by Wilson Harp
He pulled his feet off of their steps and into the air. Gingerly he set his right foot beside his right hand and again transferred the weight. So many people thought that a silent thief was a fast thief, but Delacour had known for years that wasn’t so. If you wanted to move quickly, you would make plenty of noise. Most thieves who worked that way were part of gangs. One part of the gang would make a large disturbance which would cover the members of the gang that would be stealing what they were after. The second group was only quiet in comparison to the diversion.
Delacour took his time as he climbed the stairs. Croft was most likely still awake, but the others were probably asleep. No lights trickled out from the second floor, and only the glow of the fireplace in the common room below allowed even the slightest shape to a normal human. Delacour, of course, was not merely a normal human. He believed in using magic to gain an advantage whenever necessary. A bracelet firmly attached to his forearm allowed Delacour to see the corridor as if in twilight. The bracelet, set with two sapphires, was enchanted to provide the vision of an elf. Enabling him to see in the dimmest of lights, this was one of the few magical items that Delacour had paid to have created for him.
Delacour looked carefully at the eighth step. As he suspected, this step was a single finger’s width higher than the others. This was what had caused men to trip on it heading up and stumble when coming down. A simple mistake by the original builder had caused countless numbers of accidents and spills. Delacour imagined that more than a few fights had started from a spill down those steps into a crowded room of rowdy patrons. An inn like this, one that catered to adventurers and travelers, was sure to have seen plenty of fights. Of course, the number of deaths would be quite small. From what Delacour could tell, innkeepers everywhere swore a sacred oath when they built, took over, or inherited an inn. They all swore that no injury would come to their guests if it could be prevented, that their hospitality would be offered to all, and that they would never again seek adventure. Delacour thought the last part odd, but he had never met an innkeeper who had not been an adventurer before he or she settled down. It was one of those mysteries of existence that felt better the less you thought about it.
Delacour finally stepped on the solid planks of the second floor. There was a short hallway in front of him that led to a small storage room. To his right, the hallway switched back to parallel the stairway. Delacour carefully turned the corner and looked down the hallway where the guest rooms were. Six doors were on the left and four on the right. The wizard and the girl had been told to take the second room on the left. Delacour was certain Martel and his friends were in the first room on the left as it was the easiest to get to and from the stairs. If there was any trouble they could respond instantly.
A snore and snort broke the silence of the night, and Delacour held still. Baldric, that smelly dwarf, was in first room to the right. He was directly across from the room that the wizard was in. The silver necklace around Delacour’s neck protected him from most magic spells, but only his agility and experience in fighting would protect him from the weapons of Martel, Baldric and the others. Baldric would have no hesitation in using the warhammer that hung on his belt to crack open Delacour’s skull. While he had only met a handful of dwarves in his travels, Delacour was certain that any of them would hold a long and serious grudge if they were led into a trap where they would be devoured by carnivorous worms.
As fast and skilled as Baldric and Martel were, the one who concerned him the most was the girl called Mirari. For being the daughter of two powerful wizards, she had great skill at the use of a knife. She had almost caught him at Heran’s tower. There were a couple of times that her blade had tasted his flesh in the few seconds that he had engaged her. He had hoped to subdue her and kill the wizard right then and there, but the girl was too well trained to be taken quickly. He had been forced to make the choice between killing her and fleeing. If he could only find out what had happened to Alinor. If Alinor was dead, he could kill Mirari. Alinor had been an only child, and her blood would die with Mirari unless she had borne other children after she disappeared. From his agents in the south he had learned that Mirari had gone on a bit of a rampage among her relatives. She had seen to the deaths of the rest of Heran’s blood. Delacour wondered what she would think if she knew how much time and trouble she had saved him.
The sounds of Martel and Ermine’s light snores came from the first room on the left as Delacour slipped by. He made his way to the door he was after and listened. He heard the sound of one person breathing, deep in sleep. Delacour thought that it was odd that only one person would be in the room, but perhaps the girl was sensitive about how people perceived her. He tried the door latch, but it was locked. Delacour reached into a narrow pocket sewn into his jacket and pulled out the small steel tools that he needed to unlock the door. In a few seconds, the click of the releasing latch broke the silence in the hallway. From the doorway behind him, Delacour heard the dwarf roll over and mumble something in Dwarvish.
He waited for a slow fifty count before he turned the latch again. This time the door swung open silently. Delacour was grateful the innkeeper oiled the hinges on his guest room doors. He peered into the room. The light from the stars filtered in through the window. The moon was just a sliver in the sky, and a few clouds helped dim even that faint light. The journals were sitting on a shelf across from the door, and the girl was asleep on the bed against the wall on the far right. Her back was to the door and her dark hair spilled across the bed.
After a quick estimate of how much the girl would weigh and how easily he could maneuver down the stairs with her slung over his shoulder, Delacour decided that he could get the books and the girl at the same time. Slowly he pulled a blade from its sheath at the back of his belt. This blade had been coated with a poison that would paralyze if he made even the slightest cut. Delacour stepped carefully into the room. He avoided the small rug in the middle of the room. Rugs sometimes slipped or hid a loose floor board that could creak.
He looked down at the sleeping girl and paused. Something was too perfect about this. He had hoped to find where the journals were stored. He had also hoped to find where and how he could grab the girl. Now both the journals and the girl just happened to appear and present themselves for his easy removal. Something warned him against such a fortuitous turn of events.
The girl seemed bigger on the bed than he remembered her. Her hair was distinctive, and she was curled up sleeping on her side, but she looked bigger than he would have imagined. He reached out with his left hand to pull the hair away from her face.
The girl on the bed struck out and hit him hard in the chest. He slashed with his blade as he tumbled back across the room. The door across the hall burst open and the wizard, not the dwarf he would have imagined, came towards Delacour. He heard a woman grunt from the bed and knew that his blade had found its mark. He threw the paralyzing blade at the wizard, but it went wide as the floor underneath him rose up.
Cursing, Delacour dove towards the bed as a blue shimmering light filled the room. The potion that had rendered him invisible had lost its power when he had started moving quickly, but the time for stealth was over. A flick of his wrists put a blade in each hand as he rolled onto the bed. The woman in the bed had long white hair now instead of a mop of black curls. The wizard must have placed an illusion on her. She was gripping her arm and losing the ability to move. Sad that the poison would wear off in an hour or so. Sadder still that he didn’t even have the spare moment to stab her exposed throat.
The floorboards under the rug had been thrown up, and Martel and Baldric were jumping out of some hidden compartment. Well, Martel was jumping. Baldric was scrambling like some drunken monkey stuck in a muddy ditch. Delacour jumped into the air back at the wizard as he threw his knives at the adventurers coming up from the floorboards. One caught Martel in his leg as he dove to the side; the other glanced off the dwarf’s helmet. A quick somersault in the air landed Delacour on his feet
facing the wizard who was blocking the doorway.
He had glimpsed something inside the hidden compartment in the floor as he had spun in the air—a bundle of journals bound with a leather strap. The journals sitting out so invitingly were a decoy. The wizard had secured the real journals in the secret compartment in the room.
Delacour twisted and rolled onto his back as the wizard cast another spell at him. He fell headfirst into the secret compartment in the floor. He grabbed the journals by the leather strap with one hand as his other hand pushed off of the bottom of the secret chamber. He curled into a ball and kicked when he had spun himself upright. The force was enough for him to clear the compartment and land on the floor.
Delacour glanced around. The woman on the bed was rigid and stiff. Martel had dropped his sword and was grasping at the knife stuck deep in his leg. The dwarf was almost out of the compartment. The wizard was in the middle of casting another spell and was blocking the door. Behind him, framed in the doorway, was Mirari. Two men behind her were trying to move past her and into the room.
Delacour wished he could grab her, but he didn’t have the time. He turned, kicked the dwarf hard enough in the head to knock him back into the compartment, and jumped at the window. He spun in the air so that he hit the window with his shoulder. The wood frames and glass panels of the window shattered, cutting him through his thin shirt. He tucked in tightly and hit the ground in a roll. A fifteen-foot drop was enough to knock the wind out of even the strongest man if he didn’t know how to land, but Delacour had practiced jumps at almost twice that height for years. He rolled twice and popped to his feet, dashing away into the night. He clutched the journals to his chest as he made his escape.
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Martel grunted as he pulled the blade from his leg. “Where did he land?” he asked Orias.
The wizard shook his head as he looked out the shattered window. “He took off straight into the wilds. I think he just wants to get distance from here.”
Martel limped over to the bed and looked at Ermine. “I know him. His name is Delacour, and that is the second time he’s tried to kill me.”
“I know him as well. He’s the one who answered the door at Heran’s tower. For some reason my spells don’t affect him,” said Orias.
Martel bent down and listened to Ermine’s shallow breathing. “She’s alive, but he must have had poison on the blade he cut her with.”
“Will she be alright?” asked Baldric as he climbed out of the compartment in the floor.
“She should be,” Martel said as he examined the cut on her arm. “It looks like a paralyzing poison. Probably thought he could take Mirari out of here without a sound.”
Orias pulled a small vial of liquid from a pouch on his belt. “Here, this is a powerful antidote for most poisons.”
Martel took the vial and opened it. He poured a few drops into Ermine’s mouth. Her convulsions slowed and her breathing became normal. “Don’t worry Ermine, you’ll be fine,” he said as he laid her back against the bed.
He looked back to the doorway and saw Horas and Lendin looking in over Mirari’s shoulder. “Lendin, where is Donal?”
“Uncle Donal and Medrick ran down the stairs after the man jumped from the window. I think they are going to try to track him,” said Lendin.
“No,” said Donal as he pushed the young men aside. “He is fast as a rabbit and there is no way to track him in this dark.”
Donal crossed the room to the bed.
“Martel, get a tight bandage above that wound; you’re bleeding heavily still,” he said as he leaned over Ermine. “A paralyzing poison. The antidote is working, thank the Divine. I think this is evidence that he wanted to kidnap Mirari.”
“Why me?” said the young woman.
“Because your parents were instrumental in sealing the necromancer Cathos inside his tomb,” said Donal. “He needs your blood to counter the magic that their blood activated.”
“He got the real journals,” said Martel. “If he can decipher them, he will know exactly how to counter the spell. Then he can release Cathos.”
“But he needs Mirari to do it,” said Donal. “As long as we keep her safe, he can’t free Cathos.”
“No,” said Orias, “he does not need Mirari.”
“But if my mother lives, then he needs my blood,” said Mirari.
“The only ones that he needs to counter are Donal, Calaran, and King Patrus. All the rest are dead.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Donal.
Orias reached into his robe and fished out a locket on a golden chain. “This was Alinor’s, given to her by Jelric. It is a powerful magical device, but only she could use its full power.”
Mirari crossed the room and took the amulet from Orias’ hand. She then slapped the wizard across the face. “How dare you keep this from me! I suspected you knew of her fate, but you always said you did not. You lied to me and you kept this part of her for yourself.”
“We set Ermine up as bait because we believed he would try to kidnap Mirari. If he had discovered that Alinor was dead, he would have just killed her!” shouted Martel. “That is a risk none of us agreed to take.”
“Only one other person knew that Alinor was dead, and he didn’t know it until just now.” Orias looked at Medrick when he finished speaking.
“I found the locket on a skeleton in the goblin mine. I didn’t know who it belonged to. I handed it over to Master Orias to examine and study since it was enchanted,” said the wizard’s apprentice.
“So Lendin, the elf in the woods, and any member of the royal family are who this man needs, right?” asked Donal.
“No,” said Orias. “Only one is needed. If Alinor were alive, he would need Mirari, but no wizard is alive who sealed in Cathos—only witnesses to the ceremony. The blood of witnesses is not as binding as the blood of wizards. He only needs one. Our best hope is that he cannot decipher the journals. If he can, then our only hope is to protect all of the royal family in Loramund.”
“We need to get the journals back. Maybe they have other ways to strengthen the magic,” said Martel.
“No, that would be a waste of time and effort,” said Orias.
“Why is that?” asked Donal.
“I memorized them. Nothing in them would help us with more than we already know,” said the wizard.
“As long as we know everything, Orias,” said Donal. “We know everything, don’t we?”
“The only thing we don’t know is who that man is,” said Orias.
“We met him in Gen a few months ago. We needed someone who could move quietly and easily in the dark for a couple of jobs,” said Martel.
“We can start looking there. Is there anything else you can tell us?” asked Donal.
“Well,” said Baldric. “I think he is from Loramund originally.”
“How do you know that?” asked Martel.
“The night of the first job, I brought a keg of beer to keep us company. I offered him a glass, and the little wine sipper wrinkled his nose like I’d passed gas. I asked him if he never drank beer and he said that he would take a glass of Permagon Ale on occasion, but none of the swill that I drank. Permagon Ale is brewed by Aldous Permagon once a year in a three hundred year old barrel and is sold for a gold penny a glass at The High Horse tavern in Loramund.”
Baldric looked around at the others in the room. “You don’t imagine that I know my beer?”
“Ok, maybe he is from Loramund. I would say he probably is well connected and has access to a lot of money as well. Martel, when Ermine is up to it, go to Gen and get Namos to help you ask around the city for anyone who knows this Delacour. I’m going to go to Loramund and see if I can intercept Calaran on his way back to Black Oak. I’ll also see if anyone has any information about this man at The High Horse tavern. Send messages to Croft if you find out anything. I think it goes without saying, but no one needs to travel alone from now on,” said Donal.
“Does that i
nclude you?” asked Orias.
“Yes, I am going to take Horas and Lendin with me.”
“I’m going as well,” said Mirari. “I don’t feel comfortable staying with Master Orias at this moment. I’m rather upset at him and have been known to show my displeasure with some vigor at times.”
Donal looked at Orias, who nodded after a second of thought.
“Go get your gear and meet us at the stable. Horas, Lendin, get your gear as well. We ride within the hour.”
The High Horse
The sounds of the tavern were familiar to Horas. Every tavern or common room sounded much the same: the hushed whispers of people engaged in private conversation, the loud laughter of those deep into their drink, doors opening and closing as maids moved from the kitchen and back, mugs being placed full or empty on tables, the barkeep being asked for more beer. Even in a place as refined and well-moneyed as this, the sounds were unchanging. Horas had been in ten taverns since he had started his life as an adventurer. None came close to The High Horse, though. The main room itself had a ceiling that rose thirty or more feet, and tables were set around two sets of balconies that looked down on the ground floor. Large wheels suspended by ropes had dozens of candles burning on them. Lamps and candles on the walls and tables kept the common room well lit except for a few corners. Horas suspected that, even in a place like this, there would be some who would want a table in the shadows for their business.
A large stage was set in the middle of the floor. It was covered with tables, chairs and patrons now, but they could easily be moved if there was an entertainer who would demand such a stage.
“This is amazing,” said Lendin. He was staring at all that Horas was quietly taking in.
Lendin had been wide-eyed ever since they had approached the building. Donal said that The High Horse was the biggest tavern in Loramund, and that meant one of the biggest in the world. Horas believed it. The entire town hall of Black Oak would have fit inside this one giant room. Donal led them into the tavern and picked a table along a wall for them to sit at.