Tales of Fantasy, Fables, and Fiction

by Thomas H. Tribble

  Lanin looked them over one last time and then almost sheepishly said, "I'll have to inform the constable about these injuries. He'll be wanting your names."

  "As I've said, I am Beneth of the Elven province Bordic Sual, this is Strom Theissen," he said motioning to the lanky one, "and our wounded friend here is named Birt and he is from Allum in the clan-state Visaer. We were attacked in the woods not far from here by two largish owlbears."

  "Who are dead now," added Strom.

  "Naturally, I do not know if there were any other such beasts out and about but it would be a good idea to tell the authorities about them to be safe," continued Beneth. This seemed to placate Lanin and he went about his business after that. He did keep an ear to the room's hallway throughout the night though, just in case trouble should erupt. He had been keeping an inn for enough years to know trouble when it stared him in the face. He also knew how to poise himself to get out of its path and to never, ever become directly involved with it.

  Shortly after Lanin had left the room, the wounded man said, "Birt? You know I detest that name."

  "Yes, and consequently, it's one you've not used for some time. I grow weary of improvising monikers so readily," Beneth replied. Lines of fatigue showed through his ever-youthful visage and pressed down on his shoulders. The adventure this group had just been on had been but one leg of an unending journey that had begun only two and a half years before and had offered them little rest since its commencement. "At any rate," he added, "I think the only bounty hunters currently pursuing you are the usual fair and likely days or fortnights behind us since we teleported from Qinlun proper. Half a continent of distance would have left even that Half-Orcen bloodhound far behind us. Also, you would imagine that any hunters would be more inclined to ask after Strom or myself."

  Strom was removing his leather armor and donning attire more suitable to village life. "They still do not look for us. Only Bourne carries the stigma. I worry not about such matters lest I become doubtful of my own inclinations and have misgivings about my immediate actions. Such hesitations can lead to one's own death."

  "Picking the pockets of farmers is dangerous enough is it?" said Beneth with a less than wry tone.

  Strom seemed about to become angry but then smiled slightly and said, "Unless you are holding out on us, cousin, I believe that the only currency we have is the gemstone and talisman we just liberated from the citadel this noon. I doubt a town of this size is the right place to make an exchange for them. So, until we are once again in pliable monies, I believe my less virtuous trades will have to, once again, fund us for a time." Once Lanin delivered the requested supplies, Strom splashed a bit of the sherry on his tunic and, with only a few more quips from Beneth, left to ply his profession on the indigenous tavern patrons.

  The one called Birt cleaned his wounds all the while in silence and then laid down on what was, he thought, little more than a robust cot. Beneth finally began to remove his robes and rather exquisite mail after looking the room over thoroughly. He took up the pieces of bloody splint mail from the floor and began cleaning them.

  "Have you need for me to bandage you any further?" Beneth said, mostly to make conversation. Birt seemed rather sullen and was even more quiet than usual.

  "No. I am fine. However, I will break with my usual precedence and allow you to clean my sword. I do not know why I fret over it such except that is was so hard won."

  "You honor me. It is a magnificent weapon, if a bit plain," replied the Elf. The mood of his comrade did not seem to be lifting so he let the wounded man rest in quiet.

  After a while Birt said, "You realize that if either of you ever wish to part company with me, I would understand. I have grown weary of my life, but you need not. All of this skulking about and living in shadows hasn't brought any of us any closer to lasting wealth or happiness."

  "Perhaps not. Perhaps not. But being in the constant path of danger has taught us a great deal about survival. Our skills have improved immensely, you must admit. And, while I believe Strom is correct about neither he nor I being well known as your traveling companions, I can think of no more exciting place to be but in your service. As for lasting happiness and wealth, who in this world really has a guarantee of either?" Beneth then said thoughtfully, "I think, Bourne my friend, that we are as content now as we ever have been."

  The two sat in silence again for a time and sipped the sherry, chewed on some rations, and eventually began talking about the subjects that they always wound up speaking of; the gods, the far away realms of myth, and the great treasures that there were for the winning.

  In the nearby night, a thin and smooth talking half-Elf was nursing ales, making polite conversation with inebriated tavern patrons, and occasionally, dislodging a few silver or golden coins from their pouches. For the patrons, the evening would soon come to an end and the morning would bring another day with a few of them wondering where they had misplaced a few rilks. For the thief, however, the night was young and there was still much work to be done.

  A few leagues away, at the citadel that the three adventurers had infiltrated only hours before, two figures were made their way through the forest along the main path eastward. They were riding slowly, following the three's tracks away from the dull, looming tower. The lead figure was very strong and rugged looking and was clad in hide armor made from thick, deep blue leather. Even by torchlight, a single glance upon the strangely attractive but weathered visage would tell anyone from this world that there was blood with more than a little Orc lineage coursing through those veins. The leader stopped and dismounted. With torch held high, the broad, muscular shoulders set atop a thick frame bent low to the ground as the set of black and bloodshot eyes peered closely at one of the sets of hoof prints.

  The second figure stayed mounted. He spoke with a sneering voice that made him seem even smaller compared to the leader. "The smallest one's mount has a chip in the right, back shoe. The larger mount must be for the man. The other is a good-sized horse but appears to be loaded light. These tracks'll be easy to follow." The leader shot the small man an intense gaze. "That is, well, they would be for me in daylight," the small man said quickly.

  "We press on. We cannot afford to let them get too far ahead of us," a husky voice replied.

  "Aye, my lady. I envy you your dark vision, is all I meant." The leader stood up, her head even with the mounted man's, and paused for a moment. Then, she said, "Maeven, besides Urum, what towns lie upon this path?"

  "Nothing of consequence until you get to Cramdorn. Of course, I think you can turn off an hour or so after Urum and head towards..."

  "Not the way this one is bleeding. He'll need fresh bandages and rest as soon as he can get them. If he had any healing devices with him, he would have used them, I trow," the leader blurted out.

  "Well then, we have him! If their tracks don't turn off southward into the bogs after crossing Arl Creek, then Urum is where we'll find 'em. Huntress Moornam will get her bounty once again!"

  At this, she smiled a broad, fierce smile. "This one has eluded me for too long. Even I tire at this chase. I wonder at his present companions, but, yes, he will be mine by this time tomorrow. And by MogsDay, the bounty will be in my hands." At this, Maeven flashed a devious smile himself. He tried, at least, to make it devious but it actually came off rather foppish. Moornam would have thought that Maeven should just stick to his usual sneer but was rather too engrossed in planning a quick and overwhelming ambush to really notice.

  The two galloped ahead down the forest path. Maeven opined that any bandits working these woods tonight should be very careful to avoid the two of them.

  A little after the mid of night, Strom decided that he had finished his pilfering and purse cutting for the evening. "Best to leave off a little before everyone is sent home," he thought. Besides, the whole of the Urum's community of tavern patrons seemed intent on breaking into a chorus of "Lordly Dall Trumpler" nearly hourly. Lusty songs about heroic demon slayers were fine for
guzzling ale to, but he had to stay sober to do his work and "Dall", he always thought, was rather a monotonic song when you got right down to it, and quite easy to get ones fill of. He considered stopping at the inn to change into his armor but decided against it. He had his dagger and lock-picks with him so he could do his next job easily enough. Besides, were he set upon by town guards, such as they were, he would rather make for a clean escape than kill anyone. The rest of the town might take that personally. Such is small town politics, he thought. Also, he was quite certain that he did not need any

  more quips from Beneth at this time.

  He made his way to the apothecary shop by the south east corner of the town. The alley and doors were dark enough to allow him to gain an unseen entry. His Elvin night vision would allow him to see everything he needed to. And, being a craftsman, he knew that robbery and lock picking were more arts of feel and touch than of sight and brute force. Anyone can pick a lock or disarm a trap. The true genius can rearm and re-lock an entire battery of such devices so that no one would know the difference the next day. "If these yokels catch me, I would probably die of embarrassment anyway," he mumbled to himself.

  Two hours later found Strom making his way silently up the Waistcoat's back stairs. He rapped on the door lightly three times then entered. As much as he quipped at Beneth, he would not want to accidentally be on the receiving end of one of his spells.

  "Shh, he is asleep," whispered Beneth pointing a thumb at Bourne. "So, in what capacity do we find you loaded; with gold or wine?"

  Strom replied in the wood Elvin tongue more suited to whispering, "Why both, cousin. Here, have a swing of this delight," and handed the Elf a small bottle of spirits. Beneth took a sip and immediately made a tortured face. He cleared his palate as soon as he could and handed the bottle back to Strom.

  "Your tastes have become fully suspect at last. Is this lacquer or brandy?" asked Beneth.

  With a silent chuckle Strom replied, "A tool of my trade actually. And yet..." He then produced five potion bottles from his belt pouch and said, "Now we can leave at first light instead of spending the day looking for a healer willing to work for wages."

  The bottles were the potion flasks that the party had emptied just the day before. Their contents had just saved Bourne's life. Strom had made an issue of keeping the containers and not discarding them as usual. Now, they were each refilled. "The first shop I entered had a rather eerie feel to it so I felt I dasn't terry there. But, the next was much more open and inviting. I managed to pick these healing potions up reasonably."

  "And what, pray, did you refill the flasks that you pilfered with? Or did you just leave them empty for all to see?" asked Beneth.

  "Why, this cheapest of brandies, of course. The liquid has a tint surprisingly similar to that of the healing potions, though it does tend to burn the throat quite badly."

  At this Beneth raised his voice noticeably, looked dead into Strom's eyes and said, "And what of the men that buy the potions for use when trying to save their lives? What of them?"

  Strom stood up straight and said sternly, "We all know that these potions tend to cure but one ailment per gulp, be it minor or major. Sometimes, they seem to do almost nothing. Yet, we still rely on them just the same. I took but one in four of the flasks available this night, not all of them. The reputation of the apothecary will not be sullied by me. Now, I am going to go lie down and get a good sleep until dawn." Then he turned his back on the Elf and lie down on his cot, leaving Beneth to his watch.

  Strom did manage to sleep, but it was not the dreamless sleep of the innocent that he would have preferred. Dawn came far too early for him the next day. When it did, the half-Elf was awoken by the sound of armor clanking. Bourne was preparing to don his mail and was performing some minor repair work to it. Beneth was in the corner of the room meditating over his scrolls and tomes preparing his spells for the day. Magicians can perform truly impressive feats using their minds and a few material components, but not without the proper preparations. All of this activity made Strom hungry and anxious to be on the way to a town large enough to trade in their booty for coins of gold and platinum. A town with better sherry would be nice, too.

  Bourne was still very injured, which surprised the thief. He found all of the vials that he had gotten the night before unopened. He gave the largest of them to Bourne and said, "I believe that this potion might be taken in either gulps of one third the vial's contents or wholly. I am surprised you did not find these in my pack for yourself."

  With a small head shake Bourne replied, "No. There is no telling what tricks and snares you have in place to protect our things, so I thought better of it." He looked at the bottle for a moment, removed the stopper and sniffed the contents. He then drank the entire vile empty and sat back on his cot. After a moment, his entire body seemed to glow faintly. Whether a being did actually glow or not due to such potions was a subject often debated by Beneth and Strom. Bourne remained indifferent to the issue.

  The largest cuts and bruises on Bourne's skin faded as his companions looked on. After a few more moments, he stood up and stretched his arms up over his head. "Better," is all he said even though it was obvious that he was still far from fully healed.

  "Would you care for another? I have more." said Strom.

  Bourne replied, "Certainly. Oh, by the by, have you any currency to pay Master Lanin? I am thinking of making him a deal."

  The sun had not yet come up when Strom and Bourne opened the door to their room and crept, as best as a man in mail could, down to the lobby. There, Lanin was sitting behind his desk seemingly awake. Bourne dropped three gold rilks onto the desk and said, "This is more than our agreed price, however, I intend that to go to your help-staff. This I have for you on condition." At that, Strom placed what looked to be a fair sized ruby on the desk next to the coins. Lanin's eyes widened as he picked it up and peer deeply into it. Strom shot Bourne a quick, nervous look. The gem was, in fact, a ruby. It had been pried it out of an eye socket of an old, crumbling idol just the day before. But, what both he and Bourne were hoping was that by dawn's first light Lanin would not be able to see its many flaws and imperfections. Though not worthless, it was not overly valuable either. Still, it might account for a month's wages for the keeper of a run-down inn at a small town.

  Bourne brought his hand down onto Lanin's softly but suddenly and said, "The condition is that we did not give that to you and three riders did not stay here last night. The rilks are for you to convince your broomsman of such. Have we an arrangement?"

  Lanin merely nodded, his eyes still looking intently at the gem. A moment later he seemed to become aware that the two travelers were still staring at him. "Have no fear of me or my lackey. I am too old to be taken to account and he too greedy," the innkeeper said with a grin.

  Before the sun had risen a hand's breadth, the party on its way to the only place that Lanin would have wanted them to go. Away.

  Chapter 2 - Norec's Revenge

  The party now needed to travel to a city large enough to afford them currency for the items that they had pilfered from the citadel. Bourne would have told the curious that they infiltrated and attacked the resident wizard of the Citadel the day before to prevent him from doing any further mischief in that area. In point of fact, the old wizard was a notorious usurper of the Citadel, a vile maker of soulless golems, and a summoner of demons. That Bourne had taken the job of killing the old man for payment of a treasure map to the Citadel was not an issue in his mind. One had to make a living.

  The big payoff on the map was a room hidden away in the sub-basement of the structure. It was a well crafted room of old Dwarven make. Had it not been for the map, the party, or just about anyone else, would never have found it. It had contained an old statue with the large gem in its forehead, a few rather odd trinkets, and a bizarre, alien holy symbol. The wizard's conjuring room was disappointingly sparse and his treasury was non-existent.... or, more likely, magically hidden in a way that neit
her Beneth nor the others were familiar with.

  The gem would fetch a top price in one of the larger towns. Once away from Urum, they headed back the way they had come the night before, covered their tracks, and then took a small side path towards the bustling town of Norec. The party had old friends there as well and Leena would no doubt, thought Bourne, be very happy to see him still alive.

  The trip to Norec took a full day of hard riding and they arrived within sight of the city walls by dusk. The call of soft beds tried to lure them to enter the city's gates at once. Bourne knew that this would be unwise and so they camped well off of the road that night. The plains around Norec were still wild and unsettled. Only the tall, thick walls of the city and its garrison of armed men kept the roads immediately around the city safe. The party got as far from the road as they could before sunset and found a patch of scrub oaks to sleep under. The trees would hide their campfire and keep the prairie winds to a tolerable level.

  The trees made the dusk settle in more quickly. Soft darkness laid itself upon the weary group. After tending to the horses, making camp, preparing a hearty supper, and doing clean up, it had gotten rather late. The waxing moons hovered low in the sky already. Bourne decided to take the first watch and let the other two rest. Strom fell asleep almost immediately and Beneth sat in an Elvin trance by the low fire. Elves never really sleep as men know it but require time to meditate and distill their mental and bodily energies. That still did not seem right to Bourne but he had learned to accept it as normal.

  Night watch tended to be rather dull. One had to keep alert at all times and the hours usually drifted by very slowly. More often than not, Bourne found himself trying to remember his life before the wrath had been placed on him by the one he would only refer to as The Dark Lord. He had been a young, carefree adventurer seeing the world at last. He had met his life's love and had even made plans to wed her. Now pursued and constantly in danger, his heart was growing weary and his soul old. Had it not been for his ever faithful companions, he certainly would have been killed by now. For all their aid to him though, their safety was always the most important thing on his mind. The optimistic boy he once had been seemed wholly pushed aside. Now, he was a lethal swordsman and slayer of countless fiends. At times, he felt as though he were little else and therefore useless. Killing his chief antagonist was out of his depth and, he knew, always would be. "How would one even go about slaying one of the great powers in the cosmos?" he wondered.