by A. C. Cobble
The shopkeeper eyed them suspiciously, but after closely examining the coins, he nodded at them both and retreated back inside his shop.
Ben strapped on the battered leather scabbard that had been wrapped with the sword and hung it from his belt. He slid the weapon home and smiled at the sound.
“Feels good?” queried Rhys.
Ben nodded. “Let’s go find this healer.”
* * *
At the end of a dusty, stone street, they finally found the healer’s abode. A freshly painted bright red door marked the entrance. Flowers stood in planters beside the door and narrow windows pierced the sides of the building.
“Flowers,” mumbled Rhys. “How is she growing flowers in the desert?”
Ben shrugged. “We’re hoping she can grow herbs too, right?”
They banged on the door and waited as a muffled voice called out that she was on the way.
When the door swung open, Ben blinked in surprise.
“M-Mistress Albie,” he stammered.
An older woman stared back at him. “Yes?”
“I know you,” Ben stated.
The woman frowned.
“Damn,” muttered Rhys. “Mistress Albie. Now that I think about it, that did sound familiar.”
The woman’s gaze dipped down to their swords then back up at their faces. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, dears. How do we know each other?”
“Free State,” answered Ben. “In the Wilds, in Alcott.”
“Ah,” responded the woman. She paused. “I do recognize you now. How are your friends? Did they make it?”
“Most of them,” Ben answered
Mistress Albie brushed her white hair behind her ears then stepped back from the door. “Come inside. I will make tea. I see you have questions.”
* * *
“How is it that you are here?” wondered Ben. “We saw Free State. Demons attacked. Everyone was slaughtered.”
Mistress Albie bustled about the kitchen, pouring water, shaking out tea, humming to herself.
“I went north to help,” she explained. “I’m from the north, originally, and I knew they would need me. Those fools had no idea what they were getting into. I thought with my advice and my healing I could save some of them. I didn’t know the swarms would be so bad. It was far worse than I recalled.”
Mistress Ablie’s head dropped to her chest. “There were so many of them. They hit our little wooden wall and smashed through it like it wasn’t there. No one had a chance.”
Rhys stated the obvious, “You are still alive.”
“I made it out just in time,” the healer murmured.
“How?” questioned Ben.
Mistress Albie poured their tea and handed them two earthenware mugs.
“I didn’t get to be an old woman by being stupid,” she remarked. “I already had a bag packed, everything I would need to make Skarston. As soon as the wall was breached, I fled.”
“Before the demons completely overran the town?” pressed Rhys.
“Clearly,” responded the woman.
Ben was impressed his friend managed to be polite enough to refrain from pointing out that Mistress Albie was a rather old woman. If she fled a battle as quickly as she made tea, it was a difficult story to believe.
“How about yourselves?” asked Mistress Albie, turning tables. “What did you see in the Wilds? If a swarm that size hit Free State, then certainly you ran into demons as well. Shortly after Free State fell, I’m told Skarston was next to go. I understand even Northport was attacked. People said the battle could have gone either way.”
“We saw demons,” agreed Ben with a shudder. “More than I ever wanted to see.”
The three of them stared at each other across Mistress Albie’s rickety wooden table. Ben sipped at his tea, curious to learn what the woman was hiding, but unsure of how to get her to talk.
“We came here for some herbs,” said Rhys.
Albie smiled. “You came to the right place then.”
Rhys started listing the items he wanted, taking his time and watching Ablie’s reaction with each new addition. At first, she simply nodded and murmured she could fill their order. By the time Rhys got to the fifth item, her eyes had grown wide.
“I know how you were able to escape,” mentioned Rhys.
Mistress Albie frowned. “The woman who was with you, she was from the Sanctuary, wasn’t she?”
Rhys nodded.
The healer stood. “I’ll get what you need, and one or two other items I keep for myself.”
She went out the back, and Ben watched through a narrow window as she knelt by a small garden and clipped herbs. She then disappeared into a stone shed and reemerged holding a linen pouch.
“Make a tea with this and give it to her twice a day,” instructed the healer when she came back inside.
“Thank you,” murmured Ben.
“Why were you in Free State?” questioned Rhys.
“I told you that. I wanted to help people,” insisted Albie.
“You can help people anywhere,” challenged Rhys. “Why were you in Free State?”
Mistress Albie snorted. “The same reason everyone else is. I was tired of living under the thumbs of others. Lords, ladies, the Sanctuary. I have no interest in serving those tyrants. In Free State, I have the chance to do what I think is right, help who I think needs it. There isn’t some over-confident witch pointing her finger and expecting me to jump.”
“You fell out of the Veil’s grace?” guessed Rhys.
“She fell out of mine,” corrected Albie.
“I understand.” Rhys sat back, pushed back his cloak, and tapped one of his long knives. “I used to march to her tune as well. No longer.”
Mistress Albie eyed Ben and Rhys. “You went north from Free State into the Wilds, and now, you are here. I answered your question. I’ll ask you the same one, why are you here?”
“Same reason we were in the Wilds,” said Ben. “We’re looking for an answer.”
Albie’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’ll find that answer in Free State?”
Ben blinked. “Free State?”
Albie stared at him. He met her gaze, uncomprehending.
She snorted. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Maybe we should save ourselves some time and put all of our cards on the table,” suggested Rhys. “What Ben says is true. We went into the Wilds to confront the demon threat. We thought there was a permanent solution. There wasn’t, at least not in that place. It may have actually made things worse. We are still searching for an answer, and to correct our mistake. We have reason to believe there are people here, somewhere in Qooten, who can help us. Male mages. Part of a group called the Purple. After Northport, there are thousands of demons roaming the north in Alcott. If we can’t find the Purple and gain access to the tools they have to combat the demons, the entire continent could be lost.”
“I’ve never heard of a group called the Purple,” responded Albie slowly, “but I might be able to help. There is someone. I can bring him to you. Maybe he can send you in the right direction. He is far wiser than I, and if there is a group of mages in Qooten, he would know.”
Ben sat forward. “We’ll take any help we can get. You know better than most, the demon threat is real. As you said, the battle of Northport could have gone either way, and they were prepared. Next time, it could be a lot worse.”
“I understand, young man. I saw it. I must warn you,” cautioned Albie, “the man I am speaking about guards his privacy closely. I will not lie to him, and he will not appreciate a mage of the Sanctuary being here. He may be upset about it.”
“If he is the one to speak to about mages in Qooten then we must see him,” responded Ben.
Albie held up a hand. “If he agrees to speak with you, you must be honest with him. If not, I fear the consequences. He is known to have a temper. Even if you are honest, it’s possible he may not let you leave.”
Rhys raised an eyebrow. �
�May not let us?”
Ben interjected, worried his friend would start unnecessary trouble. “We’d like to meet him if he’ll see us. We’re at the Fisherman’s Plow.”
* * *
Later that evening, Ben sat in the common room of the inn with his companions, nervously eyeing the other patrons.
Rhys sat across from him, steadily emptying tankards of ale. Milo watched the rogue in awe. O’ecca and Corinne sat huddled close together, discussing something that they didn’t want to share with the group. Amelie sat beside Ben, and on the other side of her was Lady Towaal.
At midday, they’d given the mage the tea made from Mistress Albie’s herbs. They poured it down her throat and it quickly helped. Two bells after drinking it, the mage awoke. She was weak and barely able to move, but she insisted she needed to eat. They helped her downstairs and had been there since. They eyed the room, and watched Towaal slowly shovel food and water into her mouth. She’d taken another dose of tea and was showing significant improvement from when her eyes had first peeled open.
“I wish she’d told us when this man would come by,” grumbled Ben.
“She didn’t tell you anything at all about him?” questioned Amelie.
They’d already been over it, but Ben responded anyway, “No, she only implied he was dangerous, which I believed. She’s a mage. Weak mages don’t survive long outside of the Sanctuary. Whoever this man is, she was afraid of him. She thought we should be too.”
“He must be a mage,” declared Rhys. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Ben glanced at Towaal, but she appeared focused on her food.
“Well, no one in here looks like a mage,” said Amelie.
Ben agreed. The common room was full of diverse groups of travelers like themselves. Hard-worn adventurers, intrepid merchants, caravan guards, and even the rare townsman who was looking for news from outside of the desert. They were past the fringes of true civilization, and these people looked like they belonged there.
Ben perked up when a slender, hooded man floated into the room. He nudged Amelie and made eye contact with Rhys.
They all watched as the hooded man made his way across the room. Patrons fell quiet as he passed, and several people stumbled out of the way when he drew close. Slowly, the figure approached a far corner of the room and sat, back facing the wall. Quietly, he observed the room. Deep shadows hid his face, but Ben could feel the man’s eyes on him as the hood turned and surveyed the patrons.
“Is he just going to sit there, or will he come over?” hissed Amelie.
“Maybe he wanted to watch us first,” suggested Ben.
“Maybe we should stop staring at him then,” recommended Rhys.
Ben couldn’t help himself. His eyes kept snapping back to the newcomer, wondering if he would sit there all evening. Ben started to think they should approach the man and get it over with.
“I was told there was one mage.”
All of the companions spun around in their chairs and saw a huge man standing by their table. They’d been so focused on the cloaked figure that no one heard this man approach.
He wore one of the leather vests that were common in the region, but his was twice the size of any others Ben had seen. Tree-trunk sized arms sprouted out from his shoulders, and no clothing could hide the heavy slabs of muscle that covered his chest and abdomen. On a wide belt hung a huge war-hammer. As impressive as the man was, Ben couldn’t take his eyes off the weapon. Traces of red seemed to glow in swirling patterns within the heavy black head of the hammer. The metal was solid, and there was no artistry to its shape, but it exuded a sense of power that Ben felt as a physical sensation. He was certain that beside him, Towaal and Amelie’s eyes must have been bulging out of the sockets.
Rhys cleared his throat. “And who might you be?”
The massive man glared down at them.
The innkeeper came hurtling across the room to their table, frantically waving his arms.
“Please, please, no fighting in the inn.”
Ben stood, his hand dropping to his sword.
“We don’t even know this man,” protested Amelie.
The innkeeper clutched his hands in front of himself nervously, eyeing the giant.
“I’m here to talk,” rumbled the man.
The innkeeper looked around the party and offered, “Would you care the speak in private? In the back room perhaps? Ale is on the house.”
They stood and followed the innkeeper out of the common room, passing the darkly robed figure in the back corner. Ben’s nose wrinkled at the smell of him. Foul, rotten.
“You going to have my vests done on time?” growled the big man, dropping a hand to his war-hammer and staring at the hooded figure. “You were two days late with the last batch, even after I paid for your expedited service.”
“Of course, of course. I was just on my way to finish them!” exclaimed the hooded man.
He stood and scampered toward the entrance of the inn.
“That damn tanner is a drunk,” complained the big man. “If you don’t keep an eye on him, he’ll never finish. Walks around Frisay all the time in that ridiculous hood because he thinks no one knows it’s him. Like we couldn’t tell from the stench. He’s the only one in town who can find a solid piece of leather big enough to fit me, though, so I’ve got to work with him.”
Ben nodded uncertainly at the big man.
Huge knuckles cracked, and the man watched as the tanner disappeared out the door. He turned and gestured for the innkeeper to continue to the back room. When they got there, the innkeeper hurriedly bustled about, asking if they wanted anything.
The big man ignored him and took a seat at the far side of the room. He laid his hammer down on the table, causing it to creak alarmingly under the weight. Ben’s breath caught in expectation that the table would collapse. He thought the hammer must weigh as much as he did.
Lady Towaal sat gingerly across from the man.
He eyed her and remarked, “Mistress Albie told me you overextended yourself. Foolish. You must tend to your anima, not burn it.”
“It felt necessary at the time,” mumbled Towaal.
He shook his head sadly. “The Veil sharpens you once then lets you rust to waste. She should know better. Just like any weapon, your skill must be given care and attention. Stress it too far, and it will break.”
Towaal frowned at the man.
Suddenly, the man’s gaze shifted to Ben. “How often do you oil your sword?”
Ben blinked. “Ah, every week or so, and after I use it, of course.”
The man nodded, apparently satisfied his point was made.
“I do not work for the Veil,” claimed Towaal.
The man snorted disbelievingly. “You have her stink all over you. The three of you do.”
Amelie blushed, and Milo shifted uncomfortably.
“I was Sanctuary trained, but I left that group. How can you tell?” asked Towaal.
On the surface, she was calm as a winter pond, but Ben had been with her enough to hear the distress in her voice. This man was frightening her.
The innkeeper temporarily saved the man from responding when he bustled in carrying four large pitchers of ale. One of his serving men scampered in behind with mugs. They sat three of the pitchers and the mugs in the center of the table and one of the pitchers in front of the big man. The serving man also sat down a bowl of thick-shelled nuts.
Ben picked up a nut to give himself something to do while they waited for the staff to clear out, but he couldn’t figure out how to open the shell. He pinched it, pried at it, and then finally just held it in his hand so as to not embarrass himself.
As soon as the innkeeper turned his back, the big man scooped up the pitcher and drank directly from it.
Rhys whistled softly in appreciation.
“You fancy yourself a drinker, assassin?” asked the man.
Rhys handled the man’s abruptness slightly better than Towaal did, though Ben didn
’t miss the tension growing in his posture. “I do enjoy a drink.”
The man eyed them, seeming to peer into each of their souls.
“What are you doing in my town?” he demanded.
Rhys filled his own ale mug, surprising Ben by not following the big man’s lead and drinking directly from the pitcher.
“You seem to know a great deal about us,” said Rhys, “but we know nothing about you. Maybe we should start our discussion there.”
“I’m not barging around your town looking for people.”
“Mistress Albie sent you to us. You know why we are here,” stated Ben. “We are looking for an organization called the Purple. We’re trying to fight the demons.”
The man snorted and took another deep pull from the ale pitcher.
“The Purple isn’t in Frisay,” barked the man, wiping foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wouldn’t let those fools come near here.”
Ben blinked. “You know of the Purple?”
The man sat back, the sturdy wooden chair threatening to collapse under his weight. “I know of the Purple. What I don’t know is why I should help you find them.”
“The demons are a threat to all mankind,” started Ben.
“The same could be said for the Purple,” guffawed the man, amused at his own joke.
“You are Gunther,” interjected Amelie.
Ben blinked in surprise. Gunther, the legendary mage Jasper had spoken of. He glanced down at the hammer on the table. The Librarian had referred to Gunther’s hammer in his letter to the council in Irrefort. Ben’s gaze rose to the man. He realized Amelie was right.
The big man smiled mirthlessly at her. “So, one of you knows a little something. Yes, I am Gunther.”
“The Librarian of Northport reached out to you. He asked for your help,” continued Amelie. “He wanted you to use your hammer to battle back the demons so that the Purple did not use a weapon they’ve been developing here.”
A wry smile twisted Gunther’s face. “See, you know a lot more about me than you thought. You know I am not beholden to the shrill commands of others. I’m not going to go running every time someone cries for help. That child the Librarian didn’t know what he was talking about. His colleagues have spent millennia banging their heads against the wall.”