by Jaxon Reed
He said, “I have taught you everything I can in the way of magic. From this point on, you will be learning the lessons of life, and wisdom, on your own. Know that the Creator judges us by a stricter standard due to our higher powers and our longer lives. Use your abilities well, Wizard Darkstone.”
“I will, Master.”
“I am no longer your Master. We are equals. In some ways, I sense you are superior. You may address me as ‘Oldstone’ from now on.”
Darkstone nodded as the slab began moving up, heading back toward the castle above.
Chapter 7
Plank burst through the magical gateway into Greystone Village atop his pig.
Gruntgrunt! Gruntgrunt! Gruntgrunt! Grunt!
He looked to the right and left, making certain he was in the right place. Pixies flew by and a couple diverted course to check him out. He guided the pig down the middle of the street, ignoring them as they circled his head.
The town seemed sparsely populated for its size. A couple of children stopped playing in the street and stared. But they had seen dwarves before and did not react as he expected.
“It ain’t a battlepig,” one of the boys said as he passed. “Too small.”
Plank smiled at the boy, who stood about twice as tall as the dwarf. The human child was probably ten or twelve years old. Plank had no way of accurately guessing.
He said, “Well, she could be. Elsa be a fine pig. Many a mile Elsa an’ me ha’ traveled. Which way be th’ wizard’s ’ouse?”
The boy pointed in the direction Plank was headed. He left the children behind and continued deeper into town. At long last he spied his destination: a fine manor at the center of the settlement.
“Woah, Elsa.”
The pig dutifully stopped, and Plank climbed down. He dusted himself off as best he could, trying to remove days of dirt built up from the road.
Elsa sat down in a tired huff with a final Grunt!
She looked miserable and Plank’s heart went out to her.
“Res’ easy, girl. We kin take i’ slow on th’ way back ’ome.”
When he walked, his limbs felt very stiff. He looked down and realized he was bowlegged from days in the saddle. He tried to straighten them out while approaching the door.
He rapped hard as he could then waited, looking up. A moment later, the door opened and the butler peered out. Thin hair atop a refined face, he had the air of a high-ranking servant, used to dealing with matters well before they reached his master.
He glanced to the right, then to the left.
Plank cleared his throat and the butler finally looked down.
“I say! What may I do for you, young master?”
“I has an importan’ message fro’ Prince Dudge address’ t’ th’ Wizard Greystone. ’Is ’Ighness said fer me t’ deliver i’ t’im personally.”
Plank held up a rolled parchment sealed with wax for the butler to see.
“I beg your pardon, Master Dwarf, but the wizard is not present at the moment. If you will give the message to me, I will transmit its contents to him directly.”
Plank’s eyes narrowed, and he took a defensive step backward, as if expecting an attempt to grab the parchment.
“’Is ’Ighness instructed me t’ nay give this missive t’ nobody bu’ th’ wizard ’isself.”
“Well, we certainly would not want to go against a royal edict. If, however, time is of the essence, and you need Wizard Greystone to see the letter immediately, you can allow me to read it and the contents will be magically transmitted to him directly. Otherwise, it may be a while before he comes home and can read it here in person.”
The butler held out his hand, in a patient gesture. Plank furrowed his brows, considering his options.
The butler said, “I will not take the letter out of your sight and will hand it right back to you, Master Dwarf.”
This seemed acceptable to Plank. If the strange tall man tried to abscond with the letter, he felt certain he could take the fellow down and grab it back, if necessary. He had a knife at his belt, and the man before him certainly did not appear to be a fighter. Not that it would matter, anyway. A single man facing any full-grown dwarf was doomed in one-on-one combat. Every dwarf knew this.
Plank handed the letter up to the butler, who untied its string and broke the wax seal, then unfurled the parchment.
The butler read the letter quickly, rolled the parchment up and handed it back to Plank.
He said, “Wizard Greystone is now aware of the letter’s contents. I will ensure your steed is fed and watered. You may visit the inn across the street for food and hospitality before you begin your journey home. Have the innkeeper bill the wizard for your stay.”
With that he smiled, and Plank nodded, suddenly feeling very tired from his long journey now that the message had been delivered. He turned and walked past Elsa who snored lightly. Trusting the strange man to take care of her, he crossed the street to the inn.
His eyes adjusted quickly to the indoor light as he entered, and he felt grateful to get out of the sun. The innkeeper looked at him from behind the bar and smiled at the new guest.
“Welcome, friend! We haven’t seen any dwarves in these parts since the battle. Prince Dudge’s people are always welcome in Greystone Village!”
That came as a relief to Plank. He had never traveled in human lands before, and was unsure of the reception he would receive in one of their inns.
He said, “Th’ wizard’s manservant said ’e woul’ pay fer me stay. I be wantin’ a private room.”
The innkeeper nodded and said, “That’s not a problem. No one else is here and you can have your pick. But first, would you like something to eat? You look like you need a good meal before retiring.”
“Aye. Some food woul’ be nice.”
Plank climbed up into a chair. The edge of the table came to his chest, which felt awkward, but he was too tired to care.
Soon the innkeeper came out with a plate of steaming food and set it down in front of him.
“Farmer Graw had to put down his old sow, and he sold me some of the meat. So, tonight we’re having pork butt.”
Plank stared at the plate as a slow realization dawned on him.
He looked up at the innkeeper with horror in his eyes and said, “Y’ eat pigs? Wha’ kin’ o’ savage people are you?”
-+-
Stin felt decidedly uncomfortable about taking Bellasondra and Kirt to Tonggus’s pub, but ultimately the decision fell out of his hands as they both insisted on accompanying him. At least he was able to persuade the two pirates to stay behind, leaving their tab open at the inn. He gave them a strict directive not to start or join any fights.
As they walked into the seedier part of town, Stin fretted about the two in tow. For their part, Bellasondra and Kirt found the entire affair a great adventure. They seemed eager to explore the dark underbelly of a big city and acted like two gawking country bumpkins their first time inside the walls.
Stin sighed miserably and began making plans to return later in the night after they were asleep. His concerns proved unfounded, though. The first indication occurred when they rounded a corner and finally spied the sign of a green turtle hanging over the entrance to a rather large and prominent establishment. Out on the street several carts and carriages were parked. Many, judging by the livery of their drivers, were evidently from the finer parts of town.
As they neared the pub’s entrance, noise from within spilled out on the street, alternating between raucous cheers and disappointed boos. Stin pushed the door open and found the place packed with people. Everyone’s attention was on the center of a large common room, where tables and chairs had been pushed aside to clear a circle.
There, two men with no shirts beat the snot out of one another. Heavy Thuk! and Slap! sounds reverberated throughout the pub as fists connected with flesh over and over again. With each blow the crowd cheered or booed, or both.
Men and women of all stripes crowded the pub, fr
om the poor to the very rich and all levels in between. Stin noticed a young man dressed in a white silk tunic and emerald green cape, obviously a noble or at least a parvenu. The fellow threw back the last swallows of a cup of mead then roared in approval as one of the shirtless men slugged the other in the jaw.
Stin attracted the man’s attention and said, “What’s going on?”
“Fight Night at the Tortoise! Jam is taking on Ribber. Neither one has ever been defeated. My money is on Jam. That’s the galoot on the left.”
He winced as half the crowd let out a collective, “Ohhhh!”
Ribber landed a lucky blow and Jam’s right eye reddened and was already swelling shut. Undeterred, Jam feinted for the other man’s face then delivered a devastating fist to the belly. The sound of his bare knuckle Smack! filled the room, and for a moment Ribber bent over and tottered backward to the edge of the circle. Several in the crowd slapped him on the back and pushed him forward again. He straightened with a mean glint in his eyes and delivered a flurry of punches, this time pushing Jam back.
Bellasondra’s head tilted in confusion as she watched the two men swinging at each other, the crowd cheering them on.
“Why in the world are they beating one another to a pulp?” she said.
“Fat purse for the winner, milady.”
The noble hiccuped, then stifled a burp. A serving wench passed by with a tray of wooden cups filled with mead. He flagged her over and drunkenly opened his purse, offering her a heavy silver coin that would have sufficed for the entire tray. She thanked him, and gave him one of the cups before seeking out other patrons in need of more drink.
He tossed the cup back then dropped it as a roar of excitement went up in the crowd. In a burst of renewed energy, Jam slammed fist after fist into Ribber’s face. So far Ribber blocked them all, his own hands up in a defensive posture, but he moved backward to avoid the onslaught. He lost his balance and tripped over his own feet.
The place grew instantly quiet as everybody waited with baited breath to see if Ribber would stay down. But he was not knocked out. He quickly scrambled back up and approached Jam again, throwing an exploratory punch to the middle before launching his own multi-fisted assault.
“’Atta way, Jam! You can take him!”
The young noble threw his own celebratory fist, then fell down head-first on the floor as its momentum pulled him off balance.
Stin sighed, reached down and helped the man up. He babbled his thanks to Stin and looked around dazedly.
Keeping hold of the young noble, Stin turned and frog-marched him to the door. Out on the street, the drivers had congregated to one side, sharing their own bottle of wine that someone had produced.
Stin said, “Which one of you works for this one?”
A driver raised his hand and stepped away from the group. He led them to a very nice coach and opened its door. Together, he and Stin were able to lift the fellow, shoving him up and into the carriage.
“Take him straight home. He’s had enough fun for tonight.”
The driver nodded, climbed up onto the carriage’s seat and released the brake. He carefully guided the two hitched horses out onto the street and they clopped away, headed back toward the city’s better parts.
When Stin returned inside, Kirt held up a leather purse filled with coins.
He said, “The rich man left this. I’m surprised you didn’t steal it off him already.”
Stin frowned at the purse. He said, “I don’t need to steal anymore. I’ve got more gold than I know what to do with.”
Kirt looked perplexed by this very un-Stinlike response. He said, “The old you would say one can never have too much gold.”
“Well, the new Stin says, ‘He who can make his own gold doesn’t need to be paid in money.’”
Kirt looked confused. He said, “That saying only applies to wizards. You’re not a wizard.”
“No, but I’ve pretty much got the making money part down.”
Stin sighed again, then looked around for Bellasondra. She paid them no mind, watching the fight instead. She seemed mesmerized by the swinging fists and awed by the sheer brutality of the sport.
Stin said, “It’s too late to return that now, the fellow’s gone. Give it to Bellasondra. Let her buy some wine. I’m going to try and find Tonggus.”
He turned and made his way through the crowd, seeking the bar along the far wall. Several people stood there, facing the fight instead of the rows of liquor and wine. A man behind the bar dipped wooden cups one-by-one into a basin of soapy liquid, then into one filled with water. Then he wiped them off and set them back on the bar before filling them again with mead.
The serving wench came, unloaded empty cups, loaded her tray with new ones, and he began the routine again.
Stin looked the fellow over and decided this must be the proprietor. He had soft brown hair that had not yet started to gray. He was a big man. He stood taller than Stin, and weighed at least three stone more. But he looked soft from years of ample food and drink, and the paleness of his skin hinted of little activity in the sun.
Stin nodded at him and handed over a small silver coin. He responded by pushing one of the fresh cups of mead toward him. Stin ignored it and maintained eye contact.
Finally the man looked back and said, “You must not have any money on the fight.”
Stin smiled and nodded. He said, “Are you Tonggus?”
“I am. What can I do for you?”
Stin reached inside his tunic and pulled out the silver Gloomis Key, signifying the fact he was of Corsairs Cove. At the same time, he used his magical abilities to cast a spell of trust on the man, along with a willingness to talk.
Tonggus’s eyes grew wide, bulging out of their sockets.
At long last he glanced up from the key. He said, “We don’t see many of those around here. You’re a long way from the sea, Captain.”
“I need to speak with certain people in this city. Certain people who know the whereabouts of a very special dagger. I’m told you might know how I can find those I seek.”
Tonggus glanced around nervously for anyone overhearing, but at that moment Ribber landed a blow on Jam’s nose, breaking it with a bloody Splat! Half the crowd cheered while the other half booed loudly.
Tonggus said, “Let’s go to my quarters. This way.”
He yelled at one of the serving wenches. She ran over and he instructed her to resume pouring the mead. Then he motioned to Stin and walked deeper into the building.
Inside a smaller room at the back, Tonggus sat down at a table piled high with ledgers, chits, ink bottles, quills and other detritus of disorganized record keeping.
He asked Stin to close the door and be seated. A simple wooden chair on the other side of the table was the only other place to sit, so Stin grabbed it.
Tonggus took a deep breath and held it a moment while thinking. Stin mistook this for an expectation of gold, and retrieved his purse. When he set it down on the table, it made an impressive Thunk!
Tonggus shook his head. He said, “I deal with many people, but the knowledge I’m imparting has no value in gold. I will share what I know, and what I conjecture, freely.”
He gave Stin a careful look, narrowing his eyes. Then he said, “The people you seek are extraordinarily dangerous, Captain. I would not be mentioning a word of this to anyone without their need to know.”
Stin nodded to indicate he understood.
Tonggus said, “So. There is a group of people, a legendary group. It is said no man becomes king without their say-so. They decide which wars are fought. They decide which side wins. They pull the strings behind everything of any importance in every country.”
Tonggus glanced around the small room as if checking for eavesdroppers. He hunched forward and lowered his voice.
“I have heard they seek the Forlorn Dagger. And I presume that is the knife you also seek.”
Stin nodded again. Tonggus leaned back in his chair, satisfied they were both o
n the same page.
Tonggus said, “I have also heard there is a conspiracy afoot to return Endrick to the Emerald Throne. He was never found after Trant rode into the city. They say he escaped the palace through a secret tunnel in the dungeon. The keeper was found stabbed, and his clothes stolen.”
Tonggus studied Stin carefully. Stin returned his look evenly. After a moment, his mind made up, Tonggus continued.
“I know that pirates live outside the ways of the mainland. I hear many things and I know many people. Information flows through my pub, and that is far more valuable than the gold I make. I say all this to say . . . over the years I have learned a lot about this group. I have been able to glean some logical conclusions based on what I’ve heard.
“First, I’ve no doubt Darkstone was one of them. For all I know he may have led it, being one of the most powerful wizards and all. They say Lok formed the group back in his day, and it would make sense Darkstone took the mantle of leadership sometime later.
“Endrick’s ascension to the throne was part of their plan. I believe they wanted control of all the kingdoms, or at least the wealthy ones, and that was the first step. Endrick had a tenuous claim to the throne at best, but with the death of Tren and Karla, and the disappearance of Trant, there was nothing to stop him.
“The death of Darkstone and Trant’s ascension to the throne went completely against their plans. But these are powerful people, and not easily thwarted. I have heard they seek the dagger. And I know they seek to set their plans back in motion. To ‘right their ship,’ if you want to use nautical terms. And the dagger plays a role in that effort.
“Now, the very princess they wished Endrick to marry is being wed to his rival. There will be at least one wizard at that ceremony, the very one who is behind Trant’s success . . . Greystone himself. And with the dagger that steals magic, they can kill him along with any other wizard who tries to thwart them.
“So if you want to find this dagger, Captain, I can tell you with a fair degree of certainty that it will make an unwelcome appearance at the wedding of King Trant and Princess Margwen of Coral. That is where it will show next, mark my words.”
