***
With the sun being quickly swallowed up by the mountains Donalt felt a little more relaxed. No matter where he was he found himself happier and more confident when nightfall came. Almost all of his training had taken place during the night, or at least in the dark, and so it was like an extra cloak to him. He could blend into corners more easily, and it was harder for people to make out his movements. But that wasn’t all. It wasn’t just about the elevation of his skills. He found the night, when not filled with blood-curdling screams or threats of other things using the shadows, to be peaceful, and it allowed him time to let his guard down, just a little. Enough to feel the breeze without
sniffing to detect a scent, enough to embrace the coolness of it without being alert for his hair standing on end and to be able to close his eyes while facing a full moon and allow its silver light to wash his spirit clear of guilt, and fear and self-loathing.
He thought that other than Andreton the night might be the closest he had to a friend. It didn’t judge him, and it allowed him free passage through its veil. All he had to do was appreciate it, he thought.
Did he offer Andreton the same respect? he wondered. They squabbled. A lot. That was very true. But when it had got tough, and things had been very hard, even with the big man’s terrific strength, they had stuck together through it and emerged alive if not victorious.
A small, squat building appeared in the gloom. A torch flickered at the side of a sign affixed to the door. It was difficult to read the text with the flickering darkness dancing across the chiselled letters, but Donalt instantly recognised the symbol below it. It was the emblem of the Rogues Guild. His memory had served him well.
He stepped up to the door and knocked. From behind the door he heard movement, someone moving a table, a chair being pushed back, then footsteps approaching. Donalt took a step back. Best to keep a respectable distance.
The door silently opened and the silhouette of a small but rotund man appeared. The man reached up and lit an oil lamp. The space they occupied was illuminated with an orange light.
‘Donalt Dryden.’ The figure said.
‘Hello Copsey. How’s it going.’ Donalt replied.
‘It’s going very well. Not so good with you I’m guessing.’
Donalt nodded. ‘Yup. Quest time.’
Copsey said nothing for a moment, then stepped aside. ‘You’d better come in.’
‘Cheers Copsey.’ Donalt said and stepped in as Copsey pushed the door wide.
He waited as his host carried a chair over to the table he had been sat at and then offered a polite ‘thanks’ and sat.
Copsey returned to his seat and then waited for Donalt to make his pitch.
‘Alright mate, what it is. Right… what it is, see… this is the thing, I… we…’
‘Stop Donalt.’ Copsey said. It’s a good job you are quicker with a knife than you are with a sentence. ‘You and your behemoth friend set fire to Trestfall and now you are both skint and looking to disappear for a while. A Dimensional Gate being your best option for both loot and for keeping out of the way of Bounty Hunters.’
‘I didn’t set fire to… How did you know about that?’ Donalt asked, surprised.
‘Hot news travels fast Donalt. Have you any idea how many Wizards, Sorcerers, Shamans and other assorted busy-bodies who cheat when it comes to travelling, we get passing through this town?’ He looked at Donalt with a no-nonsense expression, ‘A small man with big mouth accompanied by a walking wall of muscle? Could be any warrior-rogue pairing in the kingdoms, but when one them states, ‘Andreton he says, Take that! Very rude guard,’ to someone he’s smashing on the head with his fist, while surrounded by witnesses, it’s not that difficult to narrow it down.’
‘Andreton.’ Donalt sighed.
Copsey nodded. ‘I figured you might head up this way.’
‘In fairness to Andreton the guards had been tormenting him all the while we were there. He’s a big guy and y’know, those pricks like to show off and act the big man because they’ve got the King’s tunic on and a few hundred mates behind em.’
‘I know.’ Copsey replied, nodding a little. ‘But setting fire to the city?’
‘That was an accident.’ Donalt replied.
‘Half the kingdom is after you pair. The other half are rebuilding.’
Donalt said nothing.
‘Fortunately, all of the Guild buildings in the city are protected by some pretty serious magic, so the Rogues Guild are happy for
you to sort this out by yourself. But they refuse to step in on your behalf. No amount of subscription payments in the world are going to cover burning a city to the ground.’
‘Fuck.’ Donalt said, although he had expected nothing less.
‘However, I imagine you are here as you are hoping there might be a job for you, to alleviate the need to go on a Quest?’
‘Yup.’ Donalt said. ‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Hmm.’
Copsey had a very matter of fact way about him that Donalt had always liked when he had studied under him. He had learned everything he knew about locks and lock-picking from the Guildmaster, and about poisons, and the subtle art of pick-pocketing. Although these days Copsey was far thicker in the shoulder and the gut, in his day he had been lithe and sinewy. He still looked as if he might be able to job you with a hidden dart faster than Donalt could stand and draw a dagger though.
‘Why are you still doing this Donalt?’ Copsey asked, the tone of disappointment patently evident.
‘I dunno. It’s the life innit?’Donalt replied.
‘Is it? How old are you now, Thirty-two… Thirty-three? You should be living off the swag of two decades worth of honest crime by now.’
Donalt shrugged. ‘I’ve had some setbacks.’
Copsey raised his eyebrows, ‘Like a city on fire I suppose.’
‘Yeah,’ Donalt replied, not really liking being interrogated like this, ‘Like a city on fire.’
‘How is your partner working out?’ Copsey asked, leaning forward a little.
‘Andreton? He’s as thick a pig-shit. I honestly think he’s just one brain cell away from being a pot plant.’
‘Oh?’ Copsey said
‘Yeah.’ Donalt then found himself feeling strangely guilty. As though trashing Andreton to someone else was entirely wrong, despite him entertaining these thoughts every single day.
‘But you know what, he’s loyal, never takes anyone else’s side. He scares the piss out of guards, doesn’t even have to swing his
axe to do it, and we never have any trouble entering city gates because no one wants to risk messing with someone who looks like they eat houses for breakfast. And he does his thing, his fighting, pretty well. We got jumped by a bunch of bandits recently and he beat them to a pulp while I cleaned my fingernails.’
‘Sounds like he’s your lobster.’ Copsey said.
‘What?’ Donalt asked, puzzled.
‘Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you have someone at your side who you can trust Donalt. Because the burning of the city, whether by accident or not, is going to haunt you for quite a while.’
‘I guess we aren’t really safe here.’
‘From the armies, yes you are. No one in uniform will set foot in the Town. There’re too many adventurers here. Too many heroes. If they get in the face of some high-level Necromancer, they will end up being chased by their dead aunties. Some Elementalist gets the hump and he may risk the wrath of his Order and cause an earthquake underneath their capital city. And of course, if they failed to nail any given Rogue they were after, and he gave them the slip… well, we know how that can end don’t we?’
‘Yes we do.’ Donalt agreed. ‘A night time visit to a King’s chamber.’
‘Indeed.’ Copsey said.
There were rumours about Copsey. Whispered around the Kingdoms. It was said that he had once been marked for death by the Grand Duke of Kryllis, after it was decreed that the master Rogue
had stolen property belonging to the Duke. The truth of it was, that while Copsey would have very happily relieved the Duke of any loot he might have, the nobleman was on his arse financially and was trying to blame his inability to pay his debts on him. Bounty Hunters had been dispatched to apprehend him, and by apprehend the Duke meant murder.
Not a single Bounty Hunter was ever seen again. Twelve men and two women disappeared without a trace.
Shortly afterwards the Duke appeared have a change of heart, proclaiming Copsey an innocent man, the whole thing a case of mistaken identity.
It was Copsey’s visit to him in his bedchamber one night, with a dagger pressed against his throat, him having crept past over a hundred guards, which brought about this sudden change of circumstance.
‘So, what do we do?’ Donalt asked, he had meant to only refer to himself, what should he do, but somehow Andreton had crept into his concerns.
‘A Quest is a good start. It will keep you out of sight of both Hunters and Sorcerers. They won’t be able to do their weird mind-seeking shit on you.’
‘And after that?’
‘Confident on coming out then Donalt?’
‘I never go into somewhere I don’t believe I can get out of.’ Donalt replied, fixing Copsey with a firm gaze.
‘Spoken like a true Rogue.’ Copsey replied. Allowing a slight smile of pride creep onto his face.
‘After that I would see how the land lies, if you are gone for only a day or two, it’s been known to happen, then I wouldn’t leave the mountains. Even if your group disbands, stay there, risk another Quest?’
‘Without the party?’
‘You’re a Rogue Donalt, you’ll be able to blag them. Convince them to join you on a further adventure, depending on the spoils already gained of course. You may not have a full complement of adventurers if any are lost inside, and that could make a return very difficult to promote, but being in another dimension offers time for cooler heads to prevail and it would be your best option I think. Perhaps we can find something to oil the wheels of forgiveness while you are in there.’
‘Andreton saved a bunch of kids.’ Donalt said, remembering what the oaf had told him on the hill.
‘In the city?’
‘Yeah. He said something about orphans. I think he carried them out. He then donated all my fucking money to them.’
‘Hmm. Interesting. I may be able to work with that.’ Copsey clasped his hands and tapped his thumbs together. ‘Your pot-plant friend may yet save the day, or at least your hide.’
‘I’ll take that.’ Donalt said, trying to make light of the creeping feeling of danger that had suddenly washed over him.
Rogues always listened to their senses, even if they were wrong it was better to be running from nothing at all than standing in front of the evil bastard you weren’t sure you had actually heard.
‘Have you got a group yet?’
‘No, we just arrived. I’m headed to the tavern to post up our boards when I leave here.’
‘Alright. Here’s the only information I can offer you, but it could be very valuable. There haven’t been many gates reported lately, a lot of groups are returning tired, hungry, sometimes a man down and completely empty handed without even finding a Gate. The odds are the Gods are at it again, another bloody cosmic kick-off that’s consuming their ‘pissing about with mankind’ time. Let me ask, do you offer anything to Cerberus?’
‘The dog?’ Donalt asked, frowning.
‘The dog.’ Copsey echoed.
‘Er… no. I thought it’s just mad old ladies with a puppy fixation that keep him going.’
‘You see Donalt, this is why you should occasionally listen to a Cleric.’
Donalt snorted.
‘Yes, well, that’s the usual reaction, but do you know what Cerberus is the God of?
‘Home defence.’ Donalt said, shrugging.
Everyone knew that the three-headed hound that guarded the gates of Hell was the go-to against his profession, but the canine deity was entirely ineffective. No dog that had just scoffed drugged sausages was going to be a problem for a Rogue.
‘Yes, he is. But what else?’
‘Oh… er…’ Donalt shook his head. ‘Fucked if I know.’
‘Finding things that are buried.’ Copsey said.
‘You’re shitting me.’ Donalt replied.
‘I shit you not matey.’ Copsey stood walked to a darkened corner where a bureau was situated. He pulled open a drawer, carefully. Clearly the thing was booby-trapped to high heaven. From it he withdrew a scroll.
‘This is a map.’ He said.
‘A Treasure map?’ Donalt asked, a touch of excitment rising in him.
‘Possibly. It marks out where Gates were reported to have been seen but never crossed through.’
‘Don’t they all just vanish?’ Donalt asked.
‘Many do.’ Copsey agreed. ‘But not all of them. Some persist.’
‘They are still there then?’
‘Yes. I believe so, as I said, some of them. You see Donalt, I think they are still there, but we can’t see them.’
‘Oh… magic?
‘Possibly. Or just snow.’
‘Snow?’
‘Snow Donalt, blizzards. The Gates are…’
‘Buried!’
‘Precisely.’ Copsey laid the scroll onto the table and unrolled it. ‘This is a map of the region of the mountains nearest to the Cavern of Blood. Look closely and you will see marks made where Gates were reported but never, to my knowledge, ever crossed.’
‘Some of these are deep into the mountains.’ Donalt said, his eyes flicking to each of the little black circles.
‘Yes they are. And you know what they say, the further you reach into the mountains…’
Donalt finished the old saying. ‘The more you bring back.’
‘You will have to make a copy of the map. You can’t take it with you. Are you good at drawing?’
‘I’m brilliant at drawing.’ Donalt replied.
Out of the Woods
Dorian woke with a start. He had intended to sleep only for an hour or so, and his ability to do this was well tested, he could nap and wake almost to the minute he intended. But he had overslept, and he didn’t need his keen senses to tell him this, the sun was far too low in the sky. This meant he had not simply slept longer than he hoped to; he had slept right through the morning and afternoon. There was another very obvious, very concerning thing that preternatural senses were not required to tell him. He was no longer in the same forest.
The trees here were placed more widely, he could see a good couple of hundred yards and was sure that where there was a wall of foliage at the limit of his vision, beyond it would be this light woodland’s edge. It was a little cooler. Not much, but enough for him to detect his skin reacting to the occasional breeze. Either the weather had turned considerably while he had slept, or he was many miles to the north of where he had rested his head previously. His horse snorted. It was behind him, its bridle lashed to one of the slim trees.
Spyra appeared at his side. He breathed. He hadn’t realised that he was holding his breath until now. Seeing the Blink-Dog gave him enough comfort to allow a further breath.
‘Felicity.’ He thought, looking about him.
He slowly stood, checking his weapons were about him. His bow remained on the floor, his sword, daggers and other weapons carefully secreted about his person appeared to be in their place.
‘Felicity.’ He said, looking about him.
There was nothing on the floor. She had sewn up the garments he had offered her into very a very fetching ensemble. It had complimented her black leather ensemble and he was ashamed of just how much it stirred his loins when Felicity had returned from behind a tree wearing it.
Spyra slunk around his calves and as the very sensitive animal wasn’t agitated, and as he saw no evidence of a threat from man or beast Dorian decided to move around to better take in his surroundings.
The fl
oor was covered in twigs, the shells of fractured and broken nuts, and small but leafy plants. The trees, which he had already noted were more widely spaced, were also thinner than those where he should be at this moment. These were Sapphire Elms, named for their vivid green leaves, and slim trunks with a slivery bark. They should be Great Oak, or Frederick’s Beech, giants among the trees, thick in the trunk and tall, very tall.
‘Felicity?’ He called out, not shouting, but with enough volume for his voice to carry a hundred yards or so.
‘Where is she Spyra?’ He asked of the Blink-Dog, as it curled around his foot. ‘Where are we?’
He noticed something on the side of a tree not far from where he stood. He took a few steps forward, expecting a loop of rope to suddenly snatch at his ankle or some other such trap. But nothing occurred. A symbol was carved into the tree. He was not magical in nature, but it was a short-lived Ranger who didn’t learn as much as he could of magical signs. It was an expertly rendered rune and he had seen one like it before.
He moved over to a tree he considered to be directly opposite it, and yes, there it was, the same rune carved into silvery bark. He now quickly moved a few feet to the side of this tree, and found another carving, this one was different to the others, but a picture was beginning to form in his mind. He moved over to the other side, directly opposite this new carving, and there it was, another rune, this one almost a combination of the other two.
‘These are Arcane Runes.’ He said, a little to Spyra, a little to himself.
He ran back to where he had woken up and stared intently at the composition of the leaves, twigs and other detritus of the forest. There was a pattern here, difficult to see among the myriad shades of brown and green and yellow, but it was definitely there, around where he had been sleeping.
This was another runic symbol. It was a Rune of Protection. When travelling by magical means it was vital that the travellers were protected from the dangers inherent in opening up tunnels that could channel through unfriendly regions of time and space.
‘Was I drugged?’ He thought. He didn’t think so. His tolerance to narcotics was very high. Besides, there was Spyra, he would act up if he felt there was a problem.
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