The mug slipped from Cyril’s hand. “Who told you about portals?” He stood up and loomed over Liberon, like a schoolmaster chastising an unruly pupil. “Well?”
The monk’s lip quivered. “Nobody.”
“Don’t be coy with me.” Cyril raised his staff. “Such knowledge is forbidden.”
“What are you on about? It was just wishful thinking.”
Dagorat stepped between them. “Stop.”
The mage stared hard at him a moment longer, then gave a sharp nod. He lowered his staff and tried to turn his back, but Dagorat prevented him. “So you can open some type of magic door and get us to Easterly immediately? Why are we on this caravan?”
“Because I can’t. I don’t know how. Portal magic is forbidden by the Shantokran Council.”
Katrina inched forward into the firelight. “Such magic exists?”
Cyril grunted and curled a lip. “Existed. Some say those scrolls were destroyed, while others believe they’re still sealed up deep within the Shantokran School.” He wagged a finger at Dagorat and Katrina. “Don’t even dream about breaking in to find them.”
“Think about all the goods transported through the three kingdoms, all the time it takes to get things from place to place,” Liberon said. “Instant travel would be a wonderful thing.”
“No. A horrid thing.” Cyril dropped his voice to a whisper, and the others inched closer. “Long ago, a mage of the Council named Turovin experimented with portals. He had great success jumping all over the continent. Then he achieved the ultimate. Portals to other worlds.”
Dagorat rolled his eyes. “First the Orb and now other worlds. What’s next, flying balomphs?”
“Shh, I want to hear this,” Liberon said.
“Turovin managed to open a portal to another world. A very different one.” Cyril grabbed a twig and drew in the dirt. “Imagine a vast city with tall buildings.” Then he outlined a huge mushroom growing out from the center of the city, dwarfing everything around it.
Liberon moved to see the sketch. “They built the city around a giant mushroom?”
“Not a mushroom. Rather, the aftermath of an explosion.”
“I’ve never heard of that before. What’s an explosion?” Liberon asked.
“Sometimes experiments with potions can explode. It happens when two substances are combined that shouldn’t be. And there’s always a burst of smoke, a spark of light, a noise like distant thunder. It can burn you if you get too close, and even kill if it’s powerful enough.”
“Sounds like something a Gnome would do,” Dagorat said.
“Quite right. Their fireworks, for example, are sent flying up by small explosions. But those are toys, not capable of serious damage. What I’m talking about is much more destructive. Seconds after Turovin saw the city, a brilliant flash of light blinded him, and a great noise sounded, hundreds of times louder than any thunder. The excruciating screams of the dying masses tormented him for the rest of his life.”
The group remained silent for a long moment. Katrina took Dagorat’s hand and squeezed. “All those people killed in seconds. You’re right, it’s horrid.”
Cyril nodded gravely. “A portal is essentially a door. If we open a door to enter another world, we can pass through, but those people can enter our world as well. And what if they brought the power to destroy entire cities with them? When Turovin realized this, he swiftly closed the portal and informed the Shantokran Council of his work. The magic is forbidden to this day.” He stared into the fire. After a moment, he stirred and looked up at the stars. “In any case, it’s not a suitable topic before retiring for the night. My apologies. I think it’s time we all turn in.” He stood and cleared his throat.
“There was an old man from Jalken
At ladies he always was gawkin’
As he eyed a young lass
He earned a kick in the ass
And for days, he had trouble walkin.’”
Most of the group snorted, while Liberon squeaked out an uncomfortable giggle. In a much lighter mood, they all laid out their bedrolls around the fire and settled in for the night. Dagorat lay awake for a long time. At first he couldn’t get Cyril’s story out of his head, and wondered if the Orb was related. The poem called upon the Orb to “strike thine enemies from our sight.” So was it a weapon like Cyril had talked about, capable of destroying a whole city? Was that the danger they were facing?
He forced his thoughts away from the topic, and instead focused on Katrina’s presence not three feet away. Dagorat’s heart had swelled when she’d reached out to him for comfort during Cyril’s story. Maybe this journey wouldn’t be so bad after all.
CHAPTER 11
THE INCREDIBLE GNOMISH VISION TUBE
OVER THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, the group grew accustomed to life on the road. Their days started at dawn with a hasty breakfast. Then they hitched up the horses and threw their belongings back in the wagon before getting on the road. So far the landscape hadn’t changed much, with hills rolling by, one after the other, in an endless procession. Each night the caravan pulled off at an established waypoint, and groups of four or five wagons circled the fire pits to make camp. On occasion, the Mentirian Guard spotted a scout from a gang of highwaymen, and chased him into the forest. Dagorat pondered how many other groups didn’t dare show their faces.
They all developed friendships with Craicwyth and Magda, and shared their campfire every night. Liberon learned new skills as a cook, under Cyril’s guidance and watchful eyes. Surprisingly, he did well and earned the occasional compliment from his fellow travelers.
During afternoon stops, Cyril often wandered off to pick wild herbs. In the evenings, he often used them to flavor their meals. Other times, he traded them for firewood or small luxuries, like fresh meat, among the folk at their own campfire. No need arose for any of their group to interact with the rest of the caravan.
Dagorat spent more and more time with Katrina. With little else to do, they chattered away, getting to know each other. They shared an understanding of rogue life: survival on the edges of society, disconnection from family, the rarity of true friendships. Day after day, she kept moving closer to the center of his world.
She touched him often after that first night, putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, or “accidentally” bumping against him during chores. Wary of another kick to the crotch, he flinched away at first, but relaxed when she showed no sign of trying to injure him again. Once he dared to brush her hand as they walked together, and was met with a shy smile. Their flirting became noticeable to the others, causing Liberon to blush furiously, and Cyril to roll his eyes. Magda giggled at them, and Craicwyth beamed like an indulgent uncle. Dagorat pushed their mission to the back of his mind, banishing such thoughts as an intrusion into his newfound joy. He preferred admiring Katrina’s hair, her eyes, her gentle body, her smile, and his precious moments with her.
On the fifteenth night of the journey, they pulled up to a much smaller field that proved difficult to navigate. Everyone still managed to circle in small groups, but with much less room to maneuver and less space between the sites. The tighter quarters meant a greater chance of contact with the rest of the caravan. Mentally, Dagorat put his guard up.
The group set up their camp. Liberon assembled a makeshift spit as Cyril rubbed spices on a haunch of meat. Dagorat pointed to the roast. “Where did that come from?”
“That rather affable fellow, Murgen, from number forty-six, felled an oleni beast today,” Cyril said. “I traded him some fine herbs and a silver for this delectable roast.”
“We’ll feast like royals tonight,” Katrina said.
***
A royal dinner indeed, but nowhere near as good as Lilly’s cooking. With a full stomach and satisfied palate, Cyril strung a line between their wagon and Craicwyth’s, and set a cauldron of water to boil for laundry. Dagorat and Katrina headed toward the river to wash off the day’s grime, while Liberon trekked into the nearby forest to gather m
ore firewood.
Some time later, as he hung some clothing to dry, a frenzied Liberon came running up to him. Breathing heavily, the young monk struggled to speak. “Wh…where’s Dagorat?”
Cyril dropped a shirt. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“It’s Brother Roderick. He’s here. I just saw him.”
“Stay with the wagon, and guard it properly this time.” He held up an index finger. “No more surprise passengers.” Cyril dashed off toward the river.
***
Dagorat and Katrina had been washing in the river, both still in their undergarments, keeping a discreet distance from each other. He dunked his head to rinse his hair. When he rose up and broke the surface, a playful splash drenched his face. Sputtering, he rubbed his eyes clear. Katrina backpedaled away, laughing.
For the moment, he let her go and plotted revenge. Once they’d emerged onto the bank to dry off, he snuck up behind her and tickled her ribs. She shrieked and batted at him, and in the following skirmish, he pinned her against a tree. The sense of fun faded, replaced by an air of anticipation. He gazed at her with the silent question, May I? She stared back at him with an unmistakable Yes. Dagorat fought down a sudden case of the jitters and brought his face closer to hers. She closed her eyes and parted her lips.
“Dagorat! Where are you?” Cyril yelled.
Katrina’s eyes snapped open. “Orc piddles.”
“Oh, there you are,” Cyril wheezed as he approached.
“This better be important,” Dagorat grumbled through a tight jaw.
Cyril stopped short, staring at the scene. The realization of what he had interrupted spread over his face. But the mage plowed on anyway. “Trust me, it’s important. Liberon spotted Brother Roderick gathering firewood.”
“Roderick? Here?” I knew that weird monk had to be involved!
“Now we know where to look for the Orb,” Katrina said.
They hurriedly dressed and headed back to the wagon, where they found Liberon trying to finish the laundry in between nervous glances all around.
“Thank The One you’re back,” the monk said.
“Where was Roderick?” Dagorat asked. Before Liberon could raise his arm, Dagorat stopped him. “Don’t point. He could be watching us.”
The monk blinked and held himself stock still. “I was gathering some twigs.” His eyes motioned to the right. “Over there.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Of course. I’d know him anywhere.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re not really sure about that, are you?” Katrina said. Liberon hesitated a moment, then lowered his gaze and shook his head.
Her ability to read the indecision on the monk’s face impressed Dagorat. He filed the knowledge away and continued. “Where did he go?”
“He headed back toward Blackfang’s wagons.”
Dagorat beckoned to Katrina. “Let’s go have a look.” They walked several paces, and he stopped short. “Blackfang. Has my brain turned to orc shit?” He shook his head, spun around and trotted back to the wagon.
“What is it, Dag?” Katrina called after him.
Cyril dropped his laundry. “You’ve figured something out, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Something’s been bothering me about Roderick. I mean, beyond how odd he is. Something familiar about his face. Now I remember.”
“Tell us. I knew you’d sort things out soon.” Cyril gave him a knowing grin.
“Do you remember Blackfang? Can you picture him in your mind?”
Cyril closed his eyes, the way he did whenever he clawed through his memory. Then they flashed open. Wide. “Oh, my.”
“Yes. Blackfang and Roderick are the same person.”
“But that’s impossible. We passed Blackfang performing on the street at the same time that Roderick was in the monastery.”
“Twins, Cyril. Twins.” Dagorat bounced on the balls of his feet. Well, that explains several things. “That must be the reason for Roderick’s vastly different behavior at different times. Remember, Maynard said that some days the man was sharp, and other days dumb as a post? He and Blackfang must have traded places from time to time. And although they look the same, they have two distinct personalities. One is a brilliant rogue and the other…well, not so much.”
“Ah!” Liberon’s eyes glowed. He held up his index finger. “So on the day of the theft, both of them were inside the abbey. That explains how one of them was able to track Brother Maynard to the Orb without being missed at the ceremony.”
“Right,” Dagorat said. “One showed up in the Sanctellum to be accounted for, while the other followed Maynard.”
“What about him sweeping the walkway so early in the mornings?” Cyril asked.
“I bet that’s when they switched places. The rogue would come in to check out the place, learn his way around, maybe even make friends and find out secrets. Meanwhile, his brother covered for him on the outside. But being less bright, the brother wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. Regardless, whoever was inside the monastery at any given time played the part of Roderick. And the other brought Shadowtooth and Blackfang to life.”
Katrina gave him a blank stare. “What does Shadowtooth have to do with the twins?”
“For one thing, Blackfang…Shadowtooth…think about it.”
Her mouth formed an “O” of realization. Dagorat nodded. “Also, your description of Shadowtooth perfectly matched Maynard’s description of Roderick.”
Katrina scratched her head. “You mean sometimes brilliant and sometimes a nobnoggin?”
“Exactly,” he said with a snicker. “As for Blackfang, I dare say they only brought him to life in order to travel. There’s nothing odd about a travelling troupe of entertainers joining a caravan.”
“All this also accounts for the amateur error of the scrolls being left in a shambles.” Cyril said.
“Yes, if we assume that for whatever reason, the foolish one had to finish the job, while the master rogue ended up stuck in the Sanctellum with the other monks.”
“This will all have to be confirmed.” Cyril said. He pointed to Katrina. “You can recognize Shadowtooth. And you,” he said to Dagorat, “can recognize Blackfang and Roderick.”
“Yes. So let’s go spy on Blackfang’s camp from the woods,” Dagorat said.
Katrina followed him towards the dense copse of trees near the magician’s wagons. As they walked, her hand brushed against his. A mistake? He decided to take the gamble. Dagorat slipped his hand into hers. She glanced at him and gave a tiny smile, and didn’t pull away. Suddenly the world grew a little brighter, and their mission less foreboding. Is this what happiness feels like?
After a short walk, they came upon the trees and separated. They spent some minutes making a show of picking up branches. Then Katrina prompted Dagorat to hide behind a tree, and removed a small black cylinder from underneath her cloak. She pulled on one end and more cylinders appeared, each thinner than the one before. They didn’t separate; rather, the individual tubes extended two inches beyond the previous one, then stopped. A piece of glass sat inside each of the open ends of the instrument. Katrina put the smallest end up to her eye and peered toward Blackfang’s camp.
“What’s that?” Dagorat asked.
“Umm…let’s call it the incredible Gnomish vision tube. It lets you see faraway things.” She kept the object trained on the camp.
“That’s a terrible name.”
“According to The Caravan Rogue, a big name equals a big price. Got a better one?”
“Well, let’s see. We’re spying on that camp, and it’s got glass in it – spyglass. How does that sound?”
“Not bad. Better than the Gnome’s name for it. He called it a scope.”
“Wait a minute. Did you lift it from one of the Gnomish vendors?”
“From the Gnomish tinkers on the Solstice.”
“Figures you’d go for the good stuff.�
�
“‘Never steal something cheap. Make sure the price is worth the risk.’ The Caravan Rogue, Chapter Five.” Katrina winked at him and returned to observing Blackfang. “There he is. It’s Shadowtooth.” She handed him the spyglass. “Close one eye and look through that end.”
Dagorat obliged. “By Korak’s blistered bum. This thing really works.” He steadied it with both hands and scanned the camp. “Do you mean the one with the black cloak, sitting in front of the first wagon?”
“Yep, that’s Shadowtooth.”
“No, that’s Roderick.”
She leaned over and gave Dagorat a peck on the cheek. “You were right. Twins.”
He lowered the spyglass and shook his head. “I should’ve had it figured out the first day.”
“Nah, don’t be so hard on yourself.”
He took another peek through the tube. At the other end of the camp, near the third wagon, he spotted the twin. The man wore a blue cloak and waved his arms like a frantic serving wench as he talked to two others. All three of them kept turning to peer toward the camp where Cyril and Liberon were waiting.
“I don’t like the look of this.” Dagorat passed the scope back to Katrina.
“What did you see?”
“I think Liberon was noticed. Let’s go. But slowly. I don’t want to attract any attention.” She collapsed the scope and stashed it back under her cloak. With a small collection of sticks in hand, they strolled back to their wagon.
Cyril and Liberon had finished the laundry. The mage cocked his head at Dagorat. “Is there bad news?”
“It’s possible that Liberon was spotted,” he replied. “Can you put a guardian ward on the wagon tonight?”
“No, it’s an open space. A ward requires a solid structure.” Cyril frowned. “I can’t guard the perimeter either. We’d best be wary tonight.”
CHAPTER 12
A BLOODY FRAGRANCE
GUILDER KEPT HIS HEAD DOWN as the strangers conversed with Lamortain. Who are they? he thought. At first he guessed they were Halflings. But no, with those broad shoulders and thick legs, they must be Dwarves. Too far to hear the conversation, he dared not show any curiosity by moving closer.
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