The Emissary Bard (World Of Chains Book 3)

by Lars M.

  Chertog looked up from the ground to see why I'd stopped and then blinked. "Wait. This is..."

  "It's a... whatchamacallit? An offshoot from the Jagged Rush. Distributary - that's it. It's also bloody annoying and means extra work."

  "Extra work? Whatta ya mean? If they've walked along the stream, we'll never find them."

  I shook my head. "Nah. We'll have to assume they are neither invisible nor stupid. Anybody wandering through the stream this close to the village is bound to be caught at some point, unless they're good with explanations."

  Chertog snorted. "It'd have to be a solid explanation to get away with carrying around a corpse, too. They're also heavy, the damn things. I doubt we'll have to search far to find the tracks again."

  I grinned at him. It was good to see him regain his sense of humor. This had been the longest I'd ever gone without hearing any laughter or bad puns from him, and it felt all wrong. We waded through the stream and started searching the other bank. My annoyance at having my feet soaking wet was not improved by the light drizzle that started dampening my clothes. Still, I tried to maintain my focus, tracking for all I was worth. Meanwhile, Chertog grew more chatty by the minute.

  "I'm not saying it’s a necromancer. Could be anything. A warlock who needs fresh material. An enchanter who's toying with the darker side of things."

  "Kinda trying to focus here."

  "Of course, of course." We walked for a while, Chertog muttering to himself. His feet snapped a branch, making me jump. "I'm just saying, if it is a necromancer, it's clearly a loner. Probably a parent, too."

  "...I'm not going to ask."

  "..."

  "..."

  "You know, somebody who just wants to raise a family in peace."

  "Oh, for crying out loud, Chertog."

  "Sorry. I'll try to be quiet – I know it's a grave matter."

  Our search continued with the same theme repeated over and over. To his credit, Chertog did try to keep quiet – it seemed like his puns were his natural reaction to the stress of the situation. The drizzle had slowly turned into a downpour, and the visibility worsened. I was about to call it a day when a tiny bit of color drew my attention to a nearby thorny bush. With a grin, I turned towards Chertog. ""Did you know Darya's the one who taught me to track? She taught me that the most important parts to tracking are perseverance and alertness. Not exactly my key skills. She did however, mention a third ingredient, that I apparently have in spades - blind frigging luck." I pointed at the bush. Oh, and a tiny bit of skill, apparently. My tracking skill had just increased.

  "Is that – yeees, it is." He rushed forward to caress the item. "A finger bone. Huh, must be old Mrs. Caracen. Definitely female, and either gnomish or halfling. You can-"

  "Sorry, Chertog, but I really don't want to know."

  "But it's important... I mean, when she was alive, she was always pointing fingers at people."

  "You're incorrigible. How-frigging-ever. This means that we're on the right track, and hopefully we can get this over with and get home to dry off." I was starting to sniffle and had a suspicion that a 'minor cold' debuff or something would show up any minute now. Things started to speed up, though. A couple of minutes later, I spotted a clear scuff mark from a boot - and right behind that, a handful of saplings that had been trampled - a while back, it looked like. With such distinct clues, I started paying more attention to our surroundings. We were clearly following right in the footprints of our despoiler. Under my breath, I addressed Chertog, "Fun's over. From here on out, we remain silent, understood? Whispers only."

  "Okay." His stage whisper did little to lower his volume, but at least he was trying. "Are we close?"

  "No way to know for sure - but I'd rather be able to surprise our culprit than the other way around." The next ten minutes were a tense affair. Chertog bumbled along behind me while I tried to look for tracks and remain alert to any noise or movement in the background. After the first five minutes, however, I was able to focus almost exclusively on our surroundings. The signs of passage were clear enough that I felt certain we were on target, and the course didn't deviate much. All at once, the forest receded, and I was left staring at something new. "A little help here? What the Pits am I looking at, Chertog?"

  Chertog seemed as perplexed as I did, but after a short while, I saw his eyes light up. "Rabbit!" he exclaimed with a smile. He patted my shoulder, seeing my lack of understanding. "No way you could know. Radomith Tallhorn. Halfling who used to visit the village once in a while. He was a complete loner, though. Never allowed anybody to visit - hell, I wasn't even aware where his place was. He's been dead these past...15 years, though, I believe."

  Now that he'd said it, the picture made more sense. What had initially looked like an overgrown hillock filled with holes and items was suddenly standing out as an actual building. A house had been tunneled into the hill and was subsequently allowed to fall into disrepair for a good number of years. The discoloration in one area was a partially collapsed window, a pile of rocks was a collapsed chimney and... that was certainly a door. A wide open door, hanging on by a single hinge, with obvious drag marks leading right into the place.

  I pulled him back into the forest. "I really, really don't like this. It's as obvious a trap as I've ever seen."

  Chertog looked as nervous as I felt. Still, he scrutinized the door, resolution carved in his features, and cracked his knuckles. "Bah - be that as it may - we're still going in. Necromancer, beast, or grave robber, I'm not allowing anybody to keep preying on MY graveyard. Are you with me or not?"

  I met his eyes and swallowed hard. "We'll take care of them!"

  "Good. Because this place gives me the creeps. Any tips on how we should handle this?" He'd unwrapped a small hand axe that he was handling nervously.

  "Yeah. But first - how are you in combat?"

  "I... wouldn't know."

  "All right. I move in first. If anything moves, I stun it, and you help me bash it until it stops moving. If I tell you not to attack, you don't attack. If I tell you to run, you run. How does that sound?"

  "Sounds fine to me. Straightforward. Promise me you'll take care, though."

  "Way ahead of you."

  "Heh - hope so. That way I'll have time to run away." His nervous grin was contagious.

  I grinned back at him, threw him a rude gesture, equipped my violin, and crept forward as silently as possible. As I edged closer to the door, I realized that the place was huge. Not like the small, quaint hobbit homes you'd imagine; more like somebody'd thought, "Hell, if I'm going to live as a hermit, I might as well make my own huge frigging palace." Entering the front door on tiptoes, the word 'palace' disappeared straight away from my mind, however. The place was a dump. Had been even before the owner had passed away, even. The walls were simple earthen partitions, and only a liberal use of stout timber planks had kept the place from collapsing. The entry hall had once held a large number of crates, but the moisture had long since reduced the remains to unidentifiable lumps. There were two exits from the hall, left and right.

  I was turning toward Chertog to ask for advice when a clattering sound from the left side froze us both in our tracks. Our eyes met, and Chertog nodded. Heart in my throat, I tiptoed through the door and into the corridor beyond. It was getting hard to see. Hints of light must be entering the place somewhere, but I still praised the vision buff from my half-elven ancestry. It would've been almost pitch black otherwise. Halfway through the hallway, a strangled noise from behind caused me to spin around – only to find that Chertog was gone! A choked sound escaped my throat. When had he disappeared? Trying to calm myself, I moved back to the entry hall. Nothing. I peered into the opposite hallway. Still nothing. Torn, I looked left and right, unsure how to continue. I supposed I'd better - a blood-curdling scream interrupted my panicked thoughts. The sound was filled with pain and horror - and it was clearly Chertog. Now, I threw caution to the wind and ran in the direction of the sound. Rubble, rot, and the occasio
nal collapsed piece of furniture flew by in a haze while I sprinted from one dark room to another.

  I was making my way through another hallway as I noticed the darkness fading. I slowed down and braced for the worst as I moved into yet another chamber - only to be met with laughter. Not kind laughter, however. Deep, rumbling, villainous laughter. My eyes flew over the dark room, which was lit only by a handful of candles. The far end held only two things: a decrepit old chair, covered by a rotting animal pelt and occupied by a humanoid skeleton – and Chertog, lying prone next to the chair. No enemies to be seen, though. Throwing caution to the wind, I moved to approach Chertog, but was interrupted by the same voice. "Halt, half-elf." I skidded to a stumbling halt and watched in horror as the skeleton's skull slowly rose to look at me.

  "Ahahah. Another fool comes bumbling into my trap. This one is still awake, however." The rumbling voice ground to a halt before it continued, musing, "Perhaps it can be used. Tell me, half-breed. Would you save the lives of you and your rotund friend?"

  How weird. The jaws of the skull did not move. My thoughts felt disjointed at the surreal discussion, but I summoned the presence of mind to answer, "Of course I would. But why attack us? Why do you haunt Grant's Crossing?"

  That seemed to agitate the skeleton. It barked, "You think I am the aggressor? I merely wanted to rest in peace. No. I am the victim here. Forced back into this wretched unlife by means of the curse."

  Oh. My initial panic receded. This smelled like a quest opportunity if ever I'd heard one. "A curse? Please do continue. I swear, I will do what I can to help you."

  The deep voiced turned more conversational. "You may not know this, but short folk in Grant's Crossing have always been subject to terrible treatment. Mockery and beatings have constantly been our companions, and that is but the beginning of the mistreatment we have suffered. Persecution, blackmail, and even murder have taken place - all targeting us short folk. I am not the person who has been treated worst - but I was the first to be murdered over nothing more than my stature."

  As he continued to describe the ghastly treatment he'd received from the villagers, I couldn't help but think that his way of speaking seemed familiar. Also, the behavior of the skeleton seemed really weird - it sort of just... bobbed up and down. I frowned and focused on his speech. Apparently I'd missed a snatch, because he was getting really worked up,

  "They think they can keep us down! But they're clearly not counting on Radomith Tallheart. This is your quest, then: you must enter the cursed village and pronounce to all and sundry that the reckoning has come. Anybody who mistreats a short person, be they gnome, halfling, or dwarf, will face the wrath of the curse."

  Wait - that wasn't right. Chertog had called him... something else. A terrible suspicion sank upon me. As the voice raved on, I silently took a step forward and to the side. The skull stayed still and I worked up the nerve to sneak even closer. My suspicion was slowly being confirmed as I stood right in front of the chair and could tell that the voice did not originate from the skeleton - but from behind the chair.

  The voice droned on, "...if you manage to convince ten villagers of the danger of the curse...

  I took a step forward and stared down at the small figure hidden at the back of the chair with a speaking tube in his hand. His other hand held on to a handful of wire that snaked up into the ceiling and back down to the skeleton.

  "...before that, however, I shall not be able to..." his voice faded out into nothingness as he spotted me. "Erm. Pay no attention to the man behind the chair?"

  "Gillem. You rotten bastard! What in the Pits are you up to?" My hands were itching to close themselves around his neck, but I was distracted by the gales of laughter coming from the other side of the chair.

  Chertog stood up and dusted himself off - a task made harder by him having to point at me and roar with laughter at the same time. "Beren be praised. The look on your face when you saw the skeleton. That was perfect! Did you pee yourself? I was betting Gillem you'd pee yourself."

  "Chertog? I know you have a terrible sense of humor, but... why? This isn't okay!"

  He took his time, wiping tears from his eyes and chuckling under his breath. Then he walked over to face me. "Not okay, Arcangelo? Like telling your teacher you are going to help him numerous times, and then blowing him off to go ogle a blonde elf in the tavern? Do you want to know how long it took Benneth to find the Bonechewer that actually dug up the bodies? Twenty. Minutes."

  I wanted to tell him off, but the good arguments against him failed to appear. "How about you, Gillem? We're pals, man."

  His wicked grin almost met his ears. "Oh yes. Of course we are. Us against the world. Remember that, next time you try to blackmail me for a meal, or make another tall-guy joke, yeah? I do believe we're even now, though." He paused for effect. "Chertog, did you notice how fast he ran after you disappeared? You'd barely thrown yourself to the ground when he entered. That was almost touching, wouldn't you say?"

  Chertog guffawed. "Yeah, he's a right hero. Now, let's get back to the village. My clothes are wet from the rain, and I need some food and spirits in me." He slapped my back. "Arcangelo, you're buying."

  I stared from one of them to the other, fuming... and spat out a string of curses under my breath. I addressed them, "Forget about that. I'm still mad with you two! Gillem's buying!"

  "Me? But it was Chertog's idea!"

  Chertog guffawed. "Of course it was. It takes a mastermind to come up with something on this level. Speaking of which. Did you guys hear about the Master Chronicler who fell dead from a heart attack?"

  We both groaned.

  "Yeah, it was a stroke of genius. Huh? Huh?"

  "...I hate you guys."

  You have failed the quest:

  Darn Kids

  Chertog gave up on you and solved the issue himself. Because you did come through eventually, you experience no negative repercussions.

  Chapter 4 – Have Goods, Will Barter

  On the walk back to the village, I thought about how natural it felt to me, thinking of Grant's Crossing as 'home.' The return from the kobolds in Nerit had been a weird experience, though. The first evening was everything I could've hoped for - triumphant return, celebratory reunion, and village feast, all wrapped up in one debaucherous event. Everybody had been present and stories were told, retold, and embellished upon. To Arack's complete embarrassment, I had even played that silly tune I'd created for her several times over, introducing my new companion as the "Whirlwind Warrior." I had caught parts and snippets of what had been going on in my absence, but there had been no time to sit down and reminisce properly.

  The day after had started off quite well. When I had finally disentangled myself from my sheets and got over the worst of the hangover, Lyle had arrived to greet me properly. The time apart had treated him kindly. Not only did it look like his leg had healed completely, but the formerly painfully shy blacksmith's apprentice looked like he'd gained a measure of self-confidence he'd sorely needed.

  His time had been well spent, it seemed. The first two weeks had been filled, like his father had threatened, with doing ‘idiot work' in the smithy. With a grin, Lyle expanded on his explanation. "It wasn't all bad, though. All that time at the smithy allowed me to spend as much effort as I wanted on my own equipment, and... wait till you see what I've crafted."

  From his eagerness, it was going to be impressive. He rarely bragged about anything, but this time, his pride shone through and he’d had trouble sitting still. It took a major effort on my part not to ruffle his hair - sometimes, he was simply adorable, even without trying.

  When his leg had finally fully healed, he had promptly celebrated the fact by collecting what he was owed from Kiff and arranging for daily combat training sessions with him. That part, he was less enthusiastic about. He didn't elaborate, but I could easily picture the cantankerous bouncer Kiff taking out his annoyance on the idealistic kid. Even so, Lyle had kept at it, showing up each day, despite bruises and de
buffs, to learn. He had indeed learned a good deal. As he’d put it, "The last couple of days, I managed to keep up with him at times - even bruised his leg once." I had been just about to check out his skill increases when the door crashed open, and Arack asked me to intervene in an argument that was threatening to evolve into a fight.

  Any hope of getting together with friends and relaxing slowly faded further and further from my plans. Every time I believed I'd solved a crisis, something new erupted. I did manage to greet some well-known faces. Millerd, Hagren, and Aurora, my old gambling buddies, were pleased to see me (and fleece me) again. Greck, my favorite mentor, leered at me in a drunken haze, but it didn't feel belligerent. I’d had plans to get around the village and meet up with everybody, but I’d eventually just dropped them and devoted my days to explaining to the Fallen how things worked in the village and solving any pressing issues.

  We were on the fourth day after returning, and so far nothing had changed, though it had been amazing to gather the entire group. Still, there was light at the end of the tunnel, it seemed. I'd only need to... "Hey, Gillem?"

  The two height-challenged good-for-nothing thugs, Gillem and Chertog, were walking ahead of me, chattering loudly. "SO sad he didn't fall for it. Picture him in the square, spouting nonsense like this..." He glanced over his shoulder, entirely unashamed. "Yes, my dearest friend, how can I help you?"

  "Eat something poisonous, dearheart?" I said in an affected falsetto. "No, I actually have something important we need to go over - you know, as we were discussing, before somebody dragged me out into the rain on false pretenses." I continued to lay out the situation with the kobolds for him and explained what the main issues were.

  Levity momentarily suppressed, Gillem nodded and listened intently. "I understand. It makes sense, too. It'd probably be the same for any of us if we’d been in the same situation. Still, solving the issue is less straightforward."