by Tom Liberman
“We’re not in Das’von,” said Petra, “technically.”
Milli rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Dol, did you find a ship to get us out of this place?”
Dol nodded his head, “I booked passage on the Fists of Dogs.”
“What kind of ship is she?” asked Milli.
“Trader,” said Dol, suddenly reverting to his usual taciturn manner and volunteering no more information.
Milli sighed, “And where is she headed?”
“Stav’rol,” said Dol.
Milli looked to Petra.
“That’s about half way down the side of the continent,” said the old woman. “Or so I’ve heard. It’s in the right direction if you want to get to the southern realms but it’s still a long way from the volcanic regions of the far south.”
“It’s in the right direction and it’s out of this place,” said Milli with a firm nod of her little head. “Did you book for three or four?”
Dol looked up without an expression, glanced at Petra, and then said, “Four. Petra’s been a true guide and she knows the ways of the world better than us.”
“She overcharges though,” said Brogus suddenly finding his humor again and smiling in a lazy way.
“As a dwarf I would think you might learn to appreciate that quality,” said Petra with a lopsided little grin on her face as she poked at Brogus with a finger, “at least if everything I’ve ever learned about dwarves is true.”
Brogus laughed and nodded his head. “All right, you can come along, but not as a guide, as an equal partner in whatever we find. We’re not here on a sightseeing trip; we’re here to make a name for ourselves, riches, fame.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Milli with a curt little nod of her head. “When does the ship leave?”
“In two days,” replied Dol. “The captain said we can board any time after tomorrow night. They’re loading cargo for the return trip and don’t want passengers in the way.”
“Ugghh,” said Milli as she looked around the foul encampment. “Another day in this pit. I suppose it could be worse, at least we’ll be rid of that lice-ridden fleabag your so-called friends saddled me with,” she went on with squinting eyes at Brogus.
Brogus shrugged his shoulders, “They were some merchants I knew and we didn’t exactly have a great deal of time to plan the escape before we left. It was a last second decision. You can’t still blame me, can you?”
“Oh can’t I?” said Milli but with a playful giggle.
“You’re not mad,” said Brogus with a smile. “I can tell when you’re really mad and just pretending to be mad.”
“I am angry right now but that’s because the thought of getting out of this place broke my foul mood. Don’t let it go to your head. I’ll never forgive you for that mule.”
Brogus laughed and chucked Dol on the shoulder with a light punch, “She can’t stay mad, she’s a Halfling and everyone knows they are jolly bakers.”
Milli raised one eyebrow and looked at him with her strange yellow eyes. After a few seconds of this the young dwarf raised his hands and lowered his head, “Enough, enough, you win.”
It was late that evening and Brogus was on watch - they kept turns staying awake after their first night in the camp when ruffians attempted to burgle their possession - when he heard approaching footsteps. He was inside the little hut but at the door, sitting on an old wood chair that was missing its back and acted more as a stool. It was sturdy enough and the one piece of furniture in the place when they originally took possession. Footsteps in the night weren’t unusual in the encampment as soldiers, bored and mischievous, often drank too much and stumbled into the wrong hovel as they tried to find their way back home.
These footsteps were not the staggering strides of a drunken soldier but were steady, heavy, and purposeful. They approached the little shack and then stopped, next came the murmur of quiet voices, and finally the light tapping of a knock at the door.
Brogus looked over to the corner of the little shack where Milli and Petra slept on wood shavings they stole from behind a lumber mill north of the city and then to a wood board where Dol spent the evenings and saw no one stirring. He took the short handle of a throwing axe in his right hand and went over to the door, “Who’s there?”
“A messenger from the palace,” said a quiet, calm voice. It spoke just loudly enough to easily penetrate the thin door but not so quietly as to lose any authority.
“What palace?” said Brogus, and he raised the axe higher while reaching forward with his left hand to the heavy bolt on the door. They put the bolt on themselves almost immediately upon purchasing the right to squat in the little hovel. The place was totally unsecured originally but a few modifications from Dol and Brogus changed that quickly enough. They weren’t familiar with wood working but some of the same principals of stone masonry applied, at least enough for them to make the place safe from simple thieves.
“Corancil’s palace, at the base of the Fountain of Graves,” said the voice in the same quiet tone.
“I don’t believe you,” said Brogus and yanked the door open with a sudden movement. Brogus immediately took in the image of a tall, gangly man who wore a dark woolen overcoat. Even in the dim light of the moon the fine make of the cloak was obvious. The man stood quietly at the door and then bowed his head slightly, “May I come in? The camp is filled with ruffians and I fear for my safety.”
Brogus shrugged his shoulders but took a step backwards to allow the man to pass through. He held the axe high but the man didn’t seem to notice it as he ducked down to pass through the frame. Brogus realized he must be well over six feet in height and in the moonlight his skin seemed to shine a burnt orange color.
The visitor looked around the little shack for a moment and then walked over to the stove that dominated the center of the room where a kettle gently steamed. They kept hot water at the ready at all times during the long winter nights of the northern realms. “Can I pour myself a mug,” he asked with a look to Brogus as his hand stopped, poised at the handle of the kettle.
Brogus again shrugged, “Go ahead. The mugs are over there,” he said with a waving motion of his hand towards a little cupboard where half a dozen mugs rested on a plain wood panel that was partially warped to bend upwards at both the front and back.
“You might want to wake your friends,” said the man as he poured steaming water into one of the mugs. “This concerns you all.”
Brogus looked over to Milli and Petra but the two women were already awake and stared back at him with narrowed eyes in the dim light that came through the gratings on the stove. Dol was also awake and leaning on one elbow while he watched the newcomer closely. “We’re up,” said Milli with a little smile.
“Who are you?” said Brogus as the man finished stirring in some of the crushed coffee beans they kept in a little glass jar near the mugs.
“My name is unimportant,” said the man without expression on his face as he turned back to face Brogus. “I am here because First Citizen Corancil learned you are from Craggen Steep and hopes to make an alliance of sorts.”
“We’ve been trying to see him in the palace for weeks,” said Milli with a little frown as she sat further up on the wood shavings that served as a bed. “If he wanted an alliance why didn’t he just invite us?”
“I cannot say,” said the man with a shrug and a small smile. “Would you mind putting on a light so we don’t have to speak in the dark?”
“Turn around,” said Milli as she sat up and held a blanket up to her neck.
“Of course,” said the man and turned to face the wall of the one room shack and took a shallow sip from his mug.
“It won’t be easy to negotiate if we don’t know your name,” said Petra. Apparently the old woman had few qualms of modesty as she got up without ceremony exposing the flesh of her arms and legs in the thick woolen nightgown she wore. She threw a heavily patched cotton dress over her head and wiggled into it with a few shakes of her hi
p.
The man took another sip of his coffee, “I do not come to negotiate with you. I merely have a proposal from the First Citizen. You can accept it or reject it as you wish.”
“Why should we trust you?” said Milli now dressed in a wool jumper that buttoned up the front. It was a purchase made in town with some of their plentiful gold, both sturdy and comfortable although not particularly flattering to her slim frame.
The man said nothing for a few seconds as he sipped his coffee, “May I turn around now?”
“You can,” said Milli with a smile.
Petra went over to a lantern and quickly set the thing ablaze which brought the room into full focus.
The man turned around and then spoke, “It is the opinion of the First Citizen that nations must be built by men … and women … who are both talented and who have a strong sense in achieving things that are in their best self-interest.”
“What if it’s in my best interest to betray you? Or it is in your best interest to betray me?” said Dol, still sitting on the wooden plank but now fingering the handle of his hammer which was looped to the bed in such a way that the head did not touch anything combustible.
“That is the First Citizen’s point,” said the man with a wide smile that revealed a mouthful of perfectly straight, brilliant white, teeth. In the light it was clear he was rather gangly in appearance and perhaps in his mid-thirties. His long arms and delicate fingers did not fidget but seemed to rest in a natural position against his side. “Men ..and women,” this addition with a look to Milli and Petra, “who do not act in a manner that is towards their own benefit cannot be trusted to make good decisions. In fact, it is most likely that when presented with any decision, those who are concerned with something besides their own concerns will chose poorly, so ingrained are the roots of their self-destructive behavior. The only people to be enlisted to aid in important matters are those accustomed to making decisions that improve their own life.”
“But …,” said Milli and then stopped.
“What if our interests conflict?” finished the man for her with a gentle nod of his head.
“Yes,” said Milli nodding her head in agreement.
“Then he is fool to ask you for help. The First Citizen makes decision in his best interest and among those decisions was sending me here to make my offer.”
“But …,” said Milli again, but proved unable to complete the sentence.
“People are not self-destructive; they make all their decisions hoping for the best outcome?” said the man again with an indulgent smile.
“Yes,” said Milli and frowned at his apparent mindreading abilities. She looked around for some sort of magical talisman that might aid in knowing the thoughts of others but saw nothing particularly suspicious on the man. He wore a slim gold ring on his left middle finger and no other sign of jewelry. His cloak was of the finest wool and its buttons sewed with expert precision, like a line of soldiers marching off to battle. His hair was brown and a bit rumpled from the windy evening breeze and his eyes were plain brown. There was nothing in the man to suggest a powerful mage but that might not mean anything.
He looked at her with those plain brown eyes and seemed to take in every part of her, “It is a fair question. The answer is that people are, by and large, quite self-destructive. Think back to all the people you’ve known over your lifetime and their penchant for making decisions that are detrimental to their life.”
“That doesn’t make sense. We do everything to better ourselves,” said Milli taking a step forward and clenching her fists somehow angry although she didn’t know exactly why.
“The rational thinker does, yes,” replied the man. “That is true and that is why I am here today to ask for your help. The First Citizens suspects that you are, like he, rational thinkers. Sadly, most people are unreasoning thinker and they make decisions based largely on what they want to be true. That is if they give it any thought at all. For the most part people are happy to repeat the musings of someone else and save themselves the effort of thinking. This naturally means that they are simply doing what is in the best interest of whoever told them how to think in the first place. Anyone who does things in someone else’s interest is, by definition, self-destructive.”
“There is some truth to that,” said Petra, as she walked over to the man and looked at him closely. “You have the bearing of a noble, not a messenger.”
“Can I not be a noble messenger?” he said with a laugh. “You have the bearing of an intelligent woman who preys upon the weaknesses in others while pretending to be a witchy woman.”
“Pretending?” said Petra although she smiled broadly despite herself as she realized the compliment.
The man shrugged, “Well, perhaps you can do a bit of magic. Many witches can brew tonics and the like, but it is the love potions and curse dolls that provide the vast majority of their income. Thus, proving my original point, I might add.”
Petra nodded her head and put her hand on her chin, “People do make poor decisions all too frequently. I see it all the time in my line of work. It never occurred to me that it was because they wanted to sabotage their own lives or that they were doing the bidding of someone else without regard to its effect on their lives. I’m not sure I completely agree with you on the matter, but I do see the truth of the argument. I would much like to meet the First Citizen and discuss these matters.”
“He is an extraordinarily busy man and cannot personally attend to every occasion, no matter the importance,” said the messenger. “But I will make certain he knows your desires. Perhaps, if our arrangement proves fruitful you will have that chance someday.”
“I don’t get it,” said Brogus lagging a bit in the conversation, his eyebrows close together and his nose wrinkled up. “Why would you trust us if you think we’ll only do what’s good for us?”
“It is not an easy thing to understand,” said the man with an easy smile as he looked towards Brugus. “It took me many years and many discussions with the First Citizen to fully understand the value of his philosophy. He only asks people to act in ways that will benefit their own lives. By working to benefit my life I end up helping those around me. Those people in turn act in their own best interest which serves the entire nation.”
“Now see here,” said Petra suddenly jumping back into the conversation. “There were rulers in Das’von before Corancil conquered it. Many men died in the wars that led to his rule. The previous kings faced death or exile. How is it in their interest to have died in this fight?”
“They did not surround themselves with people who could be trusted to act in their own self-interest and thus they suffered. There will be conflict. There will be winners and losers in life. The First Citizen makes decisions that will be to his benefit and picks allies who will do the same. What more can anyone do?”
“I still don’t think that it applies completely,” said Petra shaking her head as her voice trailed off into silence.
“Postulate your objections then,” said the man with the same calm expression of absolute certitude. “There can be disagreement as long as both sides listen. Just because you try to make the best decision doesn’t mean that you always will do so. Knowledge is as important as action. Academics enjoy verbal jousting while men … and women … of action prefer activity to thought. The true ruler, the builder, the doer of deeds can be either a thug or a man of rational self-interest. The thug will build, will create, will attract followers but their foundation is built on mud. A man who drinks wine at all times because it tastes good destroys himself. The rational man drinks enough to sustain himself and surrounds himself with those of a similar ilk,” this last came as the man stood up straight, revealing a greater height than he first projected, and his plain brown eyes seemed to shine with passion. His jaw was firm and his hands were now clasped strongly together behind his back.
“I … I … let me think about it,” finally lapsed Petra and none of the others said anything either as the room
fell into silence. Brogus found himself standing up straight and felt the urge to salute, Dol slipped off the bed and also stood up straight, while Milli felt a sudden dizziness in her stomach.
“Tell us your proposition then,” said Dol, finally breaking the stillness that engulfed the small chamber.
“The First Citizen has need of information about the ruler of a nomadic force in a great sandy desert to the south. This Black Rider poses a threat to the First Citizen’s plans of conquest in the southern continent. He proposes to aid you in your journey south, in return you will learn as much as you can about this person and, should you survive, pass this along to agents of the First Citizen.”
“Why us?” said Milli, folding her arms across her chest and staring at the man with narrowed eyes. “The First Citizen must have plenty of spies?”
“The First Citizens would very much like the alliance of people familiar with the location of Craggen Steep. Conquest is costly and the need for gold a never ending burden. And, of course, the south is your chosen destination in any case which sweetens the offer.”
“I’ve never heard of Craggen Steep,” said Dol in a steady tone.
“Yes, I’m aware that is the answer everyone from Craggen Steep gives when questioned about the place. I appreciate the drollness of it. Consider me impressed with your cleverness,” said the man in a flat sort of tone. “Now, I’ve made my proposition. You may discuss it tonight. If you agree then you will not board your transport tomorrow and will await further instructions. In that happy event, I will arrange your trip to the south which, I assure you, will be far quicker and more comfortable than the vessel.”
“Thank you for stopping by,” said Milli as she shook off her stupor for a moment although she could not take her eyes off the charismatic messenger. “Are you sure we can’t get your name?”
The man bowed and put down his coffee cup, “I’m sorry, but no. I hope that this alliance proves fruitful and we can meet again. You intrigue me,” he said with a look to Milli and then a pointed glance to Dol who stood with the Hammer of Fire in his hand. “Farewell and best of luck whatever decision you make.” With that, he turned, strode to the door which he opened with a quick motion, and left the room while shutting the door gently behind him.
