Magic and Misrule (Mishap's Heroes Book 1)

by KM Merritt

  “Then why are you so eager to come along?” Volagra said, eyes narrowing. Becky bustled by with a steaming teapot, leaving the sweet scent of wake blossom in the air.

  Sorrel shrugged again. “I won’t make any secret of it. It’s the illusions. The golems. I’m trying to find Maxim’s Warhammer. And the last time it was seen in the mortal world, it was capable of that sort of magic.”

  Sorrel was looking for the weapon of a god. Not just any god either. A Greater Virtue. Maxim was the god of strength and loyalty. Vola had lost count of the number of paladins who followed him.

  “So, you think the kidnappers might be using a god’s weapon to replace townspeople?” Vola said, tilting her head.

  Sorrel sighed gustily. “It’s the only clue I have. And I’m not a spell caster so I don’t have a lot to go on to begin with.” She shifted her chair with a bright screech against the floor to survey the room. “Do you think any of these guys have magic?”

  The assorted blond and brown humans who sat at their tables and waited in Braydon’s line scowled at them. Vola scowled back. Sorrel was getting some equally strange and hostile looks, but the halfling just swung her feet and returned the looks with a bright, open grin.

  Sorrel took a swig from her mug, and Vola struggled to remember if she’d had the drink with her the whole time.

  Over Sorrel’s shoulder, the door of the Tea and Tap Room opened and a young woman poked her head in. Red-gold hair fell down her back in silky waves and she pushed it over her shoulder with a practiced gesture. She glanced around the room with a pair of vivid blue-green eyes before her gaze latched on Vola’s table and the sign.

  The girl shuffled inside and made her way across the floor. Halfway through the room, she tripped over the leg of a chair, stumbled a few steps, and then righted herself, her cheeks stained red. She skipped the last few steps to the table and said breathlessly, “Are you the one offering gold for a rescue mission?”

  Her voice was sweet and melodic. Vola could imagine her with a lute and a filmy gauze dress strumming for the pleasure of some noble lord.

  Vola leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, then swept her gaze up and down the young woman’s figure. She wore a blue vest over a white blouse and a pair of pants that showed off a set of curves that would make an hourglass jealous. A book bound in blue leather hung from her wide hip. The girl flushed even harder under Vola’s scrutiny.

  Vola tried not to roll her eyes. This young woman was the mirror image of the perfect pale village girls Vola had longed to look like when she was a little younger and less settled in her own skin. From the perfect hair to the wide beautiful eyes. Sure, she was shorter and thicker than the stick figures Vola’s village had revered ten years ago, but that didn’t hide the clear pink skin and delicate features she undoubtedly took for granted.

  There was no way this soft beauty would be worth anything out in the field save as bait.

  Vola tapped her sign. “I’m looking for warriors. Are you trained in combat?”

  “Er, no, but I...”

  Vola met Sorrel’s eyes, and the halfling monk gave her a sympathetic shrug.

  “Have you had any experience fighting?”

  The young woman’s face went sickly pale, losing all of its healthy glow, and she dropped her incredible gaze.

  “Yes. A little. Once.” She raised her eyes again to catch Vola’s unguarded expression. She swallowed. “I’m sorry I’m so...so...” She gestured to herself.” But I need the money.”

  Vola tried to soften her expression. If nothing else, this woman had enough courage to look a half-orc in the eye and ask for a job with no skills or recommendations. “What for?” she asked.

  “I’m traveling,” she said simply. “And that requires gold. More than I thought. Even just a place to sleep costs money.”

  Vola’s eyebrows went up. She said that as if it had never occurred to her before. And now that she was looking, Vola could see bits of straw sticking out of her near-perfect hair as if she’d spent the night in a hay rick.

  Vola sighed. Paladins were called to help all those in need, and it would break her heart to turn away this lovely hobo, but she couldn’t afford to have someone on her team who couldn’t defend herself. Sorrel and Vola would spend all their time trying to keep her alive.

  “I’m sorry,” Vola said. “But—”

  A beefy farmer from the next table over stood up, letting his chair screech back. In the back of her mind, Vola had noticed him ogling.

  The farmer stepped up behind the young woman and put a hand on her shoulder. He leaned close to breathe on her neck. “If you need a place to stay the night, half of my bed is empty,” he said. “And I can think of lots of things you can do to earn some gold from me.”

  Vola’s hand closed over the hilt of her sword which hung in its sheath behind her. But before her fingers could even find their grip, the young woman’s gaze flashed up, all uncertainty gone.

  “I suggest you remove your hand from my shoulder before I remove it from your person,” she said.

  The farmer guffawed.

  The young woman placed her fingers on the back of his hand and a spark zipped between them.

  His laughter turned into screams, and he snatched his hand back to cradle it against his chest.

  The girl turned, her fingers twisting in a complicated spell before a ball of fire formed between her palms. “Would you like to continue this conversation?”

  Vola met Sorrel’s eyes, and the halfling mouthed “spell caster,” then wiggled her fingers like she was casting a spell.

  The farmer took one look at the young woman’s hands and her implacable expression, then ran.

  Her mouth thinned into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “I didn’t think so.”

  She turned back to the table. Then tripped on her boot lace, fell backward, and sent a fireball directly into the ceiling.

  Vola leaped around the table and extended a hand to the young woman, Sorrel beside her.

  “Wow, that was something,” Sorrel said.

  Vola eyed the scorch mark suspiciously to make sure it hadn’t set the whole building on fire. “You didn’t say you were a spell caster.”

  “You didn’t ask,” the young woman said. “And it wasn’t on your...sign.”

  “Can you cast anything else?”

  She drew herself up indignantly. “I am a graduate of the University of Arcana.”

  The book hanging on her hip must have been her spell book.

  “Witch then?”

  The girl cleared her throat. “Witches work with magic in the natural world. I am a wizard.”

  Which didn’t do anything to clear up the difference for Vola, but it sounded promising.

  “Do you know anything about illusions?”

  “A lot of theory. I have more practice with things like fire. But I have several useful spells in my repertoire.”

  Most people Vola knew would have said repertoire with a laugh or a slightly ironic tilt, indicating they knew how silly they sounded. This girl said it with all seriousness like it was the type of word she used every day.

  “And you’re all right using said spells against people?” Vola thought it was prudent to make sure.

  “As long as they deserve it,” the girl said.

  Vola smothered a snort. “Fair enough. Don’t worry about the ceiling. We’ll take the cost for repairs out of Sorrel’s share.”

  Sorrel shrugged. “I was planning on giving it to charity. But I feel obliged to point out that a third of zero is still zero.”

  Vola cleared her throat. “We’ll figure something out.”

  The girl brushed her hair back behind her ears with an unconscious gesture, revealing the gently pointed tips.

  The detail didn’t go unnoticed by the men in the room. A disgruntled murmur swept through them.

  It was good to know it was all non-humans they didn’t like, Vola thought. Not just orcs and halflings. Vola always thought of elves as tall an
d willowy rather than short and stout but maybe this girl wasn’t a full elf the way Vola wasn’t a full orc.

  “Does that mean I have a job?” the girl said.

  Vola hesitated a moment. She could just imagine getting into combat and having this klutzy spell caster accidentally shoot her in the back. But she didn’t see anyone else lining up to join them and a university-trained mage was a godsend she wouldn’t turn away in this backwater village.

  “It does. We’re cash strapped right now, but I promise I’ll find a way to pay everyone by the end.” Vola held out her hand, and the woman didn’t hesitate to shake it. “I’m Volagra Lightbringer and this is Sorrel Thornbough.”

  “Lillie,” the girl said.

  Vola waited for the rest but nothing more seemed forthcoming. Her brows drew down. “That’s it? Just Lillie?”

  “Just Lillie,” the young woman said firmly.

  As long as she could cast straight and she didn’t turn out to be some sort of murderer, Vola didn’t care what was up with the missing last name.

  “Welcome to the club, Lillie,” Sorrel said with a bright smile and a fanciful little bow.

  “Thank you, Miss Sorrel.”

  Sorrel screwed up her face. “Miss?”

  Vola surveyed her little party, her lips twitching between a smile and a frown. This was possibly the worst idea she’d ever had.

  The scuffle of a shifting crowd made her glance to Braydon’s side of the room. The man was packing up his table with a broad smile. As the rest of the crowd dispersed with disappointed looks, Vola picked out three other figures standing near the man: a tall black man with a long, green cloak slung back to reveal a quiver, a middle-aged woman with a pair of hand axes hanging from her hips, and another man wearing a set of expensive embroidered robes. The last one smirked at Lillie.

  Vola fought down a growl. Then she scanned the room. She would have loved to find at least one more member for their eclectic little party, but the saloon was clearing out fast. At least they didn’t need to find a healer as well. Vola had some help covering that gap.

  Braydon led his people through the door, casting a superior look over his shoulder at Vola.

  She stood abruptly, making the table jump sideways.

  “You two want to come pick out some gear?” she said, making her decision. “We head out in two hours.”

  “I don’t wear armor,” Sorrel said with a sniff. “It slows me down.”

  “A-and I wouldn’t know what to do with any kind of weapon,” Lillie said, her eyes darting from Vola’s face to Sorrel’s.

  Vola rolled her eyes. “I meant like bedrolls and cookpots.”

  Six

  Vola glared at the gear spread out on the shop floor and huffed.

  “I know it’s not much,” the shopkeeper said. “But Braydon came through before you got here. Cleared out my whole collection of basic armor and equipment. This is what’s left unless you want to look at my higher end stock.” The shopkeeper wiggled his eyebrows hopefully and swept his hand toward a display wall featuring a full set of plate armor and a dazzling variety of polearms and edged weapons.

  Vola’s eye caught on the center of the display. A silver shield polished to a bright sheen, edged with gold. A screaming eagle was embossed in the very center, wings spread in defiance or protection.

  Vola had always been a sucker for wing motifs. She stepped toward it and raised her fingers to brush the edges.

  There was zero chance she could afford it but she still had to ask, “How much?”

  The shopkeeper’s expression didn’t change. “36,000.”

  Lillie’s eyebrows went up as Sorrel choked.

  Vola let her hand drop back to her side. “Never mind.”

  They wouldn’t be able to afford anything on this wall. Heck, they probably wouldn’t be able to afford the equipment on the floor and that wasn’t even the basic level she’d been expecting. Braydon had taken everything that was both serviceable and affordable.

  Well, then it was probably a good thing Sorrel didn’t wear armor and Lillie wouldn’t know what to do with it if she did. The only one who would suffer was Vola in her very old, very cheap chain mail.

  “We’ll just take the equipment then.”

  The shopkeeper held out his hand. “That’ll be thirty-six gold.”

  “Er,” Vola said, the noise escaping her involuntarily. She unfastened her belt pouch and peered inside. Two coins clinked together at the bottom.

  “Is that a lot?” Sorrel asked.

  “It is when you don’t even have an employer.” She was starting to see why those paladins sat around waiting for jobs that actually paid.

  “I have two silver,” Lillie said, rummaging in her own purse. “But that’s all I have left after…I mean, that’s all.”

  Lillie was round in a way that told Vola she’d never been hungry growing up, and her clothes were well made. But clearly, it had been a little while since the wizard had benefited from that wealth.

  Sorrel just shrugged. “I think I gave Becky the last of mine.”

  “Could we prevail upon your good nature, sir, to give us a discount?” Lillie said. “We are, after all, trying to save your people.”

  “None of my family are the ones missing,” the shopkeeper said, deadpan. “And Braydon will find the others.”

  “Would you be willing to let us have it for credit?” Lillie said. “With the promise that once we are paid for our services, we will then pay you for your goods?”

  “I only offer credit to friends I trust.”

  Lillie threw up her hands.

  Sorrel tapped her chin. “Do you trust Mistress Becky?”

  The shopkeeper’s eyes narrowed, probably wondering if this was a trick question. “Yes.”

  Sorrel stepped over and put her hand on Vola’s hip. It was as high as she could reach. “Well, Mistress Becky vouches for the paladin. She said so in front of all your neighbors. I can’t imagine what would happen if it got around that you didn’t trust Mistress Becky’s word. No more drinks for you. That would be a shame.” Sorrel shook her head sadly.

  “It would be,” the shopkeeper said. “If I drank.”

  Sorrel stared up at Vola. “I give up.”

  They glanced at each other and then looked down at the pile of gear.

  “I guess we probably don’t need all of this stuff,” Vola said after a brief hesitation.

  It didn’t look like much already: a tent, and all the accompanying tent pegs and rope, some bedrolls, some cookware, a crowbar. It was basic adventuring gear.

  Sorrel crouched beside the gear, her brows drawn down in concentration. “I don’t even know what some of these things do.” She held up a couple of metal spikes. “What are these?”

  Vola checked the list the shopkeeper had given her. “Uh, pitons.”

  “But what do they do?”

  “I think they’re spikes that you put down into water?” Vola said. “For…some…purpose.”

  “You’re thinking of pylons,” Lillie said. “Pitons are for climbing.”

  Vola raised her eyebrows. She doubted Lillie had ever been climbing in her life, not with those soft hands.

  Lillie flushed as if she could read thoughts. “I read a lot,” she said by way of explanation.

  Sorrel snorted and dropped the pitons with a clank. “The day I need some metal spikes to help me up a wall is the day I call it quits.”

  “What if it was a very, very smooth wall?” Lillie said curiously.

  “I bet I could still get up it,” Sorrel said.

  Vola chewed her lip, rolling the flesh between her tusks as she thought.

  “Do you think we’ll be doing lots of climbing, Miss Volagra?” Lillie said apprehensively.

  Vola wanted to be the kind of paladin that could afford shiny shields and great camping equipment, but the truth was she was the kind of paladin that could barely scrape together a party. She was going to have to work up from there.

  “All right, let’s
put the pitons back, and the crowbars. We’re going into a swamp, not a dungeon so I can’t imagine we’ll be prying anything open.”

  “How much does that make it?” Lillie asked the shopkeeper.

  He surveyed the arrayed equipment. “Thirty-five.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re not even trying,” Sorrel said.

  Vola rubbed her forehead. “Do you have any chores you need done? Errands or tasks that you’d be willing to trade for the equipment?”

  “Hey, that’s true,” Sorrel said. “She’s a paladin. If you ask for help, she has to give it to you.”

  Vola sent Sorrel a glare and a little shake of her head. She really wanted to get paid this time. Preferably in equipment.

  The shopkeeper stroked his chin. “Well, actually. You mentioned going into the swamp.”

  “I did,” Vola said, cautiously.

  “I’m trying to start up an apothecary business on the side. I need petals from the crimson swamp blossom. You bring me ten of those, and we’ll call it even. You can even take the gear now, in advance.”

  That…seemed a little too good to be true. “Only ten?” Vola asked.

  “Just ten. They’re very valuable.”

  What other choice did she have? “Deal,” she said and extended her hand.

  In his defense, the shopkeeper didn’t hesitate to shake.

  “Thank you, sir,” Lillie said.

  The shopkeeper waved a hand as he stalked into his stock room. “Ten petals by next week, or I send collection agents to repossess my goods.”

  “Quick, grab it all before he changes his mind,” Sorrel said.

  Lillie and Sorrel each grabbed a handful, leaving Vola with the bulk of the pile. She hefted it in her arms and followed them out into the bright sunshine. Of course, the stingy shopkeep hadn’t offered to throw in a bag to hold it all.

  “What now?” Sorrel asked while Vola juggled the tent and all its stakes and ropes.

  She had a brief burst of a daydream where she packed all the equipment onto a horse. Something tall and noble, perhaps in a sleek midnight black, or maybe a blue roan, with all the latest features like a glossy mane and flowing tail. And while she was imagining impossible things, she added herself riding to the rescue of the townsfolk. Striding down the main street on her horse while Braydon cried along the edges and everyone else clapped and cheered.