by Chris Pisano
Without so much as a thought, she ran down the hall and turned the corner to enter the tavern. Two pairs of patrons at tables and a weary barkeep wiping the bar top with a stained cloth. She got a good look at all five faces as they stared at the nearly naked woman standing at the back entrance. None of them were Haddaman.
Dearborn ran back to her room and shook her sleeping husband. One of the many reasons why she loved him was his unwavering loyalty to her. Without asking any questions, he jumped out of bed and got dressed after she said, “Haddaman’s not in his room.”
After putting on pants and boots as well, Dearborn followed Diminutia as he barged into Silver’s room. “Haddaman’s up to something.”
The groggy wizard rubbed his eyes as he propped himself up on an elbow. “Wha . . . what makes you think that?”
“Well, he’s always up to something, but Dearborn said that he’s not in his room.”
“So? He’s just in the tavern.”
“He’s not,” Dearborn said. “I already looked.”
Silver flopped back down and pulled the animal skin blanket up to his chin. “I’m sure he’ll be back in the morning. We’ll figure out a plan then.”
“Silver, this is Haddaman we’re talking about. I guarantee he already has a plan. Don’t forget, we’re following him while on a mission to find one of the twelve World Builders.”
Silver’s eyes snapped open. He not so much as jumped out of bed, but rather flowed among the shadows from his bed to the open door, donning his cloak along the way.
The trio made their way to the tavern, greeted by the disappointed looks of five individuals hopeful that the woman would return wearing less clothing, not more. Knowing only one way to initiate conversation with a barkeep, Dearborn slid a coin across the bar top and asked, “Have you seen our traveling companion? He looks like an intelligent, yet more despicable, rodent.”
The coin disappeared as the stained cloth passed close to it. “I did.”
Dearborn placed another coin on the bar top. “Is he still here?”
“No.”
Another coin. “Where did he go?”
“Before the door closed on his way out, it looked like he went to the right.”
Another coin. “How long ago?”
“About as long as it takes an average man to drink half an ale.”
Dearborn ran outside. It was doubtful that she would find him, but he had not left that long ago. It was a calm night and the streets were well lit with oil lamps. Her distrust of him burned deeply and there would be no sleep for her tonight anyway, so she might as well try. If nothing else, walking around might tire her out.
Diminutia and Silver followed. Dearborn only knew Silver through stories and their minimal time together on this journey. Even though they rode and camped together, she focused more on either missing her children or hating Haddaman to really get to know the man, but she appreciated his silence now. She knew this quest to find Haddaman would be folly, and she was in no mood to have anyone state the obvious to her.
The trio skulked along the streets, peeking into windows and exploring alleys. Any movement seen from the peripheral was explored, the efforts yielding nothing more than disappointment. Passersby were interrogated, always by the calm and inviting Diminutia, Dearborn too frantic and imposing, Silver too enigmatic and unnerving. The only people out at this hour were men trying to navigate the streets between the tavern and their homes or the prostitutes questing for those same men in hopes for a lift of the skirts and a drop in the purse. Finally, when he conversed with a whore who could not seem to express herself without running her hands over Diminutia’s shoulders and arms, he learned of a commotion in an alley mere minutes ago.
Dearborn debated taking a few seconds to snap the bitch’s wrists but decided to follow the lead first. If the efforts turned out to be fruitless, then she would go back, break the whore’s hands, and retire to the inn and try to get even a modicum of sleep. She turned the corner of the alleyway and had a change of heart about the prostitute; the information was accurate.
A green skinned man wearing black robes had his hands around the neck of a man on his knees before him. The gurgles of being choked filled the alley.
“Qual!” Silver yelled, startling the wizard into releasing his grip. His victim pushed away and flopped on the ground. He scrabbled at the dirt to retreat, closer to the rescuing trio. Haddaman.
“You!” the wizard spat. “The one who ruined my exchange in the Looping Forest.”
Diminutia had both of his daggers in his hands, the ones he always kept in his boots, while Dearborn stood ready with clenched fists, muscles tensed and primed. She desperately wanted to throw Haddaman around again but knew there was a bigger threat now. The evil from this wizard, Qual, washed over her as Silver stepped past her and deeper into the alley. “Yes. We stopped you from leveraging innocent children to get the Eternity Seed.”
Qual stood with his body perpendicular to everyone else, his left hand out as if that were all it would take to stop the other wizard, while his right hand pointed to the back wall of the alley, fingers wiggling. A spell. He was working up a spell. What kind, Dearborn did not know. The fingers of his right hand continued with their mysterious dance while he slowly inched his way toward the back of the alley. “Ha! A mere delay. It will be mine soon enough.”
Silver mumbled to himself in a language older than all others. He pulled a small bladder from within his cloak and mashed it between his palms, a yellow liquid oozing between his fingers. Dropping to his knees, he placed his palms on the ground and then through the ground as if dunking his hands in a pool of water. Hands formed by the same dirt under Qual’s feet sprouted up and grabbed the wizard by his calves. Voice weighed down from the struggle of maintaining his spell, Silver said, “He’s forming a portal. We cannot let him escape.”
“Bah! Simple parlor tricks,” Qual said, more to himself than to Silver. With a swipe of his left hand, he reduced the dirt forms holding his legs to puffs of dust. He swiped his hand again, this time toward the other wizard. Geysers of flame plumed from his fingertips.
Hurriedly, Silver recited more practiced words as he raised his hands in the air, causing his cloak to fan out, wings born from darkness. The torrents of fire disappeared into the blackness.
Unarmed, Dearborn had one instinct to draw upon in this situation. Rush the opponent. She moved with the great fan of darkness as it receded back into Silver’s cloak, using it to hide from Qual. Timing it perfectly, she leaped right when Silver’s cloak disappeared. Wrapping her arms around Qual’s torso, she drove hard and slammed him into the wall.
Her next act was to throw him to the ground, but he counterattacked in a way she could not comprehend let alone predict. His cloak. Fingers reached from behind the material, pulling, pushing, clawing at her. Her face. Her hair. Her neck. It was as if he had captured a hundred souls and bade them to attack her. All at once, the fingers drew down her face and across her body, centering themselves. With the force of a mule kick, something slammed into her chest, flinging her across the alley. Her back hit the wall and she fell to the ground.
“Dearborn!” Diminutia yelled, throwing both daggers. Too late.
Qual slipped through the portal as the daggers clanked impotently against the wall.
Gone.
Dearborn growled, angered that Qual escaped. He wanted the twelve World Builders, and if they had stopped him, there would be no need to continue their quest, no need to expose themselves to Haddaman. If they had stopped Qual, they could have gone home. Diminutia rushed to her aid as she stood, mistaking her anger as an expression born from pain. “How injured are you?”
She had been in enough fights, both in training and on the battlefield, to know that all her throbs and aches would cease within two days. “Just bumps and bruises.”
Diminu
tia squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek. She was still seething, but that small act from her doting husband helped allay some of her rage. She squeezed his hand as a reply.
Haddaman got to his feet and patted the dust from his clothing. As he fussed with the wrinkles, he looked to Silver and asked, “The wizard knew you?”
“He was the one involved with the child kidnapping exchange that we intercepted. He went to Bernum.”
“Bernum?” Haddaman asked. “How do you know?”
“They have a grand clock tower. I saw it through his portal before it closed. I’ll have the other wizards investigate this matter.”
“Other wizards? Where are they now?”
Dearborn did not like Haddaman asking questions. Earlier in their journey, Silver had mentioned to her that part of the Elite Troop had joined that group of wizards. She loathed thinking about how Haddaman could use that information if he found out. She answered before Silver could, “That hardly matters now. What matters is how you know this wizard.”
Haddaman reeled back, appalled by the accusation. “Me? Know him?”
Dearborn pressed on. “You were on your knees before him, caught in a compromising act.”
Dismayed, Haddaman shook his head. “Your vantage point must have created a deceptive illusion. My dear Dearborn, he forced me to my knees and was strangling me!”
“Strangle you? Other than for the reasons of having the good taste to do so, what purpose would he have to strangle you?”
Haddaman brought his hands to his neck, to soothe it and protect it from any more attacks, and sneered at Dearborn. “Because I distracted him.”
Tiny pops came from her knuckles as she curled her fingers into tight fists. Through clenched teeth, she growled, “Give us more details. Now!”
“Very well. I met with a fellow I sometimes do . . . less than savory business dealings with. You see, he hunts for antiques and artifacts for the sole purpose of profit. Not a care is given to the meaning or history behind them, just money. He told me that he heard of someone who might know more about the Eternity Seed and gave me the name of an even less scrupulous person who will be attending the upcoming fights hosted by Vogothe. I wanted to surprise you in the morning with this good bit of information, so thank you for ruining that. After our exchange, the green-skinned fiend appeared, wanting the same information. I created a distraction that allowed my friend to escape, putting myself in harm’s way.”
Dearborn wanted to call Haddaman a bold-faced liar for such a story but stopped herself do to the reaction of the other two men. Both Diminutia and Silver became agitated by the mere mention of “Vogothe.” Placing her hand on Diminutia’s shoulder, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Remember how I said when I was a thief that I’d steal from anyone other than the gods themselves?”
Dearborn frowned. “I do, but I cannot imagine this Vogothe person being a god.”
“He’s worse,” Haddaman interjected. “He’s a devil.”
“We should head back to the inn,” Silver said, voice cold and empty. “We have a long journey before us.”
During the trek back to the inn, Diminutia recounted a few tales he had heard about Vogothe. Dearborn came to understand their concern.
sixteen
The Morning Sun climbed its way up the sky. That irritated Landyr. He and the rest of the Elite Troop were up just before it appeared over the horizon. They did some light exercises. They ate. They readied themselves. All before the wizards even awoke.
As the trio of wizards readied themselves, Zellas took the Troop to the small courtyard behind the inn and ran some drills—simple calisthenics and hand-to-hand training. Enough to keep everyone limber with no fear of potential injury. By the time the wizards were ready, the Evening Sun peeked over the horizon. Landyr groused.
“Do not let them get under your skin,” Zellas said to Landyr as they walked the perimeter of the inn, to the road in front of the building. “They prefer to work in secrecy, in the shadows. They don’t like having us along and are doing things like making us wait on purpose, to irritate us, hoping we will leave.”
“Advice as my general?”
“Yes. Now, advice as your guardian and friend—have you ever seen a clock when it’s wound too tightly? It explodes. Gears and cogs everywhere. The hands fall from the face. It’s a sad display of uselessness.”
Landyr sighed. “Point well taken.”
Zellas smiled as he gripped Landyr’s shoulder and shook it. “Excellent. Now let’s have a little fun pissing off some wizards, shall we?”
Landyr smiled. As he turned the corner, his gaze met Chenessa’s. She returned his smile. Then winked. Confused, Landyr jerked back as if she had slapped him. This made Chenessa’s smile grow. Confounded woman!
After everyone had gathered, Millinni started, “Yesterday, at the prison, your general, your sergeant, and I shared a vision, one that gave us some detail about the prisoners and their escape. The one who facilitated the escape is a wizard named Qual. I contacted Silver, and he learned that Qual is here, in the city of Bernum. Bernum has a Wizard’s Guild, so I shall go to it to learn more about Qual and to seek their guidance.”
“Excellent!” General Zellas interjected. Smile matching the excitement in his tone, he followed up with, “I’ve never been to a Wizard’s Guild before. I’m looking forward to this new experience.”
If every wrinkle upon Millinni’s face turned to a dagger, then Zellas would have been shredded to the bone. Controlling her tone, she continued. “Very well. The general and I will visit the Wizard’s Guild. Undoubtedly, our journey together will be continuing, so I suggest that we take the rest of the day to re-supply. Chenessa and Hemmer will go to Low Town for some very specific ingredients that we might need.”
“Very well, then a few of the Elite Troop will accompany them,” Zellas added.
Millinni’s frowned deepened. “It’s a simple task, easily done by two people. Your soldiers would be a hindrance.”
“Two people, huh? Well, our partnership has been working very well, due mainly to our mutual communication, so I hardly see the need to stop that now by sending two wizards and zero soldiers. Instead, one wizard and one soldier will go for these specific ingredients. Is there any reason why that would not work?”
Millinni’s lips twitched as if she strained to keep from reciting a curse that would transform the general into a toad. Instead, she said, “No.”
Before she could add anything more, the general clapped his hands and turned to Landyr. “Excellent! Landyr—you shall accompany Chenessa to Low Town.”
The young sergeant winced and offered a quizzical look, akin to asking, ‘Are you sure’?
The general gave a nonchalant shrug, his growing smirk implying, ‘Sure, why not’?
Landyr rolled his eyes, and the general chuckled. He thought that a strange reaction to an eye roll until he turned to see what Zellas really laughed at. Chenessa had already started down the hill.
Like many sections of many different cities, Low Town earned its name due to location, five square blocks of the city considerably lower than the rest. Rows of homes and shops pressed against each other all the way down the hills leading to Low Town, as if the buildings themselves were unsteady explorers needing to link together to keep from stumbling down the hill. If they were living creatures, Landyr would have sympathized, trying to maintain his footing on the cobblestones streets rife with gravel and loose pebbles. Feeling more like a court jester than an elite soldier, he trundled along and even had to windmill his arms once to keep from falling.
Chenessa wore a thin silken cloak, a black that shimmered red when it rippled, giving her the illusion of floating. If she were truly levitating, it would explain how she could traverse these uneven streets with such ease while Landyr had to coordinate clumsy feet. But he would be
damned before calling out to Chenessa to slow down. By the time the streets leveled off to flatter ground, Landyr caught up with Chenessa and matched her stride.
The cloak’s hood was down, allowing her blood red curls to bounce with every step. Chenessa walked with a smile on her face. She glanced up at Landyr and her smile grew. Landyr could not help but return her smile and asked, “Recalling a funny joke, perhaps, m’lady?”
“If you consider your flailing run to catch up to me a joke, then yes.”
Landyr frowned. “There is no way that you could have seen my . . . flailing . . . if I even did such a thing.”
“You did. And I saw.”
“Impossible.”
Voice laced with laughter, she turned to Landyr and waved her arms, fingers wiggling. “Nothing is impossible for an evil, evil wizard such as myself, so evil I control people’s minds.”
Landyr smiled. Even though she jibed him, he found a sense of ease around her, one he had never experienced before. He simply enjoyed being next to her, even if no words were spoken. Maybe she did control his mind? His smile widened, dismissing the notion and recalling her trick of ‘mind reading’ from their time in the tavern. “Well, evil wizard, you shall not control my mind today.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So, I can’t make you look at my feet.”
Keeping his gaze affixed to her eyes, he confidently replied, “No.”
“Not even to see how I’m levitating?”
Landyr looked at her feet. Within the split second it took to do so, he recognized his folly and stopped walking. He looked skyward and mumbled, “Damnation.”
“You do realize I’m using my mind control powers to make you look at the sky, right?”
Landyr snorted, frustrated by this game again. “As long as you’re not making me look at your breasts.”
“You don’t want to look at my breasts?”
“Of course, I do!” Again, his mind was one step behind what his mouth was saying. “No, I don’t. I mean . . .” He looked back to Chenessa, hoping to look her in the eye and explain, but as she stood with her hands behind her back, his gaze missed the original target and settled right on her ample cleavage. Jaw clenched tighter than a vice, he crossed his arms over his own chest and returned to watching at the Morning Sun under the sounds of Chenessa’s laughter.