by Steven Drake
“I didn’t want to believe it either,” Darien sounded more tired and wounded than ever before. At least he’s talking to me, Jerris thought as Darien got up and began pacing the room, “What other explanation is there? If you’re going to be a good king, you shouldn’t automatically assume the best in people.”
“And you shouldn’t automatically assume the worst,” Jerris countered somewhat forcefully. “I know I keep telling you this, but you’re not a Shade anymore. People aren’t like that, at least not all of them. Just because someone wants to talk to you alone doesn’t mean they’re trying to kill you.”
The Shade paused a few seconds, and young Jerris wondered if he’d been just a bit too forceful, but Darien sat down again and relaxed back into his chair. “Well, perhaps you’re right. I just wish that she wasn’t here. Whatever her problem is, she’s not focused on our quest. Once we leave here, we can’t afford any distractions. That goes for you as well. Try not to spend all your time trying to impress that girl.”
He really is hopeless, Jerris sighed inwardly. I didn’t see what was going on because I wasn’t paying attention, but he doesn’t see it when he’s looking straight at it. I wish there was something I could do for him. No matter what he’s done, he doesn’t deserve to be miserable and alone forever. Nobody does.
Chapter 29: A Stroke of Fortune
Darien remained awake most of the night, nursing his new suspicions, and considering whether to continue searching for a guide, or move forward with little notion of where to go. There was no particular need for haste. The Star Sword had lain hidden for centuries and could remain so a few more days. On the other hand, the odds of finding a guide improved only marginally over time. They might find a merchant traveling north, or they might wait until midsummer with nothing to show for their trouble. The longer they waited the greater the risk of the Demon King discovering their whereabouts. Darien feared few of the Demon King’s servants in combat, but none of his magic could protect him from a knife in his back from a passing stranger. Coldwater was filled with suspicious characters, any of whom might be an enemy. Out in the desert, at least they could see or sense an enemy coming. By morning, he had made his choice, to go forward.
At first light, Darien attempted to wake Jerris. He vigorously shook his student, but the younger half-elf only grumbled and curled up tighter.
“It’s so early. Do I have to get up now?” Jerris complained loudly, opening his bloodshot eyes.
“Yes, we’re leaving soon.”
“What? Why? I thought you were waiting for a guide.”
“I’ve changed my mind. Hurry up and get ready.”
“Can’t it wait a few hours?” Jerris said as he pulled his blanket over his head. “I was up late with Nia.”
“Well, then you have only yourself to blame,” Darien said. “You should be careful how much ale you consume. Alcohol dulls the senses, and distorts your perceptions.”
“That’s the same thing you say about love,” Jerris said in a half-asleep stupor. Darien shot his student a sharp look, which went unnoticed.
“Yes, alcohol and love have similar effects, but where the effects of the former are easily remedied by a few hours sleep, the effects of the latter can linger for weeks or months,” Darien explained coldly.
“I think you could use some of both.” The young prince was still barely awake and probably not entirely aware of what he was saying, but nevertheless, this was more than Darien the Executioner would tolerate, so he lifted the edge of the bed and dumped the young prince unceremoniously onto the dusty floor. Jerris sat up on the pile of blankets that had accompanied him to the floor. Jerris looked up at his teacher through blinking, still sleepy eyes, then immediately came to his senses when confronted with his teacher’s threatening glare. “Alright, alright. I’ll get up. Just give me a few minutes to collect my thoughts and get dressed. We can’t all just decide not to sleep like you can.”
“Fine. I’ll send Ceres for you later.” Darien wasted no more time and got to work preparing to leave. Traiz, Ceres, Geoffray, and Oswald were up as well, and he split the preparations between them. He sent Geoffray and Oswald to buy a few needed supplies and restock those depleted since Trinium. Darien set Ceres the unenviable task of getting Nia, Rana, and Jerris out of bed and ready for travel. Traiz accompanied Darien to the stables to saddle the horses and get the supplies loaded.
Traiz seemed particularly grim that morning, and his mood matched Darien’s. Traiz had thus far been Darien’s best source of useful information about the Golden Shield. This time, he needed information about Rana. Hopefully, the inquisitor would have some knowledge about Rana’s time in the Golden Shield, something that would shed light on her relationship with Geoffray and the Grandmaster.
“Inquisitor. What do you know about Rana from her time training in the Order of the Golden Shield?”
“Very little, actually. She was unremarkable save for the fact that she was Geoffray’s pet.”
“Geoffray was her lover, then?”
“Well, she was one of Geoffray’s lovers. I can’t say how many there were over the years, but Geoffray has never had any shortage of admirers. He is young to have achieved such a high rank, and well respected. He took advantage of his position as most men would. His passions never got in the way of his duties. It was his stubborn pride that did that,” Traiz explained in his usual matter of fact tone. “Why do you ask?” He lowered his voice to nearly a whisper.
“How much do you trust the Grandmaster of your Order?”
“The Grandmaster has my complete trust. He is the best of us. He has guided the order through troubled times, dedicated his life to service. Do not question him.”
Darien paused, surprised by the forceful declaration of loyalty. He thought it best not to press the matter any farther. “My apologies, it was not my intent to offend, but I have learned to be suspicious of everyone.”
“I understand, you are in a difficult position, as we all are, but the Grandmaster is above suspicion. He is well-liked by most of the Order. He and I have helped each other for years. He has been an ally against others who are less… open-minded. He and I acted together to arrange this expedition.”
“I know that much. He told me as much, but he told me other things as well. Things that I will not speak of here, but things that raised doubts in my mind,” Darien explained, remembering the night before they’d left Trinium, when the Grandmaster had managed to extract the truth about his past from him. At the time, it had seemed that the old man had simply been clever and astute, yet a foreknowledge would only have made it easier. Rana could have told the Grandmaster the information, and in exchange been given some magical artifact or device intended to give her a means to take Darien’s life. In some ways, it was fortunate that Rana had made such a careless mistake, revealing her knowledge the previous day. Otherwise, he might never have discovered the possible connection. “The fact that he has chosen to send a personal representative, and one who has already tried to kill me once, is odd. I cannot help my suspicions.”
“I can understand your suspicions, but if Rana is still plotting to take your life, I assure you the Grandmaster would not be involved,” Traiz observed. “Why do you bring this up to me?”
“My list of allies is short enough as it is,” Darien answered. “Jerris and Tobin will follow me, but the one is quite young, and the other quite old. Now I am in a position where I cannot trust Rana either. You have been my ally to this point, so you have earned some confidence.”
“Your elf friend, Ceres?” Traiz asked.
“She has disliked me from the moment we met. She is only here to protect Jerris. I trust her to do that, and no more.”
“What is it you want from me? I will help if I can.”
“I know you meant to watch Geoffray and Oswald, but instead, leave them to me,” Darien ordered. “I want you to get close to Rana. I told no one of our meeting in the prison. She won’t realize the extent of my trust in you, so she’ll
assume you’re an ally of the Grandmaster. See if you can get close enough to her to figure out why she’s behaving strangely, and what she might be planning.”
“For the success of the mission, I will do all that I can,” Traiz smiled as he laid one of the first packs on the horses.
“Good. Beyond that, remember that our goal of finding the Star Sword must take precedence over everything else. Even if I fall, the Star Sword holds the key to final victory. Do not lose sight of that.”
“Understood,” Traiz nodded with conviction, extending a hand. Darien took it, and shook it firmly. Trusting this man was a risk, yet to the Executioner’s mind, it was a necessary one.
They did not speak any further, and after about a half hour, they had finished preparations. Shortly thereafter, Ceres reappeared with the three later sleepers. Jerris’ condition showed only marginal improvement. Nia looked even worse still, tangled frizzy hair and red eyes. She nodded in the general direction of Darien, but her half-opened eyes seemed only dimly aware of what was going on.
“Well, here’s these two,” Ceres grumbled. “It will be a few minutes for Rana. If you can believe it, she was in even worse shape.”
The frustrations with Rana continued. Had she been drinking last night as well? She had seemed upset. An irritated and restless Darien left the party to finish getting ready, and wandered the streets of town, savoring the last bit of solitude he would have for a while.
The town of Coldwater was waking up. People scurried about the streets, led their livestock to market, hauled goods into town, and tended to the various tasks of beginning a new day. Dogs barked, livestock bayed, and the humming sound of voices speaking droned in the background. As he walked along, the noise grew louder. He caught shouting in the wind, so he sharpened his hearing, listened to the noise, and discerned a direction. He started toward the loudest voices. As he walked, Darien cast his gaze about and listened, trying to determine the source.
He emerged into a wide square that served as a marketplace for the town. The shopkeepers were busily arranging their goods and opening up, or they would have been, had they not been crowded around a large open space in the center of the various stalls. What were they watching? He moved through the crowd, slipping between them, and subtly pushing them aside without their notice, until he saw the source of the uproar.
An extremely large man stood in the center of several smaller, rough looking men, an odd sight. The man’s skin was ash gray, and leathery looking. His arms and legs were long and muscular, while his torso seemed too small in proportion. He wore a harness of iron spiked leather straps that covered his shoulders and crossed his chest, with matching leather leggings. A crop of long hair, raven black, ringed the backside of his head while his forehead and crown were bare. A long, sloping forehead and sharp brow set off the man’s eyes, dark brown, nearly black. His nose was wide, but flat and close to his face, with sharp angles. Then, something subtle, the man focused his eyes, and the pupil contracted, not into a circle as a man, elf, or dwarf, but down to a sliver like a cat, or a reptile. How interesting.
There were five men arrayed around the giant, armed with various implements, a club, a pickaxe, a pitchfork, and two with daggers, clearly disapproving of the man’s presence.
“We warned you not to come back here, freak,” one of the attackers, a lanky man with grubby hair and dirty features, taunted. A round of hoots sounded from the crowd, but the large man seemed unphased. “Your kind aren’t welcome here, snake.”
The large man did not respond, at least not verbally. Rather, he smiled a toothy grin. His white teeth were short, sharp, and conical. That apparently had been enough for the attackers. The man who had spoken raised his pitchfork and lunged. The giant turned away from the blow, moving fluidly and quickly for his size, then grabbed the pitchfork beneath the prongs, and yanked the man towards him. The giant wrapped a long-fingered hand around the man’s neck, then lifted him off his feet and tossed him at the nearest of the other attackers. The two men toppled to the ground together, leaving just three.
Next, the pickaxe-wielding assailant raised his weapon and charged, while the other two, the men with daggers, charged just after. The giant ducked low, and lunged forward, ramming his shoulder into the handle of the pickaxe as the stroke missed over his shoulder. At the same time, he aimed a back-handed swipe at another man, catching that one in the cheek and sending him sprawling to the dust of the street. The third man actually hit home, slashing across the giant’s back. The blow had little effect however. The knife cut a white gash across the giant’s back, but drew only a trickle of blood, not deep enough. The giant paid no mind, and continued to push through the pickaxe wielder, who dropped the pickaxe as he was lifted off the ground, then rudely deposited on top of the two fallen from earlier.
Then, the giant turned to face his remaining attacker, who held his dagger in now trembling hands. The giant grinned again, and the man threw down his weapon, and turned and ran. The three attackers who remained conscious hobbled away through the already scattering crowd. The attacker who had taken the blow to the head lay unconscious on the ground. The crowd eyed the stranger suspiciously, but none seemed eager to start a fight after that display of prowess. Gradually, reluctantly, they dispersed, going back to whatever business they had been doing before, all except for one.
Darien the Executioner stood stone still in the street, and watched the giant, immediately attracting the man’s notice. He stared at Darien and smiled his toothy grin once again.
“You want to have a go?” the man half chuckled. His voice possessed a sandy, hissing quality that roughened the deep baritone. “You don’t look like you’d fall quite so easy.”
“No, I wouldn’t, but I’m not interested in fighting at the moment.”
“What is it that you do want, staring at me like a brainless troll?”
“Actually, I’m looking for a guide, someone who knows the northern desert well enough to show us to the Burning Lands.”
“Burning Lands you say.” The large man scratched his chin with a long, almost claw-like finger. “That’s dragon territory. They don’t much care for outsiders. If you want to kill yourself, there’s easier ways.”
“As you observed, I’m not that easy to kill,” Darien replied. “And I have plenty of coin to pay.”
“So what makes you think that I know the way to the Burning Lands?”
“Oh, just something I saw in your eyes,” Darien grinned wryly, and the smile disappeared from the large man’s face, replaced by a sudden seriousness.
“I didn’t catch your name, stranger.”
“Darien.” The giant’s eyes suggested that he was waiting for more. “Just Darien. I have no family name, and I’m guessing we have that in common…” Darien let the question hang.
“Skarn,” the giant answered.
“Well then, Skarn, shall we do business?”
“Two hundred gold pieces. I escort you to the borders of the Burning Lands. No farther.”
“One hundred gold pieces for that. Two hundred to take us to Ashpyre.”
Skarn growled, a low rasping sound, like sand scraping against stone. Now it was getting serious. “One hundred fifty, and not a coin less, and I wouldn’t go to Ashpyre for all the gold in Trinium.”
“Deal.” It was a princely sum for a guide, but the task was unusual, and Skarn was uniquely suited to it. This stroke of luck immediately improved Darien’s mood. “My group were just about to leave the town, but if you have business here, we can delay a few days if needed.”
“Not necessary. I was just passing through. A few hours to buy some supplies, is all I will need, assuming these backward trollspawn will sell to me.” Skarn spit on the ground.
“My party and I are staying at the Hardmoney Hostel. If you would meet us there when your business is finished.”
“I know of the place. I will not be long.”
Darien and Skarn shook hands on the matter, an awkward moment as Skarn’s hands were
fully twice the size of the half-elf’s. Then Skarn stalked off to some other corner of town to buy his supplies, and Darien turned back to rejoin the group and tell them the good news. As the Executioner strode off, the remaining attacker moaned, just beginning to regain consciousness.
Chapter 30: The Half-Dragon
The party’s reaction to the news was roundly positive. Unsurprising, as none of them had looked forward to getting lost in the desert. Geoffray and Oswald seemed particularly relieved at the discovery of the guide. It was a sorely needed stroke of luck, and had markedly improved Darien’s mood.
Rana looked truly awful, just as Ceres had warned. Her eyes were puffy, red, with dark circles beneath. Her ordinarily straight hair lay in tangled, disheveled disarray. She had been upset the previous evening, but this was still confusing. Rana’s sad state was as inexplicable as it was pitiable. Why should she be so upset, Darien thought? Surely, she should have expected me to react as I did. I only reprimanded her, hardly worthy of such a reaction. What is wrong with her?
By mid-morning, Skarn had joined them. Their guide’s appearance had induced many wide-eyed stares, a few gasps of shock, and Tobin had nearly choked on his smoking pipe. No questions were asked. If the rest of the party guessed at their guide’s unique nature, they didn’t say it. After all, there really was no polite way to ask ‘what exactly are you?’
Once out of the town, Skarn called a halt, and put his fingers to his lips, then let out a shrill whistle. Shortly thereafter, a reply rang out, a deep carrying tone that seemed to come from all directions at once. After a few minutes, Darien heard the sound of thundering feet, too deep for a horse, and with a slower cadence. He scanned the horizon until he saw it, a figure in the north kicking a cloud of dust behind it. As it drew closer, he recognized it. He had a vague recollection of seeing a Mhoa before, but as with other memories, he could not recall the exact moment.