Delver Magic Book I: Sanctum's Breach

by Jeff Ianniello

  He forced the thought of the follower from his mind. He concentrated on the town itself. The roads formed neat rows of parallel and perpendicular lines. Some were comprised of stone, some of pitch, and some only of dirt. Everything was straight and organized, though, and he could find not a single curve in any of the streets or alleys.

  The buildings matched the symmetry of the roads they lined. Whether private home or merchant shop, inn or church, every structure stood evenly spaced apart and an equal distance from the road. Signs were simple and to the point. Nothing lavish stood apart from the rest. Even the noisiest tavern appeared to conform to the building standards of every other surrounding structure. Stone walks and paths marked direct lanes to doors or to neighboring properties. Each corner was marked with a lamp post. Glass covered lamps remained dormant in the afternoon sun. Ryson bet they were lit at the same time by the same person every evening. He had seen these sights before during his first trip to Burbon, but never really noticed the regimented consistency, the hard-lined conformity.

  "It's no wonder the guard took over," Ryson muttered to himself as he passed buildings which now all melded together. "They like things steady here. I wonder how they're going to react to the return of the magic."

  "Excuse me?" A passerby overheard him and shot a questioning glance. He looked to be nothing more than a merchant carrying his receipts to the bank, but he now wore an expression of dissatisfaction.

  Ryson nodded his head in acknowledgment of the newcomer. He spoke with calm assurance. "Good day, sir. I'm looking for a tavern or an inn. I'm hoping to find one with a show, music, magic, anything. It's been a hard day. I could stand with a little humor. Anything, you can recommend?"

  The look of dissatisfaction turned to confusion. The merchant thought he heard the stranger clearly speak of the return of magic, but now he was not so sure. He conceded he might have misunderstood, but made no apology. "The Borderline has a string quartet. Down the block." He pointed then turned quickly. He obviously wanted nothing more to do with the stranger.

  "Thank you," Ryson said to the merchant's back. When he was clear of being overheard, he again spoke only to himself, this time in a whisper. "I won't allow that to happen again."

  Out of the corner of his eye, he picked up the guard which continued to follow him. "I might as well put an end to this, too."

  Ryson picked up his pace as if the merchant's directions assisted him on his way. Brisk steps carried him quickly to the front of the Borderline Inn. Soft, but uplifting music wafted from the open front window. His ears tuned to it quickly.

  "Two guitars, a cello, and a double bass," he stated with confidence as he walked through the door.

  The sight of the quartet in the far corner confirmed what his ears already told him. Four musicians worked effortlessly on the instruments Ryson named before entering. They played by memory, for no sheets of music appeared before them. Ryson guessed all but one of the guitar players had been together for many years. Their hands flowed over their instruments with nary a glance from one to another. Only the second guitar watched the others for cues in tempo. The other three played as if guided by the same hand, an ability which reminded the delver of the algors.

  The current musical selection filled the room with comforting ease. It blessed the air with inspiration, no where near as gay as a march, but uplifting enough for all to feel they could face their troubles, or at least forget them. Such melodies would continue throughout the afternoon and into the evening. Not a single song of melancholy would escape these instruments on this day.

  The tavern was about one third full. A whisper of conversation hung in the air, but for the most part, the patrons remained quiet. Their intention was clearly upon allowing the cheerful music to wash the anxiety from their minds.

  Ryson moved to a small table roughly four steps from a long bar. A young female barkeep gave him a smile from behind it. He nodded and returned the smile. Rather than take the seat at the table, he moved to the bar.

  She threw a towel over her arm as he placed himself upon a stool. When he carefully moved the end of the sheathed sword to keep it from striking the bar, she appeared even more grateful for his appearance. She stepped up to his place and quickly wiped the bar surface with the towel before replacing it over her arm.

  "What would you like?" her eyes grabbed his. Medium length black hair hung freely about her shoulders. Bangs covered her forehead and kept attention on her hazel eyes.

  "I'll have an ale please."

  "Dark or light?"

  "I think I'll stick with light," he grinned.

  She bit her lip gently, still grinning, and nodded. She whisked about gracefully. With fluid movements, a tall glass was soon leaning under a flowing tap. With a rap of her elbow on the lever, the flow ceased just as the light golden liquid reached the rim. She placed it in front of him with another smile.

  By then, Ryson had a gold coin in his hand. He slid it toward her. "That's for you, not for the ale. I'd like to run a tab for that. I think I'm going to be here a while."

  "Certainly," the barmaid was obviously happy with this news.

  "Do you have any stew?"

  "Vegetable. Potatoes, carrots, celery and onions."

  "That'll be fine. I also need a room. Who would I see about that?"

  "I can take care of that. There are plenty of them available. I'll have a key and number for you before you're done with your supper."

  "Great. Thank you ... uh ..." He paused, waiting for her to reveal her name without him having to ask. She did not hesitate.

  "Linda."

  "Thank you Linda. I'm Ryson, Ryson Acumen." He held out his hand which she took with a gentle shake.

  "Nice to meet you." She paused, seemed to hesitate. She wanted to speak but she held her tongue.

  Ryson picked it up immediately. "What would you like to know?" His tone contained warmth and invited her to speak freely.

  "I couldn't help notice your sword. Are you here to help the guard?"

  "Actually, I was here to see how you were all recovering from the quake. But it seems as if that's old news and the least of all our problems." His expression was a knowing one, one which indicated he was aware of the madness which was now creeping into this border town. "I spoke with the guards, though, and they mentioned they might need all the help they can get. I didn't protest."

  The smile lingered on her lips. "So you will help?"

  "I'll help as long as I'm here."

  "How long might that be?" Her eyes widened with hope and curiosity.

  "For today and this evening. I have to return to Connel tomorrow morning."

  The smile disappeared, and the delver was sad to see it go. She sighed and turned to leave. "I'll get you your stew and see about your room then."

  For some reason he felt the need to explain, the need to bring back the smile to her face. She had shown him a moment of kindness. He did not want to accept that kindness under false pretenses, did not care to perpetuate the secrecy he had kept upon entering her town. He needed to open up to her, to tell her more than he had told the guard. He reached out with delver swiftness and gently took her arm just above the wrist.

  She looked back at him with surprise, but not with aversion. She made no attempt to remove his hand. She only waited for an explanation.

  "Before you go and get me that room," he whispered, "there's something I should tell you which I didn't tell the guards." He looked about before continuing to ensure no one was paying attention to them. No one was. "I'm a delver."

  She looked at him with a bewildered expression, as if the statement meant nothing to her.

  He continued to explain. "I'm full bred. I've been through the forests, the desert, and the hills west of here. I've seen some things which I never would have expected to see in my life."

  The smile didn't quite return, but something akin to compassion filled her eyes and her expression. "We've all seen or heard strange things lately. As for you being a delver, that means
little here, at least to most of us. It's not the delvers we're worried about."

  "What is it you're worried about?" he continued whispering, but his tone contained the seriousness of his intentions. "I've seen different things in the past few days, things that almost defy explanation. I know your town must be facing something of that sort, but I don't know what."

  It was Linda's turn to see if anyone was watching them. She noticed a man at the end of the bar finishing a brandy. He looked up and spotted her. He waved for another round.

  "I'll be right back." She slid her arm away from his, almost reluctantly, and tended to the patron. She returned quickly.

  "I don't know what it is you've seen," she began, "but I know what I have." She hesitated, as if she knew he would not believe what she was about to say. She spoke of it regardless. "Little creatures, little monsters with crossbows. I saw them myself. They came into town just after sunset. It was still just light enough to see them. They came in and attacked the general store at the northern edge of town. They took all the food and weapons they could lay their hands on. No one was ready for them. They were in and gone in an instant. But a lot of us saw them. At first the mayor didn't believe the story, said it was a hoax. They came back again the next night. The captain of the guard took over after that. We've seen them again but they ran from the guards."

  "Goblins," Ryson stated simply.

  "Excuse me?"

  "They're called goblins." He searched for better words, words to help her understand, but none existed. He considered the best way for him to explain his knowledge. "You don't have a Church of Godson here, do you?"

  She shook her head.

  It did not surprise Ryson. A town like this one, a town of order, wouldn't have much patience for followers of Godson. He tried to explain the best he could without a familiar reference point.

  "The legends, the Book of Godson, they talk about creatures that used to walk the land. The goblins are one of those creatures. Apparently, they're back."

  "You can't be serious?"

  Ryson took no offense. He spoke calmly and rationally and pointed out the underlying frankness of the situation. "Are you serious about what you saw? Little creatures with crossbows? I can describe them for you as well. They had puffy swollen faces and large eyes. They wore breastplates of some kind of armor. They were mostly bald but had wisps of hair."

  "You've seen them, too."

  "They're goblins," he repeated patiently. "And I've seen them in Dark Spruce Forest."

  "Why are they here?" Linda demanded pleadingly.

  Ryson considered telling her of his meeting with the elves and of the sphere. He wished to continue the pure openness of the conversation. These fleeting moments had a cleansing effect upon his mind and his soul, as if finally speaking the details of his journey was proof enough they truly occurred.

  He stopped himself, however, and did not speak of the sphere. It was not time, not yet. This poor woman, the entire town for that matter, was not prepared for such sudden changes. If the goblins had sent them into turmoil, what would knowledge of the sphere do for them?

  He spoke honestly, but as he refrained from telling the guards of his heritage, he stopped short of mentioning the sphere of Ingar. "I assume they're here to steal supplies from your town. They appeared disorganized when I stumbled upon them in the forest. I know that doesn't tell you much but I have as many questions as you do. Right now, I'm just trying to make it through one mystery at a time. I know now that I have to return to Connel tomorrow. One of the oldest Godson churches is there. Hopefully, I'll find out more when I get there."

  He stopped and waited. She seemed to want to ask more questions, but could not find how to pose them. He decided to place her attention back on himself and away from the goblins. "Anyway, I thought you should know that I'm a delver and what I've been through before you decided to get me a room. If you want, I'll leave now."

  "No, I want you to stay," she responded firmly. Her eyes revealed a strength that even surpassed her tone. "I'll get you your stew. We do need all the help we can get, even if it’s just for one night."

  Ryson bid her to stay for one more moment. "I have to ask you one more favor. Keep what I've said between the two of us. I don't want the guards to think I was lying to them. I just didn't know how they would react to me being a delver. I would also rather not have to answer questions about goblins just yet. I need to find out more for myself. I really don't have all the answers."

  The smile finally returned fully to Linda's lips. It made it clear to Ryson that he could trust her. "I won't tell anyone. I know a little about delvers. They want to know everything they can about just about everything. Others know that, too. If word gets out, the captain may question you. It wouldn't be bad, but it might delay you. I doubt that would help you."

  "You understand the situation very well," he complimented. "Time may or may not be important. I'm not sure, but I do get a little anxious when someone holds me up."

  "I understand that, too." Her smile grew. "With that thought, let me get you that stew."

  The stew was hot and fresh. The vegetables were probably up from the south where they were already harvesting the first rewards from an early planting. Only some of the potatoes tasted as if they were taken from a long season of cold storage. The bowl went down quick and he asked for a second with a slice of fresh bread.

  The rest of that afternoon was spent in casual conversation with Linda, listening to the news from those who entered, or simply listening to the music. Ryson realized that he direly needed this moment of calm, far more than he needed sleep in fact. He had slept on his journey, but he never truly relaxed. Every moment was spent on guard. In this pleasant inn, he could finally afford to drop that guard. His tensed muscles eased slowly but surely. The ever present watchfulness evaporated, though not easily and not at first.

  The first few times the door swung open, it jerked at his attention. He almost expected to see a band of goblins or a mountain shag barge inward, but only tired townsfolk stepped into the room. As time passed, the opening of the door would not even call for his glance.

  He allowed his weight to sink into the soft cushions of the stool. His arms rested upon the bar top. He gladly told Linda stories of his adventures, but not the most recent. He kept his stories to the times before the quake, before everything had changed. He told her of exploring the hills northeast of Connel, the caves he found. She listened with genuine interest and asked many questions of why he did what he did.

  They kept the conversation between themselves. For the most part, the other patrons let them be, except for when their glasses ran dry. Most knew Linda and were pleased to see her speaking with a young man. They also spied Ryson's sword. They were pleased to see that as well. The townsfolk carried no arms themselves for that was the job of the guard in this disciplined town. But they were all apparently aware of the raids and were relieved to see someone in their midst who appeared able to protect them.

  Night crept across the town. More lamps and a fire in the stone hearth were lit. More and more people filled into the room. Obviously, they didn't like being alone the darker it became. Soon, even the free space offered to Ryson was needed, and he and Linda had to give up their privacy. They would no longer talk about delvers or explorations. They barely talked at all for Linda was now almost constantly busy, even with the help of newly arrived serving maids and lads.

  She was able to manage one small moment to whisper a request of her own to Ryson. "I may not get a chance to talk to you again before you leave tomorrow, but I'd like to ask something of you. After you go to Connel and find out what you can, I have a favor. When you've learned all you can, come back here and tell me what's really going on. I know it may take you a while, I don't expect you to be back in a day or maybe even a season, but I would like you to come back. I'll still be here. And I'll want to know what you found out."

  "Agreed," Ryson said with smile of his own.

  She brushed his arm and e
xpressed her gratitude with a smile that Ryson was now accustomed. She walked away reluctantly to the calls of patrons at the other end of the bar.

  Ryson watched her move away for only a moment, before his attention was ripped from the barmaid with the ringing alarm of his own instincts. He jerked his head upward, sat erect in his chair lifting his ear to the highest point. He directed it toward the front of the inn. He focused his concentration on ignoring the din of the patrons around him and picking up every sound beyond the walls.

  "Godson!" he muttered almost angrily.

  The rest of the patrons went about their business. The talk was louder now, forcing the musicians to increase their own volume. All attention was on the business of the room. No one looked to the doors or to the windows. Their troubles were forgotten as they were together. Drinking, eating and speaking with friends and neighbors, they forced the recent misfortunes from their forethought.

  Ryson maintained his position for a moment more. His eyes bore a hole through the door. His ears continued to sift through the clamor to pick out every vibration which warned him of danger. With a deep breath, he leapt from his stool.

  Only a few noticed him at first, but all eyes were on him when he demanded the musicians cease their playing. As they conceded and the crowd grew to a silence, the reasons for his actions were now clear to all. The attention of every patron and every servant flew from Ryson to the door and windows.

  Angry shouts rang out in the streets. They came from every direction, but thankfully, a distance from the front of the inn they occupied. The closest sounded many blocks away. Shuffling, running feet echoed in the distance. Orders of command echoed through otherwise silent streets, silent until a distant response brought a shiver to them all. Guttural voices answered in concert to the shouts of the guards. They carried contempt in tone and revealed great numbers.