Knight's Struggle: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Tales of the Wellspring Knight Book 2)

by P. J. Cherubino

  “Halt!” the gate guard guard ordered. “What in the world are you two doing here?”

  “Ch—cheese,” Gormer croaked. He was off to a bad start. “M-merchants from Petran.”

  The guard licked his lips, which was entirely unadvisable in sub-zero weather. He just couldn’t help himself. “Cheese… From Petran…”

  To his surprise, Pleth spoke up, “We’ve come a long way. We’ve been on the road for three weeks.”

  “What happened to your horses?” the guard asked suspiciously.

  “Dead. We ate them,” Pleth said.

  “You are some dumb merchants,” the guard said. “But at least you had cheese with your horse meat.” His partner at the gate came up behind him and laughed at the joke.

  “No,” Pleth said. “Not this cheese. This is special reserve.”

  “Why have you come all this way to sell your wares here?” the second guard asked.

  Pleth gave Gormer a nudge. Both guards froze. Their eyes went blank and their jaws went slack. Gormer mouthed the words, “Speak” and “Hurry.”

  “Ah,” Pleth said while Gormer held the two in thrall. “We’ll show you how special the cheese is if you let us pass.”

  To Gormer’s dismay, Pleth dropped his rucksack off his shoulder and pulled out a sizeable wedge. He handed it to the first guard. “This means we’re the real deal. Let us pass.”

  Gormer wiped the already-freezing blood off his lower lip and glared at Pleth. The guards snapped out of the trance.

  The first one said, “Welcome to Keep 52. I think this cheese speaks for you two. Just be careful. There’s a lot of bandit activity in the woods. You’ll want to stop at the Ale House to get warm.”

  Gormer stood impatiently while the guard described how to get to Ward 52, where he said there were lodgings available. It seemed to take forever for the guard to tell Gormer what he already knew.

  At least they didn’t recognize us, Gormer thought. He hadn’t spent all that much time at the keep or its ward. Working with Woody always seemed to prevent that.

  Halfway to the Ale House, Gormer gave Pleth a punch in the arm.

  “Ouch!” Pleth complained. “That hurts double in the cold.”

  “You gave away a minor fortune,” Gormer said. “A whole wedge of cheese? They can sell that and make two week’s salary.”

  “The New Ancients had a thing called the ‘free sample’ principle. You give something of value away and that creates a strong desire for more.”

  “The New Ancients blew up the world,” Gormer growled. “Why the fuck should we do what they did?”

  “Besides,” Pleth said. “We’re not trying to actually sell the cheese… Wait, are we?”

  “Why not?” Gormer said, pushing through the Ale House door. “We’re cheese merchants. There’s money in it.”

  “Close that damn door!” the bartender boomed from his station.

  Pleth struggled to pull the door closed behind him. Gormer headed straight for the bar and pulled up a stool. Ice had already started melting from his furs.

  “Warm grog,” Gormer said, slapping a coin down on the table.

  “It’s two full coins,” the bartender said. “You look familiar.”

  “I have that kind of face,” Gormer replied, reaching for the bartender’s mind. He dug out another two coins. “Make that two—one for my friend.”

  Pleth came up to the bar on stiff legs and sat heavily. It was then that Gormer noticed small groups of guards sitting at tables on opposite sides of the Ale House.

  “Yeah,” the bartender said, noticing Gormer’s eyes. “They’re divided. Me and my boys keep having to break up fights between guards.”

  “What’s that about?” Pleth asked.

  “You look really familiar,” the bartender said, staring at Pleth. “Wait, aren’t you…”

  Gormer created the illusion in spite of the spike of pain in his head. Moxy’s potion had run out days ago. He’d needed to double up on it to get over the battle and the amount of magic he used.

  “You’ve never seen me before,” Pleth said slowly. “I am a Petran cheese merchant. You can buy some cheese. I’ll give you a good price and you can make some money.”

  Gormer released the bartender’s mind. Pleth brought a hunk of frozen cheese out and thunked it down on the bar-top.

  “The finest Petran cheese,” Pleth said.

  “Beer-cheese soup,” Gormer said.

  “Grilled cheese sandwiches,” Pleth countered.

  “Dry salami and cheese,” Gormer said

  “Cheese and apple,” Pleth offered, continuing their game.

  They went back and forth naming all the ways to enjoy cheese until the bartender held up his hand.

  “OK, OK,” he said with a chuckle. “How much for this wedge?”

  “Sixty full coins,” Pleth blurted out. Gormer held his breath.

  “This is more than five pounds,” Pleth added.

  The bartender scratched his chin while several of the guards ambled over with empty mugs.

  “I would slap my grandmother for a cheese sandwich,” a half-drunk guard said.

  “I’d slap your grandmother, too,” his friend said, “for setting into motion the chain of events that made you, Pietor.”

  Pietor made several rude gestures in rapid succession.

  “Please, gentlemen,” Gormer said. “Not around the cheese. It’s very sensitive and delicate.”

  That brought laughter and more guards from either group. They stood, eyeing each other, torn between their animosity for one another and the tasty food on the bar.

  Pleth brought out a smaller hunk that was defrosted. Gormer produced the large knife stolen from Woody and cut some hunks, then divided them into sample-sized pieces.

  It was like handing scraps of meat to starving wolves.

  “Heaven!” they exclaimed. “How much for a cube or two?”

  The pushing and jostling began, and the bartender saw his opportunity. He reached under his bar and pulled out a small leather pouch. “This is worth at least a hundred-twenty coins,” he said, slapping a large gold coin on the table.

  Gormer didn’t recognize the denomination nor the strange language on it, but he knew solid gold when he saw it. He snatched the coin off the table and added another wedge of cheese to the bar.

  Pleth pulled his rucksack closer and pulled the drawstring closed. Gormer did the same. Now they had to worry about being robbed.

  “Who wants cheese sandwiches and fried greens!” the bartender shouted.

  The clamor was deafening. Pleth and Gormer grinned stupidly to themselves as the bartender called out to his staff to start preparing the food.

  They took their mugs of hot grog and found an isolated table to chat.

  “Too far from the hearth,” Pleth complained, pulling his soggy furs closer in a vain attempt to keep warm.

  “We can talk here,” Gormer said.

  “The bartender recognized me,” Pleth said. “What did you do to him?”

  He shrugged. “Same thing I did to the guards.”

  Pleth made a circle with his hand. “Which was…”

  “I don’t know. I can just sort of… reach in and plant something.”

  “Can you do that with anyone?” Pleth asked, nervously.

  “I don’t think so,” Gormer said. “There’s some hidden knowledge here. I don’t know how I know… It’s just there. I think if I figure it out, the magic won’t try to kill me.”

  “This is why I don’t understand magic,” Pleth said. “But we’re off to a good start.”

  “Yeah. We need to find out what the guards are upset about,” Gormer mused with a casual look to the bar.

  “I say we dry out and get our asses to the Ward proper and find lodgings. It will be dark in a few hours.”

  They drank one cup of grog, bought some pumpernickel bread, and broke into their stock for a meal.

  Pleth was about to order another drink. “Don’t drink too much,” Gormer
said. “It’ll make you colder.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Pleth asked suspiciously. “I always heard the opposite.”

  “Nope,” Gormer replied. “Turns out it’s the opposite.” Pleth didn’t look convinced. “Trust me. Or, you can have another drink or two and figure it out for yourself. That’s what it took for me.”

  Pleth sighed. “Let’s find a room over a bar. I need more drinks.”

  They got up and headed to the Ward. The guards were too busy with their food to notice them leave. Gormer saw that as a good sign. They were blending in already. People would be more focused on the luxury items they sold rather than them. Or at least, Gormer hoped it worked out that way.

  The road to the Ward was mostly clear of snow by the constant foot and horse traffic. The way was covered in a hard slush, but it was easier to traverse than the unbroken snow they had faced further up the Toll Road.

  “Let’s try this place,” Pleth said, stopping in front of the first Inn they could find.

  “Never go with the first inn,” Gormer said. “Always crowded and expensive. Trust me.”

  The Ward was one long row of buildings built on either side of the road. There were a few back streets—alleys really—that stretched back a block or so to reach clapboard houses, stables and workshops. But three-quarters of the way to the end of town, Gormer found what he was looking for.

  “This?” Pleth asked, wrinkling his nose. “This looks like the worst one.”

  The crooked shutters on the windows leaked yellowy light into the rapidly-fading day. A low burbling of voices carried out into the street. One of the steps leading up to the rickety-looking porch was missing.

  “Sure sounds lively, though,” Gormer said. “I bet they’ll let us stay a week or more for a wedge of this cheese.” He mounted the steps and went for the door with Pleth close behind.

  “I don’t trust a place that will take cheese as payment,” Pleth said.

  “Never underestimate the power of cheese,” Gormer replied.

  Pleth was careful to shut the door quickly behind him this time, but several people still shouted, “Shut the damn door!”

  Everything and everyone looked rougher here. Most everyone looked drunk. The floor was covered in sawdust. The air hung heavy with a poorly-vented fireplace, a cookstove, and sputtering candles that gave the huge room its dim light. The bar area took up the entire first floor.

  Gormer made his way to the bar with Pleth literally at his heels.

  “I don’t recognize anyone,” Pleth whispered.

  Gormer had to give him a little shove to get enough room to sit down on a stool with no cushion.

  “What can I do for you?” the bartender asked. She was a tall, slender woman with a weathered face and hard eyes.

  “Two warm grogs,” Gormer said. “And two rooms.”

  “Room’s two full coins and a quarter a night. Three full coins if you want breakfast. Don’t have grog. We got ale, beet liquor, and beet wine.”

  “Ale then,” Gormer said, “and we’ll take the two rooms.”

  “Coin first,” the woman said, folding her arms across her chest.

  Gormer slapped enough coin down on the bar for two ales.

  “And for the rooms,” the bartender said. “In advance.”

  Gormer smiled in response. “What’s your name, darling?”

  “It sure as shit ain’t ‘darling.’ It’s Drina. Now, cough up the coin.”

  “Well, Drina,” Gormer said as a very large man zeroed in on the conversation. He came up beside Pleth and stared at Gormer hard. “Would you take a half-wedge of Petran cheese for a week’s rent?”

  Pleth pulled out one of the bigger wedges and set it on the bar. Gormer thought he heard the big man’s belly rumble.

  “Full wedge,” Drina said, apparently unable to take her eyes off the luxury food.

  “Full wedge for a week’s rent plus three meals a day. If the food’s good, we can talk about staying longer.”

  “Three meals. No cheese with the meals, though,” Drina said.

  “Of course not,” Gormer said. “We have our own supply.”

  Gormer pulled out his trusty, stolen cheese knife and cut the pilfered wedge. He made sure to cut unevenly, then gave Drina the slightly bigger half. That way, she’d feel like she was getting the better part of the deal. He found it easier to put one over on someone later when he pulled a move like that.

  “Mortsen,” Drina said to the big man. “Go tell Kev to get two rooms ready.”

  “We want the rooms next to each other,” Gormer asked.

  Mortsen paused with raised eyebrows. Drina nodded for him to make it so.

  Drina rang a bell, and a fat, rosy-cheeked cook came out wiping his hands on a stained, gray apron. He took one look at the big hunk of cheese and stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Petran cheese,” he said, licking his lips and swallowing hard.

  “It’s for the customers, Paul,” Drina said. “If I catch you picking at it… “

  “We have plenty more where that came from,” Pleth said. “We’d be happy to sell you some for your own consumption.”

  Drina glowered at Pleth as Paul, the cook, scurried back into the kitchen. “You sell it to him and everyone in here at retail prices. And you give me a cut, you got me?”

  She stabbed her finger at them both as she spoke.

  “Now, wait a minute,” Gormer started to say before the big man came back with an even bigger partner.

  Gormer sized them both up, then cleared his throat. “We can arrange something,” Gormer said.

  “Ten percent,” Drina said.

  “What do you take us for?” Pleth asked.

  “A guy who likes his teeth,” Mortsen said.

  “Oh,” Pleth said. “I see you also like teeth.”

  Mortsen’s smile revealed a set of shockingly white teeth with two long canines made from gold. Mortsen slapped Pleth on the back. It looked like it hurt, but Pleth kept smiling as an instinctual safety reflex.

  “I do,” Mortsen said. “Very useful. How about you give me a nice deal on some of those goods.”

  “We’re tired, buddy,” Gormer said, scraping up the cheese scraps with his very long, sharp knife. “We’ve done all the business we’re gonna do for the day.” Gormer made hard eye contact and made sure the lamplight glinted off the knife and into Mortsen’s eyes. “You run along now, and I’ll see you tomorrow if you’re lucky and I’m not.”

  Mortsen tensed up a little and his partner squared his shoulders a bit. Gormer was out of mental magic energy. He was just making a ballsy move. Gormer almost burst out laughing when Pleth sat up a bit straighter and gave Mortsen his version of a hard glare.

  The big man belched and walked away.

  “Sit up straight,” Gormer whispered under his breath. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

  “That’s the meanest looking fucker I’ve ever seen,” Pleth said.

  Gormer did laugh then, sharp and loud. Heads turned. “You just left the bandit camp, and you’re scared of that guy? I guess you got used to our brand of mean, stupid, and crazy. You need to get out more.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Argan Village

  Astrid finished working with Adi, consulted with Elder Popova, then met with Scribe Jordane. The Scribe had a great deal to say about sanitation and the septic system he and Vinnie designed. It turned out having a human mole man was handy for a great many things.

  Before Jordane told her, Astrid had no idea that Vinnie could turn ordinary soil and clay into sewer pipes.

  Astrid nodded politely as Jordane regaled her with facts and figures about human waste and how composting it properly would increase their crop yields significantly in just under two years.

  He finished with the scintillating line, “But Vinnie’s method would not eliminate the parasite issue. It was only when we combined the Protectorate aeration techniques with his water removal system that we came up with a solution!”
>
  “Jordane,” Astrid said. “I’m pleased that we can be of service to the village.” But I really wish I didn’t know all that right now, she finished in her mind. “Thank you for your report. This certainly is valuable information.” But I’m more worried about stopping an army from invading the village.

  His long, bony fingers wrapped around Astrid’s hand, and he pumped her arm vigorously. “I have to go check on our water cisterns to make sure the filters aren’t frozen. I’m teaching some of the young ones about water purification and testing.”

  “You’re an amazing man, Jordane,” Astrid said. She meant it. He was brilliant. She saw it and Vinnie confirmed it every time they talked.

  But that was her whole morning. It was late afternoon, and she needed to meditate to make her body fit to draw energy from the Well. Life was so much simpler a couple months ago when all she had to do was find some bad guys to stomp.

  “Ah, the good old days,” Astrid muttered to herself.

  She managed to avoid several people on her way out of the Eastern doors. A few steps towards her loft in Elder Popova’s hut, she nearly ran into Charlie. The giant had a large bundle in his arms. He took one look at her, gasped with wide eyes then ran off towards the blacksmith shop.

  “What in the world…” she mused. “So much for meditation. I have to look into this.”

  As she approached the blacksmith shop, she heard Moxy’s musical laughter. “It’s OK, Charlie. If she sees, she sees. You didn’t have to take me so seriously.”

  Even though Charlie didn’t speak, spending enough time with him let you understand pretty much what he was thinking or feeling by his expressions and gestures. He gave Astrid a huge, gap-toothed smile when he saw her this time.

  He and Moxy were standing by a long workbench covered by the rough canvas cloth.

  “What’s going on?” Astrid asked with a curious smile. “If I see what?”

  She remembered what Moxy said to her about a gift. Could this be it?

  An unfamiliar feeling washed over her. The voices of all her instructors came to her. They told her to manage her expectations, to exercise discipline, and not give in to distraction and worldly pleasures. She was a Knight, after all. But the prospect of her dear friends getting something just for her filled her with a glee she hadn't felt since she was a child.