Quest's End: The Broken Key #3

by Brian S. Pratt

  “Are you Filgrit the wine merchant?” Bart asked.

  “I am he,” the man said.

  “We were told you were the man to see,” Bart stated.

  Beaming, the man’s chest seemed to puff out slightly. “I am the foremost wine merchant in Kendruck,” he said. “None other has the stock on hand, nor the ability to acquire the rarest of wines, as do I.”

  Riyan set his pack on the counter. “That’s what we heard. A friend of ours recently came into possession of a bottle of wine,” he explained as he drew the wine bottle from his pack. Setting it down before the man, he added, “We would dearly like to learn more about it.”

  The man’s eyes widened slightly when he saw the bottle. That he recognized it was clear. He reached out and took the bottle and held it up. Then he turned it around to inspect it in its entirety before setting it back down on the table. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

  Before Riyan could reply, Bart asked, “Why?” He glanced at Riyan and shook his head slightly. Riyan understood and nodded.

  Tapping the top of the bottle he said, “This isn’t widely circulated. In fact, it’s rarely seen this side of the border.”

  “Like we said,” Bart explained, “a friend of ours was given this by a merchant here in Kendruck. The merchant said that he was looking to see if there would be a market for it in Byrdlon.”

  “Do you sell it?” asked Chyfe.

  Filgrit shook his head. “No,” he replied. “But I can get my hands on some if needed.” He looked to Bart. “Are you looking to purchase more?”

  “Not at this time,” he replied. “What I’m interested in finding out is who makes it?”

  “That’s easy enough,” said the man. “The Orack Tribe to the south is the sole maker of Guerloch.”

  Feigning ignorance, Bart asked, “Orack Tribe?”

  Filgrit nodded. “It’s one of the largest Tribes,” he explained. “They have a trading house here in Kendruck. They’d be the ones to contact if you are interested in regular shipments of Guerloch.”

  “Where could we find them?” asked Riyan.

  “Their trading house is located not too far from the southern gate,” Filgrit said. “Just go down to the gate area and ask directions to Kell Plaza. There you’ll find the Orack trading house.”

  “Thank you,” Riyan told the wine merchant. “You’ve been most helpful.”

  “Not a problem young man,” Filgrit told him. “If you are ever in need of wine, come back and see me.”

  “We’ll do that,” Riyan assured him.

  Turning about, he and the others were soon back on the street. The day was waning, but there was still an hour or so left before nightfall. They decided to make their way to the southern gate, and from there locate Kell Plaza. After asking directions to the gate from a passerby, they were soon on their way.

  “What’s the plan once we get there?” asked Seth.

  “If we can, try to find out exactly where to locate the family whose crest is on the wine bottle,” Bart explained. “After that, we head south.”

  Ten minutes of walking along the streets of Kendruck found them nearing its southern gate. Bart inquired of another passerby and they were soon on the way to Kell Plaza.

  Kell Plaza as it turned out was one of the larger plazas located within Kendruck. It boasted three separate fountains, four statues and an expanse of grass with a gazebo-like structure situated in the middle.

  “I bet in the summer this place is pretty lively,” observed Soth. Now though, it was fairly empty and the fountains were dry.

  Bart brought them to a halt as they entered the plaza. Scanning the buildings bordering the plaza, he sought one that could be the trading house of the Orack Tribe. The buildings ranged from single story structures to ones rising four and five stories high. Centered along the north side of the plaza was a building that dwarfed all the others.

  This one stood five stories high, and took up a good quarter of the real estate abutting the plaza on that side. From the looks of it the building held an official capacity, and was unlikely to be the trading house for the Orack Tribe.

  Riyan spied an old beggar missing half his right leg sitting in front of a nearby bakery. “I’ll ask him,” he told the others as he headed toward the beggar.

  The beggar quickly took notice of Riyan moving toward him. When Riyan drew close, the old man held out his hand for a coin. “Help an old warrior?” he asked.

  “Warrior?” Riyan asked.

  The old man nodded. “Back when I was younger. But they don’t have much use for someone with half a leg.” He looked up at Riyan expectantly, his hand still held out for a coin.

  Riyan reached into his pouch and drew out a silver. “Are you a member of the Warriors Guild?” he asked as he handed the old man the coin.

  “No,” the beggar replied. “I was never so fortunate.” Taking the coin, he quickly stashed it within the rumpled and dirty rags he called clothes. When Riyan didn’t immediately go away he asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Nodding, Riyan replied, “Could you tell me which building is the trading house for the Orack Tribe?”

  The geniality of the old man quickly disappeared. “Why do you want to know?” he asked.

  Gesturing to where the others waited, Riyan said, “We wished to inquire about a certain wine they may have available for trade.”

  The old man gazed at Riyan in silence for awhile. He finally pointed to a three story building not far from where they had entered the plaza. “There,” he said. “Don’t expect too warm a welcome from those you’ll meet there.”

  Riyan gazed at the building and asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “Those from the Tribes don’t care much for us northerners,” he explained.

  “So I’ve heard,” Riyan said. “Still, it can’t hurt to inquire.”

  “I suppose not,” the old man stated. “Just watch yourself while you’re in there.”

  Riyan turned back to the old man and said, “I will. Thank you for your help.”

  The old man just nodded.

  Riyan returned to the others. He indicated the building the old man had pointed out. “He said it was that one.”

  Three stories tall, it wasn’t much different than any of the others bordering the plaza. It looked as much like a townhouse as a trading office. Four steps led up to a wooden door that stood closed. Five windows faced outward from the second and third floors while the ground floor held but two. All were dark save one on the ground floor.

  “It might be wise to wait until morning,” suggested Kevik. “Doesn’t look like they’re open for business.”

  “Perhaps not,” agreed Bart. “At least we know where it is for when we return in the morning.”

  Just then the door to the Orack trading house opened and two men appeared. Slightly darker skinned than the average citizen of Byrdlon, they stood six feet tall and each had a sword hanging at their hip.

  “Tribesmen,” Chyfe said.

  “How can you tell?” asked Riyan. To him, they looked like run of the mill people one would find on any street in Byrdlon.

  “For one thing, they’re darker than we are,” he said. Then he glanced to Seth and Soth. Both were just as dark as the Tribesmen. “Most of us anyway.” Turning back to Riyan, he said, “Also, look at their cloaks. Every Tribesman wears color designations that tell the world to which Tribe he belongs. They’re very particular about such things.”

  Riyan gazed at the two Tribesmen who were walking across the plaza. A color pattern of red, green, red was worked into the design. If Chyfe hadn’t pointed it out, he may not have even noticed. “Think that’s the color of the Orack Tribe?”

  “Can’t know for sure,” he explained, “unless we ask them. And that wouldn’t be the best of ideas. Like I said, they’re a bit particular about such things and get annoyed if they think they or their Tribe have been slighted.”

  Nodding, Riyan turned his attention back to the building from
which the two men had emerged. After a minute of searching, he failed to find a color pattern on any of the walls or door. “Back to the inn then?” he asked.

  Bart nodded and they began heading back to the inn.

  Chad was deep in thought as they passed back through the street. Finally, he asked the twins, “Are you two Tribesmen?”

  Seth grinned. “When I saw them I thought the same thing,” he replied.

  “Never heard any of our family mention a connection to the Tribes,” Soth explained.

  “But you two do bear a striking resemblance,” Kevik said. “How far back do you know your family history?”

  “I know our father’s grandfather lived to the east,” replied Soth. “His side is where we get our dark skin. Our mother is somewhat paler.”

  “Maybe we’re long lost princes or something,” suggest Seth. Then both he and Soth began laughing. Turning to the others he announced, “Maybe you better treat us with more respect!”

  “I don’t think so,” Chyfe said with a grin.

  Laughing together, the companions made their way back to the inn.

  Chapter Eight

  __________________________

  The common room was filled to capacity. The companions had managed to secure a table earlier in the evening and had thus far been loath to give it up. Two chairs remained empty at their table. One was for Kevik should he decide to come down and join them. He had claimed being rather tired and wished to rest in his room. The other was for Riyan who had gone across the room to talk with several of the locals. He was trying to find out if there was a cartographer in town who may have maps detailing the lands south of the border for sell.

  Bart kept his eye on Riyan and was relieved when he finally finished speaking with the group of men and started back for their table. The look on his face said the conversation had yielded results.

  “Well?” Bart asked as Riyan took his seat.

  Leaning closer to be better heard over the noise of the common room, Riyan said, “I got directions to a master cartographer. They said he has maps of just about everywhere.”

  “Sounds like what we need,” replied Bart. If they could procure maps of the area to the south, it would prove incredibly beneficial in their search.

  Riyan nodded agreement. “I’ll take Kevik and Chad with me to the cartographer in the morning while you and the others check out the trading house.”

  Chyfe joined their conversation and asked, “If we have a map showing where Hylith lies, do we really need to risk visiting the Orack trading house?”

  “I think so,” replied Bart. “We could still learn something important.”

  “Like what?” Chyfe asked. “It’s not as if we’re actually going to arrange a shipment of wine.”

  Bart smiled at that. “Why not?” he asked. When Chyfe and Riyan glanced to him questioningly he added, “For one thing, it would give us an excuse for being down there.”

  Riyan nodded. “You have a point,” he replied. “Maybe even just a letter of greeting to a wine merchant further south.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Bart said. Then he and the others turned their heads to look across the common room as the bard who had been on a break returned to the platform. Conversations began to fall away as the patrons came to realize he was returning. When the bard finally sat upon the stool and took up his instrument, an expectant hush fell over the crowd. He sat there a moment as the silence grew deeper and deeper. Then with a glance toward the onlookers, he grinned and launched into a rollicking tune.

  Alone in his room, Kevik sat bent over his spell book at the small table. His staff was propped against the wall next to him, the light coming from the glow at its tip providing sufficient illumination to see the symbols and words written upon the pages. He much preferred to use the light of his staff over that of a candle. The light from the spell tended to be brighter and remained constant, no annoying flickering like a candle.

  The page opened before him held one of the newest spells he had transcribed that last day he was at the Tower. It would provide the caster protection against magical attacks involving fire. He also had another that would do the same for cold which he would work on after this.

  Kevik worked on making his pronunciation of the symbols and words of the spell roll off the tongue as if they were born of his native speech. What many people outside of the magical community failed to understand was that the symbols were a language all their own. The exact same symbol would often be pronounced differently depending on where it fell within the spell. Which symbol came before or after it could also alter its pronunciation.

  When a magic user practiced a new spell and didn’t want to actually cast it, he had to do it piecemeal. Most spells were easily broken into sections, at least the ones he’d come across thus far in his studies. A magic user would work on the individual sections before putting them all together. The wrong inflection or timbre of the voice at any point could leave you with a spell that didn’t do anything. Or worse, have an unexpected, potentially lethal affect.

  The most common affect Kevik had experienced so far was an explosion. You see, once the magical energies begin to formulate, they have to go somewhere and usually in a volatile manner. Fortunately, most of the time the spell just fizzled out before sufficient magical energy had been generated.

  Both of the protective spells were exactly the same as the spell that protected the castor against missiles. The only difference was a set of three symbols near the end which designated the desired effect. He had the basic spell perfected, and now he could interchange the type of protection by substituting the different symbols. Of course, some protections required a different format of spell. Protection from a death spell would require a much more powerful format than what he was using here.

  It’s kind of like building a house. If all you wanted to put on the foundation was a single room of wood, you could use just about anything. But if you wanted to build a castle, you would need something much sturdier. Kevik understood that the format he was currently utilizing was the most basic. If he wished for a more powerful protection spell, he would need to learn a more advanced format.

  Irregardless, what was before him would suit his needs at the moment. These spells, along with others he planned to learn, would enable him to successfully pass the Wielder Test at the Tower once the mandatory year in which to wait between tests was over. Or at least he hoped these would suffice. He wasn’t about to wait any longer than absolutely necessary before standing within the Well of Thought once more.

  For over an hour he worked on the three symbols denoting fire protection. When he felt he had them down, he attempted to cast the spell. A shimmering appeared before him just as it had with the spell that protected the caster from missiles. It looked exactly the same. There was no real way to test the spell until he was faced with an attack. Had his master still lived, he could have tested it against one of his master’s offensive spells. But that option was no longer available to him. He’ll have to trust in the fact that he had incorporated the correct symbols into the spell properly, and that the spell had worked. The shimmering field had appeared as it was meant to after all.

  Excited at having successfully mastered a new spell, he canceled it and began working on the symbols for cold. An hour later, another shimmering field appeared as he cast the spell which incorporated the symbols for cold. Canceling the spell, he closed his spell book, leaned back in his chair, and stretched. Oh yes, he was proud of himself. Now, for a little practice.

  He stood up and proceeded to move the furniture of the room against the walls to create a cleared area in the middle. Once there was enough room for what he planned to do, he walked into the cleared area and took a calming breath. Then in his mind’s eye, he imagined several attackers spaced about the room. Casting his first protection spell, the battle was joined.

  Imagined spears of fire would hurl at him only to be met with a quickly conjured field of protection. The fire spears would be deflec
ted away only to be replaced with the arrows of a bowman. Another protective field would materialize to deflect that attack. Over and over, Kevik cast his protective spells as quickly as he could. His master had stated over and over that such practice was vital to a magic user’s continued existence. If in a pinch you were unable to quickly and accurately cast your spells, you were dead. So over and over, fields of protection would materialize only to disappear and be replaced by another.

  After a quarter hour of this, he began to feel fatigued. ‘Are you tired?’ his master used to ask during similar practices back when he was alive. Not giving in to the fatigue, Kevik began incorporating more spells into his practice. Lights would flare, bobbing spheres began dancing about the room, as more and more imaginary attackers joined the fray. Sweat began to form upon his brow.

  Suddenly, the door to the room opened and a figure appeared. So caught up in his ‘battle’, he reacted without thought. Firing a bolt of energy, he took the figure square in the chest. The force of the blow was such that the figure was thrown back across the hallway and slammed into the wall on the other side. Riyan’s cry of pain brought Kevik back to reality.

  Bart ran into the room with a dart in hand. “What’s going on?” he demanded, fully expecting an attack to materialize.

  In the doorway, Chad and Chyfe stood with swords drawn as Soth bent over Riyan and inspected his chest.

  Kevik was shocked by the fact his magic had struck out at Riyan. “I…I was practicing,” he said.

  From the hallway they heard Soth say, “He’s alright. Though his chest is a bit red.”

  Rushing past Bart, Kevik shouldered his way between Chad and Chyfe on his way to Riyan’s side. “I’m so sorry,” he said as he knelt by his side.

  Riyan opened his eyes and looked up at him. “Forget it,” he said. He sat up against the wall and groaned.

  Kevik produced the red healing gem and said, “Let me take care of it.”

  Shaking his head, Riyan waved him away and said, “That’s alright. It isn’t that bad.”