by Drew Hayes
“My name is Gabrielle, not ‘fake mage.’”
“And mine is Wiscomb, but newcomers usually call me Shopkeeper because that’s what I am, just as you’re a fake mage.” Wiscomb dug about under the counter until she produced a small lens and fit it over her right eye. “Now, are you going to quibble about titles or unwrap the little mystery?”
Taking the obvious cue, Gabrielle carefully pulled away the layers she’d put in place to make her weapon unrecognizable to those she passed. Masquerading as a mage with armor underneath was bad enough; if she’d done it while lugging an axe through the streets, she may as well have turned herself over to King Liadon. After a few minutes delicate work, the head of the axe came into view, and Wiscomb let out a soft whistle.
“Potent magic there. Keep going, let me see the rest of it.”
Peeling away more layers, Gabrielle pulled her weapon free and laid the axe down on top of the counter. Wiscomb leaned over, getting dangerously close but never actually making contact. She adjusted her lens a few times, all the while muttering to herself as she scoured every inch of the weapon. At last, she straightened her back and met Gabrielle’s curious expression.
“Looks like I’ll be doing this one at half price,” Wiscomb said. “Because this axe is very interesting indeed.”
Chapter 20
“At first, we thought it was the usual harassment. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but Grumble’s temples aren’t quite as revered and respected as those of other gods. We’ve grown accustomed to a certain amount of broken stones or rude phrases littering the outside of our building. We minions are a hardy, resilient lot by nature, and Grumble teaches that we should take such things in stride.”
Ulkin set a cup of tea in front of Timuscor, and then one in front of Thistle. The small kitchen they sat in was quaint and well-kept, just like the public parts of the temple. They’d been shown inside once Ulkin shook off the fogginess from his hit against the wall, as some topics were not meant for public discussion.
“Then things began to worsen. Our worshippers would be found unconscious and beaten, with no memory of who had attacked them. Oil was thrown against our walls and lit on fire; if not for the meager wards in place, it might have actually caught. Every week, it seems to grow worse. This temple, a place of safety for those who already know so much fear, has become something the worshippers are too terrified to approach.”
“Did you notify the kingdom’s guards?” Timuscor asked.
Ulkin nodded. “They sent a patrol around a few times; however, whoever is doing this is smart. When the guards were here, nothing occurred, yet the moment they were gone, the problems started again. The capital is a large, dangerous place, and guards can’t be spared to watch over a temple at all hours. We’ve tried every such option; I even put in a quest with the Hall of Adventurers, though since we are far from a rich temple, the reward was too small for anyone to bother with it.”
“Interesting.” Thistle swirled the tea around in his small, worn cup. “And curious, really. These attacks appear to make no sense. Grumble, while certainly a troublemaker on occasion, historically has no great enemies among the other gods. That makes the odds of this being motivated by the devout unlikely. The next motive that springs to mind is the most classic of them all: gain of wealth. But as you yourself pointed out, there is little to be taken from this temple or its worshippers. Dismissing that idea, the most obvious motivation would be a personal vendetta. Ulkin, do you or any of those who come here have enemies that would go to such lengths?”
“Not that I know of. My parishioners are minions through and through,” Ulkin said. “As for me, I was left at a temple of Grumble in Urthos as a babe and lived most of my life there, learning his teachings and preparing to serve as a priest. Since then, I have worked at some of his churches throughout the kingdoms before coming here several years ago. My whole life has been spent in service, and while I won’t say I’ve never had cause to lose my temper, I can’t imagine anyone hating me to such a degree.”
“About what I expected.” Thistle took a long sip of the tea. Like the temple, it was simple, but great care had been used with every step of its creation. “No clear reason for why someone would target the temple is strange enough, yet it’s not what concerns me the most. Ulkin, would you believe me if I told you that Grumble appeared to me in a dream and urged me to come here?”
“It is commonly accepted that paladins gain guidance from the gods.” Ulkin managed to keep his tone steady, even if he didn’t quite prevent the expression of awe that darted across his face.
“Aye, that it is. But what’s curious is that Grumble didn’t simply tell me to come help you. He merely hinted at the idea that I should visit. Now, I can’t claim to speak for our god; however, he does tend to be straightforward with his instructions whenever possible. I won’t go into too much detail, but suffice it to say that if Grumble is being obtuse, it probably means he and another god are working in opposition to one another. That’s the only time he’s had to play such games before.”
“Why would another god care about a simple temple to Grumble? Especially when there are so many grander ones to gods with actual enemies nearby?” Ulkin asked.
“That’s what makes it a mystery,” Thistle replied. “I have some theories, though. While they’re nothing but pure conjecture at the moment, I think, with the help of our friends, we’ll be able to gain a little more information. Is there anything else you can tell us? Any detail, no matter how small, that might guide us toward the perpetrator?”
“I…” Ulkin paused, looking at Timuscor, who was scratching Mr. Peppers behind the ears. “I know of another matter, one that is considered private among the temple’s priests. For a paladin of Grumble, I believe an exception can be made. However, your friend is another matter.”
“I understand.” Timuscor began to rise, but Thistle put a small hand on his armored shoulder.
“Sit down, Timuscor,” Thistle said. “Ulkin, I respect your need for privacy, truly I do, but I trust this man with my life. He has proven himself as devoted and selfless as any paladin, and you have my assurances that you may speak freely before him. If that’s not enough, then so be it. You may keep your secret to yourself, and know that we will still do all we can to lend you aid. I will not, however, see a friend sent from the room like he’s a spy.”
It took all the self-control Thistle had not to glance down at Mr. Peppers, who, for all he knew, really might be gathering information for some nefarious purpose. Be that as it may, Thistle could neither betray his suspicion nor his friendship by allowing them to be cast out. The information Ulkin was hiding would almost certainly be useful, but by no means could it replace the trust needed between two people who fought with one another in battle.
“Very well, paladin.” This time there was a bit less reverence in the way Ulkin said Thistle’s title, though he continued nonetheless. “Though I can’t imagine it’s the reason for the attacks, our temple houses a relic of Grumble. It’s very old and has lingering magic, but since it cannot be used by anyone, not even Grumble’s own servants, there is no value in stealing it. It was hidden here because the clergy assumed a district of temples would be a safe haven, and even if thieves struck, they would choose the grander targets. As I said though, it is a temple secret, so the odds of anyone knowing about it or trying to drive us out in the hopes of seizing it are both slim.”
“Perhaps, though information can move more freely than you might expect,” Thistle replied. “This artifact, will you tell me what it is?”
“A suit of armor,” Ulkin replied. “Sized for a human, if you can believe it. It burns all who try to touch it, save only for Grumble’s priests when we move or polish it. Even we are seared if we try to don the equipment, however. The armor can only be claimed by its owner; such is the enchantment upon its metal.”
“Why would a human-sized suit of armor be an artifact of Grumble?” Timuscor asked. “Since he’s a kobold, it couldn’t
have been his in life.”
Ulkin began to explain, though Thistle could barely hear over the whirring of his mind putting the pieces together. “No, it did not belong to Grumble—at least, not directly. According to legend, the armor was worn by Grumble’s first paladin, though even the myths argue over the existence of such a person. We have no records of a human paladin in such armor, and whatever he might have accomplished was lost to the ages.”
“Not lost,” Thistle corrected, downing the last of his tea and barely tasting it. “Hidden. Tucked away out of sight so that no prying eyes would go looking for his remains.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Ulkin asked.
Thistle rose from his seat and motioned for Timuscor to follow. “If my hunch is right, it’s the very same god who has been sending people to attack your temple: Kalzidar.”
* * *
“‘Interesting’ doesn’t tell me what it is.” Gabrielle leaned in a little closer, trying to see what Wiscomb was staring at as she scanned the weapon yet again.
“It does if you’re asking the right questions,” Wiscomb muttered, more to herself than to her customer. “But I suppose that if you could do that, you wouldn’t have bothered coming to someone like me.”
Rustling about on the countertop, Wiscomb grabbed a slip of parchment and a small quill. She scratched what seemed like far too many notes and numbers on it before finally looking at Gabrielle.
“Right then, so I can pick up a little about the weapon, but if you want the serious details, you’re going to have to go to a specialist. The magic woven through your axe is fairly complex; no one short of a trained mage is going to be able to crack it.”
“I know a few spell-casters, although I’d have to find a mage guild outpost,” Gabrielle said.
“Let me save you the trouble: there’s not one here, and even if there were, I just explained that not every mage will be able to suss this out. If you really want to peel away the layers and know what you’re working with, you have to bring it to someone who’s dedicated their entire life to enchantment and has about as much knowledge as an archmage,” Wiscomb told her. “Essentially, you need someone who spends every day dealing with magical items. Fortunately enough, I happen to know of a few that fit the bill, but they aren’t cheap or easy to reach.”
Gabrielle nodded as her mind darted back to her friend Fritz. She’d been a gifted merchant, albeit a self-admitted poor spell-caster, which made Gabrielle wonder how she managed to deal with magical items without much power of her own. Probably some scroll or artifact; Fritz had never been shy about using tricks and tools. If Gabrielle had been thinking more clearly at the time, she would have asked Fritz to thoroughly investigate the axe, but back then, Gabrielle had been too occupied worrying about Grumph’s mage trial and the others stuck in Briarwillow. It had been her mistake, and now she was going to have to pay for it in what would undoubtedly be too much gold.
“What’s the cost?” Gabrielle asked.
“For my acquaintances, I can’t say; they set their own prices. But given how intricate the magic in that axe is, I wouldn’t walk in with less than a few thousand gold. As for me…” Wiscomb glanced down at the paper, checking through a few of the chicken scratch lines. “I’ll tell you what I can make out in the axe and part with the names and locations of a few friends for... let’s call it an even three hundred gold.”
It took all her willpower, but Gabrielle resisted choking out loud at the cost. “I thought I’d won half-price in our bet.”
“That is half-price. My fee is dependent upon how hard it is to reach the person I’m connecting you with. If you came in here trying to dig up some local horse thief or pickpocket, I’d only charge a handful of coins. But you’re looking for an extremely in-demand and gifted contact. Now, those sorts don’t like to be bothered, which means having strangers show up saying that I referred them requires constant maintenance of those personal relationships, ample amounts of ass-kissing, and of course, a little good old-fashioned bribery in the form of gifts. If you don’t want the deal, by all means, walk out. I’m not exactly itching to put in this kind of work for half-price, anyway.”
Wiscomb crossed her arms, and Gabrielle took the hint. There was no room for negotiation here; she either took the offer, or went on her way. Three hundred gold was steep, especially if she was going to need a few thousand to buy the real information from Wiscomb’s contacts, but she had enough. And really, between her demon-hide armor and cursed-yet-powerful axe, it wasn’t as though she needed as much new equipment as the others. Better to put her coin toward understanding how to actually use the weapon she had, or at least learning enough to know if it was something she ought to cast aside.
“Fine. Three hundred.” Gabrielle had already sorted her coins into five pouches, so she dug in her robes and produced three of them, dropping each on the counter one at a time. Wiscomb watched intently, waiting until all three were there before scooping them up carefully. In a blur of motion, the pouches disappeared into the thick array of clothes on the gnome’s body like they’d never even been there.
“Aren’t you going to count it?” Gabrielle asked.
“Did you not see me listening as you dropped them?” Wiscomb asked. “I know you paid me true, so it’s time for me to hold up my end. Now, as you might have guessed by my detailing how much trouble it is to contact my acquaintances, these aren’t people I can just walk you up to in the street and introduce you to. At most, I can part with their names, the cities where they usually live, and a promise that if you say I sent you, then I’ll back the claim, should they test it. As an adventurer, I assume you’re accustomed to travel?”
“I am.” There wasn’t much point in denying the obvious, even if Gabrielle was a bit irked that she’d just paid three hundred gold only to be told she’d have to hunt down one of these mysterious people on her own.
“Right, then I’ll put together a small scroll of names and places for you once the rest of the business is done. None live here, of course—no self-respecting mage dwells so close to the kingdom’s heart. They all prefer a little more freedom to work in. But first, the matter at hand.” Wiscomb tilted her head gently down toward the axe. “If you’d be so kind as to re-wrap that, I’ll tell you what I was able to glean from looking it over.”
Gabrielle obliged. Wiscomb didn’t actually speak until the first layer was in place, as though she didn’t want the weapon to overhear what she had to say.
“I’m sure you know it’s cursed; anyone with even the slightest hint of magical talent could sense that. It’s old as well—perhaps I’ve said that already, but it bears repeating. Old magic can be... stubborn in some ways, much like people. Often, spells weaken as they age. Other times, they only grow more powerful. From what I could see, there is a sacrificial component to get this weapon’s power really flowing. My guess is that it has demanded something from you in a moment of need.”
Spot on as the guess was, Gabrielle said nothing, merely continued with her current task. Dealing with Elora and Wiscomb was teaching Gabrielle the importance of information, and she suspected silence was best to give away as little as possible without negotiating something in return.
“That’s all fairly normal for old curse-magic,” Wiscomb continued. “What made this one interesting is that there’s a bit of lingering magic on the blades from the last time it was used, and it is highly unusual spell craft. This axe of yours, it conjures an intensely-focused dispelling magic; essentially, magic designed to rip apart other magic.”
“I... was able to chop through soil golems.” Gabrielle didn’t relish sharing that tidbit, but Wiscomb’s words had suddenly put a lot of the things she’d done with her weapon into perspective. She’d cut through the evil priest’s shield and destroyed his construct with a single hit. The golems, too. No wonder she was the only one effective against them. They were just lumps of dirt held together by magic.
“I can easily believe that. In fact, it’s probably in the low-
end of what this weapon is capable of. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Whoever crafted this was an absolute master of dispelling magic. Probably why they cursed it, as well,” Wiscomb said.
“What do you mean?” Gabrielle finished wrapping her weapon and hefted it off the counter, holding it carefully at her side.
“I mean that’s not the sort of power you can let just anyone wield unchecked,” Wiscomb told her. “Magic is a part of all the major cities, used in defense as much as utility, and that’s to say nothing of how mages are employed when kingdoms go to war. If you were able to just freely chop your way through wards and barriers, there’s no telling how much destruction you could cause.”
Wiscomb glanced down at the parcel, and Gabrielle thought she saw a fleeting shudder run through the gnome’s body.
“If not for the curse, that might be one of the most dangerous weapons in this, or any other, kingdom.”
Chapter 21
Elora made her way carefully across town, careful not to snag any more attention than was strictly needed. The last few days had been a wild, unexpected ride, all because of one careless moment where she’d lost track of her surroundings. It would have made for an incredible teaching opportunity, if her pride would ever allow her to share such a tale with the paler shadows. What was meant to be a simple tailing mission had spiraled thoroughly out of control, and the truth of the matter was that Elora was thrilled that it had.
She wasn’t particularly keen on teaching a rogue as green as Eric, even if he had managed to make it through the first day’s training without serious injury or death. That was no mean feat, given the traps he’d had to wind his way through, so at least he was still showing promise. And Elora certainly wasn’t enthusiastic about aiding his friends on some piddling little loot quest. No, what had her heart pumping was the sheer unpredictability of it all. As a properly-trained and skilled rogue, she’d been too good at her job for too long. There were tense moments, of course, but those were fleeting bursts of light in an otherwise drearily easy existence. This group, and her debt to them, was livening things up. For the first time in a very long while, Elora didn’t know what would happen next, and that uncertainty reminded her of what it truly meant to be a rogue. She was thinking on her feet, adapting strategies on the fly, and working a half dozen plans at once with no idea which, if any, might succeed. She had even begun to wonder if meeting Eric hadn’t been just a boon for him; perhaps Tristan was trying to reinvigorate her, as well.