Warrior Baptism Chapter 3

by Jonathan Techlin

  There were a few other things stacked beneath blankets in the center of the cart. Theel reached for the blanket, intending to take a peek beneath, when he heard someone approaching. It sounded like two men, boots splashing, yelling to each other through the rain. Theel spun around just as the newcomers appeared around the corner of the building, walking toward him, both bundled against the weather.

  One was larger, with sunburned skin and tufts of gray hair poking out from under a lumpy, misshapen hat. The other was younger, skinnier, scruffy and pale, with a stained white cowl pulled tightly around his eyes. Each carried two small wine casks on their shoulders and stopped walking when they saw Theel.

  “You see this, Rasm?” the older, bigger one said. “Not a decent soul left in this God-forsaken town. Nothing but deserters and thieves.”

  “Right,” the skinny man replied. “Nothing but dessert, and um…”

  “Get away from my cart, you thieving scum,” the older man said to Theel.

  “Yeah,” the skinny man added. “Get away.”

  “And if you been touching my booze, I’ll pound your head down through your jackhole,” the older man said.

  “Excuse me?” Theel said.

  “Your jackhole,” the older man repeated.

  “My what?”

  “Your ass,” the skinny man said. “Listen closer next time.”

  “Never mind,” the older man said. “Just shut your mouth and move away from my cart. Rasm, get the knife.”

  “Get, um…” The skinny man looked confused. “The knife?

  “The knife!” the older man shouted.

  “Um…okay. Yeah.” The skinny man nodded and set his casks down, removed a backpack, and began to rifle through its contents. “The knife? Right. Okay.”

  “We’re going to tie you up,” the older man said to Theel. “Can’t have burglars rooting around Micka’s Wagon Works, that’s for certain. No, not your soup bowl, Rasm, you idiot. I said get the knife.”

  “Not the soup bowl?” the skinny man asked. “I thought you wanted the soup bowl.”

  “The knife!” the older man shouted. “You damned wool-head.”

  “Make up your mind,” the skinny man whined.

  “I mean no harm. I haven’t taken anything,” Theel said, stepping away from the cart. “I came seeking Micka Dorn, the wheelmonger who runs this shop. Do you know him?”

  Theel’s words were ignored.

  “Keep looking,” the older man grumbled. “Find the knife!”

  Theel watched as the younger, skinny man continued to look through his cluttered backpack, dropping things in the mud; a soup bowl, a book, some cheese, a shoe.

  “Don’t you have it?” the older man asked.

  “Have what?”

  “The knife, you idiot!”

  “No,” the skinny man said remorsefully. “I have this.”

  He held out a large wooden spoon. The older man cursed and slapped it out of his hand.

  “Damnit, fool,” he growled. “What did I say about remembering the knife?”

  “Um, you said…” The skinny man shrugged. “…to remember the spoon?”

  “Of course I said to remember the spoon, but I also said to remember the knife,” the older man chided. “We can’t walk the roads without a knife. How are we supposed to peel our potatoes?”

  “Um…with the spoon?”

  “Lord save me from this half-wit jackhole.” The older man set his casks down and looked at Theel. “You stand right there. Don’t move. I’ll deal with you soon enough. When I tell Micka I caught a burglar in his place, he’ll shit a calf.”

  “Really?” the skinny man said. “A calf? Is that possible?”

  “Do you know Micka Dorn?” Theel asked. “He is the man I seek here.”

  “All it takes is a few Iatan soldiers squatting in the valley for everyone to lose their heads,” the older man explained. “A man can’t leave his place in lockup without some burglar coming to steal his work.” He poked the skinny man with his finger. “Forget the knife. Get the clobber stick. It’s in the cart.”

  “Do one of you know Micka Dorn?” Theel asked again.

  “You stay where you stand,” the older man said to him. “Don’t move. Rasm, why aren’t you getting my clobber stick?”

  “We don’t need your, um…clobber…” the skinny man said, pulling a large book from his bag.

  “Why?” the older man asked. “Did you find the knife?”

  The skinny man gestured to his book. “I have, um…I have…”

  Then he made a strange sound like a hiccup had become trapped in his throat, then squirted out between his lips.

  “…ack…”

  “What?” the older man asked.

  The skinny man coughed and tried again. “I have sp-…ack…ack…”

  “Oh no,” the older man said, rubbing his eyes. “Not spells. Not now.”

  “Spells?” Theel asked.

  “I have the perfect sp-…ack…here somewhere,” the skinny man said, leafing through the pages. “Sp-…ack…book will show me.”

  “No, no,” the older man said. “You don’t have the perfect spell. Put the book away.”

  “I have the perfect sp—” The young man choked on his words. “…ack…”

  “No, you don’t. No spellcraft,” the older man warned. “Will you listen to me? Do you want to burn your face again?”

  “Don’t need your clobber stick,” the skinny man said. “Not when I have the perfect…ack…”

  “What are you talking about?” the older man asked.

  “Ack!”

  “Does he know runecrafting?” Theel asked.

  The skinny man looked at Theel. “Yes! Because I’m a wiz-…ack…”

  “You’re not a wizard, you lumberhead,” the older man scolded. “Don’t even try it. If you catch fire again, I’m not putting you out.”

  “You won’t have to put me out,” the skinny man said. “It’s raining.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Theel asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” The older man sighed. “And everything.”

  “Can he craft runes?” Theel asked.

  The skinny man nodded. “Yes I can. I’m a wiz-…ack…”

  The older man looked at Theel. “Look, there isn’t time for this. We both know the Iatan Army is coming this way. Me and this lumberhead aren’t waiting around to greet them.”

  “I’m not a lumber…” the skinny man said, scanning his book. “You are, uh…a lumber.”

  “We mean to load up our wares and clear out quick,” the older man continued. “So if you’ll just get your dead friend off my cart, I won’t tell anybody I saw you stealing Micka’s stuff.” He looked at the skinny man. “Put the damn book away! We have to go.”

  “Yeah but, um…there is no need for us to allow this man to escape the justice he so deserves,” the skinny man said, turning the pages of his book. “I will detain him. Yeah. Without the use of violence.”

  “Oh yeah?” the older man asked. “How are you going to do that?”

  “Prepare to be amazed,” the skinny man said, bright-eyed. “Oh, yeah. Prepare yourself.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Watch this,” the skinny man said, rolling up his sleeves. “I am about to call upon the arcane power-…ack…what I mean to say is I will craft mystical-…ack…Ahem, I’ll use mag-…ack…I’ll cast a sp-…ack…damnit!”

  “You’ll do what?” the older man asked.

  “I’ll turn him to salt.”

  “With magic?” Theel asked.

  “Yes!” the skinny man shouted, pointing at Theel. “He understands. He knows what I mean. Yeah!”

  “I don’t understand anything that is happening right now,” Theel said.

  “No, you won’t use magic,” the older man said. “You can’t use magic.”

  “Um…” the skinny man said. “Yes I can.”

  “Shut up. You always talk too much.” The older man looked at Theel. “He needs
to shut up, don’t you think?”

  “It’s possible you both need to shut up,” Theel suggested.

  “You shut up!” the skinny man barked.

  “Everyone shut up!” the older man roared.

  “I don’t need to shut up,” the skinny man said. “I’m a wiz-…ack…”

  “He fancies himself a wizard, but he’s nothing more than a menace to all within smelling distance,” the older man explained. “He can’t talk so he can’t call on the runes properly so his magic is as stupid as he is. He blows bubbles out his ears and wets his pants on a good day. Today is not a good day.”

  The older man reached over and pulled his companion’s cowl back, revealing a strip of bald skin running down the center of a head otherwise covered with a forest of hair.

  “See?” the older man said. “He set his face on fire. Almost killed himself. Almost burned down the whole city.”

  “Hey, stop!” The skinny man slapped his companion’s hands away and pulled the hood back over his head. “You don’t have to tell everyone you see.”

  “Why not?” the older man asked.

  “The spell should have worked,” the skinny man complained.

  “It should’ve worked, but it didn’t,” the older man said. “Because you’re not a wizard.”

  “My sp-…ack…book told me wrong sp-…ack…that day.”

  “Your spell book didn’t tell you anything because books can’t talk, and neither can you,” the older man said.

  “I can talk,” the skinny man insisted. “And I’m going to turn him to salt.”

  Theel sighed. “Do either of you know Micka Dorn?”

  “We don’t have time for this. The Iatan are coming and we have to go.” The older man looked to Theel. “Look, if you say you aren’t drinking any of my booze or stealing Micka’s stuff, that’s good enough for me.”

  “Is he a wizard?” Theel asked, pointing at the skinny man.

  “Yes!” the skinny man exclaimed, nodding his head.

  “No!” the older man shouted, shaking his head.

  “Do one of you know Micka Dorn?”

  “Yes,” the older man said.

  “No?” the skinny man said.

  “What do you want Micka for?” the older man asked.

  “I need his aid,” Theel answered. “He is a trusted friend of my family. It is important.”

  “Oh, sure,” the older man said. “It’s important. That is all I need to hear. Rasm, get my clobber stick. I’m going to thump this guy just for fun.”

  Theel drew his sword. “No one will be thumped today. There will be no clubs, no spells, and no more argument. Just answer me. Where is Micka?”

  The older man raised his arms defensively. “We don’t need any trouble. Micka’s gone. He’s running from the Iatan, like everyone else. This town is all emptied out. All you got is me and the idiot here.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” the skinny man whined. “I’m a wiz—”

  “Where is your allegiance?” the older man asked Theel. “Is your sword sworn to the Alisters?”

  “No,” Theel answered. “I am sworn to the throne of Embriss.”

  “Sworn to Embriss, eh?” the older man said. “You can handle a weapon, I see that. How about your dead girly there? Who’s she?”

  “She is my sister,” Theel said. “And she is not dead.”

  “She might as well be, by the look of her,” the older man said. “Bad infection going to cook her brain, if it hasn’t already. You’ll need to find good healing or you’ll have a dead girly soon.”

  “Are you a road trader?” Theel said.

  The older man nodded. “Spirits mostly. I have a talent.”

  “And a thirst,” the younger man added.

  “I buy and sell, trade some, and brew some,” the older man explained. “It’s how I earn my supper.”

  “Do you deal in potions?”

  “All kinds,” the older man answered.

  Theel lowered his sword. “Are you carrying any healing tonic among your liquors and potions?” he asked.

  The older man eyed Theel suspiciously. “Maybe.”

  “He has Red Leak,” the skinny man said absent-mindedly. “Yeah. Several bottles.”

  “No one asked you!” the older man said.

  “He uses it himself,” the younger man stated. “Rubs it on his butt warts.”

  “Would you shut up, you double-damned half-wit?”

  “As you can see, my sister and I would benefit from some Red Leak,” Theel said. “Will you sell me two bottles?”

  The older man shrugged. “I’m always selling if you got the coin,” he answered. “Red Leak is good for cuts, even bad ones like yours. But you should know, it won’t be enough to stop an infection like your sister has. It will only slow it down a bit.”

  “It will preserve her life for a few days,” Theel said. “That should be all I need. How much for two bottles?”

  “Fifty,” the older man answered. “Fifty hours of the king’s work. That’s one week of honest labor, my friend. You won’t find a better offer from any trader on any roads, east or west.”

  “Five days of the king’s work,” Theel thought aloud. “You ask much.”

  “Don’t pay that,” the skinny man interjected. “He’ll drop his offer if you barter.”

  “Shut up, idiot!” the older man shouted.

  “You can get two bottles of Red Leak for twenty hours,” the skinny man added. “Yeah, twenty hours of work…of the king’s…something.”

  The older man scrunched up his face in frustration. “I can see you are a shrewd man,” he said to Theel. “Therefore, to save myself from being embarrassed by your superior bartering skills, I will lower my offer to forty hours. Four days of the king’s work. That’s a fair spend.”

  “Don’t pay more than twenty,” the skinny man said.

  “Shut up, you horse’s ass!” the older man roared. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me,” the skinny man said, still looking through his book. “I’m a wizar-…ack!”

  “I’ll give you—” Theel began, but the older man waved him off.

  “Don’t push me further, or this deal is broken,” he said. “Since you insist, I’ll ask thirty. But I won’t go lower.”

  “Twenty,” the skinny man said.

  “Damn you!”

  “No.” The skinny man smiled. “Damn you. Ha!”

  “Do you have a mule for this cart?” Theel asked.

  The older man crossed his arms. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.”

  “We have a mule,” the skinny man said absent-mindedly. “Yeah…uh, two of them. Two mules.”

  “Curse you!” the older man spat. “You don’t have to tell him everything.”

  “You don’t have to tell everyone I’m stupid,” the skinny man said.

  “You’re right. I don’t,” the older man admitted. “They can tell by looking at you.”

  “I need to leave this town as well as you,” Theel cut in. “I’ll pay you fifty hours of the king’s work to transport my sister in your cart. Ten hours now, then another forty after we have found safety.”

  “Really?” the older man appeared shocked. “Fifty hours of the king’s work?”

  “Yes, fifty,” Theel answered.

  “That is an entire week of labor,” the older man stated. “Are you sure?”

  “You are not very good at this, are you?” Theel asked.

  The man smiled slyly. “You are the one choosing to pay fifty hours, my gullible friend.”

  “And I pay it gladly,” Theel said. “But you must hitch up your mules and carry my sister out of this town before the Iatan Army arrives.”

  The older man nodded thoughtfully.

  “That offer is more than fair, and one I’d consider, but for one thing,” he said. “A minute ago, you were looking through my wares as if you had a right to them. How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Yeah. You can’t trust him. No,�
� the skinny man said. “And he spends too much for Red Leak. A very good reason to turn him into salt.”

  “How do I know you won’t take the first opportunity to shove that sword in my back and run off with all the Red Leak you can carry?” the older man asked.

  In answer, Theel removed the glove on his left hand and tossed it to the older man. He caught it and turned it over, examining the decorative stitching.

  “I know that sigil,” the older man spoke quietly. “That’s the King’s Cross.”

  “Do you know what it means that I wear that symbol?” Theel asked.

  “Yes, I do,” the older man answered. “Why did you show this to me?”

  “To prove that I trust you,” Theel answered. He undid the laces on his sleeve, then rolled it back. “If you know that symbol, then you might also know these.” He held up his left forearm, revealing the tattoos there. “Do you know what it means to have these tattoos?”

  The man nodded. “You are a warrior of the King’s Cross.”

  “A man like you might profit from betraying a man like me to the Church of Aeo,” Theel said. “The office of Royal Witchfinder has a larger coin purse than I do. You must know there is greater profit in betraying, rather than helping, me. But I trust you won’t do that. Is my trust misplaced?”

  The man’s expression didn’t change. “Not everyone has embraced the new god. Outside of the northern cities, you’ll find many who remember the old ways. The Knights of the King’s Cross never betrayed me. And that sniveling Witchfinder has done nothing to earn my loyalty.”

  “If you remember the old ways, then you know a squire of the King’s Cross never breaks his word,” Theel stated. “You have my trust if I have yours.”

  “Aye, squire,” the older man said. “You have my trust.”

  “I will trust you to care for my sister and use your cart to get her out of this town safely. In return, you can trust me to use my sword to protect you and your wares from any who threaten you,” Theel promised.

  “You are offering your protection and fifty hours of the king’s work for two bottles of Red Leak?” the man asked incredulously.