Tarah Woodblade

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “He wants you to find it first,” Djeri said.

  “There are actually several parts to the job,” Riveren added. “Your first priority is finding and tracking this rogue horse. Secondly, he wants you to destroy any tracks you find so that this man or any of the people he’s hired don’t find it. Third, you should keep an ear out for this man while you search. Any information as to who the man is or what his intentions towards the rogue horse are should be reported back to Wizard Valtrek.”

  “What do I do with this rogue horse when I find it?” she asked.

  “You do nothing with it,” Riveren said. “You simply report back to Wizard Valtrek when you find it.”

  Tarah ran one hand through her hair. “How am I supposed to do that? This thing could be anywhere. By the time I came back to the Mage School it could be long gone.”

  “You let me take care of that part,” Djeri said.

  Tarah raised an eyebrow and pointed at the dwarf. “You’re coming?”

  “That’s right, just the two of you.” Riveren answered with a smile. “Tarah Woodblade and Jerry the Looker on an academy mission. I’m getting chills.”

  Jerry the Looker? Tarah snorted. “Yeah. Sorry, but lugging around a dwarf in full platemail ain’t gonna make it easy for me to track this thing down.”

  Djeri’s face reddened. “You won’t need to ‘lug’ me anywhere.”

  You need to be nice if you want to get along with people, her papa chided.

  Tarah ignored the voice and gave the dwarf a frank stare. “Look, this ain’t meant to offend, Jerry, but I gotta keep a certain pace while I’m tracking and you’ll slow me down. Besides, the clanking of your armor will scare any beast, rogue or not, away.”

  Djeri’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Riveren said, “Just a minute, Tarah. Jerry is a veteran member of the Defense Guild. He can keep any pace you can set. As for his armor-.”

  “Have you heard me ‘clank’ even once?” Djeri interrupted and as Tarah thought about it, she realized that she hadn’t. “And this isn’t even my traveling armor. The suit I’ll be wearing is padded for stealth. As for any other objections you can come up with, girl, they’re not worth turds. I’ve been adventuring for a hundred years. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Turds?” Tarah said, then shook her head. “Fine. If you say you can keep up, I’ll believe you.”

  “Does that mean you’ll do it?” Riveren asked with a hopeful smile.

  His blue eyes glinted charmingly, but Tarah wasn’t quite ready to answer that question. “Do we have a description of this rogue horse?”

  Riveren nodded. “One of Valtrek’s sources saw it briefly. The front end of it’s some kind of ape-like thing and its rear end is like a mountain cat.” He pulled out another sheet of parchment and slid it towards her. “The tracks look like this.”

  Tarah struggled to keep her gaze indifferent. The drawings were very similar to the ones in her pack. How much should she tell them? “I’ve . . . seen these tracks before.”

  “Where?” Djeri asked in surprise.

  “On the way here from Sampo, right by the place where I burned the trolls,” she said. “They’d been there for a long time, maybe a few rains, but it was hard to tell. They were covered in troll slime.”

  Djeri rubbed his beard musingly. “It has only rained a couple of times since the end of the war.”

  “But it’s a starting point,” Tarah said.

  “The report Wizard Valtrek had is more recent than that,” Riveren said. “He says that his source saw the rogue horse two days ago just east of Pinewood. He has a map I can give you. That is if you’re taking the job.”

  “Just east . . .” Her house was in that area. Tarah felt a strange certainty that this was something she was supposed to do. Still, she resisted. “How much will this pay?”

  “Two gold dremals a week,” Riveren said. “That’s nearly full graduate pay.”

  Gold is gold, said Grampa Rolf.

  “I’ll do it,” Tarah agreed.

  “Good!” the Captain Commander said with a wide smile and stood. “I’ll grab the contract while you two gather the provisions you need. I’ll meet you back at the gate in an hour with your horses.”

  “Horses?” Djeri said with distaste.

  “You’ll need them if you want to get there quickly,” Riveren said.

  “I’d rather ride a turd,” the dwarf grumbled.

  “I don’t think that’s physically possible, Jerry,” Riveren said with a chuckle.

  “I’m not much for horses, Riveren. You know that,” Djeri said.

  “I agree with the dwarf,” Tarah said. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been tracking something for folks and we get to a tight squeeze or a steep climb and they’re like, ‘What the hell are we supposed to do with the horses?’.”

  Djeri laughed and Riveren sighed. “You’re going to need something to help with your provisions at least. I’ll talk to the stableman.” He stood to leave, but Tarah reached out to stop him.

  “Wait, there’s something I wanted to show you.” Tarah walked to the bedroom and retrieved the sword, then brought it back to the table. “I found this sword in the hands of a bandit northwest of here.” She unsheathed the blade and laid it on the table in front of them. “Do you have a way of knowing if someone is looking for it?”

  Riveren froze, the smile falling from his face.

  Djeri’s eyes were wide with recognition. “That’s Tamboor the Fearless’ blade.”

  “He’s called Master Tolivar now, Jerry,” Riveren corrected, his voice sounding haunted as he reached one hand out to touch the hilt.

  “Right,” the dwarf said.

  “Tamboor’s . . . This is Meredith?” Tarah asked, swallowing at the thought that she’d been carrying such a legendary sword.

  “Yeah,” said Riveren, sadness in his eyes. “I was there on the last day of the war when this sword was lost on the battlefield.”

  “Is he dead?” she asked.

  “No,” Djeri assured her. “He’s fine.”

  Tarah’s brow furrowed in confusion. If he was alive, then why was Riveren’s attitude so solemn? “Then I guess he’ll be wanting it back,” she said slowly.

  “I don’t know.” Riveren said. He slid the sword back into the ugly sheath and picked it up. “But that’s his decision to make. I’ll send it to him.” He turned his gaze on her. “I suppose you’re wanting a finders fee.”

  “Well, I-.” Her grampa’s training screamed yes, but she found herself saying, “‘Course not. I’m just glad to return it.”

  Riveren gave her an appreciative nod and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll-um, be seeing you at the front gate in an hour then. Jerry will help you get the supplies you need.” He gave her a brief smile, then opened the door and left.

  Tarah stared after him in puzzlement. “What was that about?”

  “His friend died while wielding that sword,” Djeri said somberly. He gave her a calculating look. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a reward.”

  Without knowing why, Tarah said, “My papa told me all about that sword. Tamboor the Fearless used to be a friend of his.”

  “Oh?” the dwarf said, he looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.

  “Well I guess we should get our provisions together, eh Jerry?”

  “Yeah.” The dwarf started to leave but paused in the doorway. He sighed and turned around. “Listen, girl. We’re going to be working together for awhile and there’s one think I want to get clear before we get any further. My name’s not Jerry. It’s Djeri.”

  “Oh,” Tarah said. “But Riveren was calling you Jerry.”

  “Yeah, I have to put up with it from him because he’s the captain, but I’m not putting up with it from you.” Tarah’s mouth tightened and the dwarf raised his hands defensively. “Look, I don’t mean any offense. It’s just that I’ve seen some relatives of mine put up with it and next thing you know, no one says your n
ame right.”

  “I guess I can see how that would get annoying,” she said.

  “Okay?” he said. “So again, it’s Djeri.”

  “So . . .” She squinted as she sounded it out. “It’s kind of like Jerry, but not quite?”

  “It’s really not that close,” the dwarf insisted and spoke his name slowly. “It’s Djeri.”

  “Okay, but,” Tarah frowned. “Do I really have to roll the R? I mean, I don’t want to insult you or nothing, but I always feel dumb trying to roll my Rs.”

  He stomped his foot. “Blast it, girl, it’s not that hard. Djeri! It’s not a full roll of the R. More like a half roll.”

  “And there’s a duhjuh at the front?” she said. “So . . . Djeri?”

  “Good. Well . . . close enough. It’ll do,” said the dwarf. He shrugged and shook his head as he walked out the door. “This could be a long trip.”

  As Tarah followed after him she couldn’t help but agree.

  Chapter Five

  Arcon sipped the watery ale in his tankard. His eyes scanned the the tavern for any hint of his pursuers. Mallad was a dangerous place for him to be. Of course all of Alberri was dangerous for him right now. He just hoped that his pursuers wouldn’t think to look for him in the heart of their domain.

  He had picked a perfect spot to wait, a booth near the side exit, slightly hidden in the shadows, but with a clear view of the front door. There were three such spots in this place, a fact that had first attracted him to it the week before. The roughly carved sign hanging outside the tavern read, ‘The Mallad Duck’. Arcon knew the name was a bad pun, but that was unimportant. This was a place to hide from the eyes of the city and that’s what Arcon needed the most right now.

  “You aren’t the only one ‘ducking’ here.”

  Arcon ignored the voice in his head. She knew that he was aware of the tavern’s other occupants. Magic was highly regulated in this city and the authorities had ways of knowing when spells of power were used, but there were ways to hide magic. Arcon could sense the low thrum of hidden spells in several areas of the tavern. He couldn’t see the composition of the spells with his mage sight, but they were there.

  Arcon had several spells going himself. One darkened the shadows around him while the other disguised his face. Neither spell would be noticeable by any but the most experienced of wizards. Arcon knew more about hiding magic than most. After all, he had been doing it for a long time, ever since he first picked up the moonrat eye.

  “You had an excellent teacher,” the female voice reminded, her deep and throaty voice as loud as if she were speaking right in his ear.

  He snorted softly. Her statement was true enough, but only because he had spent a lot of that time hiding his magic from her. Leave me alone, Mellinda. None of the magic here is being directed on me. He had protective magic of his own. He would know the moment someone tried anything.

  She fumed in silence over his casual use of her name and Arcon smiled. As far as he was concerned, being able to needle her without punishment was the one perk he had with their current . . . situation.

  Arcon’s thoughts were interrupted as the front door to the tavern opened briefly. A shaft of sunlight penetrated the darkness, highlighting the figure of a lone man wearing a long tan coat with a high collar. The man paused in the light for a moment, his head moving back and forth as he scanned the dim confines of the tavern. Then the light vanished as the door shut behind him and he walked down the stairs to stand in the shadows by the bar. Arcon couldn’t see the newcomer’s face, but he wasn’t too worried. His pursuers always ran in groups of three or more.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Mellinda said. “We should leave.”

  They know what I can do, he reminded her. In fact his pursuers knew too much about him. The last two times they had come close to finding him, the dark wizards had been accompanied by either archers or dwarves wearing some kind of charm protecting them from fire magic. Fire was his main talent. Besides, I can’t spook every time someone enters. It’s more dangerous out in the streets where I can’t keep track of everyone.

  The newcomer left the bar and moved to a table not far from where Arcon sat. He held a drink in one hand and didn’t so much as glance in Arcon’s direction. He sat stiffly in a chair facing away from Arcon and took sips from his drink as he moved his head, scanning the darkness on the far side of the bar.

  “Staying on the move has its own benefits,” she urged.

  He let out a small sigh and took another swallow of the weak ale. Don’t worry. I only have to wait here one more hour and then we can go back to the scholar’s estate.

  “And wait there for how long this time?” she grumped.

  As long as it takes. He is our way out of this, remember? This was your idea.

  “Of course I remember. It’s just that this waiting is tedious.”

  Arcon didn’t disagree. Over the last week, they had spent over six hours a day waiting at the scholar’s estate in hopes that he would deign to see them. The stewards assured me that today would be a better day to gain an audience.

  “Of course they did.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

  The newcomer had stopped drinking. His tankard was laying on its side on the table in front of him and he was sitting completely still, his back arched as if he had been straining at something. Arcon began to wonder if he were dead. He reached out with a tiny trail of air magic, searching for a heartbeat, but then the man cocked his head and Arcon saw his shoulders move slightly with the inhale of a breath.

  Arcon shook his head slightly. Everyone acted strange in this place.

  Even if the stewards were lying, you know it’s much safer inside that estate than anywhere else in Mallad. The scholars were the real power in Mallad and no one dared to cross them. Even the dark wizards left them alone. You know this is our only way out of this.

  “Of course, dear one,” she replied, her voice was deep and throaty again. “You know best.”

  Arcon felt a rush of pleasure rise within him at the sound of approval in her voice. Bile rose in his throat at the unwelcome feeling. He hated the fact that she was able to manipulate him even without her powers. He had let his guard down again.

  “Don’t react like that, my dear. I was being quite sincere,” Mellinda cooed. “You have grown much since we first met. The ordeals you have been through made you stronger.”

  The ordeals you put me through, he growled mentally and slammed his tankard down on the table top. The rap of the metal against the wood was loud enough to cause a shifting in the shadows at the other tables. Leave me be, you dead witch!

  “Arcon-.” Mellinda’s voice sounded concerned.

  No! Arcon raged. You stay silent unless I ask to speak with you. I won’t hesitate to lock you away in the darkness again.

  “Look at the newcomer,” she insisted. There was a quiver in her voice.

  A surge of fear rose within Arcon’s chest. The man was looking right at him. His body was still facing away from Arcon as stiff as ever, but his head had somehow swiveled all the way around. His eyes were large; too large for his face.

  “Don’t look too close!” she shouted. “Look away. Don’t let on that you noticed!”

  Arcon did his best to keep his expression blank as he forced his eyes to slide away from the man’s face and focus on a point in the darkness beyond. The man blinked once with enormous eyelids and his nostrils flared. Then a laugh rang out a few tables over and his head swung back around to follow the sound.

  Arcon swallowed. How did he do that? How did he swing his head around like a . . . blasted owl?

  “Because it’s not a man, you idiot!” she spat, her tone full of panic.

  What is he? Arcon asked.

  “Just get out of here while it’s not looking!” she shouted. Arcon began to slide out of his chair. “And don’t let it hear you!”

  Arcon muted his magic as much as he could, then quickly spun threads of air around his body and the chair b
eneath him, creating a sound-proof cushion as he slid the chair back and slowly made his way to the nearest exit. He spun another thread of air to absorb the light around him, giving him a protective blanket of darkness as he paused in the shadows by the doorway and peered back at the newcomer.

  “Get out!” Mellinda demanded.

  But Arcon didn’t dare open the door. The light would give him away and whatever it was had already noticed his absence. It stood, its head swiveling as its overlarge eyes scanned the room.

  Its bizarre behavior didn’t go unnoticed this time. A loud crash rang out as a table was overturned near the front of the tavern and two men bolted for the main entrance. Arcon could sense the muted cloud of magic surrounding them. The thing darted after the two men. Cries of outrage filled the air as it threw chairs and the people occupying them aside in its haste.

  Light flooded the room as the two men threw open the front door and Arcon slipped out the rear. He stepped into the alleyway beyond and let the threads of air fall away as the door shut behind him. Another spell shifted his disguise, changing his hair to a deep red and turning his cloak gray. He ran towards the busy street ahead, not slowing until he reached the edge of the alleyway.

  He blended into the crowd, walking away from the tavern as swiftly as he dared. Shouts rang out from the front of the building and the people around him slowed down, turning to look. Arcon kept walking and the shouts turned to screams. To Arcon’s relief, the people of Mallad weren’t stupid. Most of the crowd began to run away from the screams and he ran right along with them.

  What was that? he demanded.

  “That,” Mellinda said. “Was a basilisk.”

  No. Arcon paled. He resisted the urge to turn and look behind him.

  He had learned about them at the Mage School. Basilisks were creatures with the ability to mask the true shape of their bodies. No one was quite sure how they did it, but they were adept at blending into their surroundings and the wealthy sometimes used them as assassins. Fortunately they were very rare. Arcon had never considered that one would ever have a reason to hunt him down.