“No one except for the city guard,” Samuel reminded. “Don’t forget that we’re trying to keep things quiet, remember? When I wanted to make a lightning bolt, you said- “
“This can’t be traced. And besides, who cares if the city guard finds us? We’ve got enough cash to bribe any of them. We handle it now. We handle it so everyone else knows to fear us.”
“So, you aren’t scared of the guard now? What happened?”
Cimir growled a little. “I was wronged, Samuel. My magic failed me, and I was left in the hands of thieving jackals who made the worst mistake of their lives. I demand satisfaction.”
Samuel shook his head. “He didn’t kill you. Sure, he robbed us, stabbed you and threatened us, but damn it man, does that mean he deserves to die? You made all sorts of promises that we’d be doing good, you made me swear to never sell weapons as a service. And what? You’re just going to go back on all of it cause someone stabbed you? You aren’t a killer man, there’s no going back from that. Sure, to kill in self-defense is one thing, but to use that thing you’ve got there? That’s straight up murder. And I didn’t think we set out to be murderers. We’re petty criminals at best and bootleggers at our worst. It’s your call, but please…don’t add murder to our crimes.”
Cimir stared long and hard at Samuel. The words tugged at his heart, but he could feel the judgmental gaze of Master Hemlock upon his neck.
“I don’t…” Cimir whispered. “I don’t want to be seen as weak.”
“Mercy isn’t a weakness, man,” Samuel replied. “Sure, they wronged you and yeah, we gotta figure some way to get them to realize we aren’t to be messed with, but we didn’t set out to be killers. You’re just mad, dude. Take a few days, think it over. Take a deep breath. The anger will dissipate, but that guy’s blood will always stain your hands.”
“You do good to your friends and to strangers, and wrought terror upon your foes,” Cimir mumbled.
“Then bring as much terror as you like,” Samuel said. “But don’t go lose your mind over this. It’s not worth it.”
Cimir nodded but said nothing. They were, surprisingly wise words from Samuel. But then again, the man always had a good heart. He sat in silence, pondering what he would do. The crystal in his hands, still warm from its creation, would be deeply satisfying to use. But for how long, he wondered?
Edwardo the Falcon sat in his guildhall, at the head of the table. An impromptu feast had been called for, as a few hours ago Valkhorn the Brute’s corpse had been found in the streets. The Endless Legion apparently had an end and with their leader dead, no doubt they would fall apart. Between that and their loss of magical weapons, the Legion was on its way out.
“Cheers, my friends, cheers!” Edwardo shouted as he raised his wine glass high. “For a return to normalcy and hopefully a return to sanity.” The room heartily agreed with his toast and toasted back to him.
As he took a sip of the red wine, a strange sense of dread washed over him. It was unlike anxiety or nervousness, nor was it akin to fear. It was a sense of… finality, a realization that his time was over. Was this an illness? An attack of the heart? He tried to resist the strange sensation, but it grew stronger and stronger.
Before him appeared a tall, pallid horse, it’s entire body white and bloated. The horse whinnied and stamped its feet against the table, knocking over the food and his drink. The rest of the people, his loyal friends and allies, fell to the ground, cowering at such a horrific sight.
Edwardo went to draw a weapon, but before he could do so, he felt his throat become closed. He thrashed about and gasped as the oxygen left his body. The horse neighed and stamped its feet at him, it’s burning red eyes gazing deep into his. He hacked and wheezed, desperate to pull in air, to feel the sweet relief of oxygen entering his now burning lungs, but to no avail.
He sank to his knees and tried with all of his might to breath, but no breath would come. With hands clutched around his throat, Edwardo the Falcon realized that he would die. There was no way to escape. His friends and loyal warriors were cowering in fear of such a ghastly visage. Was this how all men died? Or had he been chosen for some nefarious purpose?
As he felt the world go black, as his vision began to fade, the horse’s body shifted and contorted. It changed from a pale, nightmarish corpse of a creature, to a white haired young man, the man known as Cimir. His eyes were both intact and he wore a fiendish grin. He knelt down so that his face was eye level with Edwardo.
“The next time,” he whispered, “you, your family, your friends. They all die just like this. Return all that we have, with compensation, or I repeat these events.”
And just like that, Edwardo found himself laying on the ground in a crowded feast hall. All eyes were upon him, expressions of concerns and terror upon their faces as to why their leader had suddenly fallen onto the floor. It appeared that Edwardo the Falcon had made a rather high wager and had decidedly lost.
“Back,” he gasped as a few of his friends helped him up. “Send all of it back. The crystals, the books…and all the gold we have to give. Send it all back, now!”
Chapter 14:
Groth struggled to get words out. The language of humans wasn’t easy to speak. He grasped the meaning of the words, the grammar, the structure and the dialects, but what he, like all Stonemar, was unable to grasp was how to speak it. The anatomy of a Stonemar was complex, borne of magic and earth. The beings that so long ago created the Stonemar race, be it the Stonelord or perhaps some crazed wizard, saw little need for them to be able to speak the language of humans. Now, fated to wander the Toplands, Groth desperately wished that his creators had given them better control over words.
Thanks to the inability to speak quickly or decisively, Groth, like most of his brethren, was seen as an imbecile. To most, he was a moron incapable of forming simple sentences. Few had the patience to get to know Groth, to learn his ways, instead they merely cast him aside, under the false belief that he was a simpleton. No respect would come his way.
Work was plenty, however, for a Stonemar. Heavy things needed lifting, gangs of criminals wanted protection. Nobles wanted interesting set pieces to wander their parties and amuse their guests. Groth had been, at one point in his long and tedious life, a scholar. A respected member of his pod, studying works of literary giants, both Stonemar and human. Grunt work was shameful for a being of his pedigree. Without a need to eat, without a need for any of the things humans so desperately killed one another over, he found little reason to work in the mines or on the farms.
The allure of Glimmer had been powerful. Groth, as the rest of his people, had been forced to come to the surface, the Toplands. His homeland, Giogratha, were destroyed, perhaps at the behest of the Stonelord or some other malicious being. He didn’t know. But all he knew was that the greatest city in the land, a city known for being the birthplace of many brilliant artists and philosophers, had been close by. And so, Groth had walked, in search of finding a place he could call home.
Glimmer had been indifferent. The only work available was unfitting of a mind of his caliber, but without the ability to speak quickly and properly, no human was interested in what he could produce. And so, he wandered, unsure of what to do with his life. No one spoke to him. No one cared.
Of course, he would one day meet with a petty thug who offered him a split of the loot to intimidate rich folks into giving their hard earned gold without a fight. The offer had been like all of the other ones, clever humans who would swear up and down that he’d make good money. Money. As if that was the only thing that mattered. That’s all these humans seemed to care about.
So why did he take the offer? Why after months and months of aimless wandering did Groth finally break and give in to the temptation to commit heinous crimes against those who have done him no wrong? He still wasn’t sure. Perhaps he had been too bored with his life. Perhaps he wanted some kind of thrill.
Groth’s attentions shifted as daylight began to push the night-time aw
ay. He had been sitting quietly by the bridge, staring up at the massive skyscrapers and towers that overlooked the streets. A dead body had been taken away by the city guards a few hours ago. Samuel had promised to return. The city guard wouldn’t care much if a Stonemar had been defending himself from a brigand, but for some reason Samuel seemed skittish about the police.
The footsteps of his new companion echoed from a distance. Groth began to formulate what he was going to say, picking short, easy to use words that wouldn’t take much time for him to speak. The awful truth of the situation had been while yes, Groth had robbed Samuel, the guilt had been consuming him. He was an honorable creature, who believed in doing good to others. In the heat of the moment, the pleasure and the thrill of stealing had been quite overwhelming, but afterwards, Groth felt nothing but remorse.
The gold had been promptly thrown to a small pack of children on the streets in the Golden District and Groth had set about wandering once again. Desperation and boredom had turned him down a wrong road, but he would not fall victim to such thinking again. His rescue of Samuel from the brigand was a means of apology. Taking the life of a human was easy enough, and Groth had fought his fair share of idiots who thought precious gems were inside of his body. Still, after decades of the occasional fight, he had little taste for violence. He would refuse Samuel’s offer and apologize once again for his crimes, provided Samuel cared enough to wait to hear it.
“Okay, so did they believe your story?” Samuel asked as he walked up. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked haggard. It was doubtful the human had slept.
Groth nodded. “I fear I cannot work for you,” he mumbled. Getting the words out was exhausting. He hoped the conversation would be quick.
“Why not?” Samuel asked as he crossed his arms. “You did brilliantly!”
“I am no fighter,” Groth replied. “I wronged you. And for that I am sorry. Take my actions as repentance and leave me to my ways.”
Samuel shook his head and chuckled a little. “You’re an odd one, you know that? But look, I was thinking yesterday, or this morning. I forget, haven’t slept in a while…anyway, I was thinking about helping you out. And I realized something.”
“What’s that?” Groth asked after a long pause.
“You don’t know what I can give you,” Samuel said. He looked around, to ensure that they were alone. The Golden District normally didn’t get started until the later morning, so the amount of people were minimal. There was no guard presence either.
Samuel produced a small gem from his pocket. It was about the size of a dagger and it glowed. Groth recognized it immediately. Elder Stone. That was a rarity to behold, at least in the Toplands.
“Look, I’m going to level with you, the reason that guy was trying to kill me was because of this. Not because of the cash value or because of how pretty it would look as a paperweight. No, my friend, this… this is the only magic that works in this city. I got a guy, he’s a sorcerer of sorts. He can make any magic work.”
Groth grunted at that. A bold claim. The Luminous Artifact was a very powerful type of ward, he had not seen a city able to thwart its power yet.
“You lie, I think,” Groth said.
Samuel grinned and squeezed the side of the gem. It lit up with a green energy, and a little spark went down to his boots. For a split second, he floated upwards, several inches across the ground. Groth’s eyes grew wide as he watched the man quickly land.
“Ain’t that a fancy trick?” he asked, winking at the Stonemar. “So, I figure, a guy like you would probably care more about this kind of stuff than money. Anything you want, we can make for you. In exchange, of course, for your protection.”
Groth slowly nodded at that. He knew immediately what he needed, an augmentation would allow him to speak freely. The magic could…it could let him use words as a human did, without impediment. He had sought such things before, but such a spell was astronomically expensive. Myths and rumors about the gems and gold caverns of the Stonelands often shaped how merchants saw him.
“You offer me much,” Groth said.
“Anything you want, six months of service. Having you to guard our workshop would be…it would be the perfect deterrent. They’d need to bring an army to take you down,” Samuel snickered. He put the stone back into his pocket. “So, do we have a deal?”
Groth nodded. “Yes.”
“Then come on, I’ll show you the way to our secret workshop,” Samuel said. He paused for a moment and looked back at Groth. “And…just for the record, we have crystals that are far more deadly than hovering. So, don’t think about doing anything stupid, got it?”
Groth chuckled at that. Typical humans, always so afraid of losing what they’ve stolen from someone else. “I am a thief no more,” he replied. Those words were easy enough to say, so he repeated them. “A thief no more.”
“Great!” Samuel said. He escorted Groth through the empty streets of the Golden District, cautiously looking around as he led the Stonemar. It was comical, in a sense, to watch a man try to avoid suspicion, when Groth was an eyesore. Eventually, they reached a wall that slid open, revealing a cramped workshop.
“Small,” Groth grunted. He squeezed through the door and shifted a bit, moving to the left so that Samuel could get past him. Another man was sitting at a table, reading books and eating breakfast.
“Yeah, sorry, we might need to get a bigger place,” Samuel said as he pushed past the Stonemar. “Cimir! This is Groth! He’s the bruiser I told you about.”
Cimir looked up from his studies. He began to hiss in a language quite familiar to Groth. “You speak the Serpent’s Tongue?” he asked.
Groth hissed back. “Of course, it is a surprise to meet a human who speaks their language. I take it you are an elect?” The hissing language was significantly easier to speak than human languages.
“You are well educated,” Cimir said. “I welcome you to this operation.”
“Hey, uh, care to allow me to join this conversation?” Samuel asked. “All I can hear is hissing.”
“Let’s not,” Cimir replied to Groth. “I’d rather him worry we’re talking about him behind his back.”
“Now that is what I’ve come to expect from a human,” Groth said. He chuckled a little. He was beaming, with the acknowledgement from Cimir. A small compliment to his intelligence, just the tiniest acknowledgement that Groth was more than just a lumbering bundle of muscle meant to smash and break things, gave him a joy he had not felt in the last ten years. Whatever these humans were up to, at least he knew Cimir would give him the proper respect. And maybe that is what all Groth needed.
Elias watched as the men carried several large crates into the dead end alley. As far as detective work went, he was surprisingly good at getting the location and name of the man who was selling the magical supplies. Samuel Goldenwine. A street rat who liked to show the locals how deep his pockets were. All of the signs pointed to him as the culprit. The sudden increase in his wealth, frequent sightings of him moving around all hours of the night, one witness even claimed that she saw him floating once.
Then there was the Guild Hall of the Sworn Blades. They confirmed a stranger arrived to sell wares, but they refused his services, unlike the ill-fated Valkhorn. After that, it was only a matter of footwork before Elias was able to pinpoint where Samuel was seen the most. The fact that men with crates were entering the alley, arms full of heavy boxes, and were leaving empty handed meant that there was some secret lair in there. But the question was whether Samuel was simply a salesman, or the one creating these items?
Elias waited patiently. Atop a roof of a local tavern, clearly hidden from view, he heard the curses and swears of the workers. They did not seem to care for their task, but their overseer, a tall man with a falchion on his side, took no guff from them, often threatening the men by placing his hand on the weapon and barking at them. Were they suppliers or clients?
After twenty minutes or so, the men finished their task. Leaving with
empty hands, the gang dispersed into the night, all going their separate ways. The alley was empty, giving Elias the important question as to whether he should check it out or wait until the daytime. He pondered for a few moments before taking a deep breath and standing up.
“I’ll have to meet with him sooner or later,” he muttered as he began to climb down the side of the tavern. Like most of the buildings in Glimmer, this one had a ladder that led from the roof to the ground. Long ago, building laws had mandated ladders for all structures, so that archers would be able to quickly take posts during invasions. Of course, to protest the law being passed, citizens would climb atop the roofs and throw rocks at the city watch. Elias had remembered reading that casebook when he was just a boy. He sighed, looking at the capitol building in the distance. How he missed his job.
Elias gingerly walked through the alley, searching for some signs of a secret door or panel. He had seen his fair share of false walls, for the capital building was full of escape routes and cleverly constructed tunnels. As he ran his hand along the wall at the dead end, he found a small cobblestone sticking out. Pressing it in, the wall began to grind as it slipped open.
Theft, Murder, and Crystals Page 8