“See that you do. The two men he keeps inside are quite adept at tossing out the unwanted.” The middle-aged steward took a step towards him and traced one manicured finger along his jaw. “If this goes well for you I’ll be seeing you later.”
She walked on down the hallway and Arcon swallowed. He looked at the ornately carved wooden door in front of him. The carved scene was of marching armies and banners. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked on the door.
The door was opened by a large beefy man wearing steward’s robes. A wide red sash crossed his chest and there was an sheathed sword attached to his waist. He gave Arcon a brief glance and beckoned him inward.
“A red sash,” Mellinda said excitedly. “And he’s wearing it openly. This is good for us!”
Arcon didn’t see how. Gnome stewards were supposed to wear green or black. Red sashed stewards were supposed to be a myth.
Another human came from his left and stood in front of him. He was of a smaller build than the other stewards, but his face was harder and he seemed more dangerous. He frowned at Arcon. “Wait. You are using magic. Drop any spells if you wish to enter the scholar’s presence.”
“Another red sash! And this one has mage sight!”
“Of course,” Arcon said and he let his magic fade. His cloak faded back to brown and Arcon’s hair became its original blond. “Is that better?”
The steward narrowed his eyes, but gave a brief nod and Arcon stepped into the room.
Unlike the rest of the residence, Scholar Aloysius’ office was decorated in stone. The floor was polished marble and green pillars sat at the corners of the room. The walls on Arcon’s right and left were covered with weapons and scepters and various other items, each one with a small placard underneath. He shifted to mage sight and saw a soft glow of elemental magic around most of them.
Mellinda chuckled.
At the back of the room was a row of bookshelves made from black onyx and in front of them was an enormous desk of dark mahogany. Scholar Aloysius sat behind the desk, his eyes perusing a scroll that he held in veiny hands.
The gnome was hunched over, but he had a youthful look to him as far as gnomes go. He had a full head of glistening black hair and his large ears only drooped slightly. As Arcon moved to stand before him, he rolled up the scroll and turned his eyes on the mage. He didn’t wear spectacles and his eyes were sharp and focused.
“Mage Arcon,” the gnome said, gesturing with the scroll in his hand. His voice was deep and clear. “You have been patiently waiting to see me for some time now, I hear.”
“It was worth every moment, Scholar,” Arcon said with a bow.
“I was quite surprised you used your real name when you put in the request,” Aloysius said, his dark eyes gauging Arcon’s response.
“Go on. As you rehearsed,” Mellinda prompted.
“I wanted you to look up my credentials, sir,” he replied.
The gnome raised a trimmed eyebrow. “Did you now? A mage on the run? A fugitive from your own school and a known associate of the deceased dark wizard Ewzad Vriil? I could have met you with the Homeland Guard.”
Arcon cleared his throat. “I wanted you to know that I could be useful to someone with your particular focus. I did some research on you as well, you see.” Be right. Be right.
“Stop questioning me and focus,” Mellinda reprimanded.
“Useful to me? I am a high scholar of house Mur. Your very presence in this room could sully my reputation. And . . .” Aloysius unrolled the scroll and gestured to the flowery writing on the parchment. “I understand that you are in quite a bit of trouble with the Night Clan. It says here that they sent a basilisk after you.”
He knows a lot. “True, sir, but I have taken care of that problem.”
“By creating such a commotion that half the capitol’s wizards were called out after you?” The gnome waved his hand dismissively. “Far too noisy for my tastes.”
“My hand was forced, sir,” Arcon replied. “But might I point out that the mere fact I killed the basilisk is proof of my usefulness?”
Aloysius pursed his lips thoughtfully. “True, killing such a beast is nasty business and your survival is commendable. But why would I want someone with that much trouble around me?”
“We both know the dark wizards wouldn’t dare go after you, Scholar. Besides, as I told your steward earlier . . .” Arcon reached into his shirt and opened the compartment. The red-sashed stewards at the door saw the movement and started towards him.
“Don’t!” Mellinda shouted.
“Because I have these,” Arcon said, extending his hand. The Rings of Stardeon glistened in his palm.
The stewards grabbed Arcon’s arms, jerking him back. The rings nearly slipped out of his hand.
“Stop!” Aloysius demanded. The stewards stopped pulling on Arcon, but they didn’t let go of him.
The scholar stood from behind the desk, his narrow seven-foot-frame towering over the mage. His dark eyes gleamed down at Arcon and the mage noticed that the gnome’s posture was not that of a dusty bookworm, but that of a person used to command.
“Why show this to me?” the scholar asked, his gaze focusing on the glittering rings. “You are no fool. You know that my focus is items of power. I could easily take them from you.”
Arcon didn’t let his fear touch his face. You had better be right about him.
“He’s wrong. You are a fool,” Mellinda replied and her voice sounded worried. “And I am right, but there is something strange with him that I can’t figure out.”
Her hesitation was uncharacteristic which unnerved him, but he plowed on anyway. “Because simply possessing an item of power isn’t enough for you. You’re a scholar. A gnome that wants to leave his mark on the world. You could take the Rings of Stardeon, but what’s groundbreaking about that? What you want is to make an item of your own.” He paused for effect. “You want to be the next Scholar Abernathy.”
“Abernathy?” The gnome’s face twitched and his eyes became filled with anger. “You know nothing about me, mage. Abernathy was little more than a book sniffer that got lucky. I am so much more.”
“Oh, this is better than I hoped. Look at his gaze. Look at his stance!” Mellinda’s voice was filled with excitement again. “Listen to me. Get down! Bow your head to him!” Arcon hesitated. “Now, you fool!”
Arcon did so, ripping his arms free from the stewards’ grip and smacking his knees to the marble floor. Why?
“This is no regular gnome.” She shoved ancient memories into his mind and Arcon understood.
Scholar Aloysius walked around his desk and moved to stand over the mage. He stood there for a moment and Arcon said nothing. When the gnome finally spoke there was a hint of pleasure in his voice. “You grovel? Are you so desperate for my money?”
“I don’t want a job, great one. I just want to serve at your side.” Arcon bent lower and pressed his forehead against the cool stone. The stewards grabbed his arms. “I, Arcon, mage trained at the Dremaldrian Mage School, and former servant of King Ewzad Vriil pledge myself to your service.”
While the scholar pondered this, the stewards pulled at Arcon. He resisted, struggling to stay prostrate before the gnome. He tore free from their hands again, smacking his head on the floor. His vision swam as they pulled on him again.
“Stop!” Aloysius commanded and the stewards released him. “I am finding myself amused. Tell me, Mage Arcon. Why would you pledge your service to me, a scholar?”
Arcon did not remove his head from the marble. “Because one day you will rule this land.”
Chapter Seven
“Come, you stupid mule!” Djeri said, fuming as he tugged on the animal’s lead. The mule didn’t want to keep up with their quick steps. The stableman had assured them that the beast was well trained and Tarah could tell that it was. It didn’t wander. It obediently followed their lead, but for some reason it seemed determined to plod along at a wagon’s pace.
“S
till griping about that dumb animal, dwarf?” Tarah replied, several steps ahead of him. They had been on the road for nearly a full day and grumbling about their traveling companion seemed to be the dwarf’s chief source of entertainment. Tarah wasn’t sure what to think of him yet. He was so unlike other dwarves she’d met. “It ain’t gonna dissipate into nothingness from the sheer force of your complaints, you know.”
“Dissipate into nothingness?” The dwarf laughed. “You puzzle me, Tarah. Most of the time you talk like some back-woods girl, but every once in a while you come out with a turn of phrase that throws me off. Where do you get that talk from?”
“I might be back-woods raised, but Tarah Woodblade ain’t uneducated, Dwarf,” she replied, her brow wrinkled in irritation. She glanced back at him. “And if we’re talking about strange, what about you? You talk straighter than any dwarf I ever met.”
“Straighter?” he said, one eyebrow raised. He had decided to wear a half-helm for the journey, but she had seen a full helm strapped to his pack on the mule. Djeri’s travel armor looked well-worn and had been painted a muddy green. As the dwarf had promised, the armor made very little noise as he walked. The enormous two-handed mace he wore rattled in its sheath from time to time but that was it.
“Yeah. You talk all high falootin’ like a human lord,” she explained.
“Oh. So you expect dwarves to sound uncouth.” His statement was loaded, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.
Tarah was confused. “No. Not uncouth. Just . . . like folks, you know?”
“Do you know many dwarves?” he asked.
“Of course I know dwarfs,” she said with a snort. “How could I be from this area and not know dwarfs? I’ve worked for dwarfs out of Wobble lots of times.” The statement was mostly true. She had worked for dwarves before, but this was her first time partnering with one. It had nothing to do with them being dwarves, though. She avoided working alongside anyone as a general rule no matter what their race was.
Dwarves can be rough around the edges, but they usually make great companions, her papa said.
Dwarfs are greedier than most. You’re better off working alone, Grampa Rolf’s voice disagreed. A salesman often finds that his partners are more fond of the money than they are of them.
I’m not sure how your salesman talk helps in this case, Grampa, Tarah replied. Aloud she said, “So what makes you different from the other dwarfs I’ve met, Djeri?”
“Good, you said my name right,” the dwarf remarked, then lapsed into silence for a moment as he mulled over what to say next. “I suppose I just have a fondness for proper speech. I don’t see any need to muddy up my language just to fit in with my peers-. Come on, you no-good turd-machine!” he snapped, jerking on the lead as the mule slowed down once more.
“You can blame your buddy Riveren for that one,” Tarah reminded him for the third time that day. “I didn’t want to bring any animal on this mission.”
“Neither did I!” Djeri argued.
Tarah shrugged. The dwarf had argued against bringing the mule along, but Riveren had insisted. Evidently Wizard Valtrek had specified in the contract that they take this particular mule with them. Tarah didn’t understand why. Sure, it allowed them to bring more supplies along, but they were perfectly capable of finding their own food along the way. On top of that, there was something strange about the animal that Tarah couldn’t put her finger on.
Best to be wary when dealing with wizards, Grampa Rolf said. There is money to be made but whenever a wizard’s willing to pay, they’re gonna have some broad plan that they’re not gonna tell you about.
“Yeah, yeah, Grampa,” Tarah replied. “I know.”
“What are you mumbling about?” Djeri said in response. His armored boots squelched in a patch of soft mud as he strained with the animal.
“Stay on the grass,” Tarah warned. “The mud on the bank here will take the shoes right off you.”
They had passed Sampo earlier that day and were now traveling north along the western bank of the Fandine river. The prairie grass grew all the way to the water’s edge in some places, but where the water had worn the bank down there was nothing but pebbles and mud. The mud wouldn’t be a problem much longer, though. The first hard frost of winter would come any day now. Then the banks would be hard as rock.
“I see that,” he said, yanking a foot out of the mire. He moved back to solid ground. “When do we cross the river? Our destination is east of here.”
“There’s a stretch of shallows just a mile or so ahead,” she said and looked to the far side of the bank where tall trees grew at the river’s edge. The last time she had been this way the forest had been filled with the bobbing glow of moonrat eyes. It seemed empty now.
“Ugh,” Djeri said, shivering as he looked at the swirling water and anticipated having to wade across. There were small pieces of ice bobbing from upstream. “You know, we could still head back to the Sampo Bridge and cross there.”
Tarah had considered crossing the bridge at Sampo. It was the most direct route, but in the end she had decided against it. The trees had grown tight together in that stretch of the forest and there were some steep hills. The way the mule was laden would make for tough going.
“Nah, there’s a board bridge at the shallows that we can use. Or at least there was last time I came through.”
“I’ve never heard of any other bridge across the Fandine. How long ago was the last time you saw it?” Djeri asked. “Are you sure this bridge of yours is still standing?”
“I last crossed it just after Pinewood was attacked,” she admitted, but didn’t share that the moonrat mother’s forces had been right at her heels at the time. “But it should still be there. Come on, I’d like to cross it before nightfall.”
The dwarf eyed the lowering sun. “I’m not sure we’ll get there in time. This mule is slowing us down too much.” Tarah sighed and he added defensively, “Look, you try dragging this thing around if you think it can be done faster.”
“No. You’re the muscle,” she said. “I’m the scout.”
Djeri laughed. “And here I thought you were the hired help. Now you’re the scout, too?”
Tarah rolled her eyes then turned and walked towards the animal. “Just keep moving forward,” she instructed and passed them, heading back the way they had come.
“What are you doing?” Djeri asked, though he continued forward as she had asked.
“Finding out what this dumb animal’s problem is,” she replied. “I’ll be right back.”
Tarah continued south for about a hundred yards, retracing their steps, then knelt down and inspected the mule’s tracks. She touched the impressions of its hooves and a picture began to enter her mind. Hmm, this thing was smarter than she had given it credit for. She headed back towards the dwarf, running her fingers along each track as she went. It took her several minutes to catch back up to them, but by the time she got there, Tarah understood why the beast was being difficult.
“Hold up for a second,” she told Djeri, then moved to stand in front of the animal. “I’ve got something to say to you, mule.”
It snorted, giving her a dull look. Tarah responded with a glower and swung down with her staff. The red wood struck the beast right between the eyes. The mule stumbled in surprise, its eyes widening at the stinging blow.
“Whoa!” Djeri cried. “Killing the thing won’t help.”
Tarah ignored him. She hadn’t struck it that hard. But she had gotten its attention. The animal was glaring at her, trying to decide whether or not to bite.
“Listen to me, Neddy,” she snapped, using the name its masters had given it. “I may not be a wizard, but I am in charge. You follow me and you’d better keep up. I won’t put up with no orneriness from you. We’ll take you back to your masters when we’re done, understand?” The mule’s eyes narrowed, but it gave her a snort of understanding. “Good! And stop tormenting the dwarf. As funny as it may seem, he can hit you a lot harder than I ca
n.”
The mule gave Djeri a bitter look, then bent down to bite off some grass.
“He understands,” Tarah said with a nod. She turned and walked upstream, continuing towards the shallows. The short delay had been worth it in her mind. Now the beast wouldn’t be such a burden. She reminded herself to give it a treat the next time they stopped.
“What was that?” Djeri asked as he followed after her, his brow raised in wonder. The mule came obediently behind him, keeping pace with Tarah’s long strides.
“I was just getting his attention. He’s not really hurt,” she assured the dwarf.
“But why?” he said.
“Neddy here’s well trained. He knew to follow us because the stableman told him to,” Tarah explained. “But he doesn’t want to be with us any more than we wanted him along. He’d much rather be with the wizards he usually goes out with. So he’s been sulking. Also, he thinks it’s funny messing with you.”
The dwarf glared back at the mule, then gave her a quizzical look. “And you knew all that by looking at its tracks?”
“Tarah Woodblade’s the best tracker in the known lands. I can tell an animal’s mood by the way it steps,” she lied. “He was having a great time at your expense. The rest of it I just figured out from what Riveren told us about the animal.”
“And how did you know its name?” Djeri pressed.
Tarah blinked. With each track, the name had been clearer in her mind. Neddy was the name the mule identified with. The wizards called it that all the time. “The-uh, stableman called him that as we were leaving.”
“No he didn’t,” Djeri said. “He never called it by name. I would have remembered that.”
Tarah swallowed and increased her pace. Stupid! She should have been more careful with her mouth. “That’s where I heard it. You must not have been paying attention.”
“I always pay attention,” the dwarf said with a slight frown, but to Tarah’s relief, he didn’t question her further.
Be careful not to give too much away, Grampa Rolf reminded.
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