by JA Andrews
“It is his name,” Ayda said. “And stand still, dwarf, or I’ll enchant this so that you can never remove it.”
Douglon paused, and Ayda took the opportunity to fling the necklace of leaves around his neck. They fell over his shoulders, the bright green leaves lying across the front of his red beard. Douglon stopped and glared at her.
“Come now,” she said, patting his bearded cheek.
Alaric was caught between admiration for her bravery and concern for her safety. He certainly wouldn’t have patted a dwarf wearing that expression.
“Wear it a bit for old Harwood,” Ayda said. “At least until he’s out of sight. It makes you look ferocious.”
The dwarf growled and leaned toward her menacingly. Ayda laughed. “See?”
Douglon’s hand went to the chain of leaves, but he didn’t pull it off.
“You can write this down, historian,” Gustav said in a nasal voice from beside the cart where he had been walking. “In ancient times, the leaves of the oak tree were used to form crowns for the victors of war. I myself have formed weapons out of oak leaves, using spells to harden them and hurl them at my enemies!”
Alaric forced an interested look onto his face. “I’ll add that to my notes tonight.” The part about the crowns was true, but hardening leaves into projectiles seemed like a waste of energy. If you needed to hurl something hard, just pick up a rock.
“Not the dreaded leaf attack,” Douglon muttered. He began to peel the green blade off each leaf, leaving only a wiry chain of stems around his neck.
“That sounds impressive,” said Brandson to Gustav, giving the old man a smile. “I hope we’ll never be in a position to need that useful trick.”
“Surely we will, my boy,” Gustav said. “Surely we will. Danger is always close at hand.” With those ominous words, the wizard moved ahead of them down the road, peering into the underbrush.
Brandson glanced at Alaric and shrugged.
Alaric still couldn’t completely shake the unfocused feeling that he’d had since the group walked in the door of the tavern last night. He couldn’t sense Ayda actually trying to influence his mind, but he also couldn’t quite shake the feeling that his mind wasn’t completely his own.
But in spite of that fuzziness, part of his mind felt more alert. It required a vigilance that he hadn’t needed in a very long time to make sure Ayda wasn’t influencing him. Nothing about her was particularly threatening, but he wasn’t going to be able to relax until they reached Kordan’s Blight and he could put some distance between himself and the elf.
Alaric let the wizard, the dwarf, and the elf pull ahead of Brandson and his slow cart. The young smith would be the easiest person to start a conversation with about Kordan’s Blight.
Brandson hadn’t been any more forthcoming than the others last night when Alaric had asked them if anything of Kordan’s was left in Kordan’s Blight. Would the young man need encouragement to talk? The Keepers wouldn’t approve, because they didn’t use magic to manipulate people. But the spell wouldn’t really change Brandson, just make him a little more…whatever he already was. Brandson was already a trusting sort, so it would encourage that a little. Still, it was a morally hazy area.
Last night, when Alaric had pulled the ruby out of its pouch, the inky line had seemed darker. It had still been the only dark line in a sea of red, but each time it had swirled across one of the faces of the Reservoir Stone, it had felt more ominous. The thought pushed away any remaining guilt about using his magic. A little information up front could save Alaric a lot of time searching for Kordan’s Wellstone. Alaric wrapped his hand around the reins to hide any tremor and made sure the rest of the group was far enough away to not be affected by the magic.
“Augmenta,” he whispered. He fisted his hand against the pain as the energy was released.
“You have a unique family,” Alaric said to Brandson.
“Yes,” Brandson agreed. He continued in a confiding whisper, “You may be surprised to learn that we are not blood relatives.”
Alaric laughed. “Astonishing.”
“We are all orphans of one sort or another and have thrown our lots in together. I am an orphan of the sort that is actually an orphan. My parents died from one of the outbreaks of the yellow plague during the Riving of the north.”
Alaric made a sympathetic noise. The people of the north were spread out into such small villages and towns that Mallon, when he had come here, hadn’t bothered bringing an army. Instead, he had sent a sickness. The yellow plague had been especially deadly to healthy men. In many parts of the north, not a single man between fifteen and fifty survived. Most of Brandson’s generation were fatherless.
“When I was fifteen, the blacksmith in Kordan’s Blight took me in and taught me his trade. He died five years ago and I have been the town blacksmith ever since.”
Ahead of them, Gustav stalked along the road by himself, muttering.
Brandson smiled after the wizard. “Wizendorenfurderfur appeared half dead on my doorstep during a blizzard late last spring. I dragged him in and thawed him out. The story of his life before that is so... complex... that I can’t follow it. But I don’t think he has any family. He’s hung around ever since. We haven’t seen much of his dazzling magical powers, but he’s a good cook, and my stomach is glad of his company.”
“Is he really a wizard?” Alaric asked, his voice pitched low so Gustav couldn’t hear.
“I think so.” Brandson wrinkled his brow. “At least he tells an awful lot of stories about his magical skills. I have seen him start a fire with just a word.”
Manipulating energy to light a fire wasn’t difficult. The old man might have some minimal talent. Maybe a touch more than the average street magician who could often sense energy without being able to manipulate it.
“And those two?” Alaric asked, looking at the dwarf and the elf who were haggling over the color of a blackberry.
“Black,” Douglon said, “it’s a blackberry.”
“The berry is purple. And there is a hint of gold,” Ayda said.
“Gold? Let me see.”
Smiling triumphantly, she handed it to him.
Douglon popped the berry in his mouth. “Tastes black.”
Ayda glared at his mouth for a moment as though she might reach in and get the berry back. Then she shrugged. “I’ll find more. I wonder if they will all have gold in them?”
Brandson let out a laugh. “I found Ayda when I was hunting. She was wandering through the forest chatting with trees. I had never seen an elf before, so I invited her to my home for a meal. She agreed, which surprised me. I didn’t think elves bothered with humans.”
Alaric watched Ayda scampering along the bushes next to the road. “They usually don’t. I’m not only surprised she came to your home, I’m surprised that she would travel with you on a trip as long as this. She isn’t anxious to get home?”
Brandson shook his head. “No. And it’s not just this trip. Ayda’s been staying at my smithy for almost three months. She does leave every once in a while, but then she shows back up again.”
Three months? Elves that had come to the capital to meet with Saren were unhappy if they were out of the Greenwood for three days.
Brandson watched Ayda for a moment. “I think she left her family, but I don’t know why. As far as I know, that is unusual for an elf.”
It wasn’t unusual. It was unheard of. The elves shared a communal life force. If something were urgent enough, an elf would leave the Greenwood, but they always hurried back. Some Keepers went as far as to believe that isolating an elf would lead to its death.
“She’s been with you that long? Elves never form attachments to anyone but other elves.”
Brandson shrugged. “She’s become friends with us.”
Alaric looked closely at the elf, wondering if Brandson was bestowing her feelings with a name they didn’t deserve.
“I met Douglon that same day. Ayda and I discovered him in the woods
on our way back home. He was standing in a clearing, pouring over a map. He hid it as soon as he noticed me. I approached him first, in case he was hostile, but he was nice enough. Especially when he saw my hunting knife.”
Alaric glanced down at the knife on Brandson’s belt. He looked closer. “Is that dwarf-made?”
“No, I made it, but I modeled it after the dwarfish blades. Douglon was intrigued. I invited him to my forge to see my work, and he accepted. But when Ayda stepped out of the trees, he almost left. Said his beard would fall out if he had to listen to the prattling of an elf for an entire meal.
“It was the most serious I’d seen Ayda all day. She told him he was in need of a bath. It turns out Douglon is proud of his hygiene. Her words almost sent him into a frenzy.
“I managed to calm the two and remind them that as my guests they would do well to respect my friends. They agreed, but it was a tense walk back. Part way through dinner, though, we had a breakthrough. Douglon, who’d had several pints of ale, confided to us that he possessed a treasure map. But he’d gotten himself stuck since he was unable to interpret the runes on the map.”
Alaric was part fascinated, part alarmed. His augmenta spell might have worked too well. He had only wanted the blacksmith to feel comfortable, but if Brandson started spilling secrets, he might grow suspicious as to why. Alaric cast about for a moment, but could think of no way to end the spell.
“Gustav, as you will soon learn,” Brandson continued, “has enormous amounts of knowledge of all things, including runes, and offered to interpret them. After some haggling, we decided that between Gustav’s knowledge, my familiarity with the region, Ayda’s ability to talk to the trees, and Douglon’s map, we might be able to find this treasure. Gustav, when he had interpreted the map, claimed he had heard of it. His great-great-grand uncle or some such person had passed down information about it.”
Brandson sighed. “But that was months ago, and we still have found nothing. Not for lack of trying. We’ve dug in dozens of places, but we haven’t found—”
He stopped and looked at Alaric in dismay. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. We swore an oath of secrecy to each other.”
Alaric worked hard to keep his face bland. “That’s the way of the road, isn’t it? Talking to strangers. I’ve had no one but Beast to talk to for a long time. By now, he knows all my history.” He patted Beast’s neck. “He’s probably thrilled to hear someone else’s for once.”
Brandson paused and Alaric waited, trying to look unconcerned. Finally, he sighed. “It’s actually something you might be interested in writing about. The treasure supposedly belonged to the wizard Kordan. It’s some sort of enormous gem that might have magical powers. Kordan buried it before he was driven from town.”
Alaric’s hand clenched on the reins, and he whipped his head around toward Brandson so quickly that the blacksmith drew back.
Ayda stepped into view around the carthorse, her hands overflowing with blackberries.
Alaric focused on her quickly, an inept cover up for showing the surprise he had to Brandson. But that was another mistake. As soon as he focused on Ayda, he realized the fuzziness had crept across his mind again. Pulling his eyes away from her, he fixed his eyes resolutely on the berries while she laid them out on the seat next to Brandson. Being with these people was like being caught in a mental whirlwind. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his mind and to school his features into a more reasonable level of surprise.
Ayda beamed at Alaric and offered him a berry. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He managed a weak smile. “Not since yesterday.”
She cocked her head at him, her expression bemused. “Well, there’s nothing like a juicy berry to remind you you’re still among the living.” With a grin, she walked off ahead of them.
Alaric stuck the berry into his mouth to give himself an extra moment to recover. It burst with juices, the tartness clearing his head. He grabbed another one before even trying to think straight.
These people were searching for Kordan’s Wellstone? The same Wellstone that he had learned existed only yesterday? He shoved against that fuzzy feeling in his mind again. What was he missing here?
“That’s quite a treasure,” Alaric said finally. “And it is exactly the sort of thing I would love to write about.”
Brandson nodded slowly.
“It does seem strange that Gustav happened to have information about a treasure Douglon was looking for,” Alaric said, attempting to move the focus of the conversation off himself.
“That’s what Douglon thinks, too,” Brandson said. “He doesn’t believe Gustav knows anything. Thinks he’s just along to steal the treasure. It doesn’t help that Gustav’s clue is too cryptic to make sense of. ‘The stone lies beneath the oatry,’ whatever that means.”
Alaric reached for some more berries and forced his face to stay neutral even though his mind spun.
The stone lies beneath the oak tree.
How exactly had the dimwitted wizard discovered that piece of information?
Chapter 8
“You told him what?” Douglon hurled a stick into the fire that evening and glared from Brandson to Alaric.
Alaric toyed with the idea of using augmenta again to bring Brandson more firmly onto his side. But with everyone this close, it would influence everyone. Gustav and Douglon would become angrier. It probably wouldn’t affect an elf, but it wouldn’t stop Ayda from watching him with that odd look, either.
“You told him all that without him influencing you in any way?” she asked Brandson, eyeing Alaric.
“Of course,” Brandson said. “I told him because I trust him.”
“I’m honored that Brandson entrusted me with your secret,” Alaric said, stepping back from her. “And to prove my goodwill, I will help you find your treasure.”
“We don’t need help,” Douglon said. “Or anyone else to split it with.”
“What help could you offer?” Brandson asked, talking over Douglon.
Alaric was tempted for a moment to tell them he was a Keeper. For Brandson and Gustav, that would put him in a position of authority. But it wouldn’t convince Douglon. All Douglon would see was that he was still a human, and dwarves were unimpressed with humans. Mostly, though, he was reluctant to claim the title.
“I have found a decent amount of treasure myself,” Alaric said instead. “And I have a good sense of an object’s worth.”
“We can figure out how much it’s worth,” the dwarf said.
“Probably,” agreed Alaric, “but I do bring one more thing. A buyer.”
Brandson looked curious, but Douglon scowled.
“If the gem is as large as you think it is, the queen would be interested in it. I’d imagine she would pay you generously for it.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “If this stone is even a quarter as grand as you say it is, I will talk to Saren about buying it.” The Keepers would pay any price for a Wellstone. And Saren would help.
The group exchanged wary glances.
“And Saren will just do as you say?” Gustav asked.
“Queen Saren,” Alaric corrected, berating himself for being so careless, “likes gemstones. She buys them at a generous price from miners. I’m sure she would do the same for yours.”
Douglon and Gustav were watching Alaric with distrust. This wasn’t going all that well.
“If you decide you don’t want to sell it, the queen will have to be satisfied with that, of course,” Alaric said. “But a gem doesn’t split four ways. A pile of gold does.”
“That’s a good point,” Ayda said. She sat a little off to the side, thoroughly entertained by the discussion.
“If you tell your queen about it, she’s likely to take it from us by force,” Douglon said.
Alaric let out a laugh. “You don’t know much about Queen Saren, do you?”
“Queen Saren is known for her fairness and generosity,” Brandson said. “She wouldn’t take it by force.”
“That doesn’t mean a lot coming from you.” Douglon shot a glare at Brandson and gestured toward Alaric. “You trust people a little too easily, don’t you think?”
Brandson scowled.
“It seems to me that you’ve benefitted from that trust a bit,” Ayda pointed out to the dwarf.
Douglon included her in his general glare, then turned to Gustav. “Is it true what they say about the queen?”
“You could probably convince her to pay you more than it’s worth,” Gustav said. “She’s never been particularly strong.”
Alaric bristled, but clamped his mouth shut.
“How generous would she be?” Douglon asked, his expression calculating.
“Very generous,” Alaric said. “I’ve seen her pay almost twice what a gem was worth if she thought it was beautiful.” Not to mention powerful and magical.
Douglon stroked his beard absently.
Brandson cleared his throat. “I vote to let Alaric join us.”
“Me, too!” Ayda burst out, as though she’d been waiting for the chance.
Alaric didn’t meet her eyes. It would be nice to keep his wits clear right now.
He looked at Gustav and was surprised to be greeted by a shrewd look. When Alaric met his eyes, though, the old man’s gaze faltered and dropped to the fire. “Fine with me,” he muttered.
Douglon stood and approached Alaric. The dwarf extended his hand. “Your word that the treasure is ours unless we agree to sell it?”
Alaric didn’t need to own the Wellstone, just get his hands on it for a few minutes. He stood and shook the dwarf’s hand.
Hours later, the talk of treasure dwindled and all parties settled down to sleep. Alaric leaned against a tree at the edge of the firelight, surrounded by the lingering warmth of the day. The only sounds were the chirps of the forest bugs and the crackle of the fire.
It was odd that he had run into this group. More than odd. To find people searching for Kordan’s buried treasure? It was impossible to think that was coincidence. If it was something else, though, Alaric didn’t have any idea what it was.