by Steven Drake
“Well are you going to say something?” Mirisa asked.
“Fine, what do you need, Lady Mirisa?” Darien said flatly. Miri rarely visited any time other than the morning.
“Darien, I told you this morning, did you already forget?” Darien pondered what she was talking about, then he shook his head.
“The harvest festival is tonight. Everyone in town is attending.”
This again, he groaned to himself. “I’m only a visitor here, and I’m quite busy.”
“No, you’re not. You don’t do anything but sit in here all day and read the same books.”
“That’s not true. I also work with my potions or my enchantments,” Darien argued as he rolled his eyes. “Why does it even matter what I’m doing? The point is I’m busy doing it. I helped with the harvest, didn’t I?”
“You did, and Kellan says anyone who helps with the harvest is entitled to attend.”
Darien sighed. “Princess Mirisa,” Darien used her formal address purposely, partly because Garok was clearly listening, but rather more because of how much it annoyed her. “I really have no interest in frivolous celebrations, and I really do have better things to do. What is it you really want?”
“I just want you to get better. If you actually got out of this cave and spent some time enjoying yourself, it might help you heal.”
“Your reasoning is flawed, milady. I enjoy reading, and working with my magical tools. I don’t enjoy festivals, so I should be better off remaining here.”
“No, I don’t think so. You only think you’re enjoying yourself but you’re really brooding.” Mirisa frowned and looked back. Garok still stood several yards away. When she turned back to him, she curled her mouth into a wicked grin as she leaned in closer and spoke in a whisper. “I’ve been watching. The mark is always worse when you stay in here all day. I see it the next morning. The darkness is always stronger too.” Darien grumbled and gazed up at the mountain, his frustration mounting, but Miri showed no sign of relenting. “I know I’m right about this. I just want you to get better, that’s all. You want to get back to your friends, right? Jerris and Nina?”
“Nia,” Darien corrected. “She’s my sister, remember.”
“Well, if you want to get back to them, you need to listen to me. You think you know everything, but you’re just stubborn.”
“Alright, alright, fine.” Darien finally gave up, as this argument was already frustrating him more than any festival could. Mirisa smiled deviously at him, and he stifled his irritation. She turned back toward town and started walking, while Darien trudged along behind. Garok waited for them, grinning even wider.
“Something amusing, ogre?” Darien stopped beside Garok and shot the ogre a sidelong glance.
Garok responded with a slow rumbling chuckle as he started walking in his long strides beside the half-elf a few steps behind Miri. “You amuse me, half-elf.”
“How so?”
“You fight her, but you always lose. You are slow to learn.”
“Learn what?”
“She has a way. My people call it Chorta’Moog.” Darien looked over at Garok. The term seemed familiar, but it had been a long time since he had heard the ogre language. “It means ‘like the mountain’, in your words. Curse the mountain all you wish, fight until you are exhausted, the mountain will have its own way.”
“You have a point,” Darien grumbled as he examined Miri confidently walking several yards ahead. “She can be most persistent, but so am I, and I’m also used to getting my way.”
“So was I, before I met Princess Mirisa.” The ogre chuckled again as he strode along beside Darien. “I am an ogre, feared by man, elf, dwarf, orc, troll, and goblin. I expected her to be afraid of me, same as you, but she is not afraid of me, or you. Disturbing, isn’t it?” The ogre flashed a sly smile.
“I suppose so. How did you get used to it?”
“I just let the lady have her way.” Garok smiled. “Easier that way. She’ll have what she wants, one way or the other. Fighting just makes it harder. You will learn.”
Darien glared rather fiercely at the ogre, who loped forward and paid no more notice, seemingly content with his conclusion. It was remarkable for an ogre to speak of a member of any other race with such admiration. He shook his head, not quite understanding the ogre’s attitude.
The trip into town took perhaps fifteen minutes. Then Miri led him to the familiar lodge, which had been decorated with a variety of animal furs, wildflowers, and homemade quilts. People milled about the open space in front of the building, and wandered in and out of the large front double doors that stood open. The evening had descended just enough to make the orange light that issued from the doors visible.
They proceeded through the doors and into a wide, open, high-ceilinged room. Long tables were laid out back to back, with benches on either side. Over the next hour or so, people sat down at the tables, until the room was quite filled. As people wandered in, the noise of their conversations grew into a pounding din that grated on Darien’s ears.
Mirisa and Garok sat with Kellan at a more formally decorated table that sat on a platform against the back wall of the large common room. Zitane sat quietly beside his sister, just about as enthusiastic about the festivities as Darien himself. Garok took a seat at a large table nearby, which seemed to have been constructed specifically for the massive ogre. He sat on the floor, and proceeded to tear into the food already laid out for him. Garok had perhaps enough food to feed a half dozen, a roast chicken, several ears of corn, two different plates of potatoes prepared in various fashion, and at least a half-dozen varieties of pie. The town seemed prosperous enough, to be able to throw such a banquet.
Fortunately, once they had arrived, Mirisa became focused on Kellan and the others at her table. Darien slipped off and drifted like a shadow along the wall, until he found a shady spot in the corner, where he could observe the entirety of the room. He ate some roasted pork, a creamy potato soup of some sort, and had a few mugs of ale. Mostly, however, he kept to himself. Some people greeted him warmly, and he nodded respectfully back, but for the most part, they gave him his space. Only one person even got close, a mousey adolescent with dirty brown hair tripped over his feet. The boy turned and apologized, but Darien had never seen this particular young man before, and the terrified look in the young man’s eyes made Darien suspicious. Probably he was only a pickpocket who realized he had chosen too difficult a target, but Darien watched him for a while anyway. After the young man failed to do anything else suspicious, Darien lost interest.
After a couple hours of eating, Kellan stood and announced the end of the meal. The women cleared the tables while a few brawny men pushed the heavy tables against the outer walls. A band emerged from the hallway that led to the back portion of the inn. They played the usual songs of the rural folk, songs he had heard in many inns when he wandered the Red Mountains. Darien sighed and wondered if Mirisa would notice if he went home.
As the band played, people started dancing in the center of the room, most notably Kellan who danced vigorously with Mirisa, smiling and laughing. Darien watched Zitane’s various expressions of brotherly disapproval as he watched his royal sister dance with the course woodsman, but that form of amusement lasted only a few minutes, so Darien turned to a more familiar activity, gathering information.
With the food gone and the tables moved aside, it was easier to observe the people themselves. Darien watched as they clustered together into groups of four or five and held their individual conversations. He wandered silently about the room, and adjusted his hearing to focus on different conversations, finding little of interest, until he noticed the young man who had bumped into him earlier conversing with a group of men who he had not seen before that day. The shady characters spoke in whispers, too quiet for even his magical hearing to pick up. They looked around, and covered the movements of their lips, familiar techniques for men who kept secrets. They were probably nothing more than thieves, smugglers, o
r just traders of information, common enough in Exire, barely worth noting, but there was really nothing else remotely interesting.
He watched and listened to them for perhaps an hour, moving around the room slowly, as inconspicuously as possible. The suspicious characters, however, did the same, and successfully kept their conversation to themselves. They were so diligent he wondered to himself whether they were aware of his observation. He had not practiced the art of observation in some time, so perhaps they picked up on his interest.
Darien became so lost in thought that he scarcely noticed Mirisa approach. He did notice however when she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him rather forcefully, though not forcefully enough to actually produce any movement. Her hair was tousled from dancing, and her face glistened with the slightest perspiration. She smiled broadly at him, and pulled at his arm.
“Come dance with me,” she said with a giggling girlish, entirely too happy tone. Her cheeks had reddened, and she swayed in time with the music, obviously feeling the effects of too much food and too much alcohol.
“Mirisa, not now, I’m busy,” he said, not hiding his irritation.
“Busy doing what? I told you to have fun, and all you’ve done is lurk in the shadows.”
“Yes, and I was quite enjoying myself,” Darien said flatly.
Miri giggled again. It seemed nothing could even dent the woman’s cheerful mood. “Just one dance. Come on. Garok bet me five silver coins that I couldn’t get you out on the floor. I’ll give you half.”
Darien glared over at the ogre who still sat picking at the remains of his meal. The ogre noticed his attention and grinned back. “Do you even know what half of five is at this point?” Darien grumbled as he silently cursed the poorly timed practical joke of the ogre. “Besides, I do not dance.”
“Liar, you dance beautifully. I see you every day out dancing with Garok.”
What on earth is she talking about? Darien wracked his brain for a few seconds while she continued to pull futilely at his arm, then it hit him, and he laughed loudly enough that several people nearby turned and gave him an odd look. “You were watching me spar with Garok? Lady Mirisa, we were practicing combat. I suppose it might look something like dancing to you.” He chuckled, and Mirisa punched him on the arm, a weak punch, but more than he expected given her inebriated state.
“You’re making fun of me. I knew you were fighting, but it’s no different than dancing. Why can’t you do both?”
Darien laughed again. Explaining the difference between combat and dance seemed beyond absurd, and for several minutes, the usually quiet half-elf had difficulty regaining his composure.
Finally, Kellan intervened. “Is there a problem here?”
“Not at all, Kellan.” Darien still couldn’t stop himself grinning like a fool. “No problem at all. I believe Lady Mirisa has been used as a pawn for Garok to play a rather amusing joke on me. I shall have to thank him. I haven’t laughed like that in as long as I can remember.”
“As long as everyone is having a good time.” Kellan smiled and grabbed Miri by the arm. “Come along milady, if you’ve need of a dance partner, I shall attend. The night is yet young, and my stamina is more than enough.” He half walked and half dragged the woman away. Darien mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Kellan, grateful to be extricated from the awkward situation. The gruff woodsman, however scowled back, less than pleased with the situation, probably upset that Miri had been dancing, or at least attempting to dance, with someone else.
He shook his head and started looking for the suspicious men again. After a quick scan of the room, he did not see them. He wandered through the shadows on the edge of the room to search more thoroughly. Again, nothing. He checked the back halls and the rooms, then the second floor, but there was no sign of them. His suspicions aroused, he headed outside.
Chapter 17: The Unexpected Connection
The environs of the lodge glowed brightly, illuminated by the light from dozens of lamps and more torches. Several groups of people had taken their conversations outside. A large group of people had gathered around a bonfire in an open square near the lodge, while another group had gathered in a torch lit alley to bet on fights between ugly brown wooly rat-like creatures with teeth nearly half the size of their bodies. Several couples were enthusiastically enjoying one another’s company, tucked into dark corners and safe from all but Darien’s shadow piercing eyes. The suspicious group of men, however, seemed to have vanished entirely.
Fortunately, a light snow had begun to fall, and the ground was dusted with white. Darien found numerous sets of faint footprints leading away from the lodge. After following several sets that terminated at various houses and another that ended at the unofficial town brothel, he found a set that seemed to be a group of several men leading out of the village.
Darien’s mind shifted into sharp focus, assessing the possibilities. It was probably nothing, just a group of thieves or bandits casing the town. Even if they were scouting the town for someone, it might have nothing to do with him. Exire had enough undesirables who might be targets of mercenaries, trackers, or bounty hunters. Nonetheless, Darien recognized the possibility, however slim, that someone had recognized him. Traiz had tracked him using his own enchantment. Darien had destroyed that stone, but only after being unconscious for nearly a month. If someone had tracked him here before that, but been unwilling or unable to strike immediately, they might have returned. He could not afford to take such a chance. If the Shades attacked here, the people of Exire would pay the price, and worse, they might find out about Mirisa’s abilities. Then she would become a target as well. For her sake, he had to break the promise he made not to wander off. Hopefully, she would never even know he was gone.
He followed the tracks at a brisk but silent trot until he saw smoke on the horizon, then followed the smoke to a campfire built at the bottom of a wide dell in a grove of mixed pine and fir trees. He crouched low at the edge of the dell, focused his vision, and looked into the darkness around the fire. He could see only dark shapes, cloaked figures moving around the glowing embers of the campfire, at least a dozen in view, with perhaps more on the periphery, lurking in the shadows. He searched the hillside below him thoroughly, and picked out two scouts who were silently scanning the hillside, about twenty yards from the fire. They had a perimeter watch set. Once he established the range, he scanned left and right at the same distance from the fire, finding two more scouts farther to his right. There were probably more, hidden too well by the moonless night, but the positions of these gave him a decent idea of how large the perimeter had been set, the distance between scouts, and how many there could be in total. They had hidden themselves well, and a less skilled sneak without the benefit of magic would easily have missed them. No, these were not common ruffians, but skilled men, and well trained. Someone had sent them here on purpose. He couldn’t stop now. He had to find out who they were and what they were after.
Darien surveyed the hillside, attempting to find a way past the scouts. He made the most cautious of assumptions. They had no magical energy that he could sense, but he did not rule out the possibility they had magically enhanced sight, or failing that, enchanted items to produce a similar effect. He looked for places of cover, and planned his approach. Even though the only light came from the stars, there were still subtle gradations of darkness that only a former Shade could perceive, places where all but the sharpest eyes failed.
After perhaps a half hour of quiet observation and careful planning, Darien crawled over the edge of the hillock and inched on his belly towards a thick bush. He examined the scouts again. There was no indication that they had seen him.
He crept slowly from the bush, and toward the deep shadows beneath a pine tree. He picked his way slowly down the hillside, moving from one shadowed position to the next, checking each time to see if he was noticed. Finally, when he had come to within ten yards or so of the nearest scout, he stopped and waited, patiently and quietly.
; He remained still, waiting for an opportunity, a single moment of distraction was all he needed. Finally, his opening appeared as the scout reached down for his water flask. The unsuspecting scout turned his head for just a moment, and Darien was up and sprinting toward the man, balancing speed with silence and keeping low as he could. By the time the scout looked up, Darien was upon him. A moment of stark fear flashed in the scout’s eyes, and Darien recognized the face of the mousey young man who had stumbled into him earlier that evening. The mousey man reached for a dagger, but before he could draw it, Darien had drawn his own dagger, and had it at the man’s throat. The young man froze, and Darien easily took the dagger from his hand, while covering his mouth.
“Make so much as a sound, and you die,” Darien whispered softly into the young man’s ear. He looked towards the next closest scout, who was now looking over in this direction, but seemed confused. “Signal him that all is well, or you die.” The mousey man made a hand signal, and the other scout turned away. Darien took careful note of the hand signal, then placed his hand on the man’s neck. The man fell forward, silently asleep.
Darien took a few moments to catch his breath and assess his new situation. He had covered half the distance to the campfire. He looked down towards it, but the entire area around the campfire was empty. Where had they gone? Something had gone wrong. Suddenly, he heard the soft thwip of a crossbow. He dodged, and the bolt lodged in the back of the sleeping man, who suddenly let out a croak. The sleeping spell held, but that hardly mattered. He’d been detected.