Miller, Half-Orc

by J R Marshall

  I didn’t enter, but catching a boy by the arm told him to summon the landlord. It was cold, snow lay on the ground, and I needed attending to.

  The landlord came, and looked at me, worried that I would infest one of his better rooms, and saying as much, it was agreed that I would stay in a stable whilst two hot baths were made, and my clothes nigh boil washed whilst leather was treated to remove all signs of infestation. I stood naked, scratching my balls, until rags were provided, wondering if they had anything as effective as Tam’s lotions derived from plants, for lye probably wasn’t enough.

  I tarried three days in town and spent nine silver living well, my accommodation on the ground floor, but meditations whilst beneficial weren’t as deep as I would have liked, unable to fall near the little spirits; even when trying to push myself down I was still far too high to enjoy their company.

  However, my dreams were visited by a small spirit creature, one of the entities, of a type that dwells in the subconscious mind, darting into and playing with my imagination, changing the direction of my thoughts, especially when I slept. But I couldn’t communicate with him nor could I read his emotions, just knowing he was there at night when I slept, and upon awakening there was a residual awareness he was still travelling with me.

  The weather started to improve, and I had mainly waited for Git to be sufficiently able to traverse the snow, which still lay on the fields.

  There was a small caravan setting out and securing a ride with the help of a soldier who vouched I was safe, and exchanging the last of my copper pieces, Git and I sat on a large open-topped wagon carrying fleeces rolled into bales.

  Thus we departed two hours before midday, the wagons making their usual slow progress trundled up the north road heading for Cragtor and after some seven miles I left the caravan heading off into the wilderness, the moon hidden by clouds. My sight better than Git’s, we walked as quickly as the ground allowed, Git staying close to my heel.

  We laboured four or five miles across rough ground, and it was bitterly cold; Git wasn’t happy, and remained distressed until such time as the fire was lit. Eventually we reached camp and moving aside the branches concealing the opening I was pleased to find everything undisturbed.

  It took a while for the larger logs to catch alight, even after scraping the damp bark away and making feather cuts to the wood, but after thirty minutes the fire was established. It was approximately an hour before midnight and the sun wouldn’t rise until four hours before noon.

  Waking at the crack of dawn, the morning chorus muted, I made preparations for the day ahead; the fire needed stoking, I searched for animal tracks, fed the hound, and generally inspected the camp.

  Git wandered through the trees chasing the odd rabbit, but he was doing according to my will, for whilst he scurried around, it reassured me that little of danger or hazardous to my health was nearby.

  Finding the trapped squirrel still alive, I decided to continue with my earlier plan, the energy to enlarge and reduce along with a limited portal spell, powerful, indeed my most powerful remained charged in my body. Later I would try to convert higher powered spells into weaker applications. It was certainly possible but I didn’t know how.

  The sun was scarcely above the horizon, its weak light filtering through the branches, now devoid of leaves. I settled down to begin my meditation, keen to revisit the small entities, yet as I sat ready to touch the ground something disquieted me, something in my mind that I couldn’t ‘place my finger on’. Had I forgotten something? I couldn’t fathom what it was, but my feral senses were aroused. Could the little spirit entity be trapped? Was I receiving a warning?

  Pushing aside my caution, and getting ready to continue, alarms were sounding, and I couldn’t ignore them.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and rising to my feet, I grabbed my sword, already wearing my studded leather jerkin and touching the haft of my knife. Very quietly I went outside; Git bounded towards me.

  “Get inside.” I gently clicked my fingers and pointed; he sloped off, not understand what he had done wrong, but something was disquieting my mind. The hound looked from within the tent, eyes peering out, and changing my mind, I pointed to my heel, and Git followed me into a thicket, near to where I had hidden before, lying down silently.

  I waited in the cold, half an hour, and then something caught the corner of my eye. Something ruffled the side of my tent, but I had seen no one enter.

  Slowly, with little sound, for my feet tread gently on snow, I stole up and peered into the gloom. A small cloaked figure was searching through my possessions, opening my backpack, gently taking out items and laying them on the floor, but perhaps noticing a fractional change in the light coming through the doorway, he looked up, and seeing himself watched, darted out through a hole he had cut in the rear of the tent.

  Chasing after him, shouting for Git, I plunged into the undergrowth. My adversary was incredibly swift, difficult to keep up with; he was about four foot ten inches tall, fleet of foot, wearing dark clothes, a hood blown back revealed a mat of grey hair tied in a ponytail, and as he ran I saw a belt with pouches, a knife, and cord or thin rope.

  He ran so quickly, jumping into foliage and emerging at an angle, Git would run onwards in a different direction, and after three minutes he had eluded us.

  Returning to my tent I went through my backpack and was relieved that nothing seemed to be missing. The two tiny scrolls were there, and repacking everything, I grabbed rations, and set out, kicking the fire into the sides of the tent so that it caught on the edges, and soon the campsite was ablaze.

  Whoever it was that gained access, did so with neither my hound nor myself being aware and whilst he may not be deadly the camp was now compromised. We were heading for the road and I suspected we were being followed.

  We ran, the hound enjoying the change, but I was alarmed, never having imagined anyone could sneak up so successfully and then evade me with such professionalism.

  How could we be found, unless followed last night, but then why wait for the morning? Too many questions, and I just felt vulnerable. Perhaps I should turn and fight, but this person would probably avoid a confrontation, or seek a time of his choosing; he was potentially lethal.

  We pressed on and sliding down a long but shallow valley we entered a freezing cold stream. I grabbed my hound and uttered a spell, transporting myself and a bewildered hound less than a third of a mile down the ravine.

  He would see where we came in but not my departure, tracks would be lost, plus a little distance gained.

  We ran and walked, the hound flagging after two miles, its legs impacted by the freezing snow. So I carried him, sometimes slung over my shoulder, sometimes under my arm, either way I encouraged the hound to run where the snow was thinnest for it was uncomfortable for the two of us.

  It look three hours of hard slogging, for the ground was covered in melting snow and underneath coarse heather, boggy in places. Eventually we reached the road, some seven more miles north of Hedgetown and walking southwards for three miles came upon a patrol, and I felt stupid.

  Not knowing any of the soldiers, I continued to walk the rest of the way; we would reach town before the light failed, and I would secure my room and place wards on the door. Git could sleep in the stables.

  I had no money, and the guards reluctantly agreed to accept two copper in an hour’s time, for one remembered me from a few nights ago, mentioning Elranir’s name.

  Hammering on the merchant’s door, he looked surprised to see me and handed me twenty silver pieces, adjusting my scrip or chit as he called it, before I secured lodgings at the Water Rat, with scarcely a flea or louse on me.

  A lad was found to deliver the two copper pieces, receiving one for his services. Both I and the hound ate well, though I retired early and changing my mind, allowed Git into the room, though I made sure the shutters and door were secure, and spiked one of the door locks, a double protection.

  In the morning I headed to
wards Grimnir’s keep, needing to leave Hedgetown for I couldn’t reach my spirit entities, and during my sleep had become more convinced that the warning received the previous morning had originated from the little entity that visited my dreams and even now I vaguely half sensed was present.

  Was this my ally in craft? Not what I expected, but I needed to know.

  Nervous as I walked through Hedgetown, even early in the morning, I wanted to avoid close contact with anyone.

  Approaching the castle I noticed that the gates were half open, and only a couple of people stood outside, possibly arriving early and required to wait inline.

  “Lord Grimnir,” I bellowed. “Torak, Elranir, Roderick!” Not in the slightest of hope expecting Grimnir to hear or reply, but I wanted to be noticed.

  My hound and I approached, meaning to walk unimpeded through the gates, a forlorn hope, yet sometime confidence gets you halfway and it worked, a man looking over whispered to another, and then a third, yet I was still denied access. Bloody right I should be, or someone is incompetent.

  A guard less aggressive than he might otherwise have been, came down a spiral staircases as I stood in the archway and asked after my business.

  “Lord Grimnir wants to see me immediately.” But, I added, trying to sound plausible, that, “In his absence, I am to see Zolpetre, without delay,” and without pausing added, “my name is Miller, it is urgent… May I sit there?” A bench just within the outer courtyard.

  I had learnt that one allowable act frequently reinforces a proceeding less agreeable request, and I was trying it for the first time. Some turd of a cleric had talked about manipulating minds, and he had tried his skills on me without success, but his reasoning had seemed logical, and remembering his advice from years ago I sat down on the bench, not waiting for permission. All about confidence and control.

  Interestingly it seemed to be working, but as I sat waiting, Git at my side, I doubted I would ever study such matters. Nothing focusses the mind more than a sword scratching your enemy’s scrotum.

  Ten minutes later an official arrived, and I thought, Shit, I’m going to be kicked out, but I was wrong, and was shown into Grimnir’s hall.

  Grimnir was sat on a stool in front of his throne, though he called the throne his high chair, for thrones rightly belonged to kings and he was only a lord.

  “I prefer it here, it’s more comfortable than that pompous seat.” He thumbed his hand behind.

  “Why do you have the damn thing then?” I asked, already feeling relaxed in his presence.

  “It’s expected…” And he marched around the hall, shutting doors, and shouting down one corridor, asked that his breakfast be doubled, for he had a guest.

  I explained everything to Grimnir, except my application of craft and the meditations with Sandy and Tam, although he knew an awful lot about craft for one who never practised the skill.

  He cross examined me about the men I killed and the words they spoke, of the recovered merchandise and where I had sold it and approved of much that I had done, even commending Elranir, and the guards at the gate.

  Only when I told of the shrouded figure did he become serious; over and over again he asked for the most exacting of details, and after twenty minutes of talking and eating he shocked me with words said so nonchalantly.

  “How did you know that an assassin was stalking you?”

  I looked aghast. “I didn’t know… not until now.”

  “But you sensed the danger, so you must have had some inkling… Have you got a helper in craft, Miller, or does your hound commune with you telepathically?”

  Laugh? I did, but it was no laughing matter, and Grimnir thought not too.

  “You know that every large town has a small Thieves Guild, and larger towns such as this, have one for assassins, though in all locations they are hidden, impossible to fully eradicate and at the moment an ancillary office of the thieves.”

  I looked surprised, and questioned how he combatted such lawlessness, and when he said he knew who the current guild-master was, “Though he would never admit it if I arrested him,” I looked incredulously at him.

  “Just do it,” I said.

  “And then another springs up, yet I have no influence?” Grimnir’s tongue was contorting trying to eject a seed caught between two teeth.

  “So I will keep the status quo, and find out who hired the assassin and have the contract voided, or would you prefer me powerless and unable to influence? Which or what would you have me do?”

  “Bloody hell! Towns and law are complicated… Does Tam have an assassins’ network operating in Cragtor?”

  “No, she expelled them all, and now I’ve got them, but I don’t have her skills in your craft. Besides, my town is on the frontier, she understands that my location disadvantages me.”

  “So just to be clear, you know the Thieves’ Guildmaster, he knows you, and you can talk to him and he won’t try to assassinate you?”

  “Exactly.” Grimnir was trying to impale a fried mushroom that was left on my abandoned plate.

  “It’s a symbiotic arrangement, he knows I would kill him; his whole family, cousins, nephews, aunts and uncles, his children and friends, and that I, not he, command in Hedgetown, he operates under duress.” Grimnir succeeded in skewering the fungus.

  “He avoids infracting upon my court and officials, at least whilst they are in my employ, and occasionally he ingratiates himself by giving useful information.

  “It works because he’s not allowed to get too powerful, he knows the town needs to function, he doesn’t disturb the goose that lays the golden egg, he’s the carrion breeder, the rat that clears garbage, and for the most part avoids upsetting me.”

  Some people are industrious, others not knowing where to start, but a fleeting thought crossed my mind, a jest to myself… “Bloody hell, I’ve missed my vocation in life.”

  “Would you like to meet him, Miller?” Grimnir smiled, a play on my emotions, knowing I learnt whilst he imparted knowledge.

  “What! The man who agreed my death? Too bloody right I’d like to meet him.”

  Grimnir belched, and asked to be excused, but before departing, he stuck his head through a door and uttered some words I couldn’t hear, and leaning into the hall once more, “Just visiting the shit hole, back in a minute.”

  I waited, walking around Grimnir’s hall, looking at statues and carvings, examining how dust settled, and soot marked the carved woods farther above, noticing a fireplace and peering up, wondering if a thief could shinny down.

  Three minutes later Zolpetre entered the hall, and took a seat ten feet from Grimnir’s stool.

  “Hi Zolpetre!” But he had not the grace for small talk, and I desperately tried to fart, but couldn’t.

  “How much does an assassin cost to hire!” I asked, but he with the crass aloofness of all bureaucrats said he didn’t know, and I thought he was an ignorant lying turd. “You have never heard of assassins? Or that they work for money?”

  “I know of them but not their fees.” And as I stared at him, he deigned to give a little more information. “Apparently it depends upon the difficulty.”

  “Er, huh, no shit!” What an obvious statement. “So someone like you wouldn’t cost much?”

  He was now more than ever convinced he didn’t want to talk to me, so we both waited for Grimnir to return.

  “Ah, Grimnir,” as he walked into the hall. “How much does an assassin cost to hire, say, to kill me?”

  “Five gold pieces, but they would charge more if they knew you better.” He walked over to his seat and mentioned to Zolpetre that I would be staying within the castle grounds for the next day, and possibly until the day after, and that quarters on the ground floor would be needed.

  Like hell I will, I thought to myself. I’m off to Cragtor.

  Grimnir also gave instructions to summon Guildmaster Jambeedee, for lunch, immediately. It would be business, and he wasn’t to be unavailable, the point impressed.

&nb
sp; “Miller is to be given unimpeded access to all parts of the castle, now and in the future, no hindrance.”

  I spent the rest of the morning helping Roderick train Grimnir’s recruits, but I wondered if I actually encouraged or demoralised, for being a brutish opponent, even when Roderick confiscated my wooden sword, half the recruits were in disarray and leaving me with a wooden dagger no larger than a twig, I fended off one attack after another; all the recruits were battered and dejected.

  Sitting on the outer ramparts, watching the industry within the grounds and observing guards at the main gate, I wondered what a Guildmaster thief would look like. Merchants and others entered and left the castle; could I guess who he was amongst the many who passed below?

  About midday, I received a summons to join Grimnir, and gathering my normal attire marched into the main hall, telling the door warden to piss off, when he objected to my weapons. “Unencumbered access, you turd. I’ll be encumbered without my sword.” And by the time he’d worked out the nonsensical words, I was walking across the floor.

  Sat around a modestly large table lightly covered in food with wooden plates, a wiry individual was talking to Grimnir, but turned to observe my entrance.

  “Good day, Jambeedee,” I said, as I walked towards him.

  As I crossed the hall, I had an understanding, I instantly knew who had trespassed against me, and why.

  Jambeedee stood up and offered his hand, greeting me, but I refused to reciprocate and observing him noticed the quality of his clothes, that whilst drab and subdued, upon closer inspection had subtle quality, the material being finely made and expensive.

  With considerable grace, all a conceit, Jambeedee spoke. “I apologise for any perceived infraction upon your health, Master Miller, but Lord Grimnir has asked that I use my influence, modest though it is, to secure your peace.”

  There would be none, I thought.

  I suspected the merchant, my would-be factor had arranged my death, for I had six hundred and ninety-two silver pieces in his care, and my equipment amounted to an additional thirty-five hundred. Sufficient motivation for murdering an unknown itinerant half-orc, and I wondered if the Water Rat’s innkeeper was also complicit.