The Last Garrison (Dungeons & Dragons Novel)

by Beard, Matthew

Padlur came around next. “Of course it is, Kohel. This is mere—frivolity.”

  “Are their no fields to till? Is there no hunting to be done? These people gamble away a morning, spend it being entertained. The evening, once one’s chores are finished, once one has contributed to the family’s survival—this is the time to relax.” Kohel gave Padlur a smug look. They both surveyed the crowd again and shook their heads. And then they turned to Luzhon and Nergei. The boy shrank back. The girl, though, did not. She scoffed, and held her head defiantly.

  “The farmers are at work in the fields surrounding the city. The huntsmen bring in their kills in the afternoons and evenings. The city survives, and even thrives, while these people gamble through a morning. Do not assume you know what this crowd contributes or does not contribute when they are not here. We are, I am sure, merely ignorant of their place in the way the city works.”

  Kohel was taken aback. “You try to justify this way of life? We of Haven have it right.”

  “The city has its high walls and guardsmen, Kohel,” said Luzhon. “And it does not fear from a flock of birds. It does not need to send for help when an old man decides he is no longer able to protect it.” Nergei heard Luzhon and felt a little burn in his blood at the slight directed against the Old Stargazer. But at the same time, he knew she spoke the truth. The old man had made the people of Haven safe, but he had also made them complacent. They had never had to protect themselves from any real threat in the past, and had never bothered to learn how. The old man’s gift was also the old man’s curse.

  Still, Nergei thought, uncharitable and then ashamed of his lack of goodwill, it is her father who lies stuck, while my master inhabits his tower still.

  Kohel’s brow furrowed, and he turned away. “Let us find help and be on our way. This place is quickly corrupting some of us.”

  On the field of battle, a human with a great, two-handed blade stood face to face with a small man—of fey origin, it appeared to Nergei—with daggers in either hand. A closer look revealed that the two-handed blade and the daggers were not steel, though. They were blunted weapons made of wood. And when the human swung his great sword around and connected with the smaller man’s side, he used the flat of the wooden “blade” for the strike. It knocked the wind from the little one, and sent him to his knee. When the human approached, the little man shook off the blow, and faded from sight before a second strike could land on him. “A gnome,” said Nergei. “I have read about them but have never seen one.”

  “Such a little creature is no match for the human warrior,” said Padlur. “He has to run away.”

  Half the crowd had cheered for the strike that sent the gnome down, but his disappearance had silenced them. “We will see, Padlur,” said Nergei. “Gnomes are savvy and skilled combatants, I’ve read. Strength is not always the greatest weapon in an arsenal.” Padlur brushed the comment off, patting his bicep in response as if to say, This, this is the only real power in the world.

  On cue, though, the gnome reappeared behind the human warrior and leaped upon him. He climbed him like a squirrel in a tree, with ease and speed, wrapped his legs around the man’s chest, and brought the rounded hilt of both daggers into the man’s temples. The human, stunned, dropped his weapon, and his arms flailed. He tried to reach up, tried to shake off the gnome, but the blows to his head had left him too disoriented, too shaken. The gnome lifted his arms under the arms of the human, planted his feet in between the man’s shoulders, locked his arms around his own wrists and used all the might in his legs to push. The human’s arms were pulled back in an angle that was clearly too much for them. The young ones had found a seat on the highest bench in the stands, but even that far away, they heard two cracks as the human’s arms were wrenched from his shoulder’s sockets. Padlur, who had felt the pain of having one of his own arms thusly injured, went pale at the familiar sound. The human warrior fell face forward, rendered unconscious by the agony. The gnome, eyes gleaming, hopped off the human and picked up the wooden daggers he had dropped and walked to an official with a peaked hat. He handed the man the daggers, and raised a single arm to acknowledge the cheer that had erupted from half the thronging crowd. The ones who had bet on him, thought Nergei. The ones who had made a coin or two from that spectacular move. Nergei, for the first time in the journey to the city, felt superior to Padlur, and by extension, to Kohel, the one Padlur looked to for guidance and authority. He felt knowledgeable. He felt necessary. He imagined Luzhon noticed. He imagined Luzhon impressed by it. And, even though it was, he knew, merely imagination, he felt strong. The burning began in his palms and it did not scare him. It exhilarated him. He imagined loosing the fire, sending a geyser of flame into the sky. He imagined surrounding himself in a cloak of licking tongues of fire. But he held it back. And in holding it back, his confidence increased.

  “We should talk to the little one,” said Padlur.

  “Perhaps,” said Nergei. “Or perhaps we should watch and see. He won a fight, but the day is early. We can do better if he wait.”

  “Yes,” said Luzhon. “Nergei is right. Let us not be too hasty.”

  And in solidarity with Luzhon, Nergei realized the other great boosts to his confidence were, at core, nice but nothing compared to feeling her on his side. The way her support lived within him? It pleased him more than the fire in his blood.

  The day proceeded with Nergei feeling himself to be in a place he had never felt himself to be—in control.

  The fights continued through the afternoon. Some ended in surprise, like the gnome’s battle with the human warrior, but most did not. When a combatant appeared outmatched by a stronger, larger foe, he or she usually was. On the occasion of a particularly compelling victory, Kohel would rise from his seat and, Padlur in tow, approach the victor when the crowd dispersed. Nergei watched. Even at a distance he could see Kohel’s false confidence, his air of self-importance. Invariably, he returned looking much less smug as warrior after warrior dismissed him with a gesture or an insult. But he kept trying. That was something, at least.

  Soon Nergei was watching not the fights, but the crowd itself. Surely among the spectators were not simply tradesmen and gamblers, but those who made a living at combat and watched the games to learn and to assess. And that is how he first spied Sten. An older human and a dwarf sat in the front row. They spoke quietly to each other during the fights, gesturing and reacting to the spectacular moves and grim failures before them. On occasion, the human would, before a particularly skillful combination of blows, tap the dwarf on the shoulder to get his attention. (The dwarf was easily distracted by the food and ale vendors.) He seemed to know what was coming, a scholar of combat. He was older, gray-haired and rough. He wore thick, well-crafted leather armor that had seen much—it had deep nicks and discolorations all over. When the man turned to the dwarf and Nergei could see the front of the tunic, he saw, on the left breast, the remains of an insignia of some sort, with markers below. An indication of rank, perhaps? A guild symbol? Whatever it was, and whoever the man was, Nergei felt drawn to him. Something in his manner, despite his age and despite the fact that he was not the largest or most intimidating individual on the gaming grounds, told Nergei he was more formidable than he appeared. He might be the one.

  Nergei did not dare tell Kohel or Padlur. He decided to sneak away from them when the opportunity presented itself and approach the man. Focusing on his compatriots, he was surprised to see that Luzhon was staring at him.

  “The man down there,” she said, “you see something in him?”

  “Maybe,” said Nergei. “I’m not sure.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, you are. You’ve been watching him for an hour. When I saw you watching him, I started watching him, too.”

  “And what have you seen?”

  “Before every fight, he indicates to the dwarf who the winner will be. And he hasn’t placed a single bet. Did you notice that?”

  “No!” said Nergei, pleased with Luzhon’s insight. “He may
just know all the fighters well, but—”

  “But he may also be well-versed in war.”

  “Yes,” said Nergei. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “And the fact that he is not betting indicates that perhaps coin is not a primary motivation in his life.”

  “And if we can discover what is a primary motivation in his life, we might be able to convince him to help us,” said Nergei. He and Luzhon, pleased with their deduction, smiled at each other.

  “These two won’t get it,” said Luzhon. “They will continue to approach these mercenaries who knock each other around for money.”

  “And they will continue to be rebuffed,” responded Nergei.

  “Yes. But next time they go off on their fool’s errand, you and I will go speak to the man and his dwarf friend.” Nergei nodded at Luzhon and Luzhon nodded back. She gave him a conspiratorial wink, as well, and his heart, at such a small kindness, soared.

  While Padlur and Kohel made nuisances of themselves, both fawning over and attempting to put on an air of gravitas in discussion with a powerful, gold-scaled warrior of dragon birth who had vanquished an equally imposing, gray-skinned brute with a hammer bigger than Kohel’s torso, Nergei and Luzhon slipped down and approached the men they had been watching. Nergei had no idea how best to introduce himself, and hesitated after making eye contact with the human. Luzhon was not as intimidated, though, and she smiled and held out a hand.

  “I am Luzhon, of the village Haven. This is Nergei. We are looking for the greatest warriors in the city.”

  Sten was taken aback by the young woman’s boldness. How old could she have been? Seventeen, perhaps? A child—but a child with a natural confidence he had not seen in many years. A confidence that he remembered having himself when he was her age.

  Spundwand spoke before Sten could. “Out on the field, you will find all the warriors you need, child. We are merely spectators.”

  Nergei found his tongue, and spoke to the dwarf in his native language. “Priest of Moradin, you are too modest.” He then switched to the common tongue and addressed them both. “We think the two of you are exactly the people we need.”

  “Our village is in the mountains east of here. We are small, but have remained secure because we have been under the protection of a powerful magic user. This is Nergei, his—” and there Luzhon struggled to find a word that would not insult the boy.

  “Servant,” offered Nergei with a little shame in his voice.

  “Ward,” said Luzhon. “Student. Nergei has been with the old man for many years, assisting him and learning from him.”

  “Did he teach you the dwarven language?” asked Spundwand. “Is he a dwarf himself?”

  “No,” said Nergei. “He thought it would be of some use to me later. That and a little Elven.”

  “He may have been right,” said Spundwand. “But I’ll warn you that your accent is quite highborn. Slur a little here and there—especially on the titles you give to people—and you will find that dwarves with no noble blood will be less put off by you.” Spundwand laughed at that.

  “My master says all dwarves are of noble blood, Hammer of Moradin,” said Nergei again in Dwarvish, trying to do as Spundwand had suggested.

  “That’s it, boy. You are a quick study.” He looked at Sten. “These two amuse me,” he said. “Let’s find somewhere quieter and talk to them.”

  Sten rubbed his head. “I doubt we can be of much help. But my partner has advised me well for many years. I am prone to take his advice.”

  Sten and Spundwand stood, and gestured to a spot away from the field’s noise and commotion. They walked together silently, the Haven youths behind, whispering to each other about how they would convince the man and the dwarf to help them.

  They sat under a tree. Sten had purchased apples for the four of them from a vendor, and they ate them while they talked.

  “Now, what is happening in your village?” asked Sten.

  “Bandits,” said Luzhon. “Bird men. Kenku.”

  “A treacherous race,” said Spundwand. “We are familiar with them.”

  “For as long as I can remember—for as long as even the oldest of our village can remember—the old man has kept any bandits at bay. No one has dared approach us,” said Luzhon.

  “But my master is not what he used to be,” said Nergei. “He is as powerful as ever. I can see that in him. But he is distracted. He is not present even when you are in his company. Something weighs heavily on his mind.”

  “You are looking for guardsmen to protect the town? Mercenaries?” asked Sten.

  “Yes,” said Luzhon. “We are in desperate need. There are hunters among us, to be sure, but we are mostly farmers. And the kenku will overwhelm us with little effort.”

  “And you can pay us for this work, child?” asked Spundwand.

  “We can make everything we have available to you. We will be in your debt. We have no other choice.”

  “You have gold?”

  “A little,” said Nergei. “We are isolated, and do not engage in much trade with other towns and cities. The route is not that safe. We have land, though. We can offer you that, a plot to sow and harvest.”

  “We are not farmers, boy,” said Sten. “I am older, and my arms are not as powerful as they once were, but my mind is sharp. Even in these times when there are no kings to protect and few merchants with empty spaces on their rosters for guardians, we can still find enough work to keep us subsisting.”

  “My body is not made for the plow,” said Spundwand. “And I do not relish the idea of staying in a village as its sentinel. I have a need for adventure still.”

  “What about enchantments? Items of power?”

  “My master may have some in his observatory,” said Nergei. “He has told me he was once a member of a party who wandered the world before he retired to Haven. Perhaps he—”

  Spundwand held up a hand. “Observatory?”

  “Yes,” said Nergei. “My master is a devotee of the stars.”

  “What is his name, child?” asked the dwarf.

  “It is lost,” said Nergei. “He has never said it, and the people of Haven haven’t known it in generations. He is very old.”

  “And quite eccentric,” said Luzhon. “We call him the Old Stargazer. His name is long forgotten.”

  Spundwand pulled a map from his pack and held it before the two from Haven. “Show me where your village is,” he said. Luzhon pointed to its location. Spundwand’s eyes grew big. He looked at Sten seriously, but Sten merely shrugged, unsure what it was that the dwarf saw.

  “Really,” said Sten, “I’m sorry but I don’t think we can help you—”

  “Yes, we can,” interrupted Spundwand. “We can help you. And we will find others, as well.”

  “Spundwand?”

  “My friend, I will explain this to you when the time is right. For now, you must trust me.”

  Sten furrowed his brow and rubbed his head. This seemed so foolish, protecting a little village for no great reward. Sten was not a man of avarice, but he knew what a man needed to live. And he knew giving away his skills, and those of the dwarf priest, was not a wise decision. But there was a look in Spundwand’s eye. The dwarf was not a frivolous man, but his aspect tended to be carefree. When it got serious—as serious as it was at that moment—Sten was aware that there was something of great weight behind it. It was important. Again, he rubbed his head, and then he slumped. And then he nodded.

  “All right, Spundwand. We will help them. You have me intrigued.”

  “These two?” shouted Kohel. “You bring us these two?”

  “Lower your voice, Kohel,” snapped Luzh.

  “But they are—”

  “The first two to agree to help,” said Nergei. “The only two, so far.”

  “That’s still two more than you have secured,” said Luzhon.

  “Not true,” said Padlur. “The one of dragon birth, Togin. He told us to meet him later by the common house and he w
ould take our offer under consideration.”

  Sten and Spundwand laughed heartily. “Togin? You will be lucky if all he does is rob you, young man. Likely when he sees how little you have, he will choose which of you to bring home and feed to his family.”

  “Most likely the big one,” said Spundwand, indicating Padlur. “You look like you could feed his brood for a few days.”

  Kohel and Padlur looked at each other, trying to find resolve in the eyes of the other. It was not there. If either of them believed that Sten and Spundwand were lying, they were not betraying it.

  Sten put his hand on Kohel’s shoulder. “For whatever reason, my partner has decided we are going to help you, even though you appear to have nothing to offer us in compensation. And now, all of us will have to find others to help us, also with no promise of riches. Count yourself lucky, young man, that I know the greatest warriors of the city, and that I am a very charming man.”

  “And count yourself lucky these two came along with you,” said Spundwand, “because on your own, the two of you would have not only failed to find help, you would’ve ended up turning on a spit over a cooking fire of a dragonborn.” This elicited more laughter from Sten and Spundwand and, significantly, from Luzhon, as well. Nergei hid a smile by looking down at his boots.

  “Well,” said Kohel. “I suppose we can give you a chance. You appear at least to have experience.”

  “Smart boy,” said Spundwand. “You listen to us and all will work out fine.”

  “We will need others,” said Sten. “I think I know where to begin.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cold was licking at the edges of the town of Haven, and no one knew why. A sudden spring freeze? Nothing like it had happened before in the recorded history of the town. Council meetings were growing tense.

  “The trees to the west are dying, Crook of Haven. They wither. The leaves have fallen. The fruits are dying before they can bud.” An old farmer stood in the back and shouted to the council. “This cannot be natural. It is the work of magic.”