The Spirit Well

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “You’re so determined to-”

  Nyx’s words and temper are cut off by a passionate kiss that she knows Delvin is doing to avoid an argument. Not being used to this new method of distraction, the young woman is unsure of what to do. For a brief moment, her old instinct to push him away with a small spell starts to rise. The urge disappears when Delvin’s thumb rubs the point of her ear, so she rolls him onto his back and politely escapes his embrace. She only moves to sit on the corner of the bed where she catches her breath and touches her lips as if she has had her first kiss. A tingling from the warrior’s aura is on her tongue, which makes it harder for the channeler to calm down and not go in for another taste.

  “Do that to me in the battle and I think I can kill the Baron in one blast,” Nyx gasps with an impish smirk. The banging of feet on the ceiling causes her to curse and she revives the silence wards that she accidentally absorbed. “By the way, the kissing to get out of trouble won’t work forever. I give it five years . . . ten at the most.”

  “Considering what’s ahead of us, I’ll be happy with as many days as I can get,” Delvin replies before yawning. Moving to sit next to Nyx, he takes her hand and watches as veins of light dance between their fingers. “Remember how Undrasi suggested that I take a specialty for my fount powers to avoid burning out? Well, I was experimenting with different styles such as healing magic and enchanting objects like my new chainmail. Not sure I got the old spells right since I wasn’t around for the original casting, but I think it will work if I fall overboard. Anyway, I’ve decided to use my aura to enhance the rest of you, which means everyone is stronger than they realize. This is why I want to make plans before the battle. I need to know what I should focus on and get in some practice, so that I can fight while using my powers. So just have the conversation with me.”

  “I’ll be in the fray and hurling a lot of magic around, so you won’t exactly be by my side against the Baron,” the channeler says while enjoying the sight of their auras mixing. Plumes of fire and lightning erupt from the display, forcing her to break contact. “Given my abilities, it might be best for you to enhance the others and only help me in an emergency. Being a channeler, I could be too much of a drain on your aura. Wait, I do have one idea. Maybe you can help me see through illusions if the Baron attempts to use them against me. What about making the others resistant or even immune to magic? That would help me cut loose a little more and not worry about hurting our friends.”

  Delvin bends down to grab his shirt, but one sniff tells him that it is best to hunt through his bags for a new one. “I thought about that, but the strain might be too much. Then again, we’ll be having to push ourselves to our limits against the Baron. Maybe I should consider practicing with healing and strengthening myself for when I have to fight. It might not be too far a jump from my specialty since it’s all enhancement. Though I do like your plan for me to help with your weak points since your magic is so strong. Me increasing your aura would be like throwing a match into an inferno spell. Another idea is that I increase your stamina and endurance, so any blows that land are minimized.”

  “Good idea since the chances of us getting out unscathed are rather slim,” the channeler agrees, cringing at the thought of getting hurt. Putting her head on the warrior’s shoulder, the young woman reaches out to have a few tiny flames dance through the air. “This is why I didn’t want to plan so far ahead. Coming up with basic tactics is one thing, but anything more feels like a waste of time. So much can happen and we don’t know how long we’ll have to prepare. I’d be surprised if the Baron appears immediately since Dariana will need time to train with whatever new abilities she gains. That’s how it’s always worked and there was never a real order to the temples. So let’s enjoy our quiet time since I’m sure we’ll be running and fighting for our lives within a day or two.”

  The champions remain silent as they decide on if they want to leave the room or go back to bed. Removing the silence spells allows the sounds of bustling crewmembers into the room, the shouting and heavy footsteps making them think something is blocking the river. After several minutes, Delvin lies back down as Nyx stands to change out of her gown, which causes the pair to pause. An awkward minute passes while they repeatedly switch positions, neither knowing who is making the decisions. With a growl of frustration, Nyx roughly shoves Delvin back onto the mattress and joins him.

  “We should talk about the rings,” the warrior mentions into the half-elf’s ear. He gently bats her hand away as she tries to pinch his leg. “Just admit that the contest was a bad idea and we should work together on this. Rodillen might not be the best place, but you never know. We find a local shop, confirm it isn’t run by thieves, and get the job done. At the very least, we might get an idea about what we want.”

  “I might not be the most romantic creature in the world, but at least try to indulge me when I want to be wooed,” Nyx argues while struggling against the warrior’s tight embrace. She transforms into mist and drifts over the bed to reappear on the pillows. “All I want is for you to put some effort into this. Ever consider that I don’t really want to be the one to propose, but you’re so laidback that I need to attack your pride? The contest stands until one of us finds the perfect rings or you put your foot down with me.”

  “I demand that you let me be the one to buy the rings and propose.”

  “Don’t you dare take that tone with me, Mr. Cunningham.”

  “No! You are not playing games like that.”

  “I was teasing, dummy.”

  A familiar voice causes the champions to jump as it says, “Fizzle not like fight. Friends be happy and have fun. All over metal circles.”

  “How long have you been in the room, Fizzle?” Nyx asks as she searches for the invisible drite. Unable to locate the tiny dragon, she stops searching and slides under the covers. “Did you hear and see everything? Not that we did anything too embarrassing, but . . . did you?”

  “Fizzle be here longer than friends.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “No want interrupt mating.”

  “We’re going to have to discuss privacy, Fizzle.”

  “That why Fizzle keep eyes closed.”

  “Wait . . . No . . . That’s not . . . I give up.”

  *****

  Standing at the foot of the wide gangplank, Pazel Laufeia smiles at the approaching champions. The gnome combs his circle of white hair and dabs at his bulbous nose with a silk handkerchief, neither action improving his greasy appearance. Unlike the typical dark red of his people, the Mayor of Rodillen has eyes of dull grey that dart from one guest to another. Wearing a nice suit and squeaky shoes, Pazel does not give off the air of a thief, which makes the champions more uncomfortable with him. The idea he is the top politician in a city of criminals makes them uneasy and their minds race with ideas on how he gained his position. Snapping his fingers, the gnome orders his tired-looking servants to take his guests’ bags before he realizes that the adventurers are traveling light. In an attempt to save face, he angrily points for his people to help the sailors unload the ship as if that was his intention in the first place.

  “Welcome back to Rodillen, great heroes,” Pazel announces with a flourishing bow. He wipes some dirt off his knee, but only manages to smear the barely noticeable mark until it is obvious. “I hope your journey was relaxing and uneventful. If my memory is right, two of you had a rough time during your first visit here. Trust me when I say that you will not have to worry. The guild has promised to stay out of your way as long as you do the same in regards to their business. Now, what adventure requires that you bless me with your presence, Lady Dariana?”

  “I sent a message to his office ahead of our arrival,” the telepath explains when her friends stare at her. Bowing to the gnome, she lets him take her by the hand and guide her away from the docks. “Long ago, I entrusted one of your predecessors with a map. I believe his name was Sentrent, but that and the reason I require this documen
t aren’t important. All my friends and I need is access to your city archives to locate the map and be on our way. This is for the sake of the world if that helps you make a decision.”

  “Not really, but you already knew that,” the gnome swiftly replies with a chuckle. Moving a little faster, he pulls the silver-haired woman away from the others. “That isn’t to say I won’t help. Just make it worth my time and attention. Nothing in Rodillen is free, including that which is stolen. Those with power get a cut of everything and I hold power here.”

  “I was under the impression all politicians in this city are pawns of the guild,” Timoran says loud enough for the mayor to hear him. The keen-eared barbarian scratches an old bite mark on his bicep and ignores the angry glare he receives from their host. “I do not mean to insult you, but those are the rumors. My friends and I are short on time, so we would appreciate your assistance instead of games. Perhaps you will benefit more from helping us without an ulterior motive than forcing us to make a sacrifice.”

  The gnome chuckles and draws a single gold coin out of his pocket. “Everything is gained through sacrifice, young man. You should learn that if you truly wish to rule as the Snow Tiger King. Now this coin was given to me by a thief who got caught robbing a local priesthood. I could have let him go out of the goodness of my heart, but that would have sacrificed my reputation and opened the door for me to be manipulated by others. Instead, I made him give me all the money he had in return for his freedom. Now my sacrifice was only of time and energy instead of something more precious.”

  “Sounds more like you took advantage of a desperate man.”

  “One situation can be seen through multiple facets.”

  “Some of which are more distorted than others.”

  Pazel nods his head and smiles at the towering warrior, the expression not having the calming effect that he had hoped for. He represses a shudder at the thought of Timoran attacking him, the politician believing that barbarians are short-tempered destroyers even if they appear polite and civilized at first. Still clutching Dariana’s hand, the gnome walks faster and snaps his fingers to get the champions moving. Winding through the busy streets, he leads his guests to a flat-topped building that has fanged gargoyles at every corner. Standing at three stories, Rodillen’s City Hall is not very impressive and seems less protected than the surrounding structures. The windows lack shutters and the ledges appear to be designed specifically for climbing. A pair of marble serpents coil around columns, their heads creating an overhang above the open doorway that would give someone easy access to a circular window. It is not until the champions are within reach of the building that they notice the tops of windows peeking out of the earth. Seeing that the doorway is roughly carved into the wall, they wonder if Rodillen’s City Hall is bigger than it seems and the rest of it has been hidden beneath the ground.

  Their guess rings true when they step into the warm, nicely decorated foyer and see a wide staircase leading to the lower floors. Clerks are running in every direction to bring paperwork to wherever it is required. Many times, the champions see someone run into a room with a folder full of forms and another person immediately rushes out to hand the same workload to another department. It is so chaotic and messy that the outsiders wonder if it is nothing more than a show designed to justify having a local government in the first place. As they follow Pazel to his office, the champions catch glimpses of clerks gambling or lazily sleeping on their desks behind barely closed doors. There are still those who are doing work, but it soon becomes obvious that they are new employees and have to work their way up to the prestigious rank of guild-bought contacts. By the time they reach the mayor’s office, the only question is how deep into the guild’s pocket Pazel is sitting.

  There is only one chair in the room, which is behind the large desk and immediately claimed by the mayor. His guests are forced to either stand or lean against one of the empty bookcases that creak with the threat of collapsing. They are trying to make themselves comfortable when a clerk hurries through the door, the halfling expertly weaving through the guests. He places a pile of papers on Pazel’s desk along with a silver letter opener, which seems out of place since none of the documents are sealed. The clerk whispers to his boss and nods toward the champions, but is sent away with an angry finger snap in his face. Guessing that the friendly worker asked about chairs and was denied, Nyx creates several cushions of air, but only Luke takes her up on the offer. The others remain visibly tense and cautious, preventing Pazel from assuming that he can catch them off-guard.

  “This doesn’t have to be difficult, Mayor Laufeia,” Dariana states as she leans over the cluttered desk. She is startled by the man’s hand touching her emerald sleeve and she does her best to politely pull away. “I understand that it is your way to get paid for your help. Sadly, we don’t carry much in the way of money and all of our valuable belongings are essential to our journey. Please tell me what you want and I will see if it is within my power to grant your request.”

  “Not wise to leave yourself open to a deal that goes in your opponent’s favor,” Pazel replies while he pulls a clay pipe out of his jacket. The end ignites as soon as he takes a puff, the smoke escaping through his nose in the form of rings that drift toward the telepath. “My position is rather shaky here. To demand anything material from adventurers of your reputation could be seen as me siding with whatever this ancient darkness is. Many people have heard rumors that you are heading into a great battle. Any who appear to be your enemies may meet with an untimely end. Not by your hand, but by those who support you like Duke Solomon’s daughter or Lady Grasdon. Money is pointless to ask for since I have more than enough. Unlike the thieves, I do not hunger for more wealth.”

  “But you do hunger for something,” Sari interrupts with a lick of her lips. The gnome turns away with a huff of disinterest, which helps the gypsy prove her blossoming theory. “I should have said someone. The others might not be paying attention, but I see how you keep looking at Dariana. Why wouldn’t you? Athletic build, an aura of mystery, unique hair, and a very curious pedigree. Too bad she isn’t for sale. How about she joins you for dinner and the rest of us get to search your archives? This would only be a borrowing situation, so don’t go thinking you can keep her. If you try then my friend will bring this building down on your head. Not the big guy, but the little woman with a disturbing grin over there. You know what she can do, right?”

  Delvin catches Sari by the arm and pulls her away from the desk even though the room is too small to claim any privacy. “Are you really offering your friend to this guy? We don’t do that to each other. Seriously, Sari, this better be a joke because it isn’t funny.”

  “It’s only dinner,” the gypsy hisses back. She senses another set of eyes glaring at her and turns to see the disapproving look on Timoran’s face. “It’s obvious that he’s interested in her and we both know Dari can handle herself. Honestly, I’d worry more about the gnome than her and it isn’t like we’ll be separated for long. Six of us checking the archives means we can get the map in a day at most.”

  “Still doesn’t feel right,” Luke says as he pops the air cushion and lands on his feet. One look at Pazel tells him that Sari’s guess is correct and the mayor is very excited about the proposal. “It isn’t our decision, guys. This is for your map, Dariana, so we follow your lead. All of us trust you to make the right decision. Just know that if this turns out to be the wrong decision, we’ll also be there to get your butt out of trouble.”

  “I hope you save the rest of me too,” the telepath states in a serious voice. Dariana cracks a small smile at her own joke and the confused expressions on her companions’ faces. “Sorry if I got that wrong. Spontaneous humor is still difficult for me. Thank you for trusting me and being my friends. Now, Mayor Laufeia, do we have a deal?”

  *****

  Windows blocked by solid earth and crumbling boards, the archives sit on the building’s lowest level. Floating candles provide plenty of lig
ht, but permeate the room with the smell of acrid smoke. The remains of a mural can be seen on the ceiling, the colorful design washed away by years of moisture and covered by clusters of mushrooms. Having also been the public library before sinking, there are rows of bookcases filled with unorganized documents. Several tables line the middle of the chamber, only three of them proving to be usable and not on the verge of collapsing into a rotten heap. There is a single metal chair that sits behind the moldy remnants of a desk, but the piece of furniture is composed mostly of rust. It is obvious that nobody has bothered to maintain the archives and there are clear signs of looting, which has turned the place into a mess that the champions fear will take days to sift through. The situation is not made any easier by the fact that Luke is sleeping on a table, the forest tracker being the only one to have eaten some of the meal that their host sent down.

  “The sleeping potion should be out of the food now. Might cause you to yawn, but you won’t pass out,” Nyx announces, stepping away from the carts. She grabs a turkey leg and tosses it to Timoran, who has been eyeing the piece since it arrived. “You were right about our new friend, Sari. Not that any of us doubted you, including my fool of a little brother. He hasn’t eaten since Gaia and poison doesn’t scare him, but he could have been a little cautious. So what do we do with him?”

  “Let him rest and we’ll divide into shifts,” Delvin says while reaching for another book. He yanks his hand back when a ball of shadowy dust leaps out of the bookcase and nips at his fingers. “Damn these things. I’ve dealt with dust vermin before, but this species is vicious. Need to start wearing gloves or my hands are going to be covered in bites. Maybe we can draw them into one place with some food.”

  “This is too fresh,” Timoran points out with a mouthful of turkey. Claiming one of the small kegs of ale, he holds it over his head and releases a stream into his mouth. “I am concerned that this place is in such terrible condition. There is no organization here, but I assume that the more current documents would be either closest to the door or farthest away. So far, I have found nothing more than old papers with gibberish on them. Is this an ancient language that the local government once used?”