents.

  Given Criz’s skill, it took longer than I expected. As Criz worked at the lock, I saw Tough Guy and his flutter leave the Armored Scorpion. They all but ran into the alley between buildings. Good for him.

  The lock eventually clicked. Criz handed me the picks and assumed his former hiding position. He certainly wasn’t going to be the first inside. I looked at the lock. Gnome made. That explained the delay. I opened the door and stepped inside.

  And almost got skewered by a crossbow bolt. I felt the wind of it brush past my right ear. I heard Liz shuffle to avoid the projectile. I ducked and ran forward as another bolt flew past. Someone had a repeater. I threw myself behind the first piece of furniture I spotted, a stout chair. Another bolt thunked into it.

  “Stop shooting,” I shouted. “We just want to talk to you.”

  “Leave me alone,” a voice shouted back. High but gruff. Definitely a gnome. “I don’t have what you came for. Someone else already got it.”

  I frowned. Had Quinitas already beaten us here, taken the falchion, and left? Not possible if Siralanna had been truthful. At this point, I wasn’t taking bets on anything. “We’re not going to hurt you. I just want to talk. You’ve got the crossbow. I’m going to stand up. Can I do that without getting shot?”

  The gnome didn’t speak for several breath-holding seconds. Then he said. “Okay, but move slowly and keep your hands away from your weapons. And tell the chizard to get in here and leave the bow outside.”

  I stood up with my hands held out. The gnome had positioned himself near an end table that could be toppled and used for cover if necessary. He looked like a typical gnome, about six inches shorter than me. Thin, large nose, ruddy complexion, and squat, hairy hands. The one thing different about him told me he was my quarry, Silas One-Eye. He had one eye. Not one missing eye. Only one eye in the middle of his forehead. He was a diminutive cyclops. That bright blue eye stared at me over the large repeating crossbow he pointed at me, another bolt loaded and ready to fire. I heard Liz shuffle in behind me.

  “Move out of the doorway,” Silas said. “I don’t like silhouettes. Gives people an excuse to do stupid things.”

  “I assure you we have no intention of harming you,” Liz came in to stand beside me. She had her hands up like mine, her bow nowhere in sight.

  “Make it a habit of breaking into people’s houses?”

  “We knocked,” I said. “You didn’t seem inclined to answer.”

  “Maybe because I’m not interested in sales calls.”

  “Answer one question, and we’re dust,” I said. “Who took the Trigger?”

  “No one,” he said.

  “But you said—”

  “I lied,” Silas said. He offered a lopsided smile, revealing his large, flat teeth. “No one can take it because it doesn’t exist anymore. I destroyed it.”

  I considered that a moment and then smiled myself. Without the Trigger, Quinitas had nothing to take back to his cult masters. No Trigger, no demonic apocalypse. I could go home, tell Siralanna, collect my money, and be back in my office drinking by tomorrow night.

  As I considered my good fortune, I realized it was too good. Things were never that easy. A gnome would rather poke out his own eyes, or eye, out rather than destroy something. Especially something he created.

  “That’s great news,” I said. “Too bad it’s the second lie you’ve told.”

  “What?” Silas said, not quite managing to sound indignant. Instead, he sounded guilty.

  I tried to ignore the crossbow and scanned the room. It didn’t take me long to spot what I sought.

  A large hearth sat behind the gnome. A stack of unlit wood ready for kindling rested in an iron grate. A mahogany mantle was set in the stone chimney about a foot over the gnome’s head. And a foot above the mantle, hanging lengthwise, was a beautiful falchion. The curved, broad pointed blade gleamed golden in the light coming through the open doorway. Rubies and sapphires covered the silver hilt and hand guard. Runes inscribed the length of the blade.

  My attention went back to Silas as he took a step toward us and brandished his crossbow. He had seen that I had seen. “You can’t have it. No one can have it.”

  “I don’t want it,” I told him. “I liked your first idea. Destroy it. I’ll help you.”

  “No.” His face twisted in agony. “I can’t. It’s the best work I’ve ever done. Its purpose is utterly evil, and I’m damned for creating it, but I can’t destroy it. It’s too beautiful.”

  At least he was true to his nature. “Let me do it for you,” I said.

  “Take one step toward it, and I’ll skewer you like a pig on a spit.”

  “Okay.” I stepped. “I’ll just report back to my client, which is all she wanted. What she does with the information doesn’t concern me.”

  Silas’s eye narrowed, which was one of the oddest sights I’ve ever witnessed. “She? Who is your client?”

  “That’s confidential.”

  “Tell me or I’ll ske—”

  “Yeah, I got the threat the first time. Take your shot. You better hope it kills me or I’ll be on you like a cat on a rat’s ass. And don’t forget my friend, who could unhinge her jaw and swallow you whole.” She couldn’t, but I hoped he didn’t know that. I prepared to mentally deflect the bolt if he called my bluff.

  “It’s Siralanna, isn’t it?”

  My surprise must have reached my face. The gnome’s eye widened, and his face paled, ruddy skin turning pink. “No, you can’t. She’s the—”

  His words stopped as an arrow protruded from his one eye. He toppled backward as blood arced through the air like a water fountain from hell.

  9

  “Boss, we’re under attack,” Criz screamed from outside the house.

  “Thanks for the warning,” I grumbled. I pulled my Firestarter out and sought cover. Liz dashed outside, grabbed her bow, and dashed back in. Criz almost danced on her heels running in behind her. Three arrows and the sparks of at least five wand bolts followed them in. None hit my two companions. They instead struck furniture and knick-knacks in the dead gnome’s house. The clatter of breaking pottery and the smell of burnt wood filled the room. Crizlyk slammed the door shut as two more arrows thudded into it.

  “This isn’t good,” Liz said as she nocked an arrow.

  “Glad you’re here to tell me that,” I said. “Any suggestions?”

  Glass cracked. Holes appeared in the thick green curtains covering the windows as bolts broke through in six places. Someone
had a lot of firepower.

  “I suggest—” She stopped as a loud shatter of glass announced the arrival of a fireball. It incinerated the curtain and threw the harsh noon light into the room. The sphere of flame slammed against the hearth, ironically causing the stacked wood to catch fire. Gobbets of magical flame spattered in all directions. It set alight anything it touched, including a fur pelt two feet from my boot. Criz squealed in terror. I couldn’t fault him this time.

  “I suggest we find a back exit and get the hell out of here,” Liz said, then slammed her mouth shut and tried not to gag.

  “No argument,” I stood and searched for exits. An orange gleam caught my eye. The falchion shone above the fireplace. I pointed at it. “Grab that.” Maybe we could get it back to Siralanna. If we survived.

  Liz reached up with her long arms and pulled the sword from the hooks that held it against the brick. She handed it to me. I grunted in surprise as I took it. I didn’t use swords, preferring my axe when it came to close-up negotiations. I did know gold. This golden weapon weighed far less than it should have. Dwarves can’t use magic. However, we can sense it. Strong power coursed through the falchion. It felt…wrong.

  The fire continued to spread. I spotted a doorway leading out of the main room. I looked at the gnome. He had caught fire. The arrow buried in his eye burned like a candle in the world’s goriest birthday cake. I heard sizzling.

  More wand shots flew through the window as our attackers fired blind. The bolts went wide. I ducked anyway. I’d be an elf’s stud monkey before I’d let myself die from a stray shot fired through smoke. “Follow me,” I said, and ran through the opening. Liz and Criz clattered in right behind me.

  The room appeared to be a kitchen. The fire hadn’t reached it yet. The temperature difference sent a shiver over me and gave me goosebumps. Considering the voraciousness of the flames, it wouldn’t take long for this room to be engulfed. Thick curtains blackened the windows. The gnome had had a good reason to be paranoid. At the moment I was thankful for his mental instability. It gave us a moment to regroup without fear of being spotted. I took a few deep breaths of cooler air and scanned the room. Criz spotted it first.

  “There,” he said through his clenched mouth, pointing a talon toward the wooden door. Something popped in the other room. A collapsing wall followed the airy whoosh of another fireball.

  I ran toward the door with the sword in my left hand. I opened the door and ran into the light.

  And got punched in the face by a hairy, smelly fist.

  I went down on my ass. Someone grabbed the sword from me. It was my hobgoblin friend from the dragonport. He had changed from his ridiculous tourist clothing to more sensible leather pants and a boiled leather hauberk. He had friends. At least fifteen of them. An assortment of hobgoblins, goblins, and orcs. Even a couple of kobolds. They wore varying types of armor. All of them had on a tunic with a large red goblet painted on it.

  “Thanks for doing all the work,” the hobgoblin said, giving me a smile full of tusks.

  Liz brought her bow up. Instantly, at least six wands pointed at her. A trio of crossbows joined in for good measure.

  “No need for things to degenerate further,” the hob said in his gravelly voice. “This will do far more good in our hands than in your boss’s.”

  “She’s not my boss. She’s my client,” I wondered if the hob was the cause of the ruckus out front. Then I heard another fireball slam into the house. Heat radiated past me as the back caught fire. “And that’s not for you to decide.”

  “This isn’t the place for a philosophical debate,” the hob said. His change from snarling tourist to thoughtful thief surprised me. There was more to him than I had guessed. “Some other time.” He turned and started to leave.

  One of his goblin companions ahead of him turned into a disintegrated mist of flesh and dark red blood as a visible wave of energy slammed into him.

  “Someone…has my falchion,” a disembodied voice said, echoing in the air. Nightmares spawned from hearing such a voice. High and lilting, it sounded like silk flowing through a broken nose. I didn’t recognize the accent, but the cadence of his words screamed insanity. “You might…want to hand that…over to me…before anyone else…” He let out a giggle that goose-bumped my entire body. “Gets HURT.”

  Another goblin exploded, this one from the inside out.

  “Shiiitttt!” the hob and I screamed at the same time as the goblin’s shredded liver and a charred eyeball flew between us. The hob followed it up with, “Run!”

  His friends listened. They all ran toward me, heading for the front of the house around the outside. The hob turned to follow them. As he ran past me, I lunged and grabbed his foot. He tripped. The sword flew from his hand and slid across the ground.

  “Criz!” I shouted. Criz ran toward the sword. An orc kicked him in the side. He slammed into Liz, who was turning with her bow. The orc picked up the sword and joined the others.

  I felt the charge in the air a moment before the lightning bolt sizzled past me and obliterated the orc’s head. The body ran a few steps with blood spewing before it collapsed. The gold sword hit the ground.

  “Anybody else?” the creepy voice asked.

  I followed the reverse path of the lightning bolt and saw the voice’s owner. He wore a dark robe inscribed with silver glyphs. He was short for a human. His dull brown hair stuck up at odd angles as if a comb were his worst enemy. Large ears almost as pointed as an elf’s sprang from beneath the hair. A crooked nose ran down his squat face. His wide-spaced eyes stuck out like grapes pushed into mud. “That’s…my—”

  I pulled out my wand and launched a salvo of bolts at him fast as my ‘Starter would fire. The first one went past his head. He jumped in surprise. The others struck true. He threw up a hand. A shield appeared before him, white and translucent as donut glaze. My bolts ricocheted off the energy field. Some flew out of view. Others hit the dirt at his feet and puffed up dust. Liz followed my lead and fired two arrows. They fared no better, wooden shafts snapping in half against the barrier.

  After ten shots, the wand was empty. The mage dropped the shield and stared at me. “That…wasn’t very nice. I’m going to—”

  I didn’t want to know. I pushed at him with my mind, hoping to fling him through the air. Instead of the thirty feet I wanted, he only went about two. He dropped to the ground, stunned. A large piece of my force bounced back and knocked me flat. Somehow, he had deflected my mental power. That shocked me as much as the jolt to my rear.

  I stood up. “Let’s go,” I had no desire to be there when he recovered. I looked where the hob had been standing and saw they had disappeared along with the sword. “Slejumwok,” I screamed.

  I ducked around the side of the blazing house. Sparks danced in the air, drifting toward the other buildings. As my companions followed, I ran back on to the street. Panic had taken hold of the town. Goblins ran everywhere, many of them away from the buildings. The two lovebirds ran past me, both no longer wearing their shirts. Several goblins had the futile idea of wanting to douse the fire. They ran toward the house carrying buckets and hopeless looks on their ugly green faces.

  None of that concerned me. All I wanted to see was the hobgoblin and his tunic-wearing friends. I spotted them near the large bin where the buckets dumped out the mined putrosium ore. They were trapped by five humans dressed in black with no discerning marks anywhere on their clothing. The newcomers stood in the middle of the street as if they were invincible. They had staves pointed at the cornered gobs and unloaded energy on them in rapid-fire bursts.

  “Who the hell are they?” I screamed over the roar of expended magic. Liz shook her head.

  Several of the gobs in tunics had gone down, but the crisscrossing metal struts that supported the large bin did a remarkable job of deflecting the volley of bolts. A few return shots flew past the dark men. None came close to their mark. It was only a matter of time for the goblin brigade. If the fusillade of stave fire didn’t
get them, the insane mage would.

  I looked back. He hadn’t shown himself yet. I doubt my mental punch had done more than temporarily disorient him. He’d be back soon. No doubt as pissed as he was crazy. I needed to spot the sword, get it from the hobgoblin and his cohorts while under a hail of bolts, and then slip out of town unseen.

  Just another day on the job.

  Or I could leave now and report to Siralanna. I only had to tell her what I saw. She said nothing about me retrieving the falchion.

  But something told me if I didn’t recover the blade, by the time I reported to her it would be too late. Either Quinitas, the insane mage, or the hobgoblin would make away with it and use it for ill purposes. The sword was evil. Despite Siralanna’s doom-laden pronouncement about the Demon Twins, I hadn’t believed it until I had seen and felt the sword myself. I needed to come up with a fantastic plan.

  First, I had to get out of sight and out of mind. The holding bin sat close to the smaller sorting buildings. If we could get around those and reach the gobs before they were all slaughtered, we might stand a chance.

  “Come on,” I said to my companions. I ran toward the secondary buildings and around the back, avoiding the various gobs who ran past and ignored me. The volley of stave shots paused. No doubt getting recharged. That reminded me. As we moved, I popped my wand in half and put a new charge chamber in it.

  I heard a few more potshots from the besieged side. I ran as fast as my stubby legs allowed. If I could get there before the staves started firing again, I stood a better chance of survival. My companions easily kept pace with me.

  We reached the last of the sorting buildings and rounded the corner. The gobs still huddled behind the iron columns of the bin. I spotted my new best friend, who appeared to be talking to an orc and goblin close to him. He still had the sword and had strapped it to his back.