Armies of the Silver Mage (6 page)

“It’s been a frightful spell since I last entertained guests so I may not be very good at it. Forgive me if I lose you from time to time.”

“Guests?” Delin asked. “Old man, you came crashing into our campsite. How do you figure we’re your guests?”

Dakeb gave them a confused look. “Ah, yes. I see your point. Am I interrupting then?”

“Nothing special if that’s what you mean, Master Dakeb,” Fennic said.

“Master? I rather like the sound of that. Makes me out to be nobility of a sort. Speaking of rudeness though. I’ve gone through great pains to let you know who I am and you two haven’t said a peep about yourselves. Your parents must have raised you better than that,” Dakeb scolded.

Fennic blushed, forgetting they were supposed to be in charge. Delin, on the other hand, had no misconceptions about what was developing. Dakeb had come upon them, whether by mere chance or not, and quickly stole their initial superiority. He’d effortlessly turned the table and it could only get worse.

“I’m Fennic Attleford and this is my best friend Delin Kerny. We’re from Fel

Darrins,” he said before Delin could stop him.

Dakeb tilted his head. “Fel Darrins. It’s been a long time since I was last there. Nice little town as I recall. Quiet and out of the way. Not very important in the grand scheme of things.”

“You know more than you lead on,” Delin accused.

Flames reflected in his green eyes. Dakeb had seen his share of the world and knew more than either of them could begin to imagine. Dangerous times were gripping Averon and Delin and Fennic were too far from understanding how deep the repercussions were going to stretch. The old man chose his words carefully.

“Well met indeed,” Dakeb said with a smile. He looked down at the dwindling fire.

“It might stand to add a few more logs and twigs. My blood doesn’t seem to flow as well as it did. I must be getting old. Hmm. Imagine that. If this keeps up I shan’t be around much longer. Don’t suppose you’ve got an extra spot to eat? Traveling is hungry business, as I’m sure you know by now.” He paused. “Exactly how far is to your little town of Fel Darrins?”

“A few days,” Fennic answered. “Probably a lot closer than where we’re heading.”

Dakeb’s eyebrow raised. “You make it sound as if you’re running from something.”

The old man shifted his gaze to the darkening forest. An owl’s call brought a thin smile to his weathered face. “Soothing isn’t it? Owls are among the brighter species but have a nasty tendency towards aggression. Wouldn’t want to get nipped by that sharp beak. You know, I just remembered you still haven’t mentioned what forest we are in. My memory isn’t what is used to be.”

Delin returned with an armload of small branches and firewood. “This is Rellin Werd, old man. You should at least know which great wood you’ve stumbled into.”

“Old man? Well, I suppose youth do manage to see experience through veiled eyes. I seem to recall the forest being much smaller, but that was years ago. Still, I almost feel at home here.”

Delin shook his head and fed the fire.

Dakeb slapped his thigh and laughed. “So, what’s for supper? It’s got to be heading towards the mid of night and I haven’t eaten since the sun went down.”

They ate in relative silence, a simple luxury Delin had never been so thankful for. He found the old man intrusive and overbearing. Definitely not one to be trusted he decided the moment Dakeb came awake. He refused to believe that the old man accidentally bumped into them. The sheer convenience of it all was alarming. Fennic, on the other hand, seemed enamored with the grump. That put them both in a bad situation.

“What was it exactly why you were looking for Fel Darrins? You’ve mentioned it twice already and not said how you knew our little out of the way home,” Delin said.

There was a twinkle in Dakeb’s eye. “I was going to visit an old friend, if you must know. A very good man.”

“Anyone we know?” Fennic asked. The slow rising tension between the other two was setting him on edge. Yet whenever he touched Phaelor the sword radiated calm. A nasty cough from the old man eased Fennic’s mind, if only slightly.

“Ahh, a tricky question at best. You can live in a village your whole life and not really know the man next door. There’s always someone you haven’t met. So, the answer to your question is both yes and no. They are old friends and let us leave it at that for now,” the old man said.

He yawned. “The hour is growing late and I’m not as young as I once was. I hope you lads don’t mind if I retire until the morn?”

Without waiting for a response, Dakeb pulled the hood over his head and laid down. He looked asleep the moment his head hit the small pillow of leaves he made. Delin and Fennic stayed up and watched him for a time. Neither tried to go to sleep until he began to snore.

Delin eased closer to Fennic and whispered. “I’m still not sure about him. He may be a decoy for the enemy. He makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand. This is too dangerous, Fennic. I think we should leave before he wakes up.”

“I don’t know. Phaelor hasn’t alerted me at all. I think this Dakeb is just a harmless old man looking for a friend before the end. My father used to say the old get like this before they pass on.”

Delin scowled. “Say what you will, but that man is dangerous.”

Fennic stifled a laugh. “Him? He’s older than your grandmother. Look at him. He can’t weigh more than a hundred stones. We should be safe enough.”

Tired as he was, Fennic followed Dakeb’s example and was soon fast asleep. Delin managed to stay awake a while longer, angered at losing the debate. A sudden rustling in the dead leaves brought him wide awake and fumbling for his weapon. His fears were being realized. The old man had gotten up after they were asleep and led the enemy right to them! Delin resigned himself to death, hoping to take some of them to the grave with him. By the time his eyes focused all he saw were a pair of forest hares rummaging for a meal. Delin exhaled a long, shaky breath. Only then did he realize he was trembling.

Regaining his composure, Delin checked on Fennic and the old man. Both hadn’t even stirred. The fears from earlier in the night were gone and dawn was beginning to crack the night. He found himself oddly satisfied that Fennic kept him from acting out his fears. Smiling, the youth gathered his sling and a pouch of stones and tramped off into the forest to find some food for breakfast. He returned an hour later carrying a dressed pheasant over his shoulder and whistling a song. The look on Fennic’s face stole that good mood.

“He’s dead,” Fennic said.

Delin dropped the bird and rushed over to feel for a pulse.

“Must have passed in his sleep,” he said.

Fennic shook his head. This was the second time a person they’d come in contact with had died. Ill fortune was following them. How much longer before it struck them down?

Together they gathered enough stones to cover Dakeb’s body, seeing as how they lacked the tools to dig a proper grave. Grabbing his legs, Fennic let Delin take the upper body and they lay him in the shallow pit between a pair of tree roots. Something small and dark purple slipped from the old man’s robes. Delin reached down and picked it up, staring at the perfection of it. It was that moment Fennic knew things could not get more bizarre.

EIGHT

Heavy rains kept most of the townsfolk indoors for most of the last few days. One of the fields south of Fel Darrins was flooded, drawing most of the able bodied men there to try and stem the tide of the rampaging creek. The recovery took most of the day and they were able to prevent the waters from reaching the village. For most, it was a trip to the warm fire in the Tavern and a pint or two. The storm raged on unabated.

So it was the lone rider came into town unnoticed. He wore clothes of the darkest black and had a menacing scowl. He was half a head taller than most of the townsfolk and heavily muscled. His body was thick and hard from years of constant warfare and hardships. He ignored the houses and closed shops, heading directly for the Tavern. The rider stopped long enough to watch the men valiantly trying to save their town from the flow of water. While it peaked his curiosity, he didn’t find who he was looking for so he rode on. His horse, the purest color of darkness, snorted displeasure. The rain was slightly tolerable but night was falling and with it the temperature. Winter was but a suggestion away. Hopefully he would find his quarry and be done with the affair before the first snows fells. Otherwise, well, he didn’t want to think that far ahead.

The tavern door opened and closed with a bedraggled moan. Heads turned to see the stranger in black walk confidently through. The intent in his shadowed eyes made many turn back to their ale. He took in each and every one of the men. Disappointment flashed across his face for a moment only. The man he wanted wasn’t here. Damnation. The rider abandoned his search and moved closer to the fire. Gilley Brickton laid a restraining hand on his daughter’s arm and went to greet the stranger himself.

“What can I get for you friend?” he asked in a pleasant voice.

Both men stared hard at one another, silently conveying their intent. The rider finally smiled and stripped off his soaked gloves and hat. Gilley almost balked at the sight. The man had a clean shaven head and deep set, almost hollow eyes. There was an almost in-human quality about him that set the innkeep on edge.

“Ale, and make it strong,” the rider said. “That storm’s enough to make a man thirsty for days. Don’t you agree?”

“Well enough,” Gilley agreed and went off to the bar.

“This is a quiet part of the country,” the rider said as he paid for the ale when Gilley returned. “Probably don’t get many visitors I wager.”

Gilley eyed him suspiciously. “We get a few here and there. Not as many as in one of the bigger cities closer to Paedwyn, but enough to recognize a familiar face when one passes through.”

“Good, then I don’t need to tell you I’ve never been here.” Lightning flashed through the windows and a heavy thunder shook the world. “Name’s Tolis Scarn. I’m an independent trader out of Keesis in the south.”

Gilley had never heard of Keesis but he knew enough to spot a trader when he saw one. This man was dangerous.

“There’s not much call for a trader around here, friend. We kind of like to stick to ourselves. Makes for a nice quiet place,” Gilley said.

Scarn laughed, deep and resounding. “The story’s the same much the world over. I’ve been through just about every country in Malweir but I never stay in one particular place for more than a season or so. A year at the most. I make enough to fill my pockets and move on. Most towns profit from my business and I don’t stay longer than I’m welcomed.”

“It takes a wise man to know his limitations,’ Gilley agreed. “Enjoy your ale, friend, and don’t be shy to ask for another. My name’s Gilley Brickton.”

Scarn nodded, offering a pleasant, if entirely false, smile.

“What’s wrong, papa?” Tarren asked once Gilley had returned.

He dried off his hands and sighed. “He says he’s a trader. I don’t believe for a second.”

She watched the odd man. “Maybe he just has a few secrets. Lots of folk do.”

“Aye. The wrong sort more often than not,” Gilley snorted. “Best we tell folk to keep clear of him. A watchful eye in the least. It wouldn’t do well to find a friend dead in the middle of the night.”

She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. “Yes Papa, I promise to be careful around him.”

Despite the sweetness and confidence in her voice, Gilley had his doubts.

Tolis Scarn remained in Fel Darrins long enough for the storm to blow out. He spent the time gathering as much information as he could glean. Several of the lesser liked townsfolk took to him the instant his smile graced the Tavern. Scarn might have been many things in his life, but a trader was not one of them. Most of his days were spent wandering the darker side of life. He killed when it was necessary, and often when it wasn’t, and had no morals. The money in his purse came from generous benefactors for services well tended. In a way, his job was acquisitions, and he had yet to fail a task. Fel Darrins was but another stop in an endless cycle. Sundown found him again by the fire, warming himself while pretending to care about the petty problems and issues the villagers faced. He responded with tales and grand adventures of his own. Most of his talk was deemed unbelievable, as nothing exciting ever happened in Fel Darrins. Such a recipe often led to long months of doldrums.

“Much out of the ordinary ever happens in this part of the world?” Scarn asked during his third night in the village. “Surely there has to be some form of entertainment here.”

“Not around here.”

“I don’t think most folks even know where a part of the kingdom of Averon.”

Scarn smiled. “That can come in handy during tax time.”

“I’ve seen strange things, friend,” a shaky hand man came forward to say. “Been lots of odd goings on of late. Strange creatures shuffling through the night, making terrible sounds. This place isn’t what it used to be. Folks here are scared to go out at night.”

Sensing opportunity, Scarn bought the man, called Jeck by his friends, more frothing ale. He’d been waiting three days for a break like this. “You don’t say. Well, I don’t put much faith in monsters and ghoulies, but I do keep a good blade close by. You never know what you may come across on a dark country road.”

Jeck readily agreed. “I’m with you on that. These things sure weren’t friendly or much human even. I know what I saw, and never want to see it again.”

Scarn found his fears most interesting. He knew that the Silver Mage had unleashed platoons of Gnaals to scour the world, but he didn’t know one was here in this part of Averon. The people here were harmless at best, but the Mage never made a move without being sure of the result. Perhaps there was more to Fel Darrins than met the eye. Scarn decided to press further.

“That would explain the patrols during the night.”

They all nodded.

“Then I’m guessing that with so much going on you probably wouldn’t have noticed a fragile old man in simple robes passing through?” he asked timidly to leave the impression he didn’t want to broach the subject.