Dwarves and Wizards

by Jaxon Reed

  Her parents aged rapidly and were replaced by cathedral stones. The Crystal Crown rested on her brother’s head, then he aged as his children grew. He and Atta and their respective spouses all appeared old. They were replaced, suddenly, by stone markers. The crown shifted to one of the boys, who married, had children, aged rapidly and became a marker. Everything sped up and soon she could not keep track of how many generations had grown and married, reproduced and died. The landscape was covered with cathedral stones, and gravestones for those less prominent and interred elsewhere.

  All the while, the image of Mita seemed mostly unchanged. She appeared older, and wiser, but still carried the bloom of youth. No husband stood next to her, and the image had not grown with child.

  Mist spoke once more. “This is what happens when you become a wizard, Princess. Everyone you know and love dies quickly, while you age much more slowly. You will never marry. You will never bear a child. You will live many centuries while your loved ones become increasingly distant memories.”

  She watched as her image slowly aged, now showing crows’ feet around the eyes. The gravestones increased greatly, crowding one another.

  Slowly Mist descended again, blanketing the markers and her image in feather-white fog. At last nothing more was visible through the swirling clouds.

  The face appeared again, a few paces in front of her.

  “Everyone you know will die as you continue living in loneliness and solitude. Is this what you truly want, Princess? Your final test is an offer. You can leave this behind. You can love and marry and start a family and grow old with those you love. There is no dishonor in that choice. My offer, the final test, is a blessing. The blessing of a normal life.”

  Mist paused then and all hints of deception faded from his face, replaced with a look of concern and empathy.

  “You can live a rich and full life, Princess. You can grow old with your loved ones. You do not have to curse yourself with the mantle of wizardry.”

  -+-

  Endrick woke up with a start as the cart hit a bump in the road.

  The oxen had traipsed long into the night, well past the boundaries of the forest, before the old farmer finally pulled off to one side near a stream. He fed the animals and unhitched them, then tethered them near the water for the night before retrieving some dried meat from the cart. They ate supper without a campfire.

  Endrick made himself as comfortable as he could in the back of the wagon while the farmer slept on the ground somewhere.

  Now they were underway again. The farmer had started without bothering to wake the former monarch.

  Endrick crawled sleepily to the driver’s bench, feeling aches and pains in every muscle.

  He said, “I confess I’m still unused to living on the road and not sleeping in a bed.”

  “Yep.”

  Endrick stifled his irritation at the monosyllabic nature of his driver. He felt for the dagger in its sheath, strapped to his back under his shirt. It remained in place.

  Relaxing, he glanced at the brightening sky and his stomach growled. He reached back into the wagon and pulled out the apple bag.

  “Two left. Have some breakfast,” he said, handing one to the driver.

  “Yep.”

  The day dragged on. They turned at the crossroads and headed toward Kathar, the oxen moving slowly but steadily. When the sun reached noon, the farmer distributed the last of his dried meat and they ate lunch on the go.

  Late in the day, at long last they spied the city walls in the distance. Endrick smiled in satisfaction.

  They made it to the gate before nightfall, slipping in with the last of the late afternoon traffic before it closed. The guards looked them over but allowed them through without any trouble. Endrick felt tense the whole time, but nobody recognized him. Nobody paid much attention to them at all.

  As the last rays of daylight faded, the farmer guided the oxen to a rustic stable in the more unsavory part of town near the gate. A manure shoveler took the team inside after he tossed the man a copper.

  The farmer headed toward an inn nearby, which looked equally as bucolic as the stable. Not knowing what else to do, Endrick followed. The farmer opened the doorway and the sounds and smells from inside spilled out to the darkening street. Fresh bread, mutton and stewed cabbage all mixed in with the scent of cheap ale. Endrick’s stomach growled.

  He stopped as the farmer moved inside. The farmer turned with questioning eyebrows.

  Endrick said, “I . . . have no money.”

  The farmer sighed and frowned. He reached down and pulled out a small purse from his pocket and shook it.

  He said, “Yep.”

  He made a beckoning motion with his head. Endrick smiled and followed him into the inn.

  The next morning, Endrick slept late. For the first time in a long time, he slept in a bed. After the recent trials and humiliations that life had dealt him, the simple mattress proved to be luxurious, and he slept his best night sleep since Trant returned to Emerald.

  At last his grumbling stomach and full bladder prodded him out of bed. Four other beds crowded the little room, but their occupants were long gone.

  Stumbling downstairs he found the common room deserted save for one serving wench. His first inclination was to snap at her, demanding food. Then he recalled his current state of penury and smiled at her before politely inquiring about a late breakfast.

  She shook her head in mock disgust and muttered something about drunkards waking up late, but soon enough she returned with a bowl of cold porridge.

  He thanked her profusely and devoured the meal, all the while wondering how boiled oats could taste so good in a three-copper inn.

  His relish for the dish amused the wench, and she brought him a second bowl. This one he ate slower, delighting in each spoonful. He offered little in the way of conversation, so after several minutes she wandered back to the kitchen, leaving him alone in the common room.

  About the time he finished the second bowl, he noticed Thanden fluttering through the room, flying in a confused and erratic pattern.

  “Thanden! Over here!”

  The little sprite heard him and turned to look his way with a surprised expression on his face.

  “Yes, yes, over here. Have you gone blind?”

  Following the direction of his voice, Thanden drew nearer, then his head rocked back and his little eyes widened as he recognized Endrick. When he came close to the table, he plummeted to the floor suddenly and his sickly green glow snuffed out.

  The look of utter horror on Thanden’s face made Endrick chuckle. The little sprite quickly scrambled backwards on his butt, away from Endrick and the hidden dagger.

  Slowly, the sprite’s putrid green aura returned.

  Endrick said, “I’m afraid there’s no magic in or near me so long as I carry this accursed blade. What news do you bring, Thanden?”

  Thanden fluttered weakly up in the air again at a safe distance and pantomimed a circle while his aura glowed brighter.

  “The sun? Yes.”

  Then he spiraled slowly to the floor, dimming all the way down.

  “When the sun sets, alright. What then?”

  Thanden held up a finger, then wrapped his arms around himself and disappeared with a little poof! Then he quickly winked back into sight with hands held high as if casting a mighty spell.

  “The wizard? You’re saying Quartzstone will visit me tonight.”

  Thanden smiled and nodded eagerly.

  “Very well. I shall wait here for him.”

  -+-

  “They got a good lead on us, fer sure,” Veeroy said. “Looks like they let the animals graze and water while they set up camp here.”

  The white tracks of wheels, hooves, and boots mixed with one another freely on the side of the road.

  Stin said, “Let’s keep going. Maybe they were delayed at the crossroads by some stroke of luck.”

  “Mayhap. Hope I can make out their tracks still, when the way gets bu
sy.”

  A few hours later they approached the great intersection. Veeroy sighed in relief as the tracks clearly showed the oxen and wagon turning left, taking the road to Kathar.

  “Well, now we know where they’re headin’,” he said with a smile.

  “We’ll stop here for the night,” Stin said, glancing at the sun sinking low in the sky. “Let’s see if we can bargain with the caravan over there for a bite to eat.”

  While Veeroy unhitched Horse and Plinny hauled out a bag of grain, Stin and Bellasondra and Kirt approached the caravan drivers who were settled down for the evening. Already they had a fire burning. Several gathered around it while a cook labored over a pot of stew.

  When they drew near, one of the men jumped to his feet. Or rather, foot. Stin noticed a peg leg sticking out of his trousers.

  “There he is, fellas! I’d recognized him anywhere. Stin the Storyteller! He’s the reason we lost our last cook!”

  “Hello, Stumpy.” Stin shook his arm warmly.

  Stumpy turned to the other caravan drivers and said, “So this gadfly here tells us a long yarn about his ‘tasting stone,’ given to him by a faerie princess no less, and how it will make our soup better.”

  A few guffaws rumbled around the campfire, followed by a couple murmurs of agreement. Stin thought he recognized some of the men.

  Stumpy said, “So our cook goes and accepts this story completely. He gives this rogue bags and bags of our food in exchange for a rock.”

  More guffaws.

  “And blessed am I, if by the Hightower Cook’s food didn’t improve the rest of the way to the Southern Lands! He got so good, he done went and found hisself a job at some noble’s manor as head cook. Now he’s working in a warm kitchen every day, all the food he wants, while we run these wagons up and down the road.”

  Several chuckled good-naturedly at this jab at their chosen profession.

  Stumpy said, “Come on around the fire, Stin, ye and yer people. But we gots to hear your stories tonight. Ye know the rules.”

  At this point Veeroy and Plinny ambled over, their chores completed. Several people stood and moved, making the circle around the fire wider for them.

  “Men, I fear many of you have heard my best tales before,” Stin said.

  Protests and expressions of disagreement went up around the circle.

  “But, fear not. We have in our traveling party one of the finest storytellers on land or sea. May I present to you Plinny the Giant.”

  Plinny looked down at the men and smiled, poking his tongue through the gap in his missing front teeth.

  Stin said, “Plinny, why don’t you start by telling them about your adventures in the house of ill repute at Port Osmo?”

  Plinny said, “Lads, lemme tell you, one would not think the great dwarven city would care ’bout th’ needs of human sailors. But they do, lads. They do!”

  Plinny stayed up late retelling his favorite stories with this fresh and receptive audience. He continued far in the night, with a handful of drivers eagerly listening long after the others retired. Veeroy and Stin had a tough time getting him up in the morning and back in the wagon. They shared a quick breakfast of boiled eggs and hard biscuits with the caravan drivers before parting ways.

  Stumpy insisted on giving them several bags of food, despite Stin’s protestations.

  “It were worth it for the story tellin’. Ye and yer friends should start a troupe. Best o’ luck to ye, Stin. I hope t’ see you at another crossroads sometime. Yer always welcome around my campfire.”

  With a final round of arm grips and backslaps, everyone parted ways.

  Once on the road, Veeroy cast his tracking spell again, and they found the oxen hooves a little dimmer today. As the morning progressed and they drew closer to Kathar, other tracks crowded the road until the ones they were following practically disappeared in the clutter.

  “I fear me spell be growin’ useless, Lord Fortune.”

  “That’s quite alright, Veeroy. It got us this far, and I think there’s little doubt they went to Kathar. You might as well stop using it now. No sense giving the guards any reason to detain us.”

  Veeroy nodded and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. The tracks disappeared, leaving nothing but the road in front of them, paved now in cobblestones this close to the city.

  Stin worried, perhaps irrationally, that the guards at the gate would recognize him as they approached late in the afternoon. But he spied no broadsheets bearing his likeness, and the Emeraldian soldiers gave them only a cursory glance before waving them through the gate.

  As Horse plodded inside the walls, the sights, sounds, and smells of the city assaulted their senses. Pedestrians crowded the streets with horses and oxen, shuffling in and out through the gate’s chokepoint all squeezed together. The scent of fresh manure wafted through the air along with the body odor of hundreds of people.

  Bellasondra pinched her nose and said, “I think I prefer the open countryside.”

  From the back of the wagon, Plinny roared, “I prefer the sea! The breeze takes away all smells.”

  Stin gave up trying to guide Horse, he could not have turned the animal right or left if he wanted to do so. Kirt tugged Stin’s sleeve, grabbing his attention.

  He said, “How are we going to find the dagger in all this?”

  It was a good question, Stin thought, and one he had been mulling over for some time, ever since it became apparent their quarry was headed toward a big city.

  Stin said, “I don’t know. Let’s get Horse stabled, find an inn, and I’ll try to figure out what to do next.”

  They found a decent place not far from the gate with a picture of a beaver wearing a crown. Upon entering they discovered the establishment was named Royal Otter. The innkeeper took one night’s pay on room and board for all of them, practically wiping out Stin’s purse.

  The two pirates happily sat at a table and ordered ale, willing to drink up their credit as quickly as possible.

  Bellasondra inquired as to a tub, and was informed by the proprietor there were baths in the basement. With a quick kiss on the cheeks of both Kirt and Stin, she headed downstairs.

  Stin glanced down at Kirt who looked up at him silently.

  Stin said, “You want to stay here and drink or come with me and fetch some gold?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Good. ‘Those who drink, swallow their gold.’”

  Together they walked out of the Royal Otter, and Stin led them toward the seedier part of town.

  The sun dipped well below the rooftops now, and a trumpet called out the imminent closing of the gates. They walked deeper into the decrepit areas on the city’s outer fringe, near the wall.

  “Not a good place to be after dark,” Kirt said.

  Stin nodded but made no comment. He carefully examined everyone on the street.

  Kirt said, “What are you looking for?”

  “A cart for hire.”

  “Good. I’m tired of walking.”

  “I don’t actually plan on hiring it. I just need to talk to the driver.”

  At last Stin found what he was looking for: a young man for hire, idly sitting on his cart’s driving bench waiting for customers. Stin approached him and waved.

  “I have a question for you.”

  “At your service, sirrah!”

  Stin winced at the appellation, recalling the fate of Cuppers, but he carried on.

  “I’m looking for the Mystic Bank.”

  “Aha! I do know where that may be, sirrah! Not far from here. Would you like a ride?”

  Despite his earlier unwillingness to hire the cart, Stin handed over one of the last of his coins and he and Kirt climbed up on the cart.

  The young man was only a few years older than Kirt. He was tall and skinny, with bright blond hair and an equally sunny disposition. Stin let him chatter, leaving Kirt to make responses and engage in light banter.

  Within minutes, the young driver pulled the reins on his h
orse and pointed at a nondescript and unmarked storefront, with an entryway off an alley too narrow for the cart.

  “Yonder is the Mystic Bank, sirrah. Care for me to wait?”

  Initially Stin was not inclined to agree to it, but Kirt insisted.

  “He can take us back to the inn!”

  Stin agreed this might be a good idea if they came out loaded with gold.

  They climbed down and made their way to the door while the young man set the brake.

  When they entered, Stin noticed how similar the interior appeared to the one back in Corsairs Cove: a blank nondescript room without decorations, a simple counter and a door behind it.

  They walked to the counter and waited. Kirt exchanged a glance with him. Stin shrugged and smiled.

  The door behind the counter opened and Mandross walked out. He had sallow, yellow skin and his clothes looked a size too big. A cloud of unhappiness seemed to hover invisibly over his head. He wore a look of profound depression when he locked eyes with Stin.

  Stin’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He said, “Why, hello Mandross.”

  “Oh, it’s you. I see you didn’t die after all. Would you like to make a withdrawal? We take three percent.”

  “How is it you’re working here now? Did you move here from Corsairs Cove?”

  In reply, Mandross stared back at him with a glum expression.

  Stin said, “I’m just curious. I mean, you’re here and not there . . .”

  Mandross kept staring at him as Stin’s voice trailed off.

  “Never mind. Yes, I’d like a bag of gold please.”

  He handed over the scrip Mandross had given him, seemingly so long ago. The spell on it, like the key, kept it on his person.

  Without another word, Mandross took it and retreated through the doorway.

  Kirt looked up at Stin with a questioning look.

  Stin said, “I, uh . . . I knew him. He was at another bank location, where I made my deposits. They have offices in all the large cities, you see, and you can deposit your gold in one place and pick it up in another. Quite useful, in fact.”

  Mandross returned with a large bag of gold. He grunted and pulled it up to the counter where it came down with a loud Thud!