Armies of the Silver Mage (11 page)

Showing no fear, the fourth Centaur twirled his sword and charged the Gnaal. His thundering hooves were drowned out by the Gnaal’s roar as it surged forth to accept the challenge. Delin could only watch in horror as the Gnaal hefted his cudgel and swung. The weapon caught the Centaur in the chest and crushed bone and flesh. He died without a sound. A final flight of arrows riddled the Gnaal as the Centaurs retreated. The last thing Delin saw was the monster triumphant over the freshly slain corpse.

Delin wasn’t sure how long they rode, only that the sun was up the next time he awoke. Nightmares haunted him. He watched his rescuer die needlessly over and over each time he closed his eyes. He was certain the Gnaal was close on their heels, ready to slaughter them all. Not even the purple stone gave him comfort. Exhaustion over took him again and he succumbed back to sleep.

There wasn’t any bucking when he finally roused. The world wasn’t racing by in a green blur anymore. Though it certainly felt like it after enduring the riding motion for so long. The smell of roasting meat on the fire aroused his appetites. More of the Centaurs were milling about. None of them paid him much heed. They seemed intent on learning the fate of their brother. Norgen stood with his arms folded across his burly chest quietly conversing with their leader. The Dwarf smiled upon seeing young Delin awake.

“Well now, I was beginning to wonder if you planned on sleeping through supper. Even young Master Attleford has recovered from that nasty blow. In fact, he hasn’t shut up yet,” Norgen laughed.

Delin stretched some of the soreness away. “Are we safe?”

“Safe enough for now,” a golden haired Centaur said with a smile. He saw the fright still in Delin’s eyes and said, “There is no need for fear now. My men and I were sent to find you. Ah, forgive me, my name is Ris Kaverling and your life is far from danger so long as my band guards you.”

“Sent by whom? Not to say that I don’t appreciate the help, mind you, but I’m not too sure of many things these days,” Delin replied.

Norgen grunted. “The boy is learning.”

“Indeed, and inquisitive as well. The help is freely given as a favor to an old friend, though the pain of my loss will haunt me for days to come. Relax your mind. Your friend’s sword wounded the Gnaal and I doubt it will follow so close again,” Ris said.

“Soon enough will you meet the man responsible for saving you. Now come and eat, for we shall be leaving you much sooner than you would like.”

The thought of being alone again and in foreign parts displeased him but Delin knew their troubles were just that, theirs. Ris and his Centaurs came unasked for and were the only reason he was still alive. For that he had no way to offer proper thanks.

“Hoy Delin!” Fennic exclaimed from atop a galloping Centaur. “I’m the one who gets knocked and you sleep all day.”

“A fine friend you are. Going off and almost getting yourself killed like that. What was I supposed to do then?” Delin protested with his hands on his hips in mock consternation.

Fennic laughed. “You’re the adventuresome one. I’d expect you to run off and fight Trolls in the Gren Mountains.”

“Be careful what you speak of, young ones,” Ris cautioned. “The hills have ears and the Mage’s spies are everywhere these days. Trolls and Goblins are already on this side of the mountains and in number. Gnaals are merely the beginning of your troubles.”

“What news of the Elves?” Norgen asked.

Ris shook his head. “None. They will not fight this war. We are on our own. My people will offer what help we can, but we were never many.”

“There are more of you?” Delin asked.

“Aye. Hundreds. We are a mere rescue party. And now that are jobs are finished, it is time to take our leave. The Gnaal is far behind and there are no enemies between here and the King’s road. Travel a league due south and you’ll be at the road. Paedwyn is no more than a few days away so long as the path is clear.”

“Thank you for all of your help,” Fennic told them.

Ris put a gentle hand on his shoulder and said, “ware those who would be your friends. What you carry holds all our fates. Farewell my friends.”

FOURTEEN

Tolis Scarn had only been to the sleepy town of Feist once before and remembered less than he cared to. Much the same as every other want to be big city, Feist also had a darker side. Enemies of the king met in secret lodges safe from prying eyes. There they plotted Averon’s downfall and a return to the revolutionary times of the Mages. The Silver Mage stretched his influence this far away through rumor alone. Scarn didn’t really care. The silly war between Averon and the dead kingdom wasn’t his business. His sole focus lay in finding the shard of the Cracked Crystal of Tol Shere that crazy old Dakeb had. Political ambitions and empirical desires were well beyond the scope of his future.

Apart from harboring radicals and society’s miscreants, Feist was a very good place to stop for ale and go unnoticed for a few hours. Just the place Scarn felt comfortable in. he rode past a hastily assembled gate guard and into town shortly after nightfall three weeks since leaving Fel Darrins. Three long weeks and he was no closer to finding the shard than when he was hired. The Hooded Man hired him over four months ago. Scarn knew time was running out. His instructions were to have the shard before Winter Day and that was a mere four weeks away. He was frustrated at the lack of success and in need of a day off.

Scarn decided to put business to the side for the night and guided his horse through the busy streets to an inn. He had every intention of enjoying a few good drinks before resuming the hunt. Four soldiers marched by without so much as passing a glance. To them he wasn’t more than another rider in a city of strangers. Certainly not a threat to the security of Feist. That didn’t surprise him much. Most soldiers garrisoned in the smaller cities stopped paying so much attention to the solemn oaths implied in their duties. Talk of the gathering darkness in the ancient land of Gren cluttered the streets. Enemy armies were massing, threatening to spill across the border and condemn Averon under a foul blanket.

Scarn, having found a place suitable enough for his liking, took a chair close to the fire and warmed his hands while he awaited his drink. There were a handful of other patrons spread throughout the common room. Two Dwarves sat by themselves in the opposite corner while a trio of local youths enjoyed the warmth offered by the ale. Scarn received a few suspicious looks that lasted only as long as it took him to return them. No one wanted trouble it seemed.

“Your ale, sir.”

He looked up at the serving girl and smiled. Her cheeks blushed as his fingers brushed against hers.

“Thank you, pet.”

Giggling as she went off, the plump girl secretly wished he’d order another.

“Not from around here are you boy?” asked an old voice from behind.

Scarn felt that familiar twinge. “I don’t know as how that’s any of your concern.”

The old man ignored Scarn’s sour attitude and took a seat opposite him. “Just like everyone these days. Can’t take the time to be friendly. Not like there’s harm in it. Folks just aren’t polite anymore. Reminds me of the dark times.”

“I’m a little young to remember those days,” Scarn replied between swallows. “A bit before me.”

“Aye, as well they were. Many a good man died during those days. But it’s our doom that we forget. Thousands died and for what? To establish puppet thrones in case the evil returned. Ha!”

Agitated, Scarn finished his ale and ordered again. “Strong opinions, but I could really care less. Why don’t you go bother someone else before I get angry?”

The old man ignored him and continued to ramble. “That’s the problem with youth. Never takes the time to listen. You just may be surprised one of these times. Especially now with all these strange things going on. Very strange indeed.”

Now that he found interesting. Against better judgment, Scarn paid for the ale and decided to ask questions. He’d been through this scenario a hundred times already and knew how to play the game. Scarn discovered most people warmed to him after a few drinks but this guy was almost there now. Chances were he wouldn’t remember the conversation come morning.

Scarn leaned forward and smoothly asked, “What do you mean by strange?”

“Eh? Decided to join the conversation have we?” He smiled and took another drink.

“We’ve all seen many a strange moment as of late. Dark beings in the streets late at night. I myself have heard terrible wailings coming from the forests outside town. The sounds of demons some say.”

“I’ve heard them myself on the road from Alloenis. They’re enough to frighten a simple trader out of business.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Surely there has to be more than that? It doesn’t seem like there’s any shortage of business here,” Scarn pressed.

“Secrets. Too many secrets. Folks been disappearing for no reason and the authorities don’t see concerned. Everyone’s more focused on the coming war with Gren. Myself, I don’t care. I’ve already lived too many winters and seen my share of battle. A few more don’t matter much.” He paused long enough to let out a shallow belch. “A trader you say? What brings you to Feist? We’ve already got plenty of your profession.”

“I’m supposed to meet with an old friend. I wonder if you’ve seen him?” Scarn went on to describe Dakeb, but the old man shook his head. “Maybe he got delayed in the storm or I missed him.”

“Could be, friend. Plenty of things like that happen in bad weather,” the old man agreed. “Was it business or pleasure?”

“Does it matter? You can’t tell the difference once you’ve been at it for so long. As a matter of fact, he found this rare purple stone and was wondering how much it was worth. Who better to ask than a close friend?”

“Haven’t seen this old man of yours. But then again, we all look alike after a while. I do seem to recall two young men with an odd purple stone. Saw them going to Loenx’s smithy. They had a Dwarf with them.”

A Dwarf? This was news. He just couldn’t figure out why two boys had the shard. Dakeb must have gotten spooked and given it to them in Fel Darrins. So what happened to the old man? The grave in Rellin Werd was empty and could have been a decoy to throw him off the trail. No one he passed from there to here remembered seeing an old man traveling alone. They did recall a pair of boys heading north. Dakeb must have come upon them in the forest and gave them the stone. He had to have.

“Does anyone know where they are now? It’s possible my friend couldn’t make it and had them come in his place.”

The old man offered a doubtful scowl before quickly accepting another tankard of ale at Scarn’s expense. Scarn sat in disappointment as the old man downed his drink and mumbled something about going to bed. It was obvious there was nothing more to learn here. Tolis Scarn yawned and walked off.

Dawn was extremely short in coming, much to Scarn’s dislike. He was already bordering exhaustion from countless weeks on the road and empty nights trying to gather information. Sometimes he wondered what a normal life would be like. A boring cottage with the same woman and children running under foot didn’t seem right to him. He was a free soul, bound eternal to roam the world in search of one more job. Satisfied with his lot,

Scarn strapped on his weapons and went back to the common room for a quick bite to eat before searching for Loenx the smith.

He asked around for directions and was only mildly disappointed it took so long to find someone who actually knew of the man.

“Loenx? Yeah I know him,” said an ex-soldier with one arm. “Down the road on the right. Owns a green smithy. But what you want with him is beyond me. There’s no talent in his work.”

Scarn thanked the old cripple and entered the green smithy. A greasy looking man stepped out to greet him. His smile was false and misleading. Scarn took an instant dislike to the man.

“Greetings friend. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Loenx asked.

“Perhaps you’d care to see what I have working in the forge?”

“That would be perfect,” Scarn replied.

He’d been in far bigger and better smiths over his life, but there most were in the bigger population centers. Still, what Loenx lacked in talent he made up for in cleanliness and layout. Assorted swords in various stages of completion line a row of stone benches. There was a small pile of coal in the far corner with a torn leather bellow next to it. Scrap iron sat in buckets at the foot of the forge. Scarn was almost impressed.

Loenx saw his obvious approval and made the mistake of turning his back to fetch a sword nearing completion. Scarn eased back to lock the forge door and draw his dagger. The smith stared in shock

“What’s the meaning of this?” he sputtered.

Scarn moved closer. “Relax and we’ll both walk away from this. Anger me and I promise your blood will stain the floor. Do you understand?”

Loenx nodded.

“Good. I have a few questions I want to ask you. You’re going to be very truthful with me, I can feel it. A pair of boys came in here a few days accompanied by a Dwarf.”

“Yes, I remember them,” Loenx replied.

“Who were they and what did they want?”

Loenx started shaking. “Please sir, take what money I have in my purse and go. I don’t want any trouble. I’m just a simple smith trying to make a living.”

“Wrong answer.”

Using his lightning reflexes, Scarn pounced on him. He kicked out Loenx’s knee and dropped the smith with a sharp cry of pain.

“You’re making this very painful,” he growled. “Answer my questions and you’ll never see me again. I’m not the kind of man you want as an enemy.”

Scarn had to stretch once he left the smith. It had been a long time since he actually tortured a man. Loenx took a bit of work to break, but the man wouldn’t shut up once his resistance broke. He’d told much more than Scarn cared to know. In the end it all came down to liability. Any man who willingly talked so much was dangerous. Scarn knew if he could make the smith talk so easily someone else might get the same results. He noticed a small blood stain on his sleeve and frowned. This was a brand new riding jacket. If Loenx weren’t already dead Scarn would have gone back inside.