Daggers of Ladis

by RG Long

  Did he?

  Blume’s breath was still icy cold. Ealrin noticed Mas looking at her with his eyes furrowed and he nudged her.

  “You’ve got to warm up,” he told her with what he hoped was a knowing expression.

  She looked at him quizzically for a moment. Then, as if a light had been brought into a dark room, she shook herself and blinked several times.

  “Oh!” she said. “Sorry. Yes, I know.”

  Mas grunted and began to scan the horizon again, as he had been doing before taking notice of Blume. Ealrin breathed a sigh of relief. He looked past Blume at Olma, who, surprisingly, seemed completely at peace with the entire situation. He smiled.

  “You’re a resilient one, Olma,” he said, hoping to encourage the girl.

  She looked over at him. It wasn’t a smile on her face so much as it was determination.

  “We’ve lucked out twice, then,” Holve said, without looking at the two of them. He was looking forward. “I usually don’t like kids.”

  Olma looked at Blume, and then at Ealrin.

  “Was that a compliment?” she whispered at them both.

  “From Holve?” Ealrin said as the cart hit a bump and continued on the long road north that they had started on a few hours before. The scenery hadn’t changed and neither had their leader.

  “It certainly was.”

  18: Intermediates

  She felt cold, but it wasn’t because the blanket over her was insufficient or that she was too far from the fire. By all accounts, she should feel well taken care of.

  But still a small mist escaped her nostrils every time she breathed out while not concentrating very hard on making it look normal. The air was cool, but certainly not cold enough to chill. The climate of the whole area made her breath look very foreign. It made it look magical.

  Blume knew they didn’t need any additional things to worry about, but she couldn’t help it. Being tied up felt wrong. She wanted to be loosed from these stupid ropes. Blume had been tied up enough times on this little trip to Ladis and was very ready to get free. No matter what Holve said, or did, she was going to get herself out of these ropes and get her friends out of this situation.

  She just needed to wait for the right moment.

  Their group had been taken off of the cart and sat next to the fire that had been made for the night. At least their captors weren’t heartless. The big one worked on a pot over the fire, ladling in different things from a few boxes and adding in the meat of a few dead animals that the woman, Tratta, had killed after stopping their horses.

  The smell was good and Blume was certainly hungry. Her plan was to eat, get some rest, and then unleash every spell she could think of that would get them out of this mess.

  It wasn’t necessarily a well thought plan and she knew that. How would they get to where they were going without having these four chasing them down? Maybe they could borrow the horses. Borrow. Not steal. She wasn’t barbaric. But, then again, these four had just happened upon them and were taking them who knew where. Maybe to their deaths?

  Blume let out a long sigh. She couldn’t let that happen. She didn’t know where they were being taken. So she had to bet that it was bad.

  “Miss Blume?” said a voice next to her. She jerked her head that way and saw a concerned looking Jurrin staring back at her. “You look all...chilly.”

  Blume looked down at her arms and saw that there was actually frost forming on the hairs of her arms. She shook herself and quietly began to warm herself with another spell. She felt the heat radiating from the Rimstone in her boot and the frost melted.

  All remnants of the unintended magic were gone in a breath, which was good because Mas began to come around and serve them ladles of his soup. He didn’t have a bowl for each of them. Instead, he got a bowl ready, poured in some soup, handed it to a bound prisoner, and then, once they finished, returned to the pot.

  “I’m worried about that girl,” Maccus said, sipping soup from his own bowl and eyeing Blume. She immediately found a spot on the ground to look at. A few blades of grass were sticking out of the rocky soil and she focused on them. “She sick or something? Been shivering ever since we found ya.”

  “Shame on you for travelin’ with three young kids without any proper provisions,” Tratta said, looking at Holve reprovingly.

  “Bah,” Gorplin interjected. “Two.”

  “Excuse me?” Maccus said, looking at the dwarf with an eyebrow raised. “I think I can count better than a half-man with an eating disorder.”

  “I’d stop insulting the dwarf,” Holve said plainly. “Especially if you think those ropes will keep him from doing you bodily harm.”

  “You’re the ones tied up,” Maccus said, though Blume looked up just in time to note that he looked less sure of himself.

  “There are two younger members of our party,” Gorplin answered through gritted teeth. “Bah! You’re counting the halfling among them and he’s no child. And I wouldn’t be counting the taller one in a year, either.”

  “Half... Excuse me, what?” Maccus said, his bowl midway to his mouth. Blume took note of the comical expression on his face and silently thanked Gorplin for his vote of confidence.

  She certainly didn't feel like a child.

  “He’s a halflin’!” Tratta said, coming and stooping down next to Blume and Jurrin. “Get a look at him, will ya? Well I would have never guessed...”

  “Get away from him, Tratta,” Maccus commanded. “You don’t know where he’s been.”

  Tratta shrugged and stood up.

  “No need to be ugly, ya know,” she said, walking back to the fire.

  Blume thought that was a strange admonition coming from the very woman who had tied her hands together. Still, Tratta turned and surveyed the group.

  “They aren’t Ladis folk,” she said, looking them up and down. “Except maybe for the youngest there. She’s got Ladis hair, there’s no doubt. But they aren’t Isolian either. I’m just trying to place them. A dwarf and a halfling? I don’t think I’ve seen any of their kind on Ladis in... Well, ever.”

  “I’ve heard there’s another halfling here somewhere, Miss,” Jurrin said politely. “Name of Szabo. Have you heard of him?”

  Tratta just chuckled and shook her head.

  “Can’t say that I have,” she said with a smile on her face, almost as if she was having a happy conversation with the little halfling. “But I’ll keep my ears open, ya know?”

  “Can I ask why we’re still tied up if we’re going to be all friendly to one another?” Blume asked, getting irritated and feeling the warmth around her body increase with each breath.

  Tratta seemed to remember something and turned to face the fire. Mas went back to ladling soup quietly and Maccus continued to stare at Blume, making her feel even hotter.

  It was her turn to be served soup. Mas brought her the bowl and held it out to her. She considered refusing it out of principal, but then she wouldn’t have enough energy to escape these people and help her friends. She took it in her hands and, at the same moment, brushed Mas’ hands with her fingers.

  He gasped and nearly dropped the bowl into her lap. She managed to save most of the soup before it sloshed out onto the ground and her lap.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Maccus asked, coming over where Mas stood, quivering.

  “Hot!” he replied, pointing at Blume, a look of fear on his face.

  “Yes, Mas,” Maccus replied looking irritated. “I know how soup works.”

  “No!” he insisted, pointing even more fervently at Blume. “Hot!”

  Blume drank the soup as quickly as she could. Maybe she would have to use her abilities sooner than she thought.

  “The poor girl got a fever,” Tratta said, coming over to Blume and thrusting a hand towards her. Blume startled and tried to kick her hand away. As soon as she did it, she realized her error.

  Maccus grabbed the boot and yanked, hard. This sent Blume crashing backwards, spilling the last b
it of soup onto herself and making her splutter in a concoction of herbs and rabbit meat.

  Meanwhile there was a ton of shouting and name calling and soup bowl throwing.

  “Don’t try goin’ to mother our prisoners!”

  “Stop telling me what to do, will ya?”

  “Bah! Leave her alone, or I'll gut you with my teeth!”

  “Miss Blume! Are you alright?”

  Blume was not alright. She realized that her boot was no longer on her foot and, by a terrible fortune, the ring was also no longer next to her skin. Without that bit of Rimstone touching her, she would be unable to call out any magic. Her skin felt normal and she felt the air rushing around her, as if coming to take in the space that her magic had been using just a moment ago.

  “Give the girl back her boot and get them quiet!” Maccus said as he threw the footwear to the redheaded woman. “I want you on first watch, Tratta! Stay up and chat all night, I don’t care! But just wake me and don’t go settin’ them free if they give you a sob story!”

  Maccus was not in a good mood and Tratta was returning it with all its worth.

  “You’re not the boss, ya know!” she spat.

  Blume imagined these words were supposed to hurt because Maccus stopped for a moment as he stomped away from them. He didn't turn. He just stopped. It was a few breaths before he threw his bowl in a box and stomped off into the dark that the firelight didn't touch.

  “Sorry about that,” Tratta said, offering Blume her boot back. “He’s...”

  But whatever he was, Blume didn’t care. She snatched the boot from Tratta’s hands and forced it onto her foot. Even with hands tied together she managed these tasks and saw that Tratta looked affronted by her actions.

  Good, Blume thought.

  She was livid and she wanted someone else to be mad about something, too. It was what felt right at the moment, at least. What a waste. Her ring was lost somewhere in the darkness or within the firelight’s reach and she wouldn’t be able to search the ground for it without looking suspicious.

  Just great.

  She had lost her magical stone and gotten herself all worked up as well. She looked left and right at her friends, wanting to see if they felt as mad about the situation as she did. What surprised her, however, were the strange looks she was receiving in return.

  They didn't look mad. Holve wasn’t looking at her at all. Gorplin was still fuming in his own way. Olma’s eyebrows were way into her forehead and Jurrin was looking at her reprovingly.

  “I don’t think you should be so upset, Miss Blume,” he said in what he obviously thought was a calming voice. “You’re going to make them mad at us.”

  “And why should I care if they’re mad at us?” Blume hissed at him. “They’re the ones who tied us up! They’re the ones who threatened our lives with bows and arrows! Why is everyone upset with me about the weird way they’re treating us! First like robbers and now like old chums?”

  “Blume.”

  Her name sounded so distinct on his lips. She breathed out hard before she turned to face Ealrin. His look at her was both sad and concerned. She didn't know what to think of it at the moment.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said steadily. “But I do know this. Holve said trust him. I’m trying to.”

  Holve grunted at this.

  Ealrin shook his head and gave Blume a half smile.

  “And don’t worry,” he said, looking down at the ground and winking.

  On his finger, glowing palely in the moonlight and hidden from their captors, was another Rimstone ring.

  Of course! Blume thought. They had stolen more than just hers when they escaped from the army of Isol. Now she just had to get Ealrin to hand it to her and then she could make good on her plan.

  “Not yet,” Holve said.

  Blume wanted badly to burn a hole in the back of Holve’s head. Not a big one. Just one large enough to make him wince.

  Ealrin shook his head at the old man, but withdrew his hand all the same.

  “We’re waiting for the right moment,” Holve finished. “Now’s not the time.”

  “Quiet down, will ya?” Tratta said, her voice more stern than it had been before. “No more talkin’. Get your rest. We'll be in Meris soon and we want you to look well taken care of before we bring you in.”

  “Bring us in?” Ealrin asked, looking up at her. Blume wanted to punch him. Didn’t he know how important it was to her to be free? To not be tied up any more but to be able to go wherever she needed to go? She wanted to fly away from cities and kidnappers and armies and everything and just be free.

  But apparently he didn't know. He kept staring at Tratta. Blume looked up at the woman as well.

  “All foreigners are to be brought to the Priest of Meris,” Tratta said as a matter of fact. “You’ll be taken to the Temple for questionin’.”

  Blume put her head between her knees. If now wasn’t the time, when would it be?

  19: Plans That Go Wrong

  Ealrin and the others sat quietly as they rode through the next day and the day that followed that. Meris was a good distance away from Prommus and they were going to get there eventually. They saw hardly anyone else on the roads, a fact that Ealrin kept noting with curiosity and worry.

  This was supposed to be a country with a very large population. Men and women should be flowing from the cities. But they didn’t. No large caravans moved from one city to another. No travelers from a country’s capital came to visit another. Or so it seemed to Ealrin at least.

  The Theocracy was quiet. He couldn’t help but feel like it was the calm before the storm.

  On the third morning, they could see the mountains of Meris looming up ahead of them and the capital city beginning to form at its base. Like most of the other cities of renown in Ladis, Meris was a large walled city that had two great buildings in it that dwarfed all the others: a spiraled temple and a grand palace.

  These weren’t quite as large as the ones in Prommus, though Ealrin didn’t expect them to be. What they were, however, was very bleak.

  The cities of Arranus and Prommus were decorated with the black banners of Ladism all over, which slightly muted the natural colors of the city. Meris was a city made entirely of a dark stone that needed no banner to make it look darker.

  It was a black city to begin with.

  Mas signaled as they came closer to the city gates. A guard wearing the silver of Ladis waved back and the gate began to open. Ealrin thought it was strange. The day was well past the morning. Wouldn’t a city keep its gates open during the daylight hours?

  Perhaps normally, but not during a time of war, Ealrin reminded himself. He wasn’t sure how far away the Isol army was from Meris, but apparently it was close enough to make the city concerned about who was going in and out. Currently, the only group doing either was the cart Ealrin was riding on.

  No one came out of the city as the large gates opened up. As they passed through the first gate, they took a sharp right turn and then passed through a second, stouter, iron gate. The city’s construction was made with defense in mind. Ealrin wondered how often the city had come under siege.

  “Bah,” Gorplin said as they crossed under the second gate. “These humans aren’t bad. Much better than Thoran’s own Riverhead. No offense H...”

  “Best not to mention things from our travels,” Holve replied without looking at the dwarf. Gorplin had nearly mentioned Holve’s name. Ealrin figured it was time to leave things like names and places behind while they were in custody. The funny thing was, he still wasn’t sure why they needed to be in bonds. Blume could wink and they’d all be free and running to safety.

  But Holve said to trust him.

  Ealrin chanced a glance at the old man, but his gaze was not returned. Holve was looking up at the walls of Meris. Guards stood there, facing outwards and looking towards the rocky plains they had just come from. None turned to look down into the city.

  Not being encouraged by Holve’
s wary gaze, Ealrin sighed and looked around the city to take it all in.

  The buildings were made of a dark stone that gave the place an ominous look. Ealrin could see why it was used so frequently. The stones that these houses were built of were the same stones that littered the plains outside. Hardly any wood was visible around the city, just as it was sparse outside of it. Hardly any trees grew taller than Ealrin stood.

  Something caught his eye as he looked at the buildings that lined the streets. It wasn’t the people milling about inside the walls of Meris. They meandered around, not looking any more pleased to be there than Ealrin felt. It wasn’t the store signs or the grimy windows. These all looked nearly indistinguishable from one another. In fact, the entire city, save for its walls, looked as if it needed a considerable amount of upkeep. The place was old and decrepit.

  What caught his eye was what was on top of the buildings. It was the flutter of a cape, or else the quick movement of a bird or something similar.

  Ealrin looked down at their party to see that no one else had seemed to notice the movement.

  No one, that was, except for Holve. The older man was looking up at the exact same spot that Ealrin was. When he looked back, he caught Ealrin’s eye. He nodded once, as if to say that he had seen it to, and then turned to Mas.

  “Where are we being taken to?” he asked in a clear voice. “The Temple?”

  “Ha!” Maccus laughed. “Not likely. They expect us to turn in suspects and vagrants for free. The prince actually pays! You’re headin’ to his dungeons as we speak. So shut it.”

  “But I thought you said all foreigners had to be brought to the priest?” Blume asked. Ealrin was confused about this as well.

  Fornos chuckled grimly.

  “Nobody said we had to bring all of you to the Temple,” he said. “Just enough to be questioned. I think the two young girls ought to do. They won’t fetch much of a price at market anyhow.”